Chapter 20:
Oberon thought he’d finally gotten Fenrir talking.
But then the omega had gone quiet on him again.
At least he was still here and not trying to leave.
He spent the next hour watching his omega move about the room, giving him the contemplative space Fenrir so clearly needed. O had returned to the bed, sitting on the edge, allowing the silence to stretch between them, until it settled into a comfortable sort of quiet that could almost be considered nice.
Truthfully, he’d been anxious. Afraid that Fenrir would try to run from this, from them, without even attempting to give it a chance. They’d been interrupted right at the climax, and he still didn’t know how the omega was feeling.
It had to be unsettling to wake up and discover you had a mate, but then Fenrir had said all that stuff about accepting him. About wanting to build.
About wanting in general.
Oberon could work with that. He knew nothing of the world if not desire. How to feed it, satisfy it.
Make it grow.
He’d do the latter. Stoke the flames within the omega the same way Fenrir was currently stoking the embers in the fireplace.
Fenrir had pulled it out of the corner and moved it to the center of the room, next to the large, square, black fur rug. He hadn’t asked for assistance, not with that, or with the wood, or actually lighting the thing, though upon closer inspection, there was a telling furrow between the omega’s brows.
“Are you all right?” Oberon asked from his perch on the bed, keeping a close eye on him for any clues. Fenrir’s hand was gripping the end of the poker, holding it as far back as he could without losing control of it. “Are you afraid of fire, precious?”
The omega bristled but didn’t turn or falter in his task. “Fire is fine.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “It’s not the flames on their own it’s…” His head tipped toward the window, glancing outside briefly before turning his attentions back. “The idea of being trapped with no escape from the heat.”
“Heat? Does this have something to do with your abilities?” Fenrir could control the temperature, could make things colder. Were there perhaps conditions in which his ability would be prevented?
“Taking notes, King?”
“I trust you.” He meant it. “You’re my omega.”
Fenrir snorted, and O allowed the conversation to die for now, watching as the fire was finished and the omega got up and began preparing a meal from the ingredients on the shelves.
“Were you often left to your own devices as the Wolf?” he broke the silence a bit later, when Fenrir was nearly done.
“We’ve discussed my treatment.”
“Not at length.”
“Not now.”
O sighed. “What would you like to talk about then?”
“You remembered a stove, but no table?” Fenrir carried two bowls of noodles over. He handed one to Oberon, but as soon as O took it, he walked away.
O scowled when Fenrir settled onto the rug, then stood with a flourish and went to join him, a bit miffed when his omega gave no reaction and simply blew on his food before taking a bite. “I never expected to actually use this place.”
“That’s sort of what emergency safehouses are for, though, right? The unexpected.”
“I can’t tell if you’re chiding me.”
“Eat before it gets cold.”