Page 36 of Slow Heat
Jason kept his face neutral. He knew he was supposed to care about such things, but he didn’t. The draw of social status paled in comparison to the beauty of Vale’s eyes.
Father went on, “The first thing we have here is the projected value of the house on Oak Avenue. It’s Mr. Aman’s free and clear, inherited from his parents. Since you’ll be inheriting our house, however, you won’t need to hold onto his. Once you’ve bonded, you can sell it and use the proceeds to buy a more suitable property closer to us, and—”
“But if he likes his house, why couldn’t we just live there?”
Father frowned and Pater coughed lightly.
“Well?” Jason pushed.
“Oak Avenue is in an upper-middle-class section of town. Nothing to be ashamed of, of course, but it isn’t fit for a man who stands to inherit as you do,” Father said.
Jason clenched his hands together, listening as his father droned on about the small cabin in the woods Vale’s parents had also owned, but which seemed to have fallen into disrepair long before their deaths. “You’ll sell that, too,” his father stated.
“Can I have a piece of paper and a pencil?” Jason asked.
Startled, Father looked up from the documents. “I suppose so.” He passed a yellow ruled pad and a pencil. “What do you need it for?”
“Just to keep track of my thoughts.”
He scribbled:
If Vale likes his house, we will live there as long as we want.
If Vale wants to improve the cabin, we will. If he’d rather be done with it, I’ll fix it up and sell it.
Pater adjusted his position and pretended not to be trying to read what Jason had written. Jason didn’t hide it, but he didn’t make it easy for his pater, either.
“Okay, I’m ready. What’s next?”
“He writes poetry,” Father said, a hint of disapproval in his tone.
“I know.”
“He told you?” Pater sounded surprised.
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you it was…” Father cleared his throat. “Did he say it was racy poetry?”
“He said he didn’t think I should read it just now, that he’d written about heat, and about other alphas who’d helped him with it.” His fists clenched, and the pencil jabbed into the flesh of his palm.
“It’s only instinct,” Pater whispered, touching his knee and nodding to his gripped hands. “Logic can rule instinct if we take command of it.”
Jason forced himself to relax his fingers. “I don’t like it, but it’s not his fault I wasn’t around when he needed me.”
Father darted a glance between Pater and Jason, measuring them both, and then nodded slowly. “Agreed.”
“But I agree with Vale on this,” Pater said. “Knowing that he had little choice in choosing a safe alpha to help him through his heats and reading the poems about it are two entirely different things. I suggest you let go of any thought of reading these volumes.”
“Why he was even compelled to write poems about it, I can’t imagine.” Father leaned back in his chair with a tight expression. “It simply wasn’t necessary.”
Pater rolled his eyes. “Yule, what’s done is done.”
“Will he write poems about Jason? I think we should include a ban on poems in any contract we draw up.”
“That’s absurd.” Pater laughed.
“No,” Jason said. “No ban.” The idea that Vale might write poems about him was deliriously wonderful. His heart squeezed and jolted. He wanted to be deserving of Vale’s attention and dedicated words. “He’ll write according to his inspiration.”
