Page 141 of Ruled By The Alpha

“There are few among the King’s troops, and none among my Estrukkar.”

Female Alphas are rare, but not so rare there should be none among the King’s front line troops. “By design?”

My Alpha shrugs. “None have applied, but I’d not welcome any who did.”

“Because you don’t believe women can excel as soldiers?”

He chuckles. “Are you trying to bait me into taking off my trousers?” He traces my lips again. “I thought I’d spend the next score of years celibate. I encouraged celibacy among my men both to have company in my abstinence and to show their devotion to the King’s cause.”

“Will you tell your troops of us?” I ask, playing my fingers along the band of his trousers, teasing and tempting, but also because I can’t keep my hands off him, even after that first delightful bout. “That you’ve broken your vow?”

“It wasn’t a vow,” he explains. “Only my fate. They know. The whole court does. The courtiers were singing songs about the ‘King’s fiction,’ when Uncle Jus and I rode out.”

“If all know, why the lie?”

“To satisfy the court scribes who claim I can’t inherit and the Mother’s priests who seek to sabotage any to whom the King shows favor.”

I shake my head. There are always politics in village and hai, but the King’s court sounds like a snake pit. I’m glad I won’t be asked to attend.

“Do you despise me for playing the King’s game?” he asks.

“No. I understand, as a Tower Omega might not, the ways of the world. A man without a House does whatever he must to survive.”

Morgan’s hand drops to my forearm. He traces the tattoo of House Feann inscribed there: the black feathers of the ancient, wise bird spreading from wrist to elbow. His arms, his chest, are bare of tattoos, even though his House has claimed him.

“I have done much,” he admits. “But not this. Not what we’re about to do. I feel a fool, not wanting you to see all of me.”

“Are you shaped like other men?” I ask. “Other Alphas you have seen?”

He nods. “In all our ugliness.”

I finally understand. I slide my hand over his hip, stroke his thigh. “Men may look ugly to other men, but I promise I don’t find men so. There’s great beauty in a man’s desire, proud and flushed and straining.”

His eyes lift to mine, his slanted black brows beetling over them. “Do you really think so?”

“I do.”

“And the—” He waves vaguely at the tent in his trousers.

“The... outcome? ‘Tis natural. No more displeasing than mine, which you seem to find palatable.”

He chuckles. “Your slick is sweet. Delicate like the spring’s first honey but earthy, too. Like a persimmon. A man’s outcome is rank like the seashore after a storm.”

That draws a laugh out of me. “You spend too much time in the barracks. It’s only rank when it’s stale. Fresh, ‘tis an oyster, hot from the pot, strong and sharp and rich from the sea.”

His lips twitch around his fangs. “A rotten oyster, maybe.”

“I swear it’s not so.”

“You’ll not be disgusted by my form or... function?”

“I promise I won’t, but if the worry will distract you from enjoying our joining, let me offer you a Maiden’s Modesty.” I slide up to my knees and over to one corner of the bower, where I untie a sash that keeps the curtains rolled during the winter. Crawling back to my Alpha, I delight in the rill of heat that runs through my blood when his expression grows heavy and intent, watching the sway of my breasts and hips. I hand him the sash.

“I’ll suffer the humiliation,” he says. “To see you.”

I smile gently. “It’s for me. Blindfold me, my Alpha. Take away my sight so you might know no humiliation, only joy.”

His face compresses in something like pain. “You’ll let me?”

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