“Sorry for this,” Royce told her, his voice terse and uncomfortable.
It took Haydn’s hazy brain a moment to realize what Royce was apologizing for: neither of them had bothered to make sure that the omega came. She didn’t smell sexually frustrated, so she had likely come, too—but the fact that he wasn’t sure was more than a little embarrassing. Had he been that focused on Royce?
Haydn looked at the woman sheepishly, but she seemed unperturbed, almost bored. Right. It was just a job for her, nothing more.
“It’s fine,” she said, glancing at the clock. “This was unexpectedly short, which is not a bad thing.” She gave Royce an assessing look, sniffing delicately. “It shouldn’t be long before your rut ends, Mr. Cleghorn. Perhaps one more coitus will be enough.” She glanced curiously at Haydn. “Is your… the other alpha going to stay with us for the rest of the night?”
Haydn swallowed, suddenly acutely aware how strange the situation was. He was naked, and in bed with an equally naked alpha. He stank of rut, sex, and Royce’s pheromones. His husband’s pheromones.
His alpha husband who had just made him come. By biting him.
“No,” Haydn said, clearing his throat a little. He rolled off the bed and reached for his clothes. “It’s pretty late, I’ll go to my room.”
Royce made an aborted move, as if he wanted to grab him but then thought better of it.
Haydn didn’t look his way, dressing quickly.
Once he was presentable, he muttered, “Good night,” and left the room, his face flushed and Royce’s scent still clinging to him.
Fuck.
What the fuck?
Chapter Eleven
When Haydn woke up, it was barely dawn.
He lay in bed for a while, just looking at the ceiling, and determinedly not thinking about the events of last night. He also didn’t wonder about whether Royce was still with the omega. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it was none of his business.
Running a hand over his face, Haydn got out of the bed and went to the bathroom.
After taking a long, hot shower, he walked to the sink to brush his teeth when something in the mirror caught his eye.
Haydn stared.
There was a big bruise on his neck, just over his scent gland. He could clearly see the indents left by Royce’s teeth. The bruise was where a mating bite would have been had he been an omega. Except mating bites never left bruises. A mating bite was neat and tidy—a pretty scar—thanks to the omega hormones that healed the bite and formed a mating bond. Haydn didn’t have a pretty mating bite. He had a nasty, red hickey that made him look like he’d been mauled.
He brought a hand to the mark and traced it with his thumb, entranced.
Realizing what he was doing, he jerked his hand away, his face suddenly warm. What was wrong with him? This should have pissed him off. Alphas didn’t allow other alphas to mark them. It was unheard of. Although this wasn’t a mating bite—it couldn’t be, since they both were alphas and Haydn didn’t have the necessary hormones for the bite to take—a mark like this would make him smell very strongly of Royce. How the hell was he supposed to hide it? At least everyone in the house knew Royce was actually an alpha, but he wouldn’t be able to go outside until the mark faded. Haydn could only hope the Galactic Council official wouldn’t come back before it did. Not that the off-worlder would notice anything, but members of the Senate certainly would, and it would reveal Royce’s true designation.
Fuck, what a mess.
Sighing, Haydn dressed and left his room—and nearly stumbled over the dark shape on the floor.
Coming to an abrupt halt, Haydn stared at it in confusion. The corridor was still rather dim, so it took his eyes a while to adjust. His sense of smell kicked in first.
“Royce?” Haydn said, his jaw dropping.
The dark shape on the floor stirred.
The next thing he knew, Royce was already in his personal space, crowding him against the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” Haydn said, utterly confused. He wished he could see Royce’s face better and didn’t have to rely on his sense of smell. Royce smelled… a mix of aggravated and aroused, his scent thick and unmistakably alpha. Still in rut, then.
“What are you doing here if you’re still in rut?” Haydn said. “Where’s the omega?”
“Sent her home,” Royce said, his voice tight. “Couldn’t focus on her anyway when the room stank of you.”
Haydn blinked. “You mean you’ve been here all night?”
“No,” Royce said, his hands settling on Haydn’s sides and squeezing hard. “I tried to get some sleep at first. It didn’t work. The sheets reeked of you, and it got me too—too worked up.” He sounded almost accusatory. Angry. “But you weren’t there.”
Tired of being unable to properly see Royce, Haydn dragged him back into his room and studied him carefully. He looked awful: there were dark bags under Royce’s eyes, which were red-rimmed and clouded from lack of sleep. His jaw was clenched, his body tense with frustration and arousal. He’d clearly taken a shower, but the sour scent of unfulfilled rut was still clinging to him.