Sanctuary (Gay Mpreg MM Shifter

Romance) (A Tale from the Mercy Hills

Universe Book 1) Byrde
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 SANCTUARY
A TALE IN THE MERCY HILLS UNIVERSE

ANN-KATRIN BYRDE

Cover Art by
ANA J.
© 2017 Ann-Katrin Byrde
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via
any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and
upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to
others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to
some readers. Please don’t read if you are under eighteen.

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 DEDICATION

For those torn from their homes, forced to wander until they find their
sanctuary. I hope there is always a place for you.
 CONTENTS

Map of Current Shifter Enclaves

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
About the Author
Other Books by Ann-Katrin
Fires of Fate
Oceanport Omegas
Available in Audio
Available in Audio
MAP OF CURRENT SHIFTER ENCLAVES
 CHAPTER ONE

"T ake that, Pirate King," Ori shouted and brandished his stick-sword
at Patton.
"You'll never take me alive!" Patton yelled and leaped up onto a wobbly
pile of old pallets they were using as their pirate ship. The boards wiggled
beneath his feet, but he saved himself from falling off by turning it into a
wild leap over the puddle on the other side. He got some mud on his pants,
but he didn't wear shoes in the summer, so it was his feet that took the brunt
of the dirt. His Ma probably wouldn't care, as long as he took a trip through
the creek to rinse the worst of it off anyway. Besides, he had the dread Pirate
Hunter Ori on his keel, and he needed to defend his ship.
"Prepare to be boarded, Pirate King!" Ori cried. He shook his golden
brown curls back out of his eyes and crouched, ready to leap onto Patton’s
makeshift galleon.
And then the game was spoiled.
"Ori Perseguir, what are you doing?" Ori's mother came around the side
of the building, knocked his sword out of his hands, and grabbed him by his
upper arm. "Omegas don't play rough games like that. Especially not with
someone who isn't omega. What will the alphas think of you?"
"But it's pirates, Maw!" Ori protested. He threw a helpless glance at
Patton, who had climbed back up to sit on the wobbly pile of pallets.
"It's not an appropriate game for omegas. You’re ten years old, you
should know better," his mother said. "Get home right now, and do your
chores, before I tell your sire about this."
Ori mouthed a 'sorry' to Patton and hunched his shoulders against his
mother's insistent pulling.
Patton waved a sad goodbye and watched his friend disappear around the
corner, back to his omega world of cooking and cleaning and learning how to
take care of babies.
Now the afternoon, which had been full of the promise of excitement and
adventure, stretched drearily ahead of him. What could he do to pass the time
until his Ma called him to eat? The other pups would probably be playing up
on the hill. He could go there and be pretty sure of finding someone to play
tag or war with, but it wasn't as much fun as playing with Ori. The other pups
just wanted to play the same games over and over again--Ori always had
something new to do. Or he'd tow Patton somewhere to show him a new kind
of bug, or a plant that they hadn't seen before. Life was never boring with
Ori.
Patton dragged himself home and slunk into their trailer. He avoided the
soft patch in the floor without even having to think about it, and slumped into
a chair at the table where his Ma was kneading bread.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" she asked. "You want something to
drink? We're gonna have meatballs for supper."
"No, not thirsty." He kicked his feet, banging them against the chair legs
until Ma stuck her foot out to put a stop to it.
"What's got you so down today, Pat? You not feelin' well?" She left her
bread on the table and came around to put the back of her hand against his
forehead. He batted it away, and she nodded. "You don't feel warm. Why
don't you tell your Ma what's wrong?" She went to the refrigerator anyway
and brought him back some bright red juice, moisture beading on the sides of
the glass.
He drank it slowly and tried to sort out his thoughts. "Why does Ori have
to be an omega?" he finally asked.
She gave him one of those mother looks, the kind that said she
understood something he didn't and she'd been waiting for him to ask. "Well,
sweetheart, some boys and girls are just born omegas."
"But how do you know?" Ori didn't seem any different from any of the
other boys to him. He yelled and played and was really good at throwing
rocks and making them go where he wanted them to. So what did the adults
see?
"An omega boy has something special, low on his belly--"
 "You mean his cock?" Patton asked, glad to finally be talking about
something he knew.
His mother chuckled. "No, sweetie. But it's in the same area. It's the place
where the babies come out when they're older."
"So Ori can have a baby?" He wasn't sure if he was jealous now or not. It
was just another thing that Ori could do that he couldn't. Ori was good at so
many things.
"He can't have them yet, but when he's a teenager, yes, though he’ll have
to be older in order to mate. What brought all this on?" She frowned, but he
thought she was puzzled more than angry. Patton was glad, because he still
had questions.
"Why isn't Ori allowed to play? His Maw came and took him home, right
in the middle of our game."
She sighed, and went back to kneading her bread. "Omegas have to learn
different things than betas do. You have to learn how to work and how to get
along with alphas and betas. Ori has to learn how to keep a house and how to
look after babies and a mate. There's an awful lot to keeping a house clean
and keeping your family fed." She smiled kindly at him. "Once he's a
teenager, he'll have alpha suitors who will court him, and he'll be busy trying
to find a good mate to look after him and any pups he has." She rolled the
dough up in a ball and set it to one side with a cloth over it to rest and rise.
"Ori's Maw is doing right by him. He'll be sought after by the alphas, because
she's making sure that he knows everything he needs to in order to make a
happy home for mate. Which means the better alphas will come looking for
him."
Patton kicked his chair once more experimentally, but stopped at his
mother's stern look. "Do omegas always have to mate alphas?" he asked.
"Not always," his Ma said. "But usually. It takes an alpha to make the
kind of money needed to keep an omega." She closed up the container of
flour, and scraped the leftovers that she'd spread over the table into another
container to be used when she made bread again.
"Are they really expensive?" He didn't think Ori cost very much. His
friend wore hand-me-downs like the rest of the pack, and ran around barefoot
all summer to save on the cost of shoes, just like Patton did. Was Patton
expensive?
"Well, omegas are homemakers. They don't have jobs around the pack, so
whoever they mate has to have a job that will earn enough pack credits for
both of them." His Ma put the flour away in its steel container, to keep the
bugs and mice out, and closed the cupboard door. She went to the sink and
dampened a cloth. "It's usually an alpha who will mate an omega, because
they can afford them."
He frowned and thought hard about that. "How much do you have to
make to have an omega?"
Ma stopped in the middle of wiping down the table. "Now, don't you go
getting any ideas, there, Patton Perseguir. You're a beta and there's nothing
wrong with that, but what you're doing is reaching for the moon. That Ori's a
sweet child, but you can put any notion of keeping him out of your mind.
And you'd be doing him a favor if you didn't encourage him to run off and
ignore his proper duties."
Patton kicked the chair again, then bolted for the door. He ran down the
path, ignoring his mother's worried and exasperated cry behind him, and ran
straight to the head of the creek to climb his and Ori's favorite tree, an old
apple that gave buckets and buckets of apples for pies and eating every fall. It
was covered in flowers right now, and he settled himself on his branch,
intensely aware of the empty limb just above his head, and started to cry.
He didn't know why he was crying, except he felt like Ori was being
taken away from him.
 CHAPTER TWO

