Page 33 of The Runaway
“Afternoon,” the tattooist greeted Gabriel politely, as he was shown into the sitting room. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge an extra two francs for the service. I explained that to your man, and he said it would be fine. I had two other customers lined up for the afternoon that I’ve had to put off, but he said it was urgent.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Gabriel agreed easily. “I appreciate you coming. This is Connor,” he said, waving Connor forward. “Antoine, where would be the best place to get this done?”
“Come into the cloakroom,” Antoine said, leading the way.
They all trailed into the cloakroom, and Connor sat on a stool, removing his shirt so he could get the new brand inked on. He’d never enjoyed getting tattooed in the past, but this time around, he found himself eager to have it done. This, even more than the bill of sale, would be a legal declaration of his place in the world, one that no one could argue with and that would see him sent safely back to the Calvet estate if anyone dared to question him while he was off the property.
“May I see the bill of sale?” the tattooist asked, as he set out his tools. Legally, a tattoo couldn’t be done without a formal bill of sale, which explained why Gabriel had been so eager to have one signed. There were, of course, shady dealers who would complete the work without the document, for an under the table bribe, but this one, it seemed, liked to keep things above board. And in this instance, Connor was grateful for the insistence at honesty. With a properly authorised bill of sale and a new tattoo, there would be no question of whether he truly belonged here or not.
Gabriel handed the document over, and the artist read it carefully, then gave a grunt of acknowledgement. “Fair enough. You ready?” he asked Connor, and Connor nodded. Then the first sting of the needle hit, and he gritted his teeth. This time, though, the pain was more than worth it.
???
An hour later, Connor watched as the tattoo artist mounted his horse and set off up the road. His shoulder was stinging from the tattoo, but he ignored the pain. It would dull soon enough, though it would be tender for a couple of days.
The rest of the staff had been sent back to work after a most eventful morning, and now it was just him, Gabriel and Antoine left to see the artist off.
“Well, it looks like all’s well that ends well,” Antoine said, smiling at Connor. “And I must apologise. I should have thought of that solution earlier.”
“I didn’t think of it myself until the last moment,” Gabriel said. “And even then, I wasn’t sure Simon would go for it.”
“It’s over now,” Antoine said. “So, what do you think, Connor? Are you prepared to abide by the rules of this estate? To work alongside the other omegas?”
“Oh, come on,” Gabriel said, sounding annoyed. “He’s been working here for the last month. I hardly think he’s going to suddenly transform into a hellion now that we actually own him.”
“I’m absolutely not,” Connor agreed, shaking his head emphatically. “I’m very, very grateful to be allowed to stay, and I’ll keep working just as hard as ever. I promise.”
“I didn’t doubt that you would,” Antoine said, patting him on the shoulder – the one that hadn’t been tattooed. “I just like to make sure I actually ask my staff for their opinion on things, rather than making foolish assumptions.”
The statement was baffling, even after so many weeks of seeing how Antoine ran this estate. The master of the house should not be asking the lowest of his slaves for his opinion on anything, much less apologising to him for rescuing him from a life of hell. This estate ran by far different rules from the ones Connor was used to, and adjusting to the new liberties and privileges was going to take some time.
But even so, Connor was aware that there were limits and that he didn’t have licence to push the boundaries too far. Antoine’s warning to Helen back during her heat had been evidence enough of that. But if the expectations here were simply that he work hard and treat the other members of the estate with respect, he was more than willing to toe the line.
Antoine disappeared back into the house, with pressing work to be done after a day full of interruptions, which left Connor alone with Gabriel. The alpha was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking tense and awkward. Connor wondered what was on his mind, but didn’t dare ask. For all his previous habit of asking blunt questions, if he was going to fit in on this estate, he’d better start putting some better manners into practice. He thought about asking if Gabriel needed him to do anything, or if he should return to his chores, but thought better even of that innocuous question. An omega should not question an alpha. If Gabriel needed something, he would say so.
After a moment of silence, Gabriel spoke. “I didn’t actually ask you at the time, but is all this okay with you? With us buying you, I mean. I didn’t really give you the chance to say no.”
Connor felt confused all over again. “Of course,” he said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. “I mean… Thank you.” His chest felt warm, unknown emotions coursing through him. “Thank you so much.” He felt sudden tears pricking at his eyes and blinked them away, feeling ridiculous about the surge of emotion. “I didn’t think… Thank you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. And I’m sorry for yelling at you last night.” Perhaps he shouldn’t be reminding Gabriel of his poor behaviour, but he’d been beyond rude, and it would be a bad start to his new life for his master to think he was insolent and wilful.
But Gabriel just shook his head. “It’s all right. You haven’t had a lot of reason to trust people. I hope we can start giving you a reason to change that.”
“Thank you. I hope so, too,” Connor said. Then, when Gabriel said nothing more, he added, “I should get back to work.” As much as he didn’t want to tell Gabriel what he should be doing, he also didn’t want to be seen as slacking off on his first day as an official member of the estate. There were turnips to harvest, and the chicken pen needed to be cleaned, and then he’d be due back in the kitchen to help the cook prepare dinner.
“Go ahead,” Gabriel said. Then, to Connor’s surprise, he turned and put his arms around him, pulling Connor into a brief hug. “From now on, it’s all going to be all right. You have nothing more to fear.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nothing more to fear. For the past two months, that had been true; life on the estate was idyllic. November trickled into December, and the winter weather began in earnest. The outdoor work more or less dried up and the staff spent their time knitting, doing repairs inside the house, mending clothes and seeing to the animals sheltering in the barn. Extra blankets were brought out for the omegas in the bunkhouse, and the two large fireplaces in the room had been lit, a constant supply of wood keeping the chill out of the air. The vegetables stored in the root cellar were brought out, providing a steady supply of food which, though repetitive, was satisfying nonetheless. The bulk of almost every meal consisted of the staples of potatoes, turnips and bread, but it was seasoned with dried herbs to provide the illusion of variety, and supplemented where possible with canned tomatoes, dried mushrooms and pickled eggs.
It had become easy to believe that this was the way of life now, a stable routine, an estate full of peaceful, relaxed people, and only the mildest of reprimands on the odd occasion when a task was forgotten or a mistake made.
But halfway through the morning, one day in the middle of December, Connor was suddenly and forcefully reminded that there was, in fact, one last thing he had to fear.
Sitting in the omegas’ quarters, sewing up a hole in a pair of trousers, Connor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt hot and moved a foot or two further away from the fire. He felt vaguely queasy, but put it down to perhaps having eaten some bad vegetables. He tried to concentrate on his sewing, but his mind kept wandering, and he cursed as he pricked himself with the needle. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking on it as a droplet of blood welled up, and wondered why he was feeling so out of sorts. He’d slept well last night, so tiredness shouldn’t have been an issue. On the contrary, he was feeling energised, perhaps even restless. A simple case of cabin fever? Being stuck indoors for so much of the day was likely to have that effect. But it felt like something more than that, like there was something he’d forgotten about that was important…
He shifted in his seat again, and felt a thrill of sensation go through him as his erection rubbed against the fabric of his trousers. And that got his attention. But what the hell was his body doing? There was no reason he should be…
Connor froze, the collection of symptoms suddenly clicking into place in his mind. Fuck it all to hell, he’d totally forgotten. With so much to be grateful for, and with so many new and heartwarming experiences, it had somehow entirely slipped his mind that he was due to go into heat. And the terror that sprang up in his mind as he realised the problem was stark and jarring.