Page 3 of Bitter Heat
Paper that must be as old as Janus himself covered the walls, decorated all over by images of happy-looking stags, evergreen trees, and the occasional fawn. The paper was old-fashioned, out of date, but somehow homey in a way Janus wanted to crawl into. It made him dream of becoming a boy again and traipsing among those copses of painted trees.
“Been sick of late, have you?” Zeke asked again.
Shaking free of fanciful thoughts that were more common than ever after his various illnesses, he replied, “Yes. I’ve had a rough time of it these last few years.”
“The flu, I imagine.” Zeke shook his head, side-stepping a narrow table pressed up against the wall along the length of the hall.
“Indeed. I just recently recovered from a third bout resulting in pneumonia. My lungs haven’t been the same since I nearly died during the epidemic four years ago.”
Zeke tutted gently. “Each winter now we get a goodly number of folks in from the city trying to avoid being infected. Last year’s epidemic was almost as bad as that big one four years back.” Zeke paused outside a thick, dark bedroom door and put Janus’s bag on the floor, turning to him with his hands on his hips. “I was sick myself for that one. Quite sick.” His eyes took on a distant look for a moment, but then he went on. “At the first sign of contagion these days, those who can afford it hightail it out of the city, and many of them come up to these mountains as fast as their wallets can carry them.” A comfortable mountain accent and phrasing marked Zeke’s speech.
Janus found it charming, and that pleased him. The old Janus would have given into ingrained snobbery and decided the man lacked brains along with any semblance of education. The new Janus was done with that ego-driven, us-versus-them mindset. Zeke was clearly an intelligent, kind man with much to offer—including, hopefully, some sort of tea soon—and the new Janus would be happy to learn a thing or two from him.
Yes, the new Janus wanted to learn and to help however he could.
Zeke opened the door with a key from his pocket. He went on, “We have three rooms for boarders downstairs, and four of the six upstairs are for boarders, too. We can host up to fourteen men in the house if they all share beds. But we just lost the last of our lingering boarders from this past winter’s influx. They packed up and moved on last week.”
“It’ll be just me in the house then?” Janus asked as Zeke led him into a well-appointed bedroom facing out over the back of the house.
Janus stopped in the doorway, arrested by the view out the window of the shimmering lake, and the shadowy rise of mountains beyond. The sashes were open, and the breeze sailed into the room, offering fresh, cool air. Again, he detected the delicious scent of ripe berries and musk coming from the omega in the rocking chair. The porch where the omega sat must be just beneath his window.
“Yes. Well, no…” Zeke frowned, a slump rounding his shoulders. “My son is staying for some time, as well. He is…” Zeke seemed confused about how to describe the situation. He smiled distractedly and finished with, “Also on the mend.”
“Your son?” Janus cocked his head, confused. Betas couldn’t have children. He thought of the dark-haired figure he’d scented on the side porch and fought an irrational shiver.
“My nephew technically,” Zeke clarified. “But I’ve raised him since his pater died trying to birth a brother for ’im. So, he’s mine as much as anyone’s, I suppose.”
It would be complicated sharing space with Zeke’s son. He’d smelled… unique. Not like Janus’sÉrosgápemate would smell (not that he even knew what that scent would be, having never found the mate promised by wolf-god to alphas), but he had an intriguingly distinct scent.
“He calls me pater, and I call him son. There’s naught but love between us.”
Janus smiled, stepping deeper into the well-furnished if somewhat modest room. It held a bed with thick layers of quilts and two big pillows, a wooden writing desk by the window, a chest of drawers, a nightstand, and a cream-colored rug next to the bed. On the walls were four common-looking landscape paintings showing the mountains in each season. “Family is based on love. I understand. My uncle also had a hand in raising me.”
Zeke threw open the closet and bathroom doors. “You’ll find everything in good order—a closet for your things, a bathroom dedicated to your sole use. The fireplace won’t be wanted this summer, but it’ll be a comfort in the winter months. And there’s a view more pleasant than any other in the house if I do say so myself.” Zeke gave a wide smile as he gestured toward the windows. “I opened the sashes earlier to air out any musty scent from where the room’s been closed off, but you can close them back up or keep them open as you see fit.”
“The view is spectacular,” Janus agreed. He put the bag he carried down on the soft, quilt-covered bed as his gaze drifted back to the scene outside. As he traced the lines of mountains and the curve of the lake, he wondered briefly about Zeke’s sudden turn away from discussion of family. If his “son’s” pater had died, where was the alpha father in the scheme of things? Had he been too heartbroken at the loss of his omega to care for the child? Or had there even been a contract at all?
Things were different in the mountains. Everyone knew that. In the city, an unbonded and uncontracted omega finding himself pregnant was looked down on in ways that he wouldn’t be here. The more puritanical dictates of the Holy Book of Wolf were often scorned here in the mountains in favor of more traditional ways. Old styles of breeding—including the occasional alpha free-for-all over a single omega in heat—were still permitted. Much to the horror of city tourists when they stumbled upon the villagers in the throes of such brutish behavior.
For all he knew, this son could be born of those old traditions. He wondered why he cared about the omega’s pedigree. It wasn’t as though he was going to pursue the man. He was done with that sort of business.
The lake wavered with the breeze, and the tossing waters reflected the sky, blue as a robin’s egg, and the verdant green of the trees. The lake became a shimmering mirror of the immediate world around them, not a single brutal thing about it. The scent of berry and musk only added to the loveliness. Janus’s shoulders relaxed. He could almost feel the peace of the view seeping into him, healing the places that still hurt, body and soul. He smiled softly.
“Yes, this will do,” he murmured loudly enough that Zeke must have heard because when he turned around again the man was grinning.
“Glad to hear it. One last thing, the candles are in the drawer by the bed along with matches to light them. We have electricity in the house during the summer months until nine at night, but then it’s out until the dawn.”
“Why’s that?” Janus asked. He knew a lot of places in the mountains had no electricity at all, and he’d half expected to suffer the use of candles exclusively, but why would they have electricity only part of the time?
“Expensive to run,” Zeke said with the smallest of bristles. “There’s one charging station on the mountain and the alpha who owns it has a love of profit. We pay him monthly, and he gives us our allotment according to his rules. So, we’re shut off after nine. We used to have a few battery-powered lamps, but the batteries ran out faster than we liked and are more expensive to replace than candles. Most boarders don’t mind any.”
“I don’t mind either,” Janus said, surprised. He wondered if he could ask Caleb to send him a battery-powered lamp or two from the city, and some extra batteries, too. Then he thought better of that. “Provided there are plenty of candles.”
Zeke gave him a long look. “You’ll be up late often, you reckon?”
“I might. I’ll have studying to do.”
“That you may, but I expect Doc would rather have you rested once you begin the rounds with him.”
