Page 2 of Omega and the Beast
1
Callista
Three years later
Papa was supposedto be back by now.
It was the same thought she’d had every morning for the past week.
Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Callista stared out the window at the road as she washed the dish she’d used for lunch, as if by staring hard enough she could make him appear. It wasn’t just that she worried about him or missed him, although both of those things were true. She had run out of her heat suppressants this morning. If he didn’t return soon, she would have to shut herself in the basement and hope no one disturbed her.
She’d only run out twice before — once when she was eighteen and once last year, and both times, Papa had been there to see her through it and cover for her absence. This time, he’d been sure he’d be able to get them and return home before she ran out.
Something had gone wrong.
Her stomach twisted, and even though she knew her heat couldn’t possibly be starting yet, a little spurt of fear trickled through her.
A lone figure appeared on the road, one she instantly knew, but it was not her father’s carriage.
In his long, white robe, rather than the trousers and shirt the rest of the village males wore, Father Conal’s imposing figure was unmistakable. Callista grit her teeth. He’d appeared on her doorstep every day for the past week, an unwelcome reminder that her father wasn’t home yet, and every day he became bossier. The first day she’d invited him in for tea; after that, she’d found reason to keep him outside.
“Blast,” she muttered under her breath, as if afraid he could hear, and punish, even from this distance.
Rinsing her dish, she set it on the counter to dry, hurrying over to grab her shawl and wrap it around her dress. Picking up her leather gloves and bucket of gardening tools, she ducked out the back door. She had just enough time to kneel down and start digging in the dirt before she heard the faint sound of knocking at the front door.
Getting back to her feet, she quickly took a handful of dirt and cast it against her apron and layered skirts. There, that looked convincing enough. Walking around the side of the house, she waited until she saw Father Conal turn his head and see her before she began taking off her gloves.
“Father Conal!” she greeted him, acting as surprised as she could. “Back again? Has there been news of my father?”
It was the same way she’d greeted him every day, and as always, he shook his head, lifting his chin pompously. The fabric of his robes was a bit discolored at the bottom, but the fact they were white at all was a reminder that he did verylittle work. By contrast, Callista and the rest of the villagers wore darker colors in heavier, sturdier fabrics that didn’t show the wear and tear as much.
“No, Callista, no news of your father yet,” Father Conal announced in his usual supercilious tone, but there was a new note in it as well, one she hadn’t heard before. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I… what?” She blinked, taking a step back. There was something about his posture she really didn’t like, that made her thinkdanger.He wasn’t behaving in a threatening manner, but he was looking at her with an odd light in his eyes she’d never seen before.
“You’re a young woman, living alone?—”
“I live with my father,” she said sharply, not caring that she was being rude by interrupting him.
“Your father, who has not returned… and who may not return.” His lips twitched minutely at her flinch before he adopted a more placating posture. He reached out to comfort her, but Callista took another step back, avoiding his touch. He smiled at this, too, collecting these signs of unease the same way he collected coins from the already-impoverished villagers, and likely for the same reason, to count and recount as he sat alone in his lavish chambers, reveling in his superiority.
“I do not wish to distress you, my dear, but certain realities must be faced. Your father is one of the brave men of our town who has chosen the dangerous profession of traveling, and while such men are needed, sometimes… things happen, and they don’t return. We’ve been blessed by the Gods that it has been so long since we’ve lost one of our own, but it may be the time has come again.”
“He’s fine, he’s just… late.” Callista’s throat felt tight. Scratchy. Her eyes watered, but she blinked back the tears, refusing to let them fall under the gaze of the cruel priest, who didn’t look at all upset at implying her father was dead.
“Of course, my dear,” he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy that grated painfully over her ears. “I just wanted to offer you my support… and also assure you that you will have my protection, no matter what has happened.”
“Your protection?” Her voice was starting to sound shrill, her thoughts struggling to understand what he was saying. Why would she need his protection?
“A female living on her own… it can be dangerous. There are many males in the village who have been interested in approaching your father, offering themselves as your mate. So far, he has kept them all at bay.”
Callista blinked. Her father had never mentioned such a thing to her, but then he wouldn’t have. “And are you offering to keep them at bay?”
“In a manner.” Father Conal smiled in a way that made her want to take another step back. “If you were my wife, then, of course, they wouldn’t bother you.”
“Your wife?” Her voice came out as a squeak as her hand flew up to her throat. She’d never sounded like that before in her life, but then she’d never been so horrified, either.
Father Conal was older even than her father, not to mention smug, patronizing and self-important. Not someone she would ever want to marry, even if he had been closer to her age.
