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“Was he unkind to you?” I asked softly. I moved closer and tipped her face towards mine. I felt so much older than her, which instead of making me feel strong, only made my heartache for the things she must have endured.

“He was so much older. And, I understood what an honour it was that he chose me to be his bride… But he… I think I must have disappointed him a great deal.”

“Olivia!” A sharp reprimanding bark came from the ancient beta companion who had been hired as her companion. “What are you doing in that corner? Come here.”

“Please,” she whispered to me. “Please don’t leave me. Come back. Please. I am so lonely.”

She held my hand until the very last minute before she rushed to the side of the vulture who watched me—no, watched her—with such hatred.

“What do you think you are doing?” a female alpha I hadn’t noticed before snapped at me. Standing I turned to look at the newcomer. She stood tall in her men’s clothing—only her status as an alpha allowed her that privilege without public censure. The stranger’s hair was almost white it was so pale. Then there was her figure, lean and muscled and proportioned so perfectly that I flushed. It was nothing like my reaction to the duke, but there was no denying the fact she was the kind of alpha omegas fought over. A flash of jealousy had me gritting my teeth. In the years since I had presented as an omega, I had come to better understand the drawbacks of my dynamic. The nurturing and supportive home life, stripped away to the cold judgement of society and the restrictions of the nation’s laws. In my few weeks as an alpha, men and women had not given my hurried stride or open manners a second glance. I’d been myself, free of judgement or censure. Even our beta king would not be granted the same instinctual respect and deference as this young alpha.

“I was being friendly. I thought Lady Clare wasn’t permitting any alphas…” I gave a false smile.

“My father is the vicar at Kellingham. I am Caroline Wilson. I’ve known Olivia—Lady Clare all my life. She is mine to protect.”

“Are you staking your claim?” I sneered. How I wanted to strangle every alpha for their unrepentant arrogance when talking about omegas.

“If you were an alpha, I’d call you out for taking that tone with me,” the words weren’t even laced with threat. Just a statement of fact that had my eyes pricking with tears of frustration.

“I’ll take my leave,” I bit out and walked to where my aunt sat with a round male omega. Neither of them looked very happy with the seating arrangement, so I was not surprised when my aunt bounced up and told me she thought it time for us to leave. I was grateful too. But one last glance at the widow, and I knew I could not leave her to this suffocating sadness forced upon her.


Tags: Flora Quincy The Hartwell Sisters Saga Paranormal