Page 5 of Omega's Flight
No, I was an omega, meant to keep house and have pups and see to the comfort and contentment of my mate. Travel and shopping and parties and a grand romance weren't part of an omega's future.
But still, I read them, and dreamed.
And drew. Today, for some reason, I felt the urge to draw again. It had been summer, the last time I'd taken a scrap of paper and 'wasted' it with my charcoal squiggles. Degan had been angry, and I'd been nervous of setting charcoal to paper since.
But it was still early, the house was clean, and at this time of day I was almost assured to get a free washer. A demon of irresponsibility sat on my shoulder whispering to me and I, being an omega, found myself completely incapable of resisting him. I went to my secret hiding place, a small basket I kept in the corner of the living room to store my scraps of cloth, too worn for the blanket I was piecing together but good enough to eventually make a rug for the living room.
But it was also where I hid away any clean sheets of paper, and bits of charcoal from the full moon fires. Someday, it would be nice to try drawing with real artist's charcoal, but for now, I had this and it would do. I picked out a nice piece of paper, larger than anything else I'd found ever, chose the best of the charcoal bits, and headed out to the laundry.
I got there just in time to get the last washer; it seemed like other packmembers, as busy with the holiday preparations as I was, had also had the same idea. Dawn was half over, the sunshine a beautiful warm gold on the rusty steel of the little table outside the laundry building. A lie on Nature's part—it looked warm but last night's promise of cold had come true and the air was beyond chilly. I put the dirty clothes in and turned the machine on, then claimed the unoccupied table for myself. My paper lay flat in the still air, beckoning to me like the heroes of those enticing romance novels.
What to draw? I usually drew my pups, or my house, or a plant in the yard, but none of those enticed me this morning.
What did it say about me that I never drew my mate, never felt the urge to make some permanent record of his existence?
The charcoal brushed over the surface of the page, leaving behind dark streaks with fuzzy edges. Hair curling around a fine-boned, elegant face, wide eyes, a warm smile. High cheekbones and a long neck. I hadn't put a lot of detail in it, not yet, but it didn't take me long to realize who the picture was of.
Bax.
Why was I drawing Bax, of all people? I hadn't seen or talked to him in... how long? Four years? I wondered how he was doing. We'd all heard of his mating—Roland had been invited, it only being polite to invite the Alphas to the mating of one of their peers.
The story of how Bax's new Alpha had fought for him in the circle and won had been told over and over in low-voiced speculation at every full moon after for a year.
I knew that the Alpha had also taken on Patrick's old pups so that Bax wouldn't have to give them up. It had been like one of his very own romance novels come to life, complete with dashing hero and happy ending. And I couldn't even be jealous, because Bax himself had been so generous. My mind flashed back to a time closer than that, to that visit when his Alpha had been negotiating with mine, when some barrier had dropped between us and we'd taken the first few steps toward friendship.
Which my mate had promptly gone and ruined. How could he think I'd be stupid enough to steal anything, let alone something as identifiable as a shirt, and from a visiting Alpha no less?
But no, if I were honest, Degan got most of his exercise jumping to conclusions, though he was often sorry for his mistakes after. Pip's impulsiveness was certainly come by honestly enough. But it was exhausting, at least for me.
It hadn't been the best decision I'd ever made, agreeing to that mating, though at the time it had seemed romantic to be courted and proposed to all in the space of two weeks. There'd been another alpha who'd paid me attention, but he came from a poorer family and I'd wanted so badly to get away from Nevada Ashes that Degan had seemed a gift from the Lady, dropped in my undeserving lap.
If only there was more work. Degan would be happier. We'd have more credits. The pups could have new clothes, the broken things in the house could be fixed. We did what we could, but already I could see the effects of time and lack of care on it. By the time our pups were grown and out on their own, it would be falling down around us and then what?
There was the fourth one to consider too, still no bigger than my thumb, riding safely contained in my womb. I hoped that, given a bit of time to get used to it, Degan would grow into the idea of being a sire again. I hoped the new pup would be an alpha, someone I didn't have to worry about. Someone that Degan could be proud of, so that I didn't feel like I'd failed him entirely. I rather thought Pip might be one, but it was difficult to say. Some days she was as gentle as a spring breeze; others, as wild as a winter storm. And a parent never knew for sure, until the day the hormones set in.
I added some more shading around Bax's eyes, taking away the slightly hunted expression about them. In most of my memories of him, he looked like that, but I wanted to think about him happy and carefree now, with his pups and his loving mate and everything he needed to be happy.
Maybe I'd send him the picture once it was done—he might like that. I'd have to take money for a stamp and an envelope out of the grocery money, but I didn't think Degan would notice it. He hardly looked at the accounts, as long as there was food when he wanted it, and I didn't run out of anything he used.
Yes, that's what I'd do.
But first, the sun was up high enough now that the laundry was likely finished. I rolled my picture carefully up to keep from smudging it and tucked it into a pocket, then headed for my now-quiet washer and home.
C H A P T E R 5
T wo days before Midwinter Moon, Degan came home for lunch as usual, bringing Pip and Anna with him. Henry was still too young for school, so he stayed home with me, but I had to admit that I was glad that Pip was old enough to go. That pup got into more mischief than any three other pups, though she meant no harm. She was just full of energy and the most curious creature on earth—I felt sorry for her that she would never be able to follow that curiosity like a human child would be able to. But at least in school she had a chance of slaking some of that never-ending curiosity about everything. And someone else got to wrack their brains trying to find an answer that satisfied her.
Our larder was getting down—today's lunch was a combination of leftovers from the past couple of days and some finely chopped meat that I stewed in honey and garlic mixed with water until it practically fell apart on the fork. Degan grunted and ate, holding little Henry on his lap and sharing bites of food with him while Henry played with a little wooden car he'd gotten from Midwinter Wolf last year.
"Da," Ann said thoughtfully. "What's a millstone?"
"Why?" Degan asked and scooped up another forkful of meat, shoving it into his mouth. For some reason, his table manners irritated me today and I looked away, down at my own plate with its meager meal. I tried to make everything stretch as far as I could but I could see that if things didn't change soon I'd have to start skipping meals in order to keep the ravenous horde fed. Although, if the puppy sickness didn't ease off soon, that might not be a problem. I pushed my lunch around on my plate and pretended to eat.
"Where did you hear about a millstone?" I asked Ann and pointed toward her peas to remind her that she needed to eat them too. Unlike Pip, who ate everything you put in front of her and could often be found staring longingly at everyone else's plates, she was choosier about what she'd put in her mouth and it showed in her delicate frame and pale face. Her nose was running, and I got up to get a handkerchief and made her blow it before she went back to eating.
"Ivory said that Da had a millstone holding him down and then she pushed me on the ground."
I winced at how matter-of-fact her tone was—I was an omega, and Degan not a particularly high-ranking alpha, which meant our pups were occasionally the brunt of other pups dominant behaviors. Rather like Bax's pups had fallen to the bottom of the pack hierarchy after Patrick had died.
