Chapter 7


    Baron’s Revenge ns


    They had both fallen to sleep as the afternoon wore into evening and the storm broke overhead, the


    steady beat of rain against the window ss soothing them. Hey big, hot, and heavy over her, and


    still within her, and that sated her heat for long enough that she had slept and woken before him,


    allowing her the opportunity to enjoy the novelty of her handsome husband sleeping over her.


    There was a false intimacy to it, she thought with sorrow as she felt the rise and fall of his chest, the


    steady beat of his heart, the caress of his breath against her skin. False because although theyy skin


    to skin, and joined, he was not her lover, she could not stroke her hands over the hot silk of his skin,


    nor feel the tumbled curls wrap around her fingers as shebed them back from his face.


    He would not wake and lift, smiling, to kiss her. The only kiss they had ever shared had been the


    perfunctory, closed mouth kiss on their wedding day, and he had kissed her and released her as


    quickly as possible.


    And then spent the reception talking business amongst the pack hierarchy, before disappearing when


    they had returned to his home, only returning to her in the early hours of the morning, whiskey fumes


    heavy on his breath.


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    He had never slept the night in her bed. When he came to her, he would leave again immediately after,


    often without even exchanging a word. Even on the wedding night, when, drunk as he was, it would


    have seemed natural for him to roll over and go to sleep, he had gotten up, rearranged the clothing he


    had not fully removed, and left.


    She had been shocked and bewildered on the night. It was only in the morning when she had gone


    down to the breakfast table to find Angelique already seated there, beautiful, elegant and alpha, in an


    almost sheerce slip and matching robe that had slipped off her shoulder and all but exposed her


    breast, sipping tea and eating grapefruit, that Jane had realised that there were three in the marriage,


    and she, Jane, the legal wife, was the unwee third wheel.


    She had skipped breakfast every morning since.


    He shifted against her, the change in his breathing telling her that he was awake. “I will untie you so


    that you can use the bathroom and eat,” he said softly.


    “Mmm,” she swallowed hard, and turned her face away as he lifted to untie her wrists, in order to hide


    that she wept. As soon as he released her, she rolled out of the bed, her legs almost giving under her


    as she stood.


    “Carefully,” he rmended over his shoulder, sitting on the edge of the bed on the opposite side.


    “You don’t want to cause yourself an injury.”


    She had a shower, washing the slime of seed from her inner thighs. She had lost count of how many


    times they had f-ked, but she was beginning to ache from it, her stomach muscles sore from the clench


    of orgasm, and her skin felt as if she had been painted ine and sweat. She had to condition her


    hair twice before she was able to run her fingers through it without catching on tangles, it had be


    so matted from being pushed against the mattress and pillows as he thrusted over her.


    She dried and put on the robe. When she stepped out into the room, Baron was not there, and the


    scent of sex was thick and heavy inspiring her to open a window despite the rain in order to air it out.


    The sheets were twisted and tangled, with the tide marks ofe and sweat stains ringing where she


    hadin causing her to blush and strip off the top sheet, bundling it up and pushing it deep into the


    hamper in the bathroom.


    Another day, she thought. Estrus in werewolves normallyst two to three days, although being her first


    cycle, it could be longer or shorter. Please, she thought, please let it be a short cycle.


    Baron returned as she finished putting the bed to order, carrying a fresh tray, which he ced on the


    dresser.


    There was a pot of tea on the tray. “I wasn’t sure if you took milk, or not?” He said, and there was a hint


    of something to his voice that had her turning her head to look at him. He was embarrassed, she


    realised, that he did not know how she took her tea.


    “With lemon, like you, or ck if there is no lemon,” she told him.


    “You know how I drink my tea,” he was surprised.


    She knew, she thought, because of that agonizing breakfast the morning after their wedding. Every


    detail of that meal was engraved into her mind. “Yes.”


    “Hmm,” he was frowning when he turned with her teacup and saucer. She took it from him and sat on


    the bed to drink it. He leaned his hips against the dresser and flicked through his phone as he sipped


    his tea. “What am I doing?” He asked her.


    “Working, I guess,” she wondered what he expected her to say.


    “Are you not even the slightest bit curious?” He held the phone carelessly in his hand, the heel of his


    palm against the dresser.


    She finished her tea and stood to ce it back onto the tray. Under the cloche was cold meat and fruit.


    She dropped the cloches back into ce, the idea of eating impossible with so much tension in the air.


    “Yes,” she said softly. “But I am an omega. We exist to serve those higher in rank. It is not my ce to


    interrupt you with questions whilst you are working.”


    “Hmm,” he caught her around the waist, holding her against him whilst he considered her. “I just bought


    a building. Asset by asset, I am slowly reiming the position that my family held before my


    grandfather’s murder. I intend to re-establish the Western pack and discover who murdered my


    grandfather and masterminded the demise of our pack.”,


    She stared up at him in shock. “That is. quite an ambition” she told him nervously.


    “One that I am well on the way to achieving,” he was quietly confident. “Though there is no way to


    reim the lost treasures of the pack without bringing my grandfather’s murderer to justice.”


    “Whoever killed your grandfather, Baron,” she could feel the rise of the heat again creeping slowly


    through her, the scent of him, the proximity at which he held their bodies with only the thin satin slip of


    their robes between them adding to its power, but she didn’t want to interrupt such an important


    conversation, the first real conversation they had had and one that he had instigated. “They would have


    had to be very powerful, and they will not want this secret toe to the light.”


    “No,” he agreed. “So, for now, we will just keep this conversation between us, hmm?” He leaned


    forward and brushed his lips against the side of her neck, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head in


    order to expose her throat to him, to his touch, his breath and the soft caress of his mouth causing her


    to moan.