Slings and Arrows 5

Slings and Arrows 

Chapter 5

Scott stared at Monty. God, the man could be gorgeous; no, he was gorgeous. Monty’s eyes trapped Scott in a hypnotic gaze. Scott wanted this man. He was an idiot; he wanted this man who was going to own his soul.

“Don’t panic.” Monty’s voice was warm, a balm to Scott’s shaking nerves. 

“Right, don’t panic,” Scott said with an attempt at self-deprecating humor. “I turn into a flipping wild animal, and I’m not supposed to panic. I practically up chuck in a stranger’s sink. Ah, yes, still no need for panic. I’m the whipping boy of a group of those same said wild animals. Me panic—never. It’s a walk in the park.”

“Stop.” Monty wrapped his arm around Scott’s waist and pulled him close. 

“I’m just supposed to stop. I’ve landed in the middle of a fucking computer game, but the only problem is that it’s real. I can’t power down or pull the plug. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to obey me,” Monty said in a steady voice. “You’re my omega.”

“That’s what I keep being told.” Scotts voice was spiraling higher in frustration. He was dangerously close to tears. Great, he could be nauseated and tearful. Those were great manly qualities. “So I follow you around like a good little boy and all will be well. Do Brent and Victor get to fuck me too? It that part of a beta’s rights?”

The snarl from Monty’s lips was frightening. Scott lowered his eyes and resisted a strange urge to flatten his ears. His ears weren’t mobile. Of course as a wolf, they would be. If Scott had ever watched the National Geographic Channel, he’d probably know something about wolf behavior. He wasn’t a wolf; he didn’t care about wolf behavior.

“No one touches you but me. You are my mate.” Monty stepped closer, pushing Scott back against the counter. His lips touched Scott, at first gentle then powerful and claiming. Scott stood panting as Monty eased back, a fierce look on his handsome face. “Mine.” 

Monty’s. It should be overwhelmingly frightening. If Scott though about it rationally, it was overwhelmingly frightening. He was a pawn in a game that he didn’t understand, but, God, it felt good. Scott could still taste Monty’s lips on his. Scott rubbed his hand over his face. No, he wasn’t falling into some crazed sexual haze. He had to keep his wits about them, no matter how addled they currently felt.

“What is the omega?” Scott had to ask the question. It didn’t matter how fucking handsome and breathtaking Monty was in his faded flannel shirt and worn jeans that did little to hide the well defined and impressive package; Scott wasn’t the hero in a romance film or worse a porn flick. There was more to life than the physical sensations that seemed to be overwhelming him.

It was Monty’s turn to run his hand over his face and brush the shiny, black strands of hair from his face. “I know little of this role,” Monty said slowly. “It’s surrounded by myth and lost in the legends of time”

“This is my fucking life, not some fucking game,” Scott shouted, jerking away from Monty and immediately regretting the flare of spots and the curl of nausea that churned his guts. “You’re not some game master.” Scott gripped the counter, trying to swallow the waves of bile that kept threatening to launch from his mouth. “Lost in the mist of time doesn’t do shit for me.”

“You and Brent have an equally delightful vocabulary. I’m surprised you didn’t hit it off.”

“How can you be joking?”

“Scott,” Monty said, gripping Scott’s chin in a calloused hand. “I have no more control of this than you. I am trapped in the tides of destiny and tradition. As alpha I must take you as my mate. Each touch of your skin, every whimper and shout from you, drives my heart faster. I can taste you in my mouth; I can feel you on my hands; I can hear you in my ears. You are my mate. I can no more change this than you can. You aren’t my serf or my slave; you are my other half. Come.”

Monty’s grip around Scott’s wrist was too strong to break. Scott followed in Monty’s wake, nearly running to keep up with his long strides. Monty opened a heavy, wood paneled door and dragged Scott into a study, a library, or maybe more correctly a lair. Book shelves rose high to the ceiling, the volumes old and smelling of leather and dust and time. A small fire crackled behind a heavy screen, real, not a gas log. A sheepskin rug filled the floor space in front of the hearth looking both inviting and somehow primitive or even revolting at the same time. A large desk battered by time and heavy use took the remaining space. It wasn’t modern. There were no blinking monitors or scattered smart phones and iPods on the table. 