T hethirteen,
morning of the Birth Moon celebration, in the year that Ori turned
started out pretty much like any other morning. He got up,
dressed quietly so he didn't wake up his little sisters in their bunkbeds on the
other side of the room, and slipped out into the main part of their trailer to
help make breakfast.
"You go sit down," his Maw said, which was a surprise. He never got to
sit down while everyone else worked.
And then it got stranger.
His Maw put a plate in front of him with a sausage and an egg on one
side, a square of cheese and a small pile of salsa on the other, with a freshly
buttered roll on the side. He stared at it in surprise. "Maw?"
"Eat your breakfast," she said from the counter by the stove. A moment
later, she came back with a mug of tea to set beside his plate. Real tea, black
tea bought from outside walls. He'd tried it once, sweetened with a little
honey--it seemed to be a very grown-up thing. Cautiously, he took a sip from
the mug, one eye on his mother as he wondered what this strange behavior
was all about. But she simply puttered around the kitchen, putting together
food for the rest of the family and humming under her breath the entire time.
Ori turned his attention back to his breakfast. The sausage glittered with
grease in the florescent lights above him, incredible decadence, and it smelled
amazing. He picked it up in his fingers and bit the end off, the juices running
savory over his tongue, and closed his eyes while he chewed so he could
make the moment last.
The chair across from him creaked and he opened his eyes to see his Maw
sitting down across from him with her own cup of tea. "Enjoying it?" she
asked.
His mouth was full so all he could do was nod enthusiastically and she
laughed. "It's a special day."
Ori swallowed his food and wiped his mouth on his hand. "Why?"
Though he thought he knew. Today would be his first time not running on
full moon with the pups. Tonight, he would run with the teenagers.
"Now, Ori, you know better than that." His Maw handed him a rag to
wipe his hand and his mouth with. Once he'd finished, she picked up her tea
again. "There's something special about being thirteen, especially for an
omega. Things are going to be different now."
Oh. He didn't like the sound of that. It was almost like his Maw was
trying to prepare him for something bad. "How different?" he asked, his
appetite disappearing.
"Don't get that look on your face. Different, I said. Not bad. But you're
startin' to be a grown-up now. It means there's things you get to do different
than before, and there's things we need to talk to you about."
"Like what?" Ori sat back in his chair and watched her closely, hunting
for clues.
"Well, first of all, there's changes going to be happenin' to your body,"
she said. She shifted her weight on the chair, making it creak, and Ori had to
stifle a snicker that his Maw was all uncomfortable about something. It was
funny mostly because it almost never happened, and he could tell she was
going to talk about bodies, which were their own kind of funny. His own had
started doing strange things lately, like growing hair in places it never had
before, and some of his dreams were downright astonishing. And he was
finding his friend Patton interesting in ways that had nothing to do with their
long-standing game of pirates.
He decided to take pity on her. "It's okay, Maw. I know about heats and
stuff." They'd talked about it a little in the omega classes and, even though
they'd been told not to tell about it with anyone except other omegas, he
figured his Maw was okay to talk to. "I know that that's how an omega gets
babies."
She let out a relieved breath and Ori hid his grin behind his mug. Grown-
ups were weird.
"Well, yes, there's that. But there's other things too. You're too young yet
for serious courting, but now that you're going to run with the teenagers,
there's going to be alphas who will be interested in you."
Ori shrugged. There wasn't an alpha in the place that he found half as
interesting as Patton. For that matter, he didn't find them as interesting as his
breakfast at the moment. He picked up his fork and cut a corner off his egg,
stuffing it greedily into his mouth. "So?"
"So, you have to watch out for them tryin' things. Like getting you off by
yourself and doin' things to you."
This sounded a lot like some of the stuff the older omegas talked about,
giggling together in corners during lunch hours or after class was over but
before everyone had scattered to their homes. "You mean they'll want to kiss
me?" He made a face and picked up his sausage again. "Ugh." Although, if
Patton wanted to kiss him...
Yeah, maybe holding hands was enough. He still couldn't quite see the
attraction with kissing.
"Not just kissing," his Maw said in quiet voice. "Omegas are special, Ori,
you have to remember that. You're different from betas and gammas and
deltas. It doesn't matter with them if they run off for a tumble with a nice boy
or girl who catches their eye, so long as they don't do it during their heat. But
omegas are different. You have to promise me that you'll make sure to always
keep a responsible grown-up with you, or someone from the family, when
you go around from now on. If your Paw or me can't go with you, you need
to find Christian or Sierra and ask them to take you."
Ori paused with his bite of sausage half-chewed and stared at her. "But...
That's not fair!" He could see it now. Christian would hate having to shepherd
his little brother around instead of hanging out with his beta buddies. The
same with Sierra, who had a boyfriend now and sure didn't want Ori around
to get in between them. "I can look after myself."
His maw shook her head. "I know you're a tough, capable boy, but you're
also an omega and you have to think about your reputation now. Word gets
out that you've been spending time with someone all by yourself, you'll be
ruined. You'll never have a mate, or a family or a home of your own, and
when your Paw and I pass on, you'll have to go live with Christian and be
grateful that he takes you in." She gave him a hard stare, like she knew she'd
played a trump card.
"Why..." Ori started, then swallowed his question. He knew why omegas
were different. He'd spent his whole life being told how it made him special,
how he didn't have to worry about finding a career or getting good marks in
school because he'd always have someone to take care of him. Thing was,
he'd figured out a while ago that being omega wasn't the big special
wonderful thing everyone tried to tell him it was. That was just the bullshit
they used to settle him down when he got upset about something he wasn't
allowed to do because of that stupid line on his stomach. But then the thought
of Patton drifted into his mind and he wondered idly what Patton thought
about mating and having a household. He came back to himself after a
moment when his mother said, "...mate an alpha. And you need to keep
yourself ready for that. No alpha is going to want you if he thinks he's not
your first."
"Wait, what?" Where had this alpha thing come from? "What do you
mean, mate an alpha? What if I decide on a nice gamma?" Or a beta. He
couldn't stop his mind from going there.
"Drink your tea," his mother told him sternly. "It won't be long before the
others are up and I think this conversation is better had without an audience."
Ori's hand went to his mug, obedience a long ingrained habit in him, and
picked it up to sip at it.
His mother watched him drink, a slight frown creasing the skin between
her eyebrows and pinching the corners of her mouth. "You know that your
job is to raise a family and keep a house. Would a gamma or delta have a job
that could afford to pay for you to live in a house? Buy you food and
electricity and clothing for you and your pups? No." She shook her head.
"Well, why couldn't I get a job? I could look after pups," Ori offered the
only thing he really knew how to do. "Or clean the pack buildings."
"The Alpha would never let you do that. Imagine, a pack making an
omega work like any other shifter. You'd think we were Mercy Hills, using
their omegas as beasts of burden instead of letting them fulfill their destiny."
She cupped her hands around her own mug and looked down into its depths.
"It's hard for a mother to have these sorts of conversations with their children,
particularly their omega pups. But I know you've had the lessons on what an
omega is and why they're so special. So you understand that once you're
mated, you won't have time to work outside the home. Which means you
need a mate who can earn enough to keep you. Do you want to be poor? For
your pups to be poor? Do you want to have to decide which of your pups get
clothes that fit this year, or spend all your spare time trying to keep clothes
that should be rags in one piece so the next pup in line will have something to
cover themselves with?"
Ori shook his head in horrified confusion.
"No, you're a good boy, a kind boy. You wouldn't wish that on your pups,
I know you. So you see how important it is that you mate as well as you can.
You have to behave properly, and learn everything you can that will make
you attractive to a good alpha. And once you're mated, you'll find you won't
want to work outside the home. Omegas are meant to be homemakers.
They're happiest when they're doing what they're meant to."
Funny, he didn't feel happy about it. But there were the old stories that the
other omegas told, about how once you mated, you stopped being interested
in anyone except your mate. Like something about mating bound you to that
one shifter forever.
"Anyway," his Maw said and put her mug down. She had an air of
excitement about her all of a sudden, and her eyes were bright. "Because it's
your first Birth Moon not running with the pups, we got you a present, me
and your Paw."
"A present?" Ori sat back in surprise. His parents had enough trouble,
being a gamma and a delta, just keeping the house in one piece and clothes
on everyone's backs. Where did they find money for a present?
"Yes, a present," she said. "You wait here." She disappeared toward the
back of the trailer, where she and his Paw slept, and he heard the scrape of a
drawer being opened before she came back out again. "Your Paw has
something for you too, he's just gone to get some of it."
Well, that was a weird thing to say, but Ori didn't pay it much mind,
because of the pile of fabric in his Maw's hands. No, not fabric--clothes. And
they looked--store bought. He practically snatched them out of her hands,
only long training keeping from any more rudeness than that. "Oh, Maw."
They were beautiful--not the cheap t-shirts and jeans that were practically the
uniform here at Perseguir. Admittedly, it was still jeans, but they were dark
and new and weighed more than any three pairs of the ones he already had.
And a shirt, a real grown-up shirt with buttons and long sleeves, in a light
fabric that felt as soft as a butterfly's wings against his skin. "Thank you," he
whispered, his throat closing over with emotion. He'd never gotten anything
like this before in his life, ever. They couldn't afford it. "How did you
manage it?"
She sat down beside him and began laying the shirt out so he could
appreciate the pattern built into the fabric. Unlike most packmade clothes that
were all one color and then embroidered over for fancy, this shirt had the
pattern dyed into it with fancy colors, lots of blues and greens and gold and
he shivered in delight at the thought of wearing it.
"Your Paw and I talked about it and now that you're getting to be a
grown-up, you deserve to have a nice outfit. You've always been a good boy.
You can wear this to the run tonight, kind of a celebration of becoming a
teenager." She stroked the fabric with one hand, smoothing out imaginary
wrinkles. "My little boy's growing up," she said in a choked voice and
sniffed.
"I can always go knock over the water barrel again," Ori offered,
reminding her of one infamous incident in their family when he'd gone
tearing around the end of the trailer and run straight into the newly filled
barrel.
She laughed and hugged him. "No, that's okay. It's part of life, just hard to
imagine. It seems like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms and
changing your diapers."
"Maw!" Ori protested, but hugged her back.
"There," she said, and wiped underneath one eye. "You finish your
breakfast. I need to find out what's taking your Paw so long."
But almost as soon as Ori had shoved the rest of his sausage in his mouth,
he heard a thud and a rattle and some banging outside the trailer.
"Oh, there he is." She went to the door and called, "Randy, are you
coming to tell him with me?"
"Be right there," Ori heard from outside, and a moment later, his Paw
came through the door. "You didn't tell him yet?"
"Wanted you to be here for it. It's really your part of the present," his
Maw said and kissed his Paw fondly.
Paw hugged her and kissed her back, then thumped into the chair across
from Ori, where Maw's mug still sat. "Well, Ori, you're growing up now and
that means a few changes."
"Maw said," Ori answered, curious. What could Paw be giving him that
was different or more than what Maw had already?
His Paw grunted. "Well, being an omega and coming into that age, it's not
proper for you to be sleeping in a room with someone. It'll take a couple of
days, but me and Sander and Jacko are gonna add a little room on, just on the
other side of your Maw's and mine. And that will be yours."
His own room! Ori forgot his outrage at the new restrictions on his life at
the thought of having a place that would be just his, where he could keep
things without his sisters and brothers snooping through them.
At his Maw’s gesture, he wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and
followed his Paw outside to see Sander and Jacko measuring out the space for
his new room. They said hi and asked him how he was and if he was excited
for tonight, like any other grown-up, except there was a funny undercurrent
in their voices. He ignored his unease while he answered their questions
politely, then asked, “Paw, can I go tell Patton?” Patton would be jealous, Ori
thought gleefully, but maybe when he turned thirteen he could get his own
room too. He was still only twelve and, Ori realized with a pang of sadness,
for the first time, they wouldn’t be running together for full moon.
His Paw threw a glance at his Maw, and she put her arm around Ori’s
shoulders. “Come inside, we need to talk about that.” And she led him around
the end of the trailer, though the sinking feeling in his stomach had already
told him what she was going to say.
So when his Maw turned to him just outside the door, he crossed his arms
over his chest and said, “No.”
“Ori, you have to understand—”
“He’s my friend. I’ll be careful, but I’m not going to give him up.”
She sighed and came close to hug him and he was reminded that she only
said these things because she loved him. “I know it’s hard. All change is
hard. But if Patton is really your friend, he won’t tease you with things you
can’t have. And you can’t have him.” Then she turned and went inside, the
opening and closing of the door letting the sounds of the rest of the family
escape briefly into the still morning air. Ori was left standing on the path with
no notion of how to get his old life back, but a rock-solid determination not to
lose Patton in this sudden redirection.
 CHAPTER THREE

