“Jose, Trick, Michelle.”
Fenrir set his bowl to the side, interest piqued. “Why?”
“It looks like Jose is a nuisance but not the worst, so I’d offer him a quick death,” O explained. “Trick is a follower, so I’d torture him. Get names and any information out of him I could.”
“And Michelle? Why would you let her live?”
“Because death is too kind for some people. I’d make sure she suffered every day for the rest of her miserable life.” Oberon ate a bite of his mostly cold noodles but didn’t complain. Then asked casually, “Does that bother you?”
“That you would torment someone?”
“That I would toss Michelle to Fiora and let her experience every ounce of the horror and agony that she made you endure.” O noted the way Fenrir’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the Butcher. He definitely had an issue with doctors, maybe scientists, or people wearing white coats in general. That was a trauma they were going to have to work through.
“I’m not a good person either,” Fenrir ended up saying, turning his head to gaze out at the night. It was too dark to see much outside the window, but the firelight reflection flickered in the glass, and his gaze landed there. “Maybe I was, once. I can’t remember.”
“The White Frost has a reputation, as do I. I don’t need a weak partner, precious. I’ll take you as you are. You don’t have to be good.” He leaned in and captured Fenrir’s chin, forcing his gaze back onto him. “You just have to behave.” His thumb traced the omega’s bottom lip. “You’re so alluring. Everything about you. Right from the start.”
“Is that why you bid on me?” Fenrir didn’t pull away.
“Yes.”
“Is it why you bit me?”
The corner of Oberon’s mouth twitched, but he caught himself. “Yes. I wanted to possess you. I still do.”
“The claiming bite altered my—”
He heaved a sigh and lightly pushed the omega away. “I don’t want to hear about how my pheromones subdued yours.”
“But that’s what happened. My energy frequency recalibrated to match the change in my pheromones after you formed the bond. You said it yourself back at the cottage. My Shout nature only recognizes you now, and my omega nature is no different. You’re my alpha.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Fenrir thought it over. “Fine.”
“Fine?” He snorted derisively. “That’s it?”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say, King.”
“I want you to tell me that you don’t think I’m anything like her,” he snapped, momentarily losing his composure. Then he ducked his head and scarfed down half the noodles when the omega went quiet on him all over again.
“Don’t most alphas on this planet claim their mates in much the same way you did?” Fenrir finally asked once Oberon’s bowl was empty. “This isn’t Glyph. We don’t have as many rights or expectations here.”
“What are your expectations?”
“I told you,” Fenrir searched his gaze, “I want this to be real.”
“It is.”
“Because you find me alluring?”
“Because I like how you think being a good omega means being subservient,” he said. “And I like how bad at it you are.”
“I was born a Shout and an alpha,” Fenrir reminded.
“That has nothing to do with it. Again, precious, presentation isn’t a personality trait.”
Fenrir stared at him for a minute. “You aren’t at all what I expected.”