The room was dark without outside windows. The only light was the fire and the narrow band from the open door. Scott opened a desk drawer and drew out a box of kitchen matches. He struck the match, the flame brilliant in the still air, the acrid smell of smoke and phosphorous assaulting Scott’s nose. Monty lit the wick on an antique light, watching the flame for a moment before replacing the shade.

“Don’t you have electricity?” Scott asked.

“Tradition. The house is wired, but this room holds our memories. Electricity is not a part of our heritage. We must be more aware of the earth than those out there. We are tied to the world in very different ways than those who cannot shift.”

Great. More history mumbo jumbo, Scott thought to himself. 

Monty turned to the shelves. His finger traced the volumes until he pulled out two. “These are the records of the omega.” He flipped to a page, marked with a gold ribbon. “Here.” Monty tapped the page.

Scott peered down at the book. It was a handwritten, tiny cursive with elaborate loops filled the page from margin to margin. Scott read print; he’d been taught to write cursive in elementary school, but it was an art he soon forgot, and reading this was nearly impossible. The letters all looked the same, and the words refused to become more than loops and curves of elegant script.

“What does it say?” Scott asked in frustration.

“As I understand it, this page speaks of Richard and James. ‘The moon rose, the silver light streaking across the top of the trees. The water gurgled over the rocks, a twig cracked, and high above the screech owl declared its presence in the ancient hickory tree. James stood in the small clearing, the moons rays reflecting off his silver coat. He turned his head toward his constant companion. Beside him stalked a wolf, his coat erect down his spine, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He was always with James as wolf or as man. He was the shield to James’s spear,”

“And what does this tell me?” Scott asked. He wanted a straight answer, not riddles and legends and veiled warnings.

“Little if this is your only information. I have combed our ancient recourses. The references are all clouded, but the omega is not a doormat as you referred to it. He is a co-warrior. He shares mastery of the pack. He is submissive to the alpha alone. It is to me that you must yield. The pack is ours, not mine.”

“I don’t have machinations of greatness.”

“You are impossible, pup.” Monty cuffed the back of Scott’s head. First you complain of being a doormat and now you complain of having power.”

Scott let his eyes roam around the room. It was impossible to stare into Monty’s dark and intense gaze without it affecting him. He wanted to see approval in those dark eyes; Scott wanted to see that slight smile twitch at the corner of Monty’s lips. Scott could smell Monty, the scent assaulting his thought and his reason. He wanted to be closer, to breathe nothing but Monty. No. He stepped back and focused his eyes above Monty’s shoulder.

“Let me paraphrase,” Scott said, trying for a tone of abstract professionalism which in the circumstances was ridiculous. “Without my say or my consent, I am your mate, and I am your submissive, however by the taking of your name I am protected from the basest urges of your pack. I sure as hell can’t protect myself. I think your delightful Brent and Victor have proved that,” Scott continued, losing any pretense of rational professionalism. “You can pick me up like a troublesome fly. Would you like me kneeling and lavishing you with sirs and slobber on your boots?”

“Pup,” Monty said in a soft reassuring tone.

“Don’t start.” Scott waved his hand around in a useless dismissive gesture. “Just order me. I’m the omega to crawl on the floor and do your fucking bidding. I don’t need it fucking sugar coated.”

“Enough,” Monty snarled.

Scott jerked back from the tone and the eyes. Monty’s eyes were like obsidian discs, glittering in a way that Scott had previously thought possible only in the bad novels that his mother used to keep hidden behind the cook books.

“Yes, I’m a dominant, or a fucking dominant as you might call it, and you’re my fucking submissive.” Monty growled again and caught Scott’s collar, tightening the cloth around his neck. “I can thrash it into you. Is that what you need, pup?” Monty shook Scott hard at each word. 

Pulling away was impossible with his wind half cut off. Answering was equally impossible. Scott grabbed for Monty’s wrist. “Please,” he choked out. “You’re hurting me.”

“Yes, I am.” Monty practically threw Scott against the wall. “Hands on your head. Nose against the corner.”

“No.” Scott spun around. “I’m not standing in the corner.” He grabbed a book from the shelf and hurled it at Monty. Scott reached for a second missile, but the crash of a hand against his dress trousers sent all brain processes rearward.

“Hands on your head, pup, or I do that again.”

Scott jerked his hands up, interlacing his fingers in a clumsy imitation of what he’d seen on the cop shows. He wasn’t going to risk another one of those spanks. Fire had radiated off the blow. 