D espite Ori’s determination not to lose touch with Patton, he was soon
brought to realize that his life was different now. His classes changed—
he was moved out of the general education one with all the other youths and
into one that was just him and a dozen other omegas of varying ages. A few
were almost adults, and he watched with curiosity and an emotion that
couldn’t seem to decide if it was apprehension or jealousy as the courting
grew serious. He certainly envied the gifts they received, and that they never
failed to show off immediately after getting them, turning class time into a
never-ending jockeying for position and importance. Class seemed to be
more about who had the most stuff, or who had stolen a kiss from the best
looking alpha in the pack last night, than it was about learning things that
were useful.
Ori had no time for that and while he was glad to be done with math, he
was dismayed by the volume of stuff he had to learn now that he was
officially in omega classes. Oh sure, it would all be useful--he knew he was
going to be a homemaker in the end. But it all felt so pointless. Wasn't there
something more he could be doing to help the pack, instead of being
this...drain on its resources? He thought he wasn't the only one who felt this
way, watching the faces of his classmates as they sat through lectures and
demonstrations and practice, but it was only the ones around his age whose
faces twitched. The older ones treated it all like this was how they expected
their lives to be and he wondered how long it had taken the class leaders to
numb them to the uselessness of their lives.
How long would it would be before he stopped fighting against his fate?
 Then one day, in late October, as they were preparing for the Harvest
Moon celebrations, a whisper went through the omega classroom. Hunter, the
Alpha's oldest son and the expected heir to that position, had brought home a
mate. Not just any mate, but a foreign omega.
"I heard he's very handsome, but tall. As tall as Hunter, almost," Felicity
whispered in Ori's ear as they practiced their embroidery in the corner during
free time. "From Buffalo Gap."
"Huh," Ori said and pulled the thread through the cloth. "You think it's a
love match?" He'd already figured out that omegas mated for security, and
alphas mated for looks and obedience, if they mated an omega. But love
matches did happen, and he couldn't see any reason for Hunter to have to
look outside their own pack unless he'd seen someone he wanted better.
She shrugged and leaned in to whisper, "I heard his cousin is Alpha's
Mate in Jackson-Jellystone."
"Ah. Well, that explains it." That connection would compensate for the
new omega's height. Though Hunter did like tall partners. "What's his name?"
"Holland," Felicity said, and giggled.
Ori snorted. "At least if he's going to monogram anything, it'll be easy.
Just the same letter over and over again." He paused and looked down at his
own embroidery, a wolf's pawprint in black on a denim shirt. "On second
thought, that would get pretty boring."
Felicity shrugged. "He's going to introduce him at Harvest Moon." She
nudged him. "Get sewing, we're getting the evil eye."
Ori grimaced, and turned back to his project. He wondered if he could get
a message out to Patton--he hadn't seen his friend in over a week.
Everywhere he went, someone was with him, putting an end to his carefree
days of roaming the enclave lands. But he'd figured out a couple of weeks
ago how to get the bug screen out of his bedroom window so he could sneak
out without anyone knowing, and if he could just get a message to Patton,
they could go back to their old ways. Sort of. He eyed Felicity with
speculation, wondering if he could trust her to pass on a message and not let
it slip to anyone else.
Maybe not.
Later, while they were memorizing the recipe for grilled poultry and all
the variations in seasoning they needed to know if they couldn't get actual
chicken and had to settle for whatever wild bird was stupid and unlucky
enough to land in the enclave, he managed to get his hands on a scrap of
paper and write Patton a note to meet him at their old tree after everyone was
asleep. Then, when classes were over for the day and they were on their way
home, he managed to maneuver Felicity past the regular school house.
All the alphas, betas, gammas and deltas came pouring out the door, a
flood of youngsters running in all directions. He saw Patton and waved, then
nudged Felicity. "I'm just going to say hi to Patton, okay?"
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Fine. But that's a waste of time."
Ori shrugged casually. "We're just friends." He spotted Elmer strolling
out of the building, sixteen years old with the looks of an old-fashioned
movie star. "Maybe I'll have him," he said, partly a joke, partly to rile Felicity
up, since he knew she had the biggest crush on him, just like all the other
omegas. Well, except for Ori. It made him want to snarl and bare his teeth,
the way Elmer looked at him like a piece of meat he could have for the
asking. But Felicity didn't seem to notice at all.
"Not if I get there first," she said and elbowed him.
He grinned, even if she had almost taken the wind out of him, and pushed
her in Elmer's direction while he met up with Patton. "Hey," he said, and
casually stuck his hands in his pockets. He palmed the note and waited for a
chance to pass it on. "What's your mom bringing for Harvest Moon?"
"I don't know, I don't think she's decided." Patton looked confused and a
little hurt.
Ori reached out and patted his forearm, then slipped his note into Patton's
hand as he stepped away. "Can you find out for me? I don't want to double up
on anything, so I'm either doing apple tarts with cheese or maybe rice and
beans." He gave Patton a look and then sauntered away, looking for someone
to escort him home since Felicity had paired up with another older omega
named Coralina to giggle and flirt with Elmer.

T hat night, once he was sure everyone was asleep, Ori carefully lifted the
bugscreen out of his window and let it down onto the ground outside his
room. He climbed out, then put the screen back in place so no one would
know he was gone unless they gave his room more than a casual glance. He'd
stuffed his bedcovers too, to make it look like he was fast asleep, just in case.
The crescent moon hinted at the path to his eyes, but his feet didn't need
the help. They knew this path, from the thousands of times he'd trekked it
before, when he and Patton were just best friends with none of these adult
worries to get in their way. He found Patton in the old apple tree that they'd
claimed for their own, stretched out along the heavy branch he always sat on
and staring up at the stars. "Hey," Ori said as he pulled level with Patton's
branch. "Thanks for coming."
"I read your note," Patton said. His voice was cool, strained. "What do
you want, Ori?"
"I want us to still be friends." Instead of climbing up to his own branch,
Ori stopped and crammed himself onto Patton's, his back scraping against the
trunk of the tree behind him. "I'm sorry."
Patton sat up suddenly. "It's not your fault," he said fiercely. "It's stupid."
Ori nodded, but he didn't say anything. What was there to say, when your
best friend had just told the whole truth of your existence?
They sat in silence for a while, their legs dangling in the air below them.
Ori moved over so his shoulder rubbed against Patton's and was surprised at
how--interesting it felt. Interesting in way that made his cock stiffen and if
he'd been planning anything to say, he couldn't think of it over the clamor of
his body. He rubbed his fingers nervously over each other and thought about
sewing and scrubbing and all the most boring chores he’s even been stuck
with, but he knew that eventually he was going to have to say the thing he’d
really come here to say.
Ori whacked his head against the tree trunk, hoping to knock some genius
way of saying this loose in his brain, but got nothing but multi-colored stars
in return. Patton gave him a look that clearly said, “Are you nuts?” and Ori
sighed and dropped his head on Patton’s shoulder. Patton’s scent curled up
into his nose and, instinctively, he huffed some in through his mouth to taste
it through the scent organ in the top of his mouth. It made funny things
happen in his body, uncomfortable things, and he sat up and breathed deeply
a couple of times to clear his nose and mouth.
This is so weird. Then, Is this what being in heat is like? Was he in heat?
That was awkward—better get this conversation over with, just in case. The
older omegas had talked about heats—again, the truth or some version of it,
and only when the adults weren’t around to shush them and tell them it
wasn’t proper. But it kind of made it sound like he’d end up a ravening beast
humping anything he could get his bits against. He glanced back up at Patton,
who was watching him with the beginning of a concerned frown on his face.
“So, I’m omega, right?”
Patton nodded cautiously.
Ori licked his lips and kicked his feet. “Maw says I can’t be spending
time alone with you because it’ll ruin my reputation and I’ll never get a
mate.”
Patton snorted. “Guy’d have to be stupid to turn you down because you
have a friend.”
Ori shrugged, the words coming easier. “They’re really giving me a hard
time.”
Lysoonka must have been hovering over Patton’s shoulder, because a
look of comprehension grew over him, not replacing the concern, but
blending with it. “’Cause you’re wanting to visit with me.”
Ori nodded. “I can fight with them, but it just gets me grounded.”
“Then don’t fight with them,” Patton told him and leaned over to bump
him shoulder-to-shoulder.
“I don’t want everyone nosing into our business,” Ori complained.
Patton shrugged. “It’s pack, there’s gonna be some of that anyway.
Doesn’t mean we can’t play the game. Sneak out like this every once in a
while.”
“I—” The words got tangled up in Ori’s brain as the meaning of what
Patton was saying sank in. “You mean it?”
“We’re friends.” Patton grinned. “And this was fun.”
Ori laughed and bumped his shoulder back against Patton’s ignoring the
heat rising from his groin at the contact. “Yeah, it was.”
 CHAPTER FOUR

