Nick clenched his teeth in annoyance. “Very much.” His attention returned to the wild wonder of the Urals. “If storms prevent an exploration and hunt in the high reaches, I’ll be sorely disappointed. I realize we are late in the season, but I’d hoped—”
“The suite…” Arit lifted his palms, waving at the luxury around them. A confused line grooved his forehead. “It isn’t to your liking?”
“We were raised in a three-bedroom Colonial,” Rolan called from the door.
Arit scowled over his shoulder at Nick’s brother. “He was raised in a palace.”
Releasing the lace sheers with regret, Nick pivoted. “That boy is long dead, and contrary to popular belief, we didn’t enjoy the palaces’ finery much.” He curved his mouth to ease the sting of his rebuke. “The art and antiques belonged to the tribes, my family only caretakers of the peoples’ cultural legacy. We children didn’t often stray from our personal quarters, which were outfitted with our own things that were more plain and serviceable.” He glanced at Rolan. “Lydia is settling in all right?”
“Already in the shower.” Rolan grunted. “She sent me to check on you.”
Nick nodded at Arit. “As you can see, he’s still fully clothed.”
Rolan scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s likely what Lyd meant by sending you.” Nick smiled at a porter hauling his trunk into the suite. “Ah, my stuff.” He plucked at his t-shirt with his fingers, mouth pinching with his distaste. “If you both would excuse me, I’d like to follow Lydia’s example by showering before dinner.”
Arit walked to a door and, upon reaching it, swung it open. “The master bedroom,” he said. “Bathroom is through there.” His gaze narrowed on Nick as he nodded to another door on the opposite side of the den area. “If you’d be more comfortable with your friends near you, the suite is equipped with a second bedroom and bathroom.”
“Listen to the two of them going at it?” Nick chuckled. “No, thanks.”
Rolan glared from the door. “Like watching you two posturing would be a pleasure cruise.”
“Posture?” Arit frowned. “He’s an omega—” He abruptly paled. He faced Nick. “You aren’t,” he said, voice warming with interest.
Nick shuddered at the wanton heat in Arit’s response. “Aren’t what?”
“An omega. You should be,” Arit said, lines bracketing his mouth in his puzzlement. “You were, I believe, the youngest of the emperor’s sons and you chose a career in knitting, which is a nurturing skill important for omegas in their preferred supportive roles in the tribes.”
“He’s a business manager,” Rolan objected.
“No, let him speak.” Smirking, Nick raised his palm to quiet his brother. “Mom and I run a yarn shop. That’s true.” He shrugged. “I’m a fair knitter and I’m better than average at crochet. I also weave and can macramé.”
“To teach humans.” Rolan growled. “Mom leads most classes because she’s better at charming customers, but we both learned so we could fill in for her when necessary.” He jabbed an accusatory finger at Nick. “You spend most of your day behind a computer in the office or working the phones to organize events funneling traffic into local small businesses. You lead. Always have.”
Nick dipped his head in acknowledgment because that was also correct. He glanced at Arit but spoke to his brother. “As I’ve said, they see what they want to see.”
Arit’s mouth formed a predatory grin. “Does my sire know?”
Rolan’s shoulders tightened. “You said Benjic wasn’t your sire.”
“Does he know?” Arit asked, attention focused on Nick rather than Nick’s brother.
Though Nick suspected the elder entertained doubts about the omega nature the tribes had assumed of their lost emperor, Nick reached for the hem of his shirt rather than answer him. Let Arit stew on the possibility or ask his sire himself. Repairing Benjic’s relationship with his son wasn’t in Nick’s job description. Seducing a potential mate, however, might be. Nick yanked the shirt over his head, satisfaction filling him when Arit’s eyes focused first on the locket glittering at his throat and then darkened at Nick’s bare shoulders and the broad expanse of his chest, hardly dotted with spirals of blond hair. Another characteristic of the imperial bloodline—most in the tribes were almost as furry walking on two legs as they were on four. Nick’s fingers itched to discover the pelt of chest hair that must be hidden under Arit’s lodge polo. “I have no idea what Benjic believes. I imagine few do.” He shrugged, smugly gratified when Arit’s breath caught at the ripple of Nick’s muscles. “I must get dressed for dinner. Unless you’d like to join me in the shower?”
Arit gulped.
Familiar with Nick’s cagey ploys, Rolan snorted. “I’ll leave when he does,” he said, tone grieved but stoic.
Nick let his hands dip to the fly of his jeans. “Following Lydia’s orders to keep me in line to the bitter end, are we?”
Rolan scowled. “Go on. Pretend you aren’t scared of her, too.”
Arit licked his lips, stare concentrating on Nick’s groin, where Nick toyed with him by flicking open the first button. “For a human, your friend is…formidable. Very.” Sharp white teeth caught Arit’s plump lower lip, spiking lust through Nick. “No one has ever questioned me as an alpha, and I wouldn’t cross her without good reason, either.”
Swamped with his arousal, Nick blinked at him. “What?”
Snickering, Rolan nudged Arit’s shoulders with his own. “Come on. Leave his royal pain in the ass to his bath and show me where I can find tea for Lyd. She’ll want a cup while she’s dressing for dinner, and I make keeping that woman happy a policy as much as possible.”
Shaking off his brain-deadening desire, Nick nodded. “Earl Gray with a generous dollop of cream and a teaspoon of honey.” He smiled. “Not sugar. Not a sugar substitute. Honey, preferably honey collected locally.” He dipped his head at Arit. “Lydia is a fervent believer local honey tamps down her allergies.”
This time, Arit was the one to blink in befuddled confusion. “What?”
Chuckling, Rolan grabbed Arit by the biceps. “Never mind. Just…c’mon.”
Interestingly, Arit shrugged off Rolan’s grasp but nevertheless joined Nick’s brother in the gaping maw of the suite’s door. Arit glanced over his shoulder. “Dinner is ready whenever you are.” His lush mouth bowed. “Venison stew. I took down the deer myself.”
Heat coiled in the pit of Nick’s stomach at his potential mate providing for him. As Arit probably intended. He might fight his mating instincts, but Arit was as susceptible to the draw as any in the tribes—including Nick. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
The corners of Arit’s eyes crinkled with his amusement. “Thanks for the warning.”
Chapter Six