“So is this the type of submission you want?” Monty’s voice was a whisper in Scott’s ear: cool and menacing, and insanely causing a stir in Scott’s groin. “I can leave hot handprints on your ass. I can have you on your knees. I can make you the submissive fuck toy you’re so afraid of, or we can play it my way. I am your alpha. I am the pack’s alpha. My word is law, but that doesn’t mean you have no say. It means you advise and guide, but you must adhere to the final decision with exacting obedience. You do not challenge me alone or with the pack.” Monty ran his hand down Scott’s back, firmly kneading the ass he’d just swatted. “My omega is submissive to me, but it’s about a partnership, a generous ceding of your power to me to make us both stronger, not me brutally taking it. I can take it, have no doubt.” Monty stepped back, his hand resting on Scott’s neck. “So what will it be?”

Coffee, tea, or milk? Scott thought inanely. He couldn’t decide in two seconds. It was a choice he shouldn’t have to make. Obey willingly or obey because Monty would knock the shit out of him. This was the twenty-first century. He was a man. He wasn’t consigned to some forced obedience, cheerful or not.

“Scott.” Monty gently turned Scott and ran his thumb down Scott’s cheek. “I want to love you, not hurt you. Both of us have few choices here.”

Scott was fucking crying. He couldn’t stop it. Tears were running down his cheeks, and his hands were still anchored on his head.

“Come here.” Monty’s arms were strong, the embrace unwavering. Scott buried himself in Monty’s chest. His tears soaked Monty’s shirt. “Shh. Put your hands down, sweetheart.” Monty’s fingers weaved between Scott’s, forcing the hands apart and down. “I’ve got you. Shh.”

Scott tried to make himself stop crying, but it seemed beyond any easy solution. He couldn’t just reboot his programming or force quit the errant application. 

“I’m an emotional disaster. Sorry,” Scott finally mumbled.

“The shifting leaves you vulnerable.” Monty fingered Scott’s short hair and kissed his forehead.

“Will I do this from now on?” Scott said, leaning into Monty’s strength, even as his mind was hinting he should pull away.

“It should lessen.”

“But not totally go away.” Scott pulled back from Monty. “I didn’t want this.”

Monty looped his arm over Scott’s shoulders and pulled him close again. “We don’t always get what we want.”

“Fuck you! You don’t even like me. I’m just some burden you have to endure—all for the good of the pack. Ah!” The swat was hard; It shot Scott up onto his toes and drove his voice several octaves higher.

“We will keep doing this until you get it right.”

“How can you be so fucking calm?”

“I’ve know my destiny, and—” Monty wrapped a big hand around the back of Scott’s head and brought their lips close. The kiss was scorching and claiming, and left Scott mind whirling in a tornado of useless thought. “I want you for mine. It doesn’t matter that the choice wasn’t mine. I was never fated to have that choice. What matters is that I want you. Neither part of me, the wolf or the man, can be without your.”

Maybe the conversation would have gone further and the world would have become clearer, but they both heard the crunch of tires on gravel.

“That’s Gregory. He’ll have your stuff,” Monty said.

“I look terrible.” Scott wiped his eyes with his sleeve. They had to be bloodshot and swollen. It wouldn’t’ take the investigative powers of Sherlock Holmes to know that he’d been crying. 

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m red-eyed and tear stained. I look like a hormonal teenage girl.”

“Gregory won’t notice.”

“How could he not?”

“I think the term for it once was airhead.”

“Hey, anyone home?”

“Coming,” Monty called back. “You coming,” Monty asked Scott, “or am I dragging you? I can do that too.”

“Coming,” Scott said with a final swipe at his face. He didn’t doubt that Monty would drag him out to see whomever was at the door, tear stains be damned. 

Monty opened the study door, and a small bundle of black and white fur yipped and jumped and desperately tried to climb Scott’s pants leg. 

“Oreo.” Scott picked up the little dog and cuddled him close to his face. Oreo yapped and licked at Scott’s face, his pink tongue just making contact with Scott’s chin.

“Scott, meet Gregory,” Monty said over the frantic yipping. 

Gregory was thin and pale with his dark hair cut at a stylish angle that half hid his light brown eyes. He held out his hand, but didn’t lift his eyes to meet Monty’s. His handshake was quick as if he wanted to make as little contact as possible.

