“That was thoughtful,” his omega told him. “But unnecessary.”
“How come?”
“I know you’d never bring me anywhere dangerous. I trust you. Just like you trust me. Thanks, by the way. For letting me do that. Even if it did end up with me almost becoming barbeque.”
“I’m guessing you don’t remember everything?” Oberon asked.
“Not all of it.”
“Happen to recall how you ended up locked in a room that was on fire?”
His omega grimaced. “Remember when we first met? You asked me how much it would cost to buy my honesty. Well, for this? An unfathomable amount. Seriously. If I had to recount to you how absolutely reckless and hot headed I was—”
“You, hot headed?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“It was my fault. I wasn’t careful enough. If I had to give you all the details, I would die of humil—”
Oberon was up out of his seat and pressing his mouth over Fenrir’s in a flash. He kissed him quickly, mostly to shut him up, and then bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Ignoring the heated look on Fenrir’s face when he pulled back, he plopped back down into his chair.
“I don’t want to hear you and death spoken in the same sentence again ever. Is that understood, omega?” It didn’t matter that they’d both survived the ordeal. “As for whether or not you were rash at the auction house, let me make myself clear. You can kill whoever you like. I won’t stop you. But you aren’t allowed to take your own life. That belongs to me, and it’s nonrefundable.”
When Fenrir merely dropped his chin, Oberon took pity on him.
“Fiora studied the bodies you left. She said it looked like you’d used your ability to kill over a dozen people before whatever happened with Trick went down. She’s hypothesized the overuse of your Shout abilities probably clouded your judgment. Shouts are known for their temper and brash nature. Their energy makes them, as you’ve put it, hot headed.”
“How convenient,” Fenrir drawled, clearly still embarrassed.
“Not really,” he disagreed. “It means I have to keep a closer eye on my omega to make sure he doesn’t cross any more lines.”
“King.” Fenrir groaned and covered his face with a palm.
Which was cute as all hell.
“Ready to hear about Michelle?” Oberon asked.
“You mean she’s not rotting in the ground somewhere?”
“Would you like the good news or the bad news first?”
Fenrir dropped his hand and licked his lips. “Bad news.”
“She isn’t dead.”
“And the good news?”
Oberon grinned. “She isn’t dead.”
“I’m going to need you to elaborate on why any part of that can be considered good.”
“Because.” He lifted the hand he still held and kissed the back of Fenrir’s knuckles. “I gave her to Fiora.”
Fenrir’s responding smile was worth eleven million coin all on its own.
Epilogue: