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It was a persistent rumour that Omegas had delicate ankles, an idea that Milan had found easily disabused with a swift kick to the offender’s knee.
The beginning of the bond was a very delicate stage which had to be nurtured through touch and company. This was known as far as history could remember. What was more recent to come out into the light, was that neglecting the bond would mean an unstable Alpha but, more worryingly, it would cause the decay of an Omega, eventually leading to death.
Perhaps, Milan conceded in his mind, the fury is easier to feel than fear, loneliness, and sadness. Anger blinds, but it does not cure.
“I trust your rooms are adequate.” For a quiet, innocent moment, Milan was thrown by the sudden change of subject. He opened his mouth to assure his husband, but something in his stance and piercing eyes froze Milan. Very suddenly, as if doused by cold water, it dawned on him. Raphael was throwing him out.
Even then he had known the horror of being diminished. Of being made to die from the inside out. There could be much more to dying than death.
One afternoon, on his walk around the grounds, he found himself pausing as he saw his husband crouching in front of a plant, which one of the gardeners had told Milan was having difficulty growing. Lord Raphael was gloveless, touching the plant gently, a careful stroke of his fingertips across a leaf. It was an otherworldly horror, to see someone who was making him suffer so completely handle the bud of a plant with such care. Adding salt to the wound, Raphael flinched the moment he spotted Milan, hurriedly putting his gloves on as he stood up.
“Say something. Please.” Milan looked at him through bleary eyes. “I never knew I could be as unhappy as I am with you.” Milan saw Lord Raphael’s face, stunned as if he had been shot right through the chest, before sleep dragged him down again.
stumble over his words like that before. They donned their coats, Milan feeling giddy and bright until suddenly—a creak. Milan knew that sound. Leather stretching over knuckles, pulling tight. Milan shuddered, heart pounding. He froze, only able to stand there and look at Raphael as he put on his gloves.
“What? Are you—oh.” Raphael laughed as he saw what Milan had been shouting about. “It’s snow,” Milan said in wonder, pressing his hands against the cold glass. “Yes. Shall we take the dogs out after breakfast?” “They’ll die.” Raphael laughed again. “Just the other day you said it looks like the pups are walking on stilts, with how their legs have grown.” “Yes, but…their poor little paws.”
Milan looked at his own ball, lumpy and misshapen, and then at Raphael’s, which was perfectly round. “Yours is perfect. Can I see it?” he asked, holding one of his hands out. Raphael, being an utter fool, handed him the snowball. Milan grinned evilly, and Raphael only had time to widen his eyes and shield his face before he was being pelted by snowballs—and Milan did not hit lightly. “Die, rascal! Perish under my might!” Milan crowed, scooping down to grab more snow before running away, the dogs chasing after him.
It was one of the North’s great pleasures to sit in front of a fireplace, leaning against Raphael with a cup of melted chocolate and milk in hand. “Who invented this? It’s better than a crawler.” Raphael snorted. “I don’t know.” “They should be given a ladyship. Or lordship. Whichever applies.” “I’ll suggest it to the court.” “Make sure you do.”
Raphael closed his eyes. They stood there, just a breath apart. “I did not know I was alone until I met you,” he said softly.
You…I can sense you purely through it. No poem I have ever read could accurately describe the feeling of my heart interwoven with yours.”
“I feel as if my soul has woken from a great, pained slumber,” Raphael went on, squeezing Milan’s hand tightly. “Not the flowers or the trees or the mountains can inspire within me the feeling that you do. I know that we are already bonded, but I ask of you now—if you are willing, I would like to be yours until my last breath.”