“Hi,” Gregory mumbled, pulling his hand away and shoving it into his pocket, his shoulders slumped and his body angled away from both Monty and Scott.

“Stand up and make eye contact,” Monty said, his hand grazing Gregory’s shoulder in a gesture of support or maybe a slight threat.

Gregory made a noise between a whine and the universal noise of teenagers and scuffed his socked foot on the hardwood floor.

“I expect you to greet my mate properly,” Monty said in a low growl.

“Yes, sir,” Gregory mumbled with a deeper slump to his shoulders. “Scott, I’m pleased to meet you.” Gregory looked miserable, his face mostly hidden by the fringe of hair, but a scorching pink shown along his cheekbones.

Scott nodded, feeling almost as awkward as Gregory. Scott hadn’t cared that Gregory hadn’t greeted him with whatever Monty defined as proper politeness. Scott wasn’t too far from his own teenage years to remember how it felt to be introduced to people that were as interesting as the trash blowing on the road and who tried to make awkward conversation about college or future careers.

“I see that I have two social butterflies,” Monty said, swiping a heavy hand over both Scott’s and Gregory’s head in an identical light blow. “Gregory is the youngest member of the pack and general errand boy.”

“I am not,” Gregory said hotly.

“You are,” Monty replied, unperturbed by Gregory’s outburst. Monty ruffled Gregory’s dark hair. “Are you staying tonight? You’re father is out of town?”

“I can?” Gregory looked up at Monty a fleeting expression bordering on adoration or hero worship raced across his face before being replaced by teenage angst.

“I would not have asked if I wouldn’t allow it.”

“But--”

“I have a mate. That doesn’t lessen my responsibility to the rest of the pack. I am still the pack’s alpha, and Scott will make me stronger in that role, not weaker.”

“Will you run with me tonight?” Gregory asked softly.

“Not tonight.”

“You won’t let me go alone.”

“No, I won’t.” Monty’s tone had lost its friendliness; this must have been a long standing argument. “Ask Victor or Brent.”

The expression on Gregory’s face would have been comical if it hadn’t been a mirror to Scott’s own feelings. Scott felt young, stupid, and inadequate seeing his own insecurities reflected on a teenage face. His teenage years weren’t something he was interested in reliving; the first time around had been bad enough. He didn’t need the instant replay.

“You take one of them with you, or you don’t shift.” Monty’s voice and expression were hard. This was a man who expected obedience with no argument. Scott had heard it described as willing submission; the submissive was to gracefully yield to the dominant’s request. Scott had imagined it, but he’d never seen it beyond the lip service of people playing at hokey games, and from the set of Gregory’s jaw he wasn’t going to see it today.

“Fine,” Gregory huffed. “I’ll follow my alpha’s idiotic rules.”

Monty moved like lightening; maybe it was the wolf side that allowed him to move so fast. He grabbed Gregory’s collar, lifted him off the floor, and landed several hard slaps in a rapid tattoo on Gregory’s thigh. He tossed Gregory back to the floor. The teenager scrambled to keep his feet and wiped a hand across his face with an angry swipe.

“Are you done?” Monty asked, his body still tense from the quick struggle.

Gregory nodded, his eyes focused on his own socked feet.

“What’s with the resentment?” Monty asked, unbending slightly. “You know better than to fight me.”

“Scott’s here,” Gregory mumbled.

“Yes,” Monty prompted. He moved his hand to rest on Gregory’s shoulder.

“He’s the omega.”

“And what does that mean?” Monty asked. His eyes had shifted to an almost black as he stared at Gregory.

“Nothing,” Gregory mumbled.

The sound of the slap ricocheted off the walls. Gregory jumped and reached back to protect his exposed ass. “Please. Don’t.” He blinked back a sheen of tears.

Scott moved to slide away. This wasn’t his business; he shouldn’t be a spectator to whatever the hell was going on.

“Don’t move.” Monty’s voice ripped through Scott’s body and froze his legs without his brain even processing the order. “You are a member of this pack. Gregory is as answerable to you as he is to me. He seems to be severely misinformed as to the role of the omega.” Monty focussed his attention back toward the hapless Gregory who was struggling not to fidget under Monty’s harsh gaze. “Gregory, what is the role of the omega? What have you been told?”

“Nothing,” Gregory repeated, his slouch deeper, his hands rubbing up and down his slightly grubby jeans.

“What has your father told you?” Monty asked, cupping the back of Gregory’s neck with a large hand and giving him a slight shake.

“He’s the bottom of the pecking order.” Gregory paused and bit his lip. “You fuck him.”

Monty smiled gently and ruffled Gregory’s hair. “It’s not as horrific as you imagine, and our behavior in the bedroom is hardly your business. The other is not as simple. Alone, Scott would be the bottom of the pack, but he is my chosen mate. My status reflects on his rank. He holds a more important position than the gammas. You will defer to him.”

Gregory’s lip trembled, and his brown eyes looked impossibly wide. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “I meant no offense.”

“You’re a good kid.” Monty stroked his hand down Gregory’s back. “Now be good tonight and ask Victor or Brent to take you out for a run. I can feel the energy on you. You need to shift.”

“I like going with you better,” Gregory said shyly.

“I know you do, but you must learn to accept and be comfortable with all your pack mates.”

“They snarl at me.”

“And they have every right to snarl at you. You are a very young and sometimes impertinent gamma. Now go on. Scott and I need some time alone.”

Scott watched Gregory nod and lean into Monty’s touch before walking from the room. Scott bit his own lip and dropped his eyes as Monty’s dark eyes rested on his face. Monty had been decent to the kid, but he hadn’t been easy or compromising, and somehow he hadn’t been quite human. He’d physically touched the boy, and it had been accepted. Gregory didn’t look afraid of Monty, well, maybe a little, but he also seem to genuinely like Monty. He’d wanted to go running through the countryside with Monty or whatever werewolves did.

“Gregory’s young, but he must learn that I won’t always make allowances for his behavior,” Monty said, his eyes still studying Scott. “I won’t hurt him. A good alpha postures and displays, so true violence will not be needed. Do you understand?”

Scott nodded, but he wasn’t sure he understood, but damn it was easier to agree with those dark eyes boring into him than to make trouble. Monty wasn’t flamboyant; he didn’t carry a whip or wear leather chaps, but he reeked of dominance. Scott shuddered inwardly. This frightened him, but paradoxically it excited him in ways he didn’t understand. He knew he was a sexual submissive, but he’d never felt the magnetic pull that Monty seemed to have over him. He’d tried a few times, but it had always seemed so damn phony that he’d about given it up. People in clubs strutting around in strange outfits just didn’t excite him. Saran wrap belonged in the kitchen, not as a sex aid, and licking boots among other things was just gross.

Monty’s lip turned up in a slight smile. It was a guarded smile and did little to make Scott  happier or more relaxed. Monty knew his power, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“Come here, pup.” Monty pointed to the space on the floor between his feet.

Scott thought about resisting. He should walk away; he would walk away if he hadn’t shifted. He ran his hand through his short hair in an unconscious gesture of stress. His mind might fight this, but his body told him he should surrender. He was Monty’s; he belonged to Monty.

Scott’s feet moved slowly; the few feet turned into a chasm a mile wide. He stood in front of Monty, unable to look the taller man in the eye. Scott gritted his teeth and tried to stop the shaking that he knew must be visible. It wasn’t exactly fear, but he couldn’t put a name on it. Fear was definitely a component, but perversely there was some sort of excitement and longing.

“Good.” Monty stroked his finger down Scott’s cheek. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. You are my mate. I protect what is mine.”

Protect. Mine. Scott wasn’t a possession; he was an autonomous human being. He should protest. He should fight, but his feet stayed stubbornly in place, and he clasped his hands behind him in a classic submissive pose.

Monty placed a finger under Scott’s chin and forced his eyes up. “Have no doubt you will obey me, but obedience is for your protection, not a desire to quash your free will. I don’t want a mindless drone. I want a partner, a man and a wolf who will stand beside me with pride.”

The kiss was soft, sensual and left Scott breathless. He feared the power. He feared the force that made him drop his eyes to this man, to this werewolf, but his body soared at every touch. He wanted to surrender, to curl up with Monty’s arms tightly around him, to sit at this man’s feet like a faithful pet.

“Give it to me,” Monty whispered, his hot breath against Scott’s ear. “You know where you belong.”

“I can’t.” Scott gulped air, trying to clear his head. He couldn’t fall under this creature’s spell. 

“Not yet,” Monty said gently, “but it will happen.”