Page 25 of Bitter Heat
He smelled like home and safety. Kerry had never scented anything like it before. He remembered the delicious musk of his groin, too, as he’d sobbed into his lap. He’d been dazed, in pain, but even then, the rarity of an alpha’s intimate scents pleasing him had registered.
Kerry sighed as the poppy’s liquid warmth spread over and in him, like the most pleasant warm blanket. Protecting and holding him. He was safe to explore Janus’s scents drifting up to him along with his voice. It didn’t matter anymore what he was saying, only that he was still there, talking, being in their house—keeping his pater company and keeping them both safe.
He put his hand on his stomach and felt the child’s flutters again. He was still moving. Still alive. Janus would be pleased. Poppy-warmed sleep stole Kerry away, just as the sound of chairs moving back and the clatter of plates below indicated that Pater and Janus were finished talking.
Breathing in Janus’s safe-smelling scent, Kerry was fully gone before he ever heard either man’s first footfall upon the stairs.
Janus couldn’t sleep.
The burden of the afternoon and evening felt too great to bear on his own, so he rose from his bed, sat down at the small writing desk, and decided to light his first candle.
Janus pulled one from a box of them nestled inside the drawer in the desk and scratched a match to light it. He found a small, primitive-looking metal candle holder in the drawer as well and stuffed the glowing stick into the hole. Holding it aloft by the curved, metal handle, he placed it on the desk. Then rose, pulled on his robe over his pajamas, and sat down again.
Taking out a smooth, creamy sheet of paper and a new pen, he stared at the flickering flame for a long time before finally writing:
Dear Caleb,
I hope this letter finds you and all of yours well. I especially hope the children are healthy and strong. Please send some of your illustrations or prints of them if you see fit. I have always loved your art and felt honored when you shared it with me. At this point in my life, I can no longer offer a fair price for any of your pieces, however, so I understand if you don’t want to give away anything priceless. I’m eternally your admirer, either way.
This probably will not surprise you, but I find myself quite out of my depths here in Hud’s Basin. I knew I would be, of course. I’m not an utter fool. Well, I’m trying not to be anymore. But it is far stranger here, and more upsetting, than I had imagined. Can you believe that? I’m sure you can. I can just hear you now, “Janus, that simply shows your failure of imagination more than anything else.” And you’d be right, I suppose.
Look at that, dear friend, your arrogant Janus has admitted to the likelihood of a failure. Are you proud of me yet?
Janus stopped and considered the paragraphs he’d already written and thought about inking through the last few lines, or possibly wadding up the whole letter and starting over. He didn’t want Caleb to think he was flirting with him.
His body thrummed with wiry exhaustion. He was too tired and wound too tightly to rewrite anything, so he carried on.
Don’t answer that. I know I should be striving to be proud ofmyself. And yet…
I hardly know where to begin tonight and feel that anywhere I choose as a starting point will leave out important background information that further informs the situation. Whether that be the utter poverty of so many of the people here, or the curious way they live their lives, or the difficult position I found myself in tonight with my host’s omega son, who is also staying in the boarding house. Not that kind of position, Caleb! Do keep your mind out of the gutter! I’ve turned over a new leaf!
He started to ink through that last bit and again held off. So what if he was flirting a little? Caleb could handle it. They both knew where they stood.
No, this was a position that puts the morals I’ve agreed to uphold as a nurse and doctor in a fight against my moral fiber as a human being. (They insist I call myself a doctor here, though I’m hardly competent to do so! Another strain on my newly developing sense of right and wrong! And such an oddity!) I don’t even know all the details of the situation at hand, and I certainly can’t share very much without violating the trust of a man who has, as of tonight, very dramatically become my patient. And yet I feel I must bare my soul and share my confusion with someone safe. As much as we both may not like it, that someone for me, Caleb, is you. Must be you. Have I told you lately how grateful I am for your forgiveness and friendship? Because I am.
I ramble on and say nothing. My nerves are twisted up violently, and my heart is racing with the memories of the events of earlier this evening. I shall call the young omega in question by the initial K, to maintain his privacy, and because itishis first initial.
Tonight, while swimming in the lake near the boarding house—I believe I mentioned it in my first letter to you, as yet unsent—I heard a cry of pain. Upon searching out the source, I found K in agony, suffering from what appeared to be a miscarriage. That in itself may not seem so strange, given your Urho’s experiences with his doctor practice, and omega birth statistics being generally so poor. But I found a tin in K’s hand, and I recognized it immediately as a very commonly obtained abortifacient and knew what he had done.
And yet, though I can see no reason for his choice, beyond his oddly shaped chest and a missing (and rumored ill-chosen) alpha, I do not feel anything but pity for him and his desperation. Worse—(worse? it is shocking that I’d put it that way!)—he did not manage to dislodge the babe. So, he suffered it all in vain.
In vain? IN VAIN? Do you see what I’m saying, Caleb? I haven’t been here a full week, and my morals are twisted all around, and my feelings for a young man I’ve barely met supersede the law in my heart. I even discarded the evidence of the herbs he used, hiding the tin where no one would ever find it, and with that one action sealed my own thoughts and feelings regarding him. He’s my priority now. Not the babe. Not yet, anyway.
What does all this mean? I’m at such a loss.
And all of this begs me to remind you, my dear Caleb, to stay safe in your pregnancies. You are held dear by too many to risk yourself too often. Insist on precautions during heats. Excuse my impudence, but I’m far too invested in your health not to speak up.
Wolf-god, I haven’t even told you about my home visit to an alpha contracted with two omegas! And their shared children! Nor have I shared the abject misery of so many of the people here, all of whom work so hard for so little! Nor did I explain about the doctor, and hisÉrosgápebound omega (who is, from what I understand, the local abortionist!) and so much more! I’m so undone that I’ve taken to using exclamation points with abandon. Shameful.
Caleb, perhaps I should burn this letter and not send it. The candle is flickering here at my side quite temptingly. I could just shift the page up and set it alight, and yet I yearn to hear from you and know your thoughts. I know you will soothe me even from afar, even if I do not deserve it. Tell me what to think and how to feel. I know you will be just and kind. You always are.
Your eternally undeserving servant,
Janus
Addressing the envelope and adding a stamp to the corner, Janus stood from his desk and stretched. He listened for any noise from the hallway, but Zeke had long ago gone to bed, and his patient was tucked up, hopefully asleep as well.
However, Janus decided he should check that Kerry hadn’t spiked a fever before he tried to defeat his insomnia again. Though the child seemed to have clung on, it was possible he could lose the baby even yet, and if that were the case, he might develop an infection from decaying, unpassed tissue. It was hard to know when the danger would be fully over, but if Kerry continued to grow round, then they should be able to discern the child’s heartbeat by the end of the week at the latest if the timing of conception was as Zeke had led Janus to believe.
