Page 24 of Bound for Their Pleasure

He is merely a man who took me under his wing, but it fucking guts me that he never got to read those words.

Change comes for us whether we will it or not.

As I would know.

I am young and highly regarded and have been offered command positions of my own. They gave me a fucking medal after my last mission. Yet the adventure has gone out of Aston and me, and the landscape of the war is changing. The Blighten have been pushed back in many places. With fewer troops needed, they are open to releasing soldiers from duty.

We have already been granted special leave to return Edward’s possessions, but Aston and I talked, making plans for a different future, and requested permanent release instead. Two days ago, permission was granted. Now, we are just waiting on the release papers.

A knock sounds on the door, and a young beta pokes his head around the door. “The captain sent this for you.”

I put the unopened letter down on the table. “Thank you.” My heart rate quickens as I take the scroll from the lad. When I arrived here, I couldn’t read a word—Edward saw that I had lessons, just one of many seemingly small yet significant changes he made in my life. Breaking the seal, I quickly read through the official release.

“You are leaving then, sir?”

“Aye, it would seem that I am.”

A flash of ginger shoots past the lad’s legs as the mangy tabby cat that keeps the base clear of rats darts in.

I curse. The lad chuckles. “I’ll get him out!”

And so begins a merry fucking chase. Arnold, the resident tabby, while an excellent mouser, is also a sour, battle-scarred bastard.

The lad, young, enthusiastic, and hapless, dives for the beast. The cat leaps for the table, knocking over a pitcher of water.

“Got him!” The young, jubilant beta clasps a bedraggled Arnold to his chest. His jubilation turns to a grimace as the pitcher rolls off and drops to the floor. Miraculously, it is still whole. “He knocked the pitcher over.”

“So I see.” I stab my thumb in the direction of the door.

“I’ll take him out, then!” The lad flees. It’s only now that I see the final letter lying in a puddle of water.

“Fuck!” I open it—a little frantic that the ink will run. If I can spread it out, it might dry.

I don’t mean to read it, yet the word just pops out at me, and before I can think better, I’m drawing it closer to my eyes… which is when Aston returns to the room we share.

His eyes go from the open envelope to the soggy letter in my hands. “Whose letter is that?”

It is a pertinent fucking question given I have no family and have never received a letter before. “Edward’s,” I admit.

“Why would you fucking read it?!”

My hand is shaking. “I was” —I point at the fallen pitcher, and the water still pooled on the table— “only trying to dry it.”

“Well, you don’t need to fucking read it to dry it,” he says, scowling at me as he stalks over.

My gut tightens, but not from shame at reading the letter. No, it is about that word. “Read it.” I thrust the limp paper out.

He takes a step back, waving a hand. “I don’t want to fucking read it!”

“Read it!”

He takes it with a huff. His eyebrows go up first, then his jaw locks before his eyes lift to meet mine. “An omega.”

“It has gotten a little smudged. But her mother mentioned that the lass has taken to layering her bed like one might do with a nest.”

“Has she revealed?” He squints at the paper, which is sticking together in places, made worse by his less-than-gentle handling.

“Really? Are you not even a little interested in this news? You have done nothing but talk about the lass. How pretty she is. How you were convinced she would become an omega. How you have been waiting for the word so that you may travel back and claim her.”

---