Rune
He’d barely slept.
He’d sat on the edge of the cot through the small hours and listened to the house wake around him; the distant clatter of the kitchen, the low buzz of staff voices, the slow accumulation of sound that meant morning had arrived whether he was ready for it or not.
He dressed in black trousers, white shirt, fingers working the cuffs. The pull toward the top floor had been a low persistent ache in his bones; a biological need entirely indifferent to his feelings.
Unbidden images flickered into his mind as he dressed: being pinned against those navy silk sheets, the weight of Rowan’s thighs forcing his own apart, the agonisingly slow slide of being filled until he couldn’t breathe.
Rune’s fingers tripped over his own buttons.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead thumping lightly against the cool pane of the window.
He was an omega in the presence of his mate, and his biology was making a mockery of his fear.
Get a fucking grip for the love of the Moon Goddess.
He straightened his collar for the third time and picked up his caddy, forcing himself out of the room.
When he reached the Alpha’s suite, the door was already ajar. He hesitated, his heart hammering against his ribs, and pushed it open.
The suite was empty.
The morning light came through the tall windows, falling across the rumpled bed, the armchair with its discarded shirt, the half-open wardrobe door. It was lived-in, careless, belonging to someone who had no reason to be careful in his own space when he had servants to do it for him.
Rune found himself staring at the bed. He moved toward it, his fingers tracing lightly over the silk.
He needed to strip it. Fast.
He pulled the duvet back, folding it over the footboard, then worked the fitted sheet loose from the corners. He kept his movements brisk, bundling the pillowcases one after another and stacked them with the sheets at the foot of the bed.
The mattress was warm.
He pressed his palm flat against it without thinking — just checking, the way any decent housekeeper would...
But then he didn’t move his hand.
It was the warmth that took him. Whether from imagining it as Rowan's residual heat or from the morning sun, he didn’t entirely know how it happened.
One moment he was gripping the edge of the discarded sheets, the next... the sheets were in his face and he was inhaling deeply; finally letting his instincts win just this once.
God, it was exhausting.
Standing here, surrounded by the essence of his mate, he felt more exposed than he ever had in his life. Being hunted by a predator who didn’t even need to be in the room to make him surrender.
A floorboard creaked.
Rune bolted upright, clutching a handful of the sheets to his chest as his eyes cut toward the door.
Rowan leaned against the doorframe, shirtless. His skin was gleaming from a morning workout. Broad shoulders, the corded muscles of his chest tapering to a narrow waist, the skin marked by a few faint, silvered scars of old pack skirmishes.
Rowan's eyes dropped to the sheets bunched in Rune’s white-knuckled grip, then slowly travelled up to the omega’s flushed face.
“You’re early.”
“I... I was...” His voice failed him. He looked down at the sheets in his hands, realising how it looked—an omega caught huffing his Alpha’s scent—and dropped it immediately.
Its...Alpha...it's not what it looks like...”
Rowan's mouth curved, he pushed off the doorframe and began slowly walking toward him until he was only inches away.
He tilted his head.
“Why were you inhaling my bedding Rune?”
“I... I-didn’t realize you'd be here.”
Silence.
“I live here Rune. This is my bedroom. If you’re going to maintain it, you’re going to have to get used to my presence.” He studied him for a moment. “You look exhausted. You didn’t sleep, did you?”
Rune shook his head.
Rowan moved a step closer and he lowered himself enough to inhale the air between them.
A low rumble erupted in his chest.
“You smell like me. From the sheets you had your face buried in. It makes my blood boil to think of you trying to wash it off.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Rune was momentarily lost for words at the Alpha's bluntness before he forced himself to turn away. He needed to get a control on things. Even if it was just cleaning. This was getting out of hand.
“I should get on,” he managed, reaching for the caddy. “The en-suite needs doing and I haven’t started the windows or finished making the bed.”
He stood there with the caddy half-lifted and something made him glance back despite himself.
Rowan met his gaze, then took a seat at the edge of the bed.
“Of course,” he said quietly.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Enter."