P atton pulled on his least mended jeans and then dug into his dresser
drawer for the special t-shirt he'd been hiding at the bottom, the one his
Da had proudly presented to him a couple of days ago. It was new. Not new
to the family, but honestly right-from-the-store new. It was clean and
unstained and a deep soft green like the aloes that lined the path to his front
door, and he’d been saving it special just for tonight. He hoped Ori liked it.
At thirteen, this would be his first full moon running with the teenagers.
Ori had done it last year, and had come to find him after, brimming with
excitement over the games they'd played among the trees. Of course he'd had
a chaperon, as had the other four older and still unmated omegas, to make
sure that no one took unfair advantage of him, but the glow on his face said
that he'd enjoyed himself anyway.
Lately, it had been harder and harder for Ori to come spend time with
him. Either he had chores, or special omega classes, or he had 'visitors',
which Patton gathered was the omega way of practicing for the courting that
would happen when they were older. He didn't understand why it had to
happen now--surely Ori had another four years to learn how to be courted?
But that was the story, that he had to learn how to sit and talk to alphas and
find ways to be interested in what they said, no matter how boring, because
that was an omega’s job.
Ori told him once it was the stupidest thing ever.
"Pat, are you ready?" his Ma called.
"Coming," he yelled back. He gave his hair a last patdown with damp
hands, vainly attempted to flatten the cowlick above his left eye, and exited
the bathroom.
"You look nice," his Ma said. "Anyone special?" She looped a pack-
woven basket over her arm and held out her hand to the littlest of the seven of
them, his baby sister Pansy.
He shrugged. "Just didn't want to look like a hick."
Her smile implied that she thought there was more to it than that, but he
wasn't going to explain to her that he'd suddenly discovered feelings for his
best friend. His best omega friend. Which was awkward enough on its own,
without his mother's unsurprising lecture about 'alphas for omegas, betas for
betas'. He didn't want a beta--he wanted his best friend.
The lined up at the door, everyone taking the hand of the next youngest so
that they walked across the enclave like a little toy train or a set of really
dumb ducklings. He was the third oldest and no longer confined to the puppy
grounds and it made him grit his teeth to have to walk across the town like he
was still a toddler.
As soon as they reached the stretch of grass where everyone gathered for
full moon, he dropped his brothers' hands and slunk off looking for Ori.
Ori showed up just before full dark, wearing a dark brown shirt that
buttoned up the front. It looked expensive, as things in the pack went, and he
giggled with the other single omegas as they walked in escorted by their
chaperons for the evening. He almost looked like someone else, except the
sandy curls still clustered around his face, softening the sharp bones of his
cheeks and drawing attention to the hazel green of his eyes where they
sparkled beneath the locks. Until he looked up and saw Patton and those
beautiful eyes lit up and Patton’s Ori was back.
"Pat!" He broke away from his group and ran over. "Wow, is that a new
shirt? It looks great on you."
"That looks like new too."
"It was a host gift to the alpha, but it didn't fit Graham, so he gave it to
me." Ori twirled in front of Patton, at once entirely familiar and utterly
foreign. "Ma got some chocolate and I made dipped cookies," he said. "What
did you bring?"
"Pork meatballs with plum sauce from the yellow plums we picked last
year."
"That sounds delicious. I'm starving, I hope they'll let us start eating
soon." Ori bounced in place and the strangeness between them seemed to
fade into the background. "Come on, let's stake out a good spot to hit the
tables from. I bet those meatballs will go fast. I remember when she made
them for Midwinter Moon, they were gone almost before anyone knew about
them. Do you think she'd give me the recipe?"
"I can ask her," Patton said, laughing when Ori hugged him.
"Ori!" someone yelled in a disapproving tone."
"Oh, stop, Amelia," Ori replied in a dismissive tone. "It's just Patton."
And some of the excitement went out of the night.
Ori's chaperon trotted over. "You need to think about your reputation,"
she scolded. "Hugging random betas is going to set tongues wagging."
"Amelia, you know who Patton is," Ori said deliberately, as if talking to a
particularly slow pup. "We've been friends forever. There's nothing wrong
with a hug."
She shook her head and grabbed Ori by the arm. "The two of you are
getting to an age now where you have to stop acting like pups. Now come
along." She started to walk off, but stumbled when Ori pulled his arm out of
her grip.
"No! This is my friend. We're going to go make sure we're ready when
dinner starts," Ori announce mutinously. "Come on," he hissed to Patton, and
dragged him off to the other side of the tables.
But, as they left, Patton heard one of the other chaperons say to Ori's,
"Relax, Amelia. Neither of them are old enough to be a risk to the other. And
it's not like they're out of sight. The dangerous time is while they're running.
That's when you'll really have to guard that omega."
Patton wanted to feel offended, but he was too excited to have Ori's
undivided attention. He hoped they wouldn't be constantly interrupted
tonight.
Ori came alert and his gaze followed a tall, dark-haired omega as he
strolled across the clearing on the arm of his mate. “What I wouldn’t give to
look like him,” he breathed, watching the other omega hungrily.
“Holland?” Patton asked, confused. “Why?”
“You don’t think he’s handsome?” Ori leaned away from Patton, trying to
keep Holland in his view. “I can see why Hunter mated him, even if his pack
is poor.”
“Our pack is poor.” Why was Ori so obsessed with Holland? Sure he was
pretty and exotic, but everyone in Perseguir had dark hair pretty much, ‘cept
for Ori and a few others. Patton liked Ori’s sandy curls way better than the
black waves of Holland’s anyway.
“Yeah, but you know what I mean.” Ori bit his lower lip and sat straight
again. “His Da is Alpha at Buffalo Gap, too. Some omegas have all the luck.
Though I heard—” His voice broke off. “Never mind.”
“Okay.” Eventually Ori would tell him whatever it was. That was just the
way they were with each other. He could tell by the tension in the arm that
brushed against his that it was something Ori was uncomfortable with.
Not long after, the Alpha’s Mate called the pack up to grab plates and
start eating. Ori grabbed Patton and hustled him into line when it was the
teenagers’ turn at the food tables, then they went back to the seats they’d
claimed and sat down together to eat. Patton enjoyed sitting there with Ori,
but it was hard to get a mouthful in between all the polite greeting and
chatting going on. There sure were a lot of people who wanted to come by
and talk to Ori. Not just the young alphas, but their parents. Ori was polite to
all of them, but as soon as they were out of earshot, he made the most
scathing comments about them and Patton had to be careful not to choke on
his food because he was laughing so much.
"I'm glad you're running with us tonight," Ori told him. "It was fun last
time, but I don't think it would be as fun this year if you weren't going to be
there."
“I'm really excited." Patton craned his neck and looked around, trying to
find the Alpha to see if it looked like they would be going running soon. "Do
you think they'll hide a rabbit again this time?"
"I heard," Ori said importantly, "that it was a pheasant. I hope I find it, I
want the feathers."
"What are you going to do with the feathers?" Patton asked, curious.
"There's a special shirt I’m fixin’ to make," Ori told him, keeping his tone
mysterious. "For someone special."
"Oh?" Was it, maybe, for him? No, that was ridiculous. Omegas only
made clothing for people in their family, or people they were thinking
romantically about. Ori didn't give any sign that he thought about Patton that
way. It would have been nice if the shirt was for him, though.
Ori winked, then he looked up. "They're collecting the plates." He
snatched Patton's dirty plate out of his hand and raced away with it, leaving
Patton open-mouthed in the middle of the crowd.
 "Hey, Pat, you hittin' that?" someone said behind him. He turned and saw
Colin, a young alpha who'd been born two seasons before Patton, which
made him fifteen and two years taller and heavier than Patton. His tone was
friendly enough, but his voice held an undertone of threat, as if Ori was his
property, or he was thinking of making Ori his.
"We're just friends," Patton said diffidently. He knew better than to get
into a pissing-match with an alpha, even a young one.
Ori came running back over. "Oh, hi Colin. I think I saw Angie looking
for you." He grabbed Patton by the arm. "Come on, I put my jacket on a crate
under the cherry tree to hold our spot. The dancing's going to start in a couple
of minutes." He waved a merry good-bye to Colin and then they were
whirling away through the crowd at the speed of Ori's dancing feet. "Ugh,
he's such a creep," Ori said. "Come on. Are you going to dance?"
Patton didn't normally. "If you want me to."
Ori laughed. "I won't make you. It's too bad there aren't any good
climbing trees here, we could hide and throw pebbles at people as they walk
by."
Patton burst out laughing and took a seat next to Ori. "And get our asses
whooped."
"Oh, but so much fun before." Ori grinned at him and nudged his
shoulder. "You're going to be on my team for the run?"
“Sure.” If they’d let him. He had a disquieting sense that they might not,
that they’d try to keep the omegas all separated from the rest of the teenagers.
But a guy could hope, right? In the meantime, he made himself comfortable
on the crate next to Ori, and the two of them amused themselves playing
thumb war until the musicians began tuning up.
And if the touch of Ori’s hands on his left a warm glow in Patton’s chest,
well, he was grown-up enough to hold that little flame tightly to himself.
 CHAPTER FIVE

