Page 11 of The Runaway

“He treated me like his own travelling whorehouse. Rented me out to anyone with enough coin. He traded my body for ale a few times, and his clients were not pleasant men. I’ve been beaten more times than I can count. I’ve had cigarettes put out on me. There was one point when I had to service twelve men in one day. I was shitting blood for a week afterwards.”

Dante turned around and put his shirt back on. “It took me a long time to learn to trust Antoine after he bought me. And he made a few mistakes along the way. He’s not perfect. But I can vouch for his intentions with absolute certainty. He has always –always– tried to do the right thing by me. I was not a good omega. I caused a lot of problems for him and for this estate. But somehow, he always managed to pull a miracle out of nowhere and make things work out.

“I don’t know exactly what your life has been like up until now, but I’d guess it can’t be too far from what I went through with my second master. So that means you need to do some careful thinking about what you’re going to do next. And whether you’d manage to do it without any help.”

“My master’s going to come for me,” Connor said. It was as certain as the rising of the sun.

“Maybe,” Dante said. “And maybe you think that when that happens, Antoine will have to send you back, regardless. But if you want my opinion, if there’s anyone in the world who could help you when that happens, it would be him.”

Connor sighed. There weren’t many people in the world he’d ever been willing to trust, but taking the word of a bonded omega was probably far from the most foolish thing he could do. He looked down at himself. His clothes were filthy. His hands were nearly black. And even he could smell the foul stench of too many days without a wash. He looked up at Dante with a wry grimace. “How about we go see about that bath?” he said meekly.

Dante smiled. “Right this way.”

In the bathhouse, Connor stripped off, not bothering to try and hide his brand. By simply stepping into this building, he’d made a decision. And maybe he’d regret it later, but as Dante had pointed out, there wasn’t much he’d be able to do on his own. Sooner or later, he’d end up on another estate, or with another group of alphas. And anyone else he met would be no more able to help him than Antoine could. But at least Antoine seemed willing to try.

Or to look at it another way, maybe Antoine and everyone else here was lying to him, but on any other estate, he’d be in the same situation, so there wasn’t much point fighting it.

Dante stripped off as well, revealing a collection of scars over his body. Just as he’d said, there were a couple of small, round burn marks, along with a few jagged lacerations. He opened a valve and water rushed out into a barrel. He tested the water with his hand, then shrugged. “It’s not terribly warm yet. It’s too early in the day.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Why would it be warm? It hasn’t been over a fire.”

“We pump a barrelful up onto the roof every morning,” Dante explained. “There are pipes up there, and we painted them black. The water heats up during the day, then in the evening, the omegas get a warm wash, instead of the stone cold water that gets pumped up from the river. The sun hasn’t had a chance to heat it much yet, but it’s better than nothing.” He handed Connor a wash cloth and a bar of soap. “Here. You deal with your front half and I’ll scrub your back.”

Connor took them, but rather than starting to clean himself, he looked up at the ceiling, at the gap where the pipes came through the roof. The rain had let up for the time being, though it would probably start again in an hour or so. But the pipes were intriguing. Someone here had thought about the omegas’ comfort – not only thought about it, but actually bothered to install the heating system. He’d never heard of anything so strange in his life.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked Dante, dismissing the mysteries of the roof and turning his attention to scrubbing his skin.

“What is it?”

“Is Gabriel actually an alpha?”

“Yes,” Dante said, sounding surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“He didn’t seem like one. He’s weird for an alpha.”

“How so?” Dante poured a jug of water over Connor’s head, then began rubbing soap into his hair.

“He’s not bossy enough. Alphas are supposed to be all ‘Do this, do that, stop looking at me funny.’ I tried to stab you, for God’s sake, and he didn’t even try to hit me.”

“I would rather you don’t try to stab me again,” Dante said wryly. “Though I do understand your reasons for it. But if we’re talking about people being weird, I’d have to say you’re rather outspoken for an omega.”

“Not usually,” Connor admitted. “Back home I just stay quiet and try to keep out of the way. It doesn’t work, but making a fuss only makes things worse. Here, though… I don’t know. I guess I just got tired of…”

“Of what?”

“Everything. Living. Breathing. Getting beaten. Being hungry. Being cold.” Connor shivered, though not from the current temperature. “I just wanted everything to stop. All the pain. All the lies. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? And every single time, I end up with new bruises.”

“Close your eyes,” Dante said, and Connor did, then felt him pour another jug or two of water over his head. He opened his eyes and looked at himself. His skin was more pink than brown now, but he gave his hands another quick scrub. There was dirt ground into the cracks in his fingers that would likely never come out.

“It’s all just so pointless,” Connor went on. “You probably think I’m being a right prick, mouthing off at everyone, trying to fight people, arguing about everything. But back home, my master’s pissed off with me no matter what I do. So what’s the point in trying to be good if I’m just going to get beaten up anyway? I may as well just say what I think, and then at least I know what I’m being punished for. People talk about being a ‘good’ omega, but what does that even mean? How am I supposed to know what my master wants?”

Dante shook his head sympathetically. “Some masters are going to be cruel no matter what you do. I suppose all you can do is follow what you were taught at your training school and then at least you know you’re doing the best you can, even if luck is against you. It’s not much of an answer, I know.”

Dante took the wash cloth out of Connor’s hands and handed him a towel instead. He took it and began drying himself with quick, efficient motions. But what Dante had said made no sense. “What training school?” he asked. The way Dante had said it implied he was already supposed to know.

“When you presented as an omega,” Dante replied.

Connor blinked at him. “Like I said, what training school?”