Page 41 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

“What cave? Have you seen a single cave anywhere in this country? I haven’t, and I’ve been looking.” Sycamore dropped his too-bright gaze to Rhododendron’s ears. “Let’s find somewhere to camp. I can’t ride much longer.”

Marut set his jaw against the impulse to stop right there beside the river and tend to every one of Sycamore’s needs. They would do better with a windbreak. The hills weren’t far to the south. He turned back to look at the Sarnoy camp behind them. A few people still stood watching their retreat, as if to be sure they didn’t foolishly make a second attempt.

“We didn’t bond last time,” he said as they rode, after several minutes of silence. “There’s no reason to think we will now.”

Sycamore was hunched in his saddle, but he turned his head to fix Marut with a stare. His voice was taut with fury as he said, “Surely you aren’t oblivious to how my feelings have developed since then.”

Marut reeled to hear Sycamore so openly acknowledge what Marut himself had felt but not dared to admit or identify. He had the sensation of being set adrift, as if someone had put him in a small boat and pushed him out not across the surface of a lake but into the ocean during a storm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sycamore said. His hard, focused gaze broke, and he turned his head aside.

Marut longed to reach for him, to touch him, but the horses weren’t close enough for that. “I only meant that I thought it was a risk regardless of whatever fondness might exist between us.”

“I’m far more worried now,” Sycamore said. “Let’s leave it at that.” He dropped the reins to rub at his eyes and then his temples, and then gave Marut a sidelong look. “Is there fondness?”

“Sycamore,” Marut said, and waited until Sycamore looked at him again before saying, “Surely you aren’t oblivious to how my feelings have developed.”

Sycamore laughed shortly. “All right. Well played. I concede the point. Sun Above!” He gave a sharp tug to Rhododendron’s reins and turned her around. “We’re going back.”

“What?” Marut said, lagging behind once again, three horse lengths to Sycamore’s rear and three years behind him mentally. “Back to the camp?”

“Should I give up so easily? A sorcerer of the king’s command? No.” Sycamore’s eyes gleamed fever-bright. “These Sarnoy have rules about omegas. I’ll tell them I’m going into heat and see if that changes their decision.”

“You’re gambling. They could as easily shoot us with those arrows.”

“Then we’ll ride fast as the wind to outrun them,” Sycamore said, and before Marut could reply he kicked Rhododendron to a gallop.

* * *

The same mencame out with scowling faces, visibly displeased by Sycamore and Marut’s return. The matriarch didn’t accompany them this time. Sycamore’s legs threatened to buckle as he slid from Rhododendron’s back, and he had to cling to the stirrup to remain upright.

His pulse throbbed in his temples and between his thighs. If he were in Banuri, he would have gone into confinement a full day ago. He had lost track of the days. The storm, and then the error with going the wrong way along the river—well, it didn’t matter now. These people would aid him or they wouldn’t.

“We said we’ll have no dealings with you, Chedai,” said a man in a yellow coat, his bow slung casually over his shoulder, as though Sycamore were of less than no concern. “Move on from here.”

“Please. We need shelter.” Sycamore swallowed down the shame of his confession. “I will be in heat soon, and my companion is an alpha.”

No one reacted. Sycamore’s heart dropped, heavy as a stone. That was it, then: he would have no succor. But then one of the men in the back swore loudly and said, “You devils, I’ll take him to Erhi.”

Erhi, the matriarch, was in her tent, nursing her baby. Sycamore dropped his gaze, unsure where he should look. She rose from the bed with the baby still in her arms and came toward him with her coat open to bare her breast, and said to Sycamore’s escort, “You let them come back?”

“He’s an omega,” the man said. “Going into his heat.”

“Ah.” Erhi’s gaze, when she turned it toward Sycamore, held more sympathy and understanding than he had dared to hope for. The baby’s fat hand gripped the edge of her coat, tugging as it suckled. She knew something of the demands of the body. “I won’t have it be said that Roan Horse turned away an omega at his time. You’re welcome to spend your confinement here. We’ll make our barter after.” She lifted her chin to the Sarnoy man. “Give him Oktai and Taban’s tent. They can sleep with Ulagan for the time being.”

“Thank you,” Sycamore said to her. His head swam as he bowed.

“She agreed, I take it,” Marut said, when Sycamore came back to where he stood near the threshold.

“Yes. Marut, I can’t speak with you, I’m sorry,” Sycamore said, both for propriety’s sake and because his knees wanted to crumple at Marut’s nearness and the dark watchfulness of his eyes.

“Be well, then,” Marut said, with a brief touch to Sycamore’s elbow, and they were parted.

* * *

He sweatedout his heat alone in Oktai and Taban’s tent, whoever they were. It came upon him rapidly once he was alone, although he hadn’t been aware of fighting it off. No surprise, really, after he’d spent the previous night in close quarters with Marut.

This heat was the worst he’d had in years, as he had feared it would be. He thought of Marut obsessively—Marut’s mouth on him, Marut’s cock in him—and ached in Marut’s absence. But he survived. A young girl brought him food a few times, which he managed to eat. He passed two miserable days and a restless night, and by the second evening he had recovered himself enough to ask the girl, when she came in, if he might have water to bathe.