P atton did his best not get jealous, but it was hard. It seemed like Ori
spent a lot of time up dancing with different alphas from the pack, more
time than he spent sitting with Patton.
He always asked if Patton minded, which seemed funny to Patton
because, after all, they were just friends, even if Patton did have those
uncomfortable feelings for Ori. Of course, one of those omega things was
manners. Proper manners. So maybe Ori was just being polite and asking
because it was the thing to do when you were sitting next to someone and
someone else asked you to dance. He didn't know. But Patton’s jealousy
chewed at him like a hungry rat and his face started to hurt trying to cover up
his feelings as he watched the alpha’s trying to nose their way in between
him and his best friend.
Ori fell into his seat beside him again after another round of 'Chase the
Rooster'. "Phew. I hope this is over soon or I'm going to just curl up in the
bushes with my tail over my nose and go to sleep." Even with the moonlight
stripping all color away in his human eyes, Ori looked flushed and a gleam of
sweat showed at his hairline. "Come on, let's go see what's left at the tables."
They scampered off to the food tables and picked at the leftovers, mostly
the desserts. Patton had managed to snatch one of Ori's cookies, but he was
sad to see that they were all gone now. No seconds for him.
A loud, long howl rang into the air, the Alpha singing a song of praise to
the Lady Lysoonka on her throne in the Moonlands. Ori looked at him in
excitement. "Let's run!"
Their excitement was doused, though, by Amelia. "Come along, Ori. You
can change over here," she said firmly, gesturing to the small tent that the
omegas changed into their wolf forms in.
Ori sighed dramatically and leaned in to whisper, "I'll find you," before he
obediently followed along behind Amelia and slipped inside the tent.
"That's dumb," Patton said without thinking.
"Is that what you think?" his Da asked, coming up behind him and
making him jump.
"Oh, uh, hi Da." Patton looked down, his hands clasped together behind
his back, and scuffed his toes against the dirt. "It just isn't fair that Ori has to
be watched all the time. It isn't very fun."
His Da put an arm around his shoulders and turned him toward the trees.
"It would be less fun if someone caught him out by himself and had their way
with him. He'd be ruined."
He wouldn't be ruined to me. But yeah, it wouldn’t be a good experience
for Ori either, and he felt like a heel for a moment, thinking about himself
before thinking about Ori.
Patton pulled his new t-shirt off and folded it carefully, slipped out of his
pants and used them to keep the shirt off the ground. All around him,
packmates were shimmering and changing shape, shrinking down and
stretching out, fur sprouting in rippling waves over skin. The world changed
in front of him, a million shades of gray and pastel that made movement
stand out like it was in a spotlight, and the scent of everything around him
added the color that his eyes no longer saw. He shook out his fur and trotted
over toward the tent where Ori and the others were finishing their change.
The first of the omegas nosed out of the tent and was met by his
chaperon. The second, the only female omega in the pack, slipped out the
door right on his heels and trotted away with her chaperon. Then Holland
slipped gracefully out of the tent, silver pale in the moonlight, and trotted off
in search of his mate.
Amelia gave Patton a dark glare out of her amber eyes, but didn't chase
him off, even when Ori bounded out the door and leaped on him in mock
attack. Patton laughed and squirmed out from underneath him and Ori barked
and bowed his forequarters in an invitation to play. Amelia nosed between
them for a moment, but Ori was having none of it and ran around her, yipping
for Patton to follow.
The elders had indeed gotten hold of a pheasant. Patton could smell it in
the air, the dry scent of feathers laying over the rich bloody smell of the meat.
As soon as he smelled it, he made a decision—he would get that pheasant for
Ori if it was the last thing he did.
One advantage to being more lightly built than the alphas was the agility
it lent him. Speed, the ability to squeeze through small spaces--it all meant
that, as long as he knew where he was going, he could get there ahead of the
alphas. He had a good nose too, way more sensitive than many of his alpha
agemates. And he wasn’t busy trying to prove to all his friends that he was
the toughest and most dominant of them all. He could go straight for his goal
and beat them all to it.
They'd dragged the dead pheasants over the ground, leaving behind a
confusing welter of scents. Patton glanced around at the elders who were in
charge of the teenagers, watching their reactions as the young wolves around
them sniffed and howled and pounced on each other in their excitement. But
not Patton. He had no time for that--he had a goal.
And there! It was Old Archie who gave him his first clue where the
pheasants were. He was the one who'd hidden the pheasants in their final
hiding place. Patton could see it in the way he held his body, the twitching of
his ears and the tension in that old, age-whitened muzzle. He could also see
when some of the other teens found the right path.
Patton went for it.
He put his nose to the ground and raced along, picking out the smell of
fresh pheasant and Archie from underneath the scent of the other wolves.
After very few minutes, he'd passed everyone in the group and was hunting
as he thought he was meant to do, nose to the ground, one eye on the terrain
around him, until he realized just where Old Archie must have hidden the
pheasants.
Breaking off from the trail, he took a chance and cut across country,
going through the pack's gardens to the oldest section of the orchard. There,
he cast about, scenting with all his might until the smell of the old wolf
drifted across his nostrils, weak but growing stronger as he padded around the
trees.
There.
Stashed in a little hollow, where a tree had fallen over a few years ago, he
found the pheasants, three of them piled on top of each other. He barked in
excitement and howled to let the pack know he'd found his prey, then
carefully arranged the dead birds so he could pick them up by the necks and
carry them back to Ori.
They met up with him not twenty paces outside the orchard, the other
young wolves. The slower ones. They sniffed around him, sniffed the
pheasants, and then surrounded him to follow his trek back to the clearing
with his prize.
The entire way there, his imagination played out the scene that would
happen when he gave the pheasants to Ori. At first, he thought, Ori would be
surprised, but then he would be pleased and he would accept his gift as it was
intended. And maybe next full moon he'd dance with Patton.
Only with Patton.
That was as far as his imagination could take him though--he had no idea
what came after, or even what he wanted. Just that he wanted Ori to himself
again, like it had been up until this past year. Not that Ori had changed, not
really. Not that much. But there were a lot of new things going on in his life
now, and he wasn't even in classes at school with Patton now. He had all the
regular school that an omega needed, Patton's Ma had explained, and now he
would concentrate on the classes and learning he needed to make a good
mate.
Patton burst into the clearing, scanning the open grass for his friend, but
Ori wasn't there. Patton put the pheasants down in an out of the way place
and lay down beside them with his muzzle between his paws. He refused any
invitations to play, because if he left, someone might steal his gift. Or he
might miss Ori coming back from wherever he was. So he waited, and waited
as the moon crawled across the sky, until the rest of the teenagers came
howling and jumping back into the clearing. Patton sat up and watched for
Ori, and then suddenly his friend was there, jumping on top of him and
grinning his wolf grin.
Patton yipped at him, then carefully picked up the pheasants and carried
them over to lay them at Ori's feet.
Ori's response was everything he could have hoped for. His ears pricked
forward and his tail went up. He sniffed the pheasants carefully and then
leaned forward to touch his nose to Patton.
And that was when Patton's world was torn to shreds.
One of the elders--he never did figure out who it was--grabbed the back
of Patton's neck between strong jaws and dragged him ruthlessly away from
Ori and Ori's present. In the middle of his fear and confusion, though, he
couldn't miss Ori's yelp of dismay and he struggled wildly against the ever-
tightening grip on his spine as he was hauled across the clearing. Ori gave
one more loud, painful yelp and then went silent and Patton's heart froze for
an instant before it began beating again with a painful thump. He tried even
harder to escape, and was knocked to the ground and held their by the weight
of at least two adult wolves. Someone, he wasn’t sure who, forced his change
to start and he gasped for breath as the weight of his captors crushed him
against the soil. He couldn’t hear Ori, couldn’t see him, and he didn’t know
why, but he was terrified for his friend, worried that his gift had been the kind
of thing that ruined an omega, whatever that meant.
Patton went numb, his mind so caught up on worry for Ori that he hardly
noticed when the beating began.
 CHAPTER SIX

