Page 8 of Slow Heat

“Yes. He was beautiful.”

“Gray on his temples. Wrinkles around his eyes. He’s thirty-five if he’s a day and maybe even forty.”

A strange, unsettled feeling wriggled into Jason’s stomach. As the sedative had worn off, he found he couldn’t remember much about his omega except for his moss-colored eyes and mouthwatering scent.

Oh, and his voice.

Such a sweet, delicious voice, like honey and sand, rhythmic and crashing in gentle waves against his soul. The memory of that voice made him quiver. But he couldn’t recall how tall the man was, or the color of his hair, or the shape of his face, or anything to indicate his age at all.

Jason lifted his chin. “He’s beautiful,” he declared again.

“Pheromone delirium,” Xan said dismissively.

Jason’s fists balled up. “What did you say?”

Xan’s voice was terse with frustration. “You heard me. I’m trying to protect you here. That’s all.”

“By insulting my omega?”

“He’s not yours yet, is he?” Xan’s blue eyes pleaded with Jason. “Be sensible here.”

“I am. You’re just jealous.”

Xan’s eyes flew wide. “I’m not. We’re just…you and I aren’t…I don’t have feelings for you.”

Jason stared at Xan, the meaning of his words chilling him like a cold blanket of snow. “Of course you don’t. You’re jealous I got my omega early.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to convince himself he didn’t see the hurt deep in Xan’s eyes.

“Yeah, right. You’re not going to get to consummate the imprint with him for a long time. You know that, right? He has to contract with you first, and your parents will drag that out if they know what’s good for you. And they do, so they will.” Xan nodded decisively. “Hell, they’ll probably suggest a surrogate, because that only makes sense. He’s too old to risk childbearing, even if he’s fertile still. And they’ll want you with an omega who can give you more than one.”

“I’ll never take a surrogate.”

“Oh yeah? Just wait. When you’re not blinded by pheromones, you’ll see what a bad risk this omega is. He’ll never give birth to healthy offspring. You’ll be doomed to an old, sickly omega with no future for your name.”

The Sabels weren’t one of the most prestigious families in the upper crust of society, but they weren’t without their reputation. He needed an heir or two. Maybe three.

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Xan shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.”

“Mr. Sabel, Mr. Hoff, your son is right in here.”

Jason struggled into a fully seated position, dizziness plaguing him as his father and pater hustled into the small room.

Father’s bright blue eyes, always tender and loving, were dark with worry, and Pater’s hazel ones were tired and ringed with darkness. They were both dressed more casually than usual: Father in a pair of khaki trousers with the sleeves of his white oxford shirt rolled up, and Pater in a soft shirt and winter-brown cardigan over well-worn, comfortable pants. They both had fresh haircuts. Father’s blond hair was shaped into a neat style close to his head, and Pater’s light brown was in a looser cut, a fringe draping clean and straight against his forehead, in a style like Jason’s own.

Jason remembered that Pater had just gone through a heat several weeks earlier. A pang of guilt hit him at being the reason he’d left his doctor prescribed post-heat month-long respite. Pater was fragile, and Father usually zealously protected his rest period for the full four weeks. But apparently, Jason accosting an omega in the middle of the university library was enough reason for Pater to be out and about, health be damned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” said the nurse who’d taken over Jason’s care once he was awake, mainly providing him with water to help wash the sedative out of his system. “Chancellor Rory will be here soon—any moment, I’m sure—to discuss this situation.”

The nurse clearly didn’t want to be in the room for whatever conversation was going to take place. He was a beta, like most non-doctor healthcare providers, but the idea of lingering for gossip clearly didn’t appeal.

“Yes, thank you,” Father said.

“Jason, are you all right?” Pater asked, full of worry, sitting on the side of Jason’s bed to slip his fingers through his Jason’s hair.

Father crowded behind him, somehow hovering protectively over them both. Anxiety for his family poured off him in sour-scented waves Jason’s sensitive nose recognized from times when Pater had been sick after a brutal miscarriage.

Xan said, “You should wonder if his omega is all right.”