THE MOUSE AND THE WOLF

The silence in the dining hall was so total, Eltonia could hear the wax dripping from the candles.

Oreon’s cold eyes were locked on hers, and she couldn't understand what was going through his head. She felt pinned, like a butterfly to a board,  as her cheeks burned with a shame that wasn't hers.

Then, the scrape of his chair on the stone floor was like a loud bell.

Oreon stood, his full Alpha height dominating the room. He didn’t look at Lady Melissa. He just wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed it neatly on the table.

"Lady Melissa," he said, all the warmth gone. "You are... forward. Perhaps you are tired from your journey."

He finally turned his gaze to her, and her drunken, flirtatious smile withered. She saw the ice, too.

"I... I was just..." she stammered.

"The night is over," Oreon cut in. He looked at his uncle. "Abram. See to our guest."

He gave a sharp nod. And then, his eyes flicked back to Eltonia, who was still holding the water pitcher with a death grip.

"Eltonia. You are dismissed."

The two sentences, spoken in the same clipped, authoritative tone, struck her like a double blow. He had dismissed them both. The obnoxious guest... and the servant.

She bowed her head, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face. "Yes, Alpha."

She turned and fled.

She didn't stop until she was back in the echoing stone hallway, her heart rabbiting against her ribs. She deposited the silver pitcher in the service alcove, her hands finally, finally allowing themselves to shake.

He was in pain. She knew he was. That drunken woman had made it worse. And he had dismissed her.

She wouldn't be able to give him his massage tonight. He had dismissed her.

But he would still need his tea. The migraine tea. That was her duty, and he hadn't forbidden that.

Clinging to that small purpose, Eltonia hurried down the back stairs, away from the cold grandeur of the Alpha’s halls and into the humid, loud, comforting noise of the main kitchens.

It was another world. Here, the air was thick with the smell of roasting garlic, baking bread, and the poignant, clean scent of herbs. Coppers and irons hung from the rafters, and a dozen other pack members—Omegas, Deltas, and even some Betas who preferred cooking to fighting—bustled about, cleaning up from the disastrous dinner.

"By the Moon, you look like you wrestled a snow-cat," a sharp voice cut through the din.

Eltonia looked up and offered a weak smile. Lyra, her oldest friend, was kneading dough on a massive flour-dusted table, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Lyra was a true pack Omega; she was born to it, as her mother was, and she had a no-nonsense pragmatism that Eltonia had always envied.

"It was... loud, Lyra," Eltonia murmured, moving to the herb-drying rack.

Lyra snorted, punching the dough with unnecessary force. "Loud? I heard her from the scullery! Sounded like a dying pheasant." She dropped her voice into a high-pitched, nasal screech. "'When do we get started on the heir?'"

A few of the other kitchen staff snickered, and Eltonia’s face burned all over again.

"She actually said that? Out loud?" Lyra looked scandalized. "Shameless. Absolutely no grace. I'm surprised the Alpha didn't skin her on the spot. What did he do?"

"He dismissed her. And me," Eltonia said quietly as her fingers found the familiar dried willow bark and rosemary.

Lyra stopped kneading. Her sharp brown eyes softened, and she wiped a floury hand on her nose, leaving a white streak. "Ah. He lumped you in with that."

"He's in pain," Eltonia said, already defensive. "His neck. She was stressing him." She began to crush the herbs with a mortar and pestle, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump a comfort to her.

"He's always in pain," Lyra's voice dropped so only Eltonia could hear. "That's why he keeps you so close, isn't it?" She leaned in. "The 'Omega's Burden,' my ma calls you. The only one who can soothe the beast."

"It's not like that," Eltonia whispered as her cheeks grew hot. "He's my Alpha. He... he saved me."

"I know he did, 'Tonia. I was there, remember?" Lyra's voice was gentle now. "We were both just pups, watching the North Wing burn. My ma and I were safe in the servants' block. Your family... they were high-born. They were in the heart of it."

Eltonia’s hands stilled. She didn't like remembering the fire. The smell of smoke. The screaming. The heavy beam pressing the life out of her... and then his hands, pulling her free.

Lyra’s family had been attendants to Eltonia’s family before the fire had taken them. In a way, Lyra was the only one left who even remembered that Eltonia was once... more.

"My gratitude is not a 'burden,' Lyra. It's my life."

"Gratitude is one thing," Lyra argued, returning to her dough. "Wasting your entire life on a man who will never see you as anything but a hot towel and a pair of hands? That's another."

"He does see me! He talks to me. Every night."

"He talks at you," Lyra corrected, not unkindly. "Does he know your favorite food is honey-cakes from the larder? Does he know you're still terrified of lightning? Does he know you can't stand the color yellow?"

Eltonia had no answer.

"That's what I thought," Lyra said. She sighed, "Look, I just... I hate this for you. This whole 'selection' is a circus, and Abram is the ringmaster. This Melissa one? She's just the first clown."

"What about Lady Holly?" Eltonia asked, scooping the crushed herbs into a small muslin bag. "She was at dinner. She... she looked like she wanted to murder Lady Melissa."

Lyra let out a sharp laugh. "Pfft. Lady Holly is always angry. She’s been sniffing at the Alpha’s heels since they were pups, just waiting for him to notice she’s a female. She thinks she's the real Luna-in-waiting."

"She's his friend," Eltonia defended weakly.

"She's an obstacle," Lyra said, hard. "She hates this whole selection. But most of all? She hates you."

Eltonia’s head snapped up. "Me? Why me? I am an Omega. I am no threat."

Lyra gave her a look that was equal parts pity and exasperation. "Are you that blind, 'Tonia? You're the little mouse who lives in his walls. You see him every night. You're the one who comforts him. You get to touch him."

She gestured with a floury hand. "Holly is the wolf at the door, but you... you're already inside. And in her eyes, that makes you the most dangerous thing in this entire packhouse."

A gripping fear settled in Eltonia’s stomach, heavier than the uneaten dinner. "I... I have to take him his tea."

"Right." Lyra nodded. "Go on. Soothe the beast." Her eyes held a new warning. "But just remember what I said, 'Tonia. Mice get stepped on by wolves."

Eltonia picked up the small tray with the steaming mug and the pot of honey. She walked back through the now-silent halls. The kitchen's warmth slowly faded as the cold stone of the Alpha's wing chilled her to the bone.

She reached his study. The heavy door was cracked open, just an inch.

She was about to knock, to announce herself as she always did, but she heard voices. One was Oreon's, low and tight with pain.

The other was Holly's.

"...absolutely shameless, Oreon. Abram is making a mockery of you. A mockery of our pack!"

"It is... noted, Holly," Oreon's voice was strained. "You don't need to..."

"Yes, I do need to. Someone needs to protect you from that vipers' nest Abram is building. And that... that child he's parading around..."

Eltonia pushed the door open, her heart pounding. "Alpha? I... I brought your tea."

Oreon was not on the massage table. He was slumped in his high-backed chair by the fireplace, one hand rubbing his temple, looking pale.

Holly was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. She turned around, looking beautifully angry.

"What are you doing here?" Holly snapped.

"I... my duty. The tea, for his headache..." Eltonia stammered as she held the tray up as a shield.

Holly took a step to block Eltonia's path to the Alpha. Her voice dropped to a possessive hiss.

"I'll handle him tonight, Omega."

She plucked the mug of tea from Eltonia's tray.

"Go back to the kennels, or wherever it is you sleep," Holly sneered, "The adults are handling this."