A young maid appeared, her eyes fixed firmly on the carpet. She carried a heavy silver tray laden with a pot of coffee, a plate of eggs, thick-cut bacon and a folded copy of The Times . She set it on the nightstand and hurried out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Rowan didn’t move to dress. Instead, he climbed back into the massive unmade bed, propping the pillows up against the headboard. He looked entirely too comfortable as he poured a cup of black coffee. The steam curled into the air, mingling with the heavy scent of oak and his early morning sweat.
“Clean,” Rowan said simply, shaking out the newspaper. “Start with the dresser. I noticed a layer of dust on the mahogany that looked quite unpleasant.”
Rune moved quickly, relieved to have something to do again. He took out a soft cloth and a bottle of polish, moving to the heavy antique dresser. He worked quickly, trying to ignore the sound of the newspaper pages turning or the occasional clink of a spoon against china.
“Left corner,” Rowan murmured, not looking up from an article on the FTSE 100.
Rune paused. “Pardon, Alpha?”
“The left corner of the dresser. You missed a spot. It’s smeared.”
Rune went back, scrubbing at the wood until it shone like a mirror. He moved on to the bedside table, the one furthest from Rowan.
“The lamp base,” Rowan said, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “There’s a fingerprint on the brass.”
Rune felt the Alpha’s gaze on him now. He leaned over to polish the lamp, his movements stiff. He was acutely aware of how his trousers stretched over his backside as he bent, and how the scent of the breakfast was mixing with the scent of the Alpha’s growing arousal.
“And the rug,” Rowan added. He lowered the newspaper just enough to watch Rune over the top of the pages. “It’s crooked. Fix it.”
Rune dropped to his knees to tug at the heavy wool rug. He could feel Rowan’s eyes roaming over his frame.
“Better." Though his tone suggested he was finding the view far more satisfying than the cleanliness of the room. “Now, the windows. They’re streaked from the rain. Clean them until they're spotless.”
Rune sprayed the glass, the sharp scent of ammonia cutting through the room. He worked the cloth in tight, rhythmic circles for a good five minutes, his pale reflection ghosting over the pane.
Behind him, the rustle of the newspaper finally stopped.
“There's a formal dinner tonight. The heads of the local districts are coming to discuss the winter allocations. I want you there.”
Rune’s hand paused on the glass.
“Well, I... I can certainly speak with Thomas. I’m sure he can put me on the rotation for the service staff. I can handle the wine or the appetisers.”
“You misunderstand me." Rune heard the bed creak as the Alpha shifted his weight. “I don’t want you carrying a tray, Rune. I want you at the table. At my right hand. As my omega.”
The cloth dropped from Rune’s fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thump. He turned around slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Rowan was watching him over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Alpha... I’m a servant,” Rune whispered. “I was hired to work. I don’t belong at a table with district heads. I don’t have the clothes, I don’t have the training, and I certainly don’t have the status. People would... they would talk.”
Rowan set the cup down on the nightstand. Folded the newspaper and placed it beside the tray.
“Are you disagreeing with me?”
The air in the room suddenly felt unbearable.
An inevitable pressure that pushed against Rune’s chest and his knees buckled. He bowed his head low, his gaze fixed on the polished floorboards. “No, Alpha. I wouldn’t... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
Rowan stood, the silk sheets sliding away as he walked toward the wardrobe. “You're my mate . Where I sit, you sit. What I own, you share. Your status is whatever I decree it to be, and tonight, I decree you are the most important person in that room.”
He pulled a heavy charcoal robe from a hook and swung it over his shoulders, tying the belt loosely.
“Finish the windows. When you're done, go to the third floor, room 302. Ask for Iris. She handles the pack’s tailoring and wardrobe. I’ve already spoken to her about tonight.”
Rune stayed bowed. “Yes, Alpha.”
With that, he was gone, disappearing into his en-suite, before the sound of the shower started.
Rune let out a shaky breath, turning back to finish the windows in a daze. His movements were stiff, his mind a storm of anxiety.
He pressed the cloth flat against the glass.
The dinner invitation — if it could be called that — tugged at that familiar feeling that always made him want to run.
At my right hand. As my omega.
In front of district heads. In front of everyone.
This was new. This was its own specific problem, and he suspected it was going to get considerably worse.
Once the room was spotless, he gathered his things and made his way to the third floor.