A melia dug her teeth into Ori's ruff and dragged him away from his
pheasants. Not that he was thinking about them at the moment--a half
dozen other shifters had piled on top of Patton and Ori couldn't see anything
of him beneath the roiling mass of older wolves. He could hear them though,
or rather, hear Patton's yelps and whines for mercy, his confusion blatantly
obvious underneath the snarls of the angry adults. Ori nipped at one of
Amelia's front legs, trying to tell her to let go, but she tightened her grip on
his neck, then shook him until he couldn't hold back his own yelp of pain.
And all the while, in the background, Patton's beating continued.
They dragged him back to the omegas' tent, Amelia and the other wolves
who'd been acting as chaperons, ignoring his protests. He made long grooves
in the soil, digging his feet in and sitting all his weight down on his hind
paws, partly for Patton, partly out of sheer stubbornness. They were acting
like he and Patton had done something wrong, terribly wrong, and the
injustice of it all made him so mad he did literally see red. He growled at
them as they pulled him through the door into the tent, and then the Alpha's
Mate was there and he felt that crushing pressure, so much the opposite of
when he changed shape on his own, and his body gave up, letting the Mate
take control of his form.
Ori lay on the dirt floor and curled into a ball, trying to stifle the sobs that
shook his body. He felt the brush of fur against his back and then moments
later, a hand on his shoulder. "Get up and get dressed, Ori." It was the Mate,
and there was no ignoring that order. Ori wiped his eyes on the back of one
hand and pushed himself to sitting. He slapped away the hands trying to help
him--damn them all, anyway--and had to grit his teeth against a rude retort
when he heard one of the adults say, "Let him. He's has a shock--give him a
moment."
Someone set his clothing down beside him and backed away, leaving him
to dress himself.
He could feel the places where Amelia's teeth had clamped down on him,
points of pain on the back of his neck. He rubbed his hand over them, then
picked up his jeans and pulled them awkwardly over his feet. Someone tried
to help him up when he wobbled to his feet to pull them all the way up, and
he snarled and batted their hands away too--he didn't want their help, or need
it.
What he wanted was Patton.
He heard voices outside the tent flap, and someone put a hand in the small
of his back and gently shoved him in the direction of the opening. His heart
started pounding even faster, if that was even possible, and he swallowed
against a suddenly dry mouth as he ducked under the flap and stepped out in
the moonlight. His Paw was standing beside the Alpha with a disappointed
expression on his face. Behind them, Ori could see Hunter and, wrapped
around Hunter's arm like he thought it would protect him from what was
coming, was Holland. Though why Holland would be nervous, Ori couldn't
figure until Holland's eyes met his. Even then, Ori wasn't sure what exactly
had been the problem, he just knew he was in big trouble, so big that Holland
was scared for him, and his knees went weak with anticipation.
The Alpha said something low to Ori's Paw and patted him on the
shoulder, then walked off. He gave Ori a hard look as he passed by and Ori's
knees bent, as if he could cower and lower his tail in this form as well as his
wolf one.
"Come on, boy," Ori's Paw said gruffly, and took his upper arm in a firm
grip. He half-led, half-dragged Ori out of the clearing and Ori only had a
moment to take in Holland's sympathetic look and the avid ones on the rest of
the pack before he'd been pulled into the trees and his Paw said, "What in the
name of the Wolf God were thinking out there, boy? And what have you been
doing to give him ideas like that?"
"What's the problem with it?" Ori protested, then stumbled as his Paw
yanked on his arm, and if he'd thought they were hurrying before, they were
moving like the wind now. "Paw, slow down, you're gonna make me fall!"
 His Paw snarled, but he did slow down a little. "Just you be quiet 'til we
get home. I need to think."
They walked the rest of the way in silence, the air around them thick with
unsaid emotion. Ori's tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth and his
mind ran in circles, worrying about Patton but too frightened to ask.
They got to the trailer and his Paw made him sit in one of the kitchen
chairs and fold his hands in his lap like when he'd been a pup and first
learning his manners. "I'm gonna see if your Maw is near," Paw said, and
pinned him in place with a fierce glare. "Don't you move from that chair."
Ori nodded and took one deep shaky breath as his Paw watched. "I
won't."
"Good." His Paw paused and Ori thought he was going to say something,
but then he looked away and disappeared out the door.
Time stretched and while Ori knew it was only minutes--they had an old
clock on the wall above the kitchen table--it felt like days to him. And then
the door creaked open and he only had a moment to wish he was back in that
infinite-seeming stretch of time before his parents stood in front of him. And
they were definitely less happy to be there than Ori was to have them there.
Maw sighed and gave Ori a wounded look. "You foolish, foolish omega
boy, what on earth were you thinking, letting that beta boy court you?"
Ori's eyes widened. "Court me? Patton? What--" He broke off and stared
at them, his mouth agape. "No, it wasn't like that! I wanted the feathers, I told
him that before we went runnin'! That's why he got them for me--you know
he's always had the sharpest nose in the pack!"
His parents glanced at each other and then his Paw shook his head and
stepped forward to hug Ori. "But that’s exactly the kind of thing folks do
when they’re courting, you know that. I knew we shouldn'ta let you two keep
playing together, but it made you so happy. He made you so happy. And I
never could stand your tears." He laid his cheek on top of Ori's head for a
moment, then stepped back. "Your Maw was better at that, tougher. I shoulda
listened to her." He glanced back at Ori's Maw and they stared at each other
for a long moment while Ori looked back and forth, trying to decipher what
silent communication was passing between them.
Finally, when Ori thought he'd lose his mind with the waiting, his Paw
sighed and undid the buckle of his belt. "Understand, Ori, that this is my
fault, for spoiling you and letting you have your way so much. I knew it was
wrong, but I let myself do it anyway. And now you have to pay the price for
it and I'm sorry for that, but you've caused that boy a pile of trouble and you
need to pay for it."
Ori bolted to his feet and put the chair between himself and his Paw, his
eyes fixed on that folded length of leather. "What do you mean? What are
you talking about?" But he knew, deep in his gut, even though it had never
happened to him in his lifetime. He'd seen the other omegas when they'd been
beaten for misbehavior, coming to class limping and seeking out the softest
places to sit. He knew what was coming. Already, his legs were shaking with
nerves and he wondered in silent hysteria if he'd scream.
"Ori, it's time," his Paw said gently. And then his Maw, "Best done
quicker than slower, get it over with and then it's behind you." She reached
out as if she wanted to touch his cheek or maybe stroke his hair, but Ori
jerked away from her.
"Don't touch me," he hissed, and then regretted it when he saw the hurt in
her eyes. She was trying, for him, and then he thought about Patton and the
beating he'd gotten back at the clearing, and the guilt chewed him so hard he
didn't think anything could hurt more than that. "Fine," he said dully and
stepped out from behind the chair. If Patton was getting beaten, it was only
fair that Ori was too. He was shaking in earnest now, and his Maw's strangled
sound of distress rang across his nerves like scratching a sunburn.
Moments later, Ori lay bent over the table, his pants around his knees and
his now chilled flesh quivering in terrified anticipation. He heard the rush of
air past the leather a fraction of a second before it struck, not really enough
time to brace himself, and agony like sitting on coals roared through him. He
yelped, then bit his knuckles and held back the sobs as best he could.
When it was over, his Paw helped him back to his room and put him to
bed. His Maw came with a cloth, soaked in water and wrung out but
blissfully cool on his aching flesh, and then he was left alone with his
thoughts and his aches. To ponder his crimes, maybe. Except all he seemed
able to ponder was the way his butt and the backs of his thighs shrieked at
him every time he moved. Everything hurt, and he wanted so badly to be mad
at them, but the memory of the sharp-bitter scent of his parents’ fear and
distress troubled him even more than his bruised skin and aching heart.
And then he forgot himself and tried to roll over and the pain in his
backside made him go back to just being mad again.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

T heDa next day, when Patton rolled his aching, bruised body out of bed, his
sat him down in their tiny kitchen and took a seat across from him,
wearing the most serious expression Patton had ever seen on his face. "You
can't see Ori any more."
"Why not?" Patton asked mutinously. "He's my friend. We've been
friends since we were pups."
His Da sighed and cast a glance in the direction of Patton's Ma, who was
puttering away at the stove, then shook his head and turned back to Patton.
"What you did last night was something that's reserved for alphas. You're a
beta. Some day, you'll have a good job with the pack, something useful, but
you won't be able to afford to keep an omega. You need to let him go, to find
his own destiny. He'll mate an alpha and have a good life. Omegas are made
for having babies, it’s what makes them the happiest. You don’t want him to
be poor, do you?"
"No. But why can't I give Ori a present?" Patton asked in a mulish tone.
"We're friends. He wanted the feathers for a shirt he was making. I wanted to
make sure he had them."
"And that was very kind of you," his Ma said, sliding a plate in front of
him with one of their rare eggs and a sausage on it, a slice of Ma's bread
toasted and spread with a thin layer of jam hanging over the edge. "But it
looked like a courting gift and the alphas don't like that."
"Why can't I court him, though? If I got a good job, I could support him."
He'd do that, work harder than he ever had in his life, take whatever job in the
pack he needed to in order to be sure that Ori was happy.
 His Da ruffled his hair and Patton jerked his head away in irritation.
"Omegas are for alphas and betas are for betas. You'll understand when
you're older. In the meantime, just keep your distance from Ori. Now, eat
your breakfast and you can come help me till the garden."
Patton frowned at his plate, but even his stubborn frustration with the
pack couldn't keep his stomach from yearning toward the treat in front of
him. Still, he muttered, "Don't know why I have to be older," before he
picked up his fork and began, careful around the split lip and bruises, to eat.

H isthatDaheworked him hard that day and, by the end, Patton had to admit
was grateful. It helped him keep his mind off Ori and that
pained sound he'd made last night. It also helped him ignore the muttering of
gossip as people made excuses to come by and goggle at him and the marks
left over from last night’s beating.
He never saw Ori at all and when he asked, all he could get out of his Da
was, “Ori’s got his own troubles. Don’t you go adding to them.” But then,
before they left the garden, his Da reached into a sack that had been laying on
the ground the whole time and wordlessly handed Patton a cheap black
cowboy hat. He thumped Patton clumsily on the shoulder and they said no
more about either the hat, or the events of the night before. Patton understood
that he’d done wrong in tromping on alpha territory, but also that his Da
knew that his urge to give something to Ori came from a good place, not a
bad one, and the hat was meant to bridge some of the gap that had been
growing between them that day.
That night, he went to bed exhausted and fell right to sleep, through the
pain of overworked muscles and bruises and through the emotional aches left
over from the aftermath of full moon.
Sometime near dawn, a tapping at his window woke him. The sky was
that funny shade of gray that was still night, but you knew that it was soon
going to start to turn pink. He turned to squint at the window and saw a
familiar head framed in the gray block of the pre-dawn sky.
Ori.
Quick as blinking, he rolled out of the bed he shared with his older
brother, careful not to wake him. He pushed the window open, taking care
not to make too much noise, and hung out the opening to see his friend.
Ori's eyes looked swollen. His whole face did, really, like he'd been
crying. It made Patton think of the time he and Ori had built a wonderful
hideaway up in the trees at the far end of the enclave and some older pups
had found it and destroyed it. They'd spent days on that thing, cobbling
together a roof and four walls, a door, seats and cupboards and stones for a
fire pit, only to have it all destroyed in a matter of minutes. Now, in a sudden
burst of maturity, Patton realized that it was their lives that were being
destroyed. And it was his fault.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know they'd freak out like that."
Ori sniffed. "I can't stay long. I snuck out my window. Maw says I'm
grounded until--I dunno, I guess until I'm mated, they were so mad. Are you
okay?" He reached out to brush a fingertip across Patton's swollen lip, then
pulled his hand away as if he'd touched something hot.
"Yeah, it's no big deal," Patton said magnanimously. "How are you,
though? I heard you yelp last night."
Ori grimaced. "Amelia bit me a little last night, and I got my butt tanned
when I got home. They let met keep the pheasants though, so I wanted to say
thank you for them."
"I wanted you to have them," Patton said.
"I'll make you something," Ori promised. "Look, Maw says I'm not
allowed to see you again, or talk to you, or anything. But, do you mind--if I
can sneak out of the house? Can I come over?"
"Of course!" Patton reached through the window and took Ori's hand.
"You're my best friend. I don't care if they say we can't be friends because
you can have babies."
Ori grinned and squeezed his hand. "Good. I don't want to lose my best
friend."
A faint cry of "Oooooriiiiiii!" drifted through the trees. Ori glanced over
his shoulder and his fingers tightened in Patton's.
"I have to go," he whispered. "I'll come again when I can. Or you can
come to me? I'll leave you a note in our tree."
Patton nodded and forced himself to let go of Ori's hand. Ori waved and
gave him a wavering smile before he ran off in the direction of the gardens.
Patton saw him glance over his shoulder and pick up speed as he rounded the
corner of the neighboring trailer, and then the shouts as his family spotted
him. He hoped Ori wouldn't get in too much trouble--it seemed inevitable that
something was going to happen. There was no way he could lie now about
where he'd been.
Raised voices echoed back to him, signaling Ori's capture. And a few
minutes later, a loud knocking on the trailer's door gave notice that Patton,
too, wasn't going to escape Ori's adventure unscathed.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

