Page 10 of The Runaway
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, back to the problem at hand. What are we going to do about Connor?”
“We’ve only actually got three options,” Niles said. “So all we really have to do is understand what the options are and then choose the best one.”
“Good grief, aren’t you the genius today,” Antoine said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please, enlighten me.”
Whether or not the suggestion was genuine, Niles took the opportunity and ran with it. “We can send him back. I don’t like that option, but it’s one of the possibilities. Or we can let him run away again, which means he’ll be at serious risk of injury or death. Or we can let him stay here. I know there are consequences to each of those decisions, but in simple terms, those are the choices we can make.”
Oddly enough, he was right, and Gabriel was surprised at the unexpected wisdom from the lad. “That pretty much sums it up,” he said. “And as far as letting him run away again goes, I don’t think we have much choice on that one. If he wants to go, he’ll go.”
“If he thinks we’re going to send him back, he’ll probably run,” Antoine said.
“So we can either choose to send him back and lock him up somewhere until we can, or try and convince him it’s better for him to stay here.” Gabriel was damn certain he knew which option he’d be choosing.
Antoine shook his head. “Even if we want to help him for a time, there’s a very real chance that sooner or later, someone will realise he’s here. We get enough visits from the neighbours that someone’s going to notice the extra omega on our estate. And when that happens… I know Connor’s master is probably a right bastard, but we don’t actually have any legal recourse if he comes asking for Connor back.”
“What’s legal isn’t always the same as what’s right,” Gabriel said. “And the fact that it’s not legal doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.” Antoine said nothing, so Gabriel continued. “At the very least, we can treat his wounds and give him a decent feed.”
“And after that?”
“I’m not sending him back,” Gabriel said stubbornly.
“We don’t even know why he ran away,” Antoine pointed out.
“Then maybe that’s the place we should start. We could try actually asking him and see what he has to say.”
???
Inside the omegas’ quarters, Connor sat huddled on a chair, his pants around his knees, while Dante carefully cleaned the wound on his leg. “It’s long, but not too deep,” Dante said, gently probing the cut. “And it’s bled a fair bit, which should help clear any dirt out. How are you holding up?”
Connor convinced his jaw to relax, gritted teeth released from their tight clench. “I’m fine.”
“This bit’s going to sting,” Dante said, reaching for a bottle of disinfectant. “You ready?”
“Seriously? I get the shit beaten out of me on a daily basis and I’m supposed to be worried about a bit of disinfectant?” Despite knowing he shouldn’t be taking his anger out on the one person who was actually trying to help him, Connor couldn’t seem to keep it bottled up inside. At this point, though, he was mostly angry at himself. Why had he stopped here? He should have just kept running.
Dante grinned. “You’ve got a hell of an attitude there. I like it.” He set about cleaning the wound, and sure enough, it did sting. But Connor refused to so much as flinch.
“Don’t patronise me,” he said. In some ways, the anger was a good thing. Because if he didn’t stay angry, he was going to collapse into a dark pit of despair and possibly never manage to claw his way back to daylight again.
“I’m not,” Dante said. He gently touched the bruise on Connor’s face. “You look like you’ve been through hell. And if you’ve come out of that still fighting, that’s a good sign.”
“Why? So Antoine can send me back and they can finish breaking me?”
Dante finished cleaning the wound, then sat back, motioning for Connor to pull his pants up. “I can’t say for certain, but I would doubt he’s going to send you back.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“If he wasn’t the sort of person to at least try to help those in need, I would never have fallen in love with him. Come on. Let’s go get you a bath.”
“You’re just using that to take a look at my brand and figure out where I’m from.”
Dante stopped, turning to face him with a shrewd look. “Well, you have a choice then. You can come with me and get cleaned up, and take the risk that we’ll find out where you’re from, or you can run away again. It’s up to you. But before you make up your mind, there’s something else you should see.” In a smooth motion, Dante stripped his shirt over his head, then turned around. There were four tattoos lined up across his back, evidence of the four different owners he’d had throughout his life. The first three had been crossed out with a straight line in black ink, but the crests underneath were still readable.
“Holy shit, you were owned by a duke?” Connor blurted out, taking a look at the first mark.
“I was his breeding omega. He decided to sell me when I failed to fall pregnant. The third mark isn’t much to see. I was owned by that alpha for a grand total of about four hours, before Antoine found me and insisted he wanted to buy me. But the second one…” The second brand was a simple and uninteresting mark. Dante had been owned by a merchant.