O rifamily
was holed up in his bedroom, or more precisely, locked up in it. The
was in an uproar and it was obvious his parents didn’t know what
to do with him. He lay on the bed staring at the enticing square of blue sky
visible through his now nailed-shut window, then closed his eyes and sighed.
This sucked. Badly.
Through the door, he could hear his parents arguing in low, distressed
voices. Christian occasionally put a word in, but as far as Ori could tell, he
was just stirring the pot. Not surprising—Christian’d always seemed a little
embarrassed to have an omega brother.
Suddenly, all the noise outside his room stopped. Shit. He guessed his
punishment was coming now.
Voices murmured low, going on long enough that Ori began to wish
they’d just come in and get it over with. Then, finally, when he thought he’d
explode with anxiety, there was a knock on the door, soft but not tentative.
He got up and opened it, steeling himself for his Paw with a belt or maybe
something worse.
What he saw was Holland.
Up close, the other omega was even more beautiful than Ori had thought.
Not traditionally beautiful, but there was something about his eyes, the way
his face was put together that made you look at him and made it hard to tear
your gaze away.
“Go for a walk?” he asked. His words twanged, the consonants jumping
out at Ori, the r’s more prominent. It was different and interesting, very
foreign and he could see in an instant why Hunter had contracted to mate
him.
“Okay,” Ori replied, his mind spinning with curiosity. He slipped out of
his room, closing the door behind him and slunk out of the trailer in
Holland’s wake. He risked a glance at his parents as they walked past them,
then hung his head and closed the distance between him and Holland in case
they changed their minds.
Holland smiled and linked his arm with Ori’s. “I’m not too familiar with
the place yet. Any nice spots to wander where there aren’t a thousand shifters
on our heels?”
Ori grimaced. “There’s always someone on my heels.”
“You’re with a mated omega now. No one is going to follow us.” Holland
patted Ori’s arm, then followed amiably along as Ori led him out of the town
and towards the running place with its trees and creek. For a moment, he
debated taking him to his and Patton’s apple tree, but an immediate wave of
possessiveness rushed through him and he headed for the creek where it ran
straight and boring for about a quarter mile.
“This is nice,” Holland said and let go of Ori to pick up an old dried leaf
and toss it in the current. He watched it whirl away on the water, the breeze
flirting with his shoulder-length hair. “We never had anything like this back
home. Just wells around the town.”
“We used to come out here when we were pups to make boats, but the
best places are upstream where the creek’s all crooked.” Ori picked up
another leaf, this one green and fresh, and set it in an eddy at the edge of the
creek. It bobbed in place for a second, then meandered out a little farther and
all of a sudden it was gone. It felt weirdly like his life, or the one he used to
have.
“So,” Holland said casually. “That was quite the thing the other day.” He
tossed another leaf into the water and pretended to watch it intently, though
Ori could feel his attention almost like a hand brushing through his fur.
“Yeah,” Ori said dully and hunched his shoulders against the expected
lecture.
“You two been friends a long time?”
Ori nodded.
Holland blew out a breath. “It’s not easy, is it?” He came over to stand
beside Ori, staring into the creek. “There’s good things about being omega,
but I bet right now you can’t see them all that well.”
 Ori shook his head.
“And I bet he just meant to do something nice for you?”
“I wanted the feathers. I was going to make him a shirt,” Ori said dully,
and kicked at a half-buried stone until it plopped unhappily into the water.
Holland frowned and bent to pick something up from the ground at his
feet, this time a thin straight stick of some sort, so dry the end had splintered.
“I don’t know what they teach you here in Perseguir, but in Buffalo Gap, it
was important to conduct yourself properly, because it reflected on your
family.” The corners of his mouth curled up as if he was reliving some
pleasant memory, and he cast a glance Ori’s way from under lowered eyelids.
“Not that we didn’t get up to mischief ourselves, but there were limits, and
we were careful to stay within them.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know. But things are different now. Have you had a heat yet?”
Ori’s face went so hot he thought he’d burst into flames. “One,” he
choked out, his voice strangled. No one talked about heats like that, just plain
old out in the open. Heats were whispered about, even between omegas.
Holland nodded. “See, that’s the problem. You stayed inside while you
were having it?”
Ori nodded.
“When you’re older, you’ll have more at a time. Most only have two,
with about a week between them. Some have three.”
Really? No one had ever mentioned that. He eyed Holland sidelong and
wondered if Holland would tell him how many he had at a time. Would his
Maw or Sierra talk about theirs?
Holland was watching him with those blue eyes that seemed to see all the
ignorance Ori was trying so hard to hide. “You can ask. I might not answer,
but you can ask.” His eyes danced and he jerked his head upstream. “Come
on, let’s find someplace to sit.”
“There’s a dead tree up a ways, but there might be someone there.”
“I think I can get rid of them,” Holland said calmly. He turned upstream
and strolled off with that graceful walk that Ori so desperately wished he
could get the knack of. He followed Holland, watching the swing of
Holland’s legs, trying to copy the shift of weight and the placement of his
feet, and darn near dumped himself in the creek doing it. He thought he heard
Holland snicker softly, but he couldn’t be sure, and when he caught up to the
other omega, Holland was still wearing that same warm and slightly grave
expression that he’d shown Ori since the start.
Ask a question. “So,” Ori started, his voice squeaking a little because of
how tight his throat had gone. “You said I could ask.”
“You can.”
“Can I ask…? No one really talks about this stuff here,” Ori began
apologetically.
“No? Then I guess I’d better answer.”
Funny how much older Holland seemed in that moment, when really, he
was only three years older than Ori. But right now, sixteen and mated put
Holland on the same rung of the ladder as Ori’s parents. “Do you have more
than one heat?”
Holland nodded and his mouth tightened. “I have three usually. They
aren’t strong—sometimes I don’t notice until I’m well into it.”
“Oh.” That didn’t sound like the one Ori’d had at all. But still… Holland
was the first one to talk openly to Ori about this very secret topic. “What’s it
like? Being mated?”
Holland chuckled at that. “Scary, a little. I thought I was going to faint
going into the ceremony, in case I messed it up. And then—” His voice
cracked and when Ori looked at him, Holland had gone as red as Ori had
earlier. “Well, your alpha takes you away during part of it, or at least they do
in Buffalo Gap. Do they do that here?”
Did they? “I think so. Maw said it was a little time for the couple to get to
know each other before they came back and had to act as hosts again.”
Holland rubbed a hand over his mouth, but his lips were twitching and
Ori could see the laughter in his eyes. “Something like that. It’s when you
really become mates, physically. It was kind of scary and I was afraid he’d be
unhappy after because I didn’t know much. Just some kissing.” A ghost of
some unpleasant emotion flitted across his face, and he shook his head and
smiled at Ori. “You’re not getting any more detail than that from me. At
least, not until you’re spoken for by an alpha.”
The downed tree came into view, mercifully unoccupied at the moment,
and they headed toward it. “And after?” Ori showed Holland the spots where
the trunk was more comfortable, and settled himself beside him.
“It’s strange for a bit, but it only takes a couple of days and you get used
to it.”
Another random document with
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him for four years holding the place of konzertmeister in Liszt’s
orchestra at Weimar. Then he is konzertmeister in Hannover, where
he married Amalie Weiss, a singer of unrivalled art. Still later he went
to Berlin, where, as teacher and quartet leader, he stood for the very
highest ideals of his art. The famous Joachim quartet, which his spirit
may be said almost to have created, consisted of Joachim, De Ahna
(1835-1892), once a pupil of Mayseder, Emanuel Wirth, violist, who
succeeded Rappoldi in 1877, and Robert Hausmann (1852-1909).
De Ahna was succeeded by J. C. Kruse (b. 1859), and Kruse in
1897 by Karl Halir. Joachim gave himself with deepest devotion to
the study of Beethoven’s works; and probably his performances of
the last quartets of Beethoven have established a standard of
excellence in chamber music which may never be exalted further.
Brahms wrote his violin concerto especially for Joachim, who alone
for many years was able to play it. Here is but another case where
the great virtuoso stands behind the great composer. Kreutzer,
Clement, and Rode all have entered in spirit into the immortality of
great music through Beethoven. David stands behind the concerto of
Mendelssohn, Joachim behind that of Brahms.

So, too, there is a great virtuoso just behind three of the most
successful of modern concertos: Sarasate behind the first concerto
of Lalo, the very substance of Bruch’s second concerto and his
Scottish Fantasia. Pablo de Sarasate (1844-1908) came from his
native land of Spain to Paris in 1856. Already as a boy of ten he had
astonished the Spanish court. Into his small hands had already come
a priceless Stradivari, gift of the queen of Spain. After three years’
study under Alard in Paris he entered upon his career of virtuoso,
which took him well over the face of the world, from the Orient to the
United States. The numerous short pieces which he has composed
are tinged with Spanish color. There are gypsy dances, Spanish
dances, the Jota Aragonesa, romances and fantasias, all of which
are brilliant and many of which are at present among the favorite
solos of all violinists.

The Norwegian violinist, Ole Bull (1810-1880), who achieved an

international fame, should be mentioned in this connection. His
compositions, in slight forms or transcriptions, enjoyed considerable
popularity.

On the whole the technique of violin playing has hardly advanced

beyond Paganini. Practically little or no advance has been possible.
But undoubtedly this once miraculous technique is now within the
grasp of all the great virtuosi of the present day. To mention these
would go beyond the purpose of this chapter, which has been, in so
far as possible, to select from the list of hundreds a few men that
have united, so to speak, the technique of the violin to the general
progress of music, through their influence as players, as teachers, as
composers, or as mentors, so far as violin music is concerned, to
greater composers.

The mass of music composed by the great violinists of the

nineteenth century is immense. The works of large proportions as
well as those of small were composed with perhaps the chief aim of
revealing the scope of the instrument; and as for the concertos it is
hardly unfair to say that they were composed with the additional
purpose of offering to the composer the best chance to display his
individual style as a player. Certainly of these many composers
Spohr and Vieuxtemps were the most capable as musicians in a
general way; and as it must be granted that both were at their best in
the performance of their own concertos, so it may be said that their
concertos rose to their highest value under the fingers of their
creators. To that same value they have not otherwise risen.

The concerto is, after all, a long piece of music in symphonic

proportions, and time seems to have proved that it must justify itself
by more than display of the special qualities of a certain instrument.
There must be in addition to this something of genuine musical
value. The thoughts which it expresses—for so we must name the
outpourings of a musical inspiration which have no substance but
sound—must be first worthy of expression. There must be melody
and harmony of distinct and vivid character. These the concertos of
the violin-composers oftenest lack; and therefore from the point of
view of pure music, one finds in them a lack not only of originality but
of strength.

Their short pieces stand a better chance of a longer life, because in

them a slender idea is not stretched to fill a broad form, and because
for a short time sheer beauty of sound, such as the violin is capable
of, and dexterity of fingers are a sufficient delight to the ear.

VII
In turning to the violin pieces of the great masters of music one finds
first and foremost ideas, great or charming, which are wholly worthy
of expression. As these find their outlet in music in melody, harmony,
and rhythm, and take their shape in form, melody becomes
intensified and suggests as well as sings, harmony is enriched, form
developed and sustained. Only the solo sonatas of Bach have
demanded such manifold activity from the violin alone. Other
composers have called to the aid of their ideas some other
instrument—pianoforte, organ, or orchestra. The great masters have
indeed placed no small burden of the frame and substance of such
compositions on the shoulders of this second instrument, usually the
pianoforte. Hence we have music which is no longer solo music for
the violin, but duets in which both instruments play an obbligato part.
Such are the violin sonatas of Beethoven, Brahms, César Franck
and others, thoroughly developed, well-articulated and often truly
great music.

Beethoven wrote ten sonatas for pianoforte and violin, all but one
between the years 1798 and 1803. This was a time when his own
fame as a virtuoso was at its height, and the pianoforte part in all the
sonatas calls for technical skill and musicianship from the pianist.
Upon the violinist, too, they make no less claim. In fact Beethoven’s
idea of this duet sonata as revealed in all but the last, that in G
major, opus 96, is the idea of a double concerto, both performers
displaying the best qualities and the most brilliant of their
instruments, the pianist at the same time adding the harmonic
background and structural coherence which may well be conceived
as orchestral. It is not surprising then to find in these works
something less of the ‘poetic idea’ than may be discovered, or has
been, in the sonatas for pianoforte alone, the string quartets, and the
symphonies. Beethoven is not concerned solely with poetic
expression in music. And not only many of the violin sonatas, but the
horn sonata and the 'cello sonatas, were written for a certain player,
and even for a special occasion.

Of the three sonatas, opus 12, written not later than 1798 and
dedicated to the famous Italian Salieri, then resident in Vienna, little
need be said. On the whole they are without conspicuous distinction
in style, treatment, or material; though certain movements, especially
the slow movements of the second and third sonatas, are full of deep
feeling. Likewise the next two sonatas, that in A minor, opus 23, and
that in F major, opus 24, are not of great significance in the list of
Beethoven’s works, though the former speaks in a highly
impassioned vein, and the latter is so frankly charming as to have
won for itself something of the favor of the springtime.

Shortly after these Beethoven composed the three sonatas, opus 30,
dedicated to the Czar of Russia, in which there is at once a more
pronounced element of virtuosity and likewise a more definite poetic
significance. The first and last of this set are in A major and G major,
and show very clearly the characteristics which are generally
associated with these keys. The former is vigorous, the latter
cheerful. Both works are finely developed and carefully finished in
style, and the Tempo di minuetto in the latter is one of the most
charming of Beethoven’s compositions. The sonata in C minor which
stands between these two is at once more rough-hewn and
emotionally more powerful.

The sonata in A, opus 47, is the ninth of the violin sonatas of

Beethoven. It was written especially for the English violinist, George
Bridgetower, with whom Beethoven played it for the first time on the
17th or 24th of May, 1803. According to the violinist himself, who
was, by the way, a mulatto and exceedingly mannered, he altered a
passage in this performance of the work which greatly pleased
Beethoven. However this may be, Beethoven later fell out with him,
and subsequently dedicated the sonata to the great violinist
Rodolphe Kreutzer, who came to Vienna in the suite of General
Bernadotte. It has since been known as the Kreutzer Sonata. It is an
imposing and brilliant work, but it may be fairly said that it owes its
general popularity to the favor of virtuosi to whom it offers a grateful
test of technical ability. Emotionally the first movement alone is of
sustained and impressive meaning. The theme of the Andante is of
great sweetness, but the variations are hardly more than a series of
more and more elaborate ornamentations, designed for the benefit of
the players. The brilliant last movement seems to have been first
conceived for the preceding sonata in A major, opus 30, No. 1.

Toward the end of 1812 the French violinist, Pierre Rode, came to
Vienna, and to this event alone is probably due the last of
Beethoven’s sonatas for pianoforte and violin. If he had set out to
exhaust the possibilities of brilliant effect in the combination of the
two instruments, he achieved his goal, as far as it was attainable
within the limits of technique at that time, in the Kreutzer Sonata.
Then for a period of nine years he lost interest in the combination.
When he turned to it again, for this sonata in G, opus 96, it was with
far deeper purpose. The result is a work of a fineness and reserve,
of a pointed style, and cool meaning. It recalls in some measure the
Eighth Symphony, and like that symphony has been somewhat
eclipsed by fellow works of more obvious and striking character. Yet
from the point of view of pure and finely-wrought music it is the best
of the sonatas for pianoforte and violin. Mention has already been
made of the first performance of the work, given on the 29th of
December, 1812, by Rode and Beethoven’s pupil, the Archduke
Rudolph.

The concerto for violin and orchestra, opus 61, must be given a
place among his masterpieces. It belongs in point of time between
the two great pianoforte concertos, in G major and E-flat major; and
was first performed by the violinist Franz Clement, to whom it was
dedicated, at a concert in the Theater an der Wien, on December 23,
1806. Difficult as the concerto is for the violinist, Beethoven has
actually drawn upon only a few of the characteristics of the
instrument, and chiefly upon its power over broad, soaring melody.
He had written a few years earlier two Romances, opus 40 and opus
50, for violin and orchestra, which may be taken as preliminary
experiments in weaving a solo-violin melody with the many strands
of the orchestra. The violin part in the concerto is of noble and
exalted character, and yet at the same time gives to the instrument
the chance to express the best that lies within it.

The plan of the work is suggestively different from the plan of the last
two concertos for pianoforte. In these Beethoven treats the solo
instrument as a partner or at times as an opponent of the orchestra,
realizing its wholly different and independent individuality. At the very
beginning of both the G major and the E-flat major concertos, the
piano asserts itself with weight and power equal to the orchestra’s,
and the ensuing music results as it were from the conflict or the
union of these two naturally contrasting forces. The violin has no
such independence from the orchestra, of which, in fact, it is an
organic member. The violin concerto begins with a long orchestral
prelude, out of which the solo instrument later frees itself, as it were,
and rises, to pursue its course often as leader, but never as
opponent.[52]

The few works by Schubert for pianoforte and violin belong to the
winter of 1816 and 1817, and, though they have a charm of melody,
they are of relatively slight importance either in his own work or in
the literature for the instrument. There are a concerto in D major;
three sonatinas, in D, A minor, and G minor, opus 137, Nos. 1, 2, 3;
and a sonata in A, opus 162.

There are two violin sonatas by Schumann, in A minor, opus 105,

and in D minor, opus 121. Both are works belonging to the last years
of his life, and both reflect a sad and gloomy spirit; but both contain
much that is rarely beautiful. They will strike the ear at once as more
modern than those of Beethoven, mostly of course because of the
treatment of the pianoforte. Here it may well be mentioned that
improvements in the pianoforte rather changed the problem of
writing duet sonatas such as these. The new power of the instrument
might easily threaten the violin with extinction. On the whole
Schumann’s handling of the combination is remarkably successful.
He is inclined now and then to treat the pair of instruments in unison
—as in the first movement of the sonata in A minor—which is a rank
waste of the beauties which the diversity in the natures of pianoforte
and violin makes possible. On the other hand, such a movement as
that in G major in the second sonata, its unusual beginning with a
melody given by the violin in pizzicato chords, and its third statement
of the melody in rich double-stops, is a masterpiece.[53]

The only considerable contribution by Mendelssohn to the literature

of the violin is the concerto written for and first performed by
Ferdinand David. A sonata in F minor, opus 4, is without distinction.
But the concerto must be reckoned as one of Mendelssohn’s
greatest works. Certainly, standing as it does between the concerto
of Beethoven, on the one hand, and that of Brahms, on the other, it
cannot but appear small in size and slight in content. But the themes,
especially the chief theme of the first movement, are well chosen,
the orchestral part exquisitely and thoroughly finished, and the
treatment of the violin, thanks to David, smoothly effective. The
cadenza—is it Mendelssohn or David?—is of sterling worth, and it is
happily arranged in the movement as a whole before the third
section, so that the hearer has not the shock which accompanies the
enforced dragging in of virtuoso stuff in most cadenzas. It glides
naturally out of what came before, and slowly flows back into the
course of the movement.

There are three violin sonatas by Brahms which hold a very high
place in music. The first, opus 78, in G major, was written after the
first and second symphonies and even the violin concerto had been
made public (Jan. 1, 1879). It has, perhaps, more than any of his
earlier works, something of grace and pleasant warmth, of those
qualities which made the second symphony acceptable to more than
his prejudiced friends. Certainly this sonata, which was played with
enthusiasm by Joachim all over Europe, made Brahms’ circle of
admirers vastly broader than it had been before.

The workmanship is, of course, highly involved and recondite. There

is a thematic relationship between the first and last movements,[54]
and the themes and even the accompaniment are put to learned
uses. But the style is gracious and charming, the treatment of the
violin wholly satisfactory, and the combination of the two instruments
close and interesting.

The second sonata, opus 100, did not appear until seven years after
the first. Here again there is warmth and grace of style, though the
impression the work makes as a whole is rather more serious than
that made by the earlier sonata. Of course at a time when Brahms
and Wagner were being almost driven at each other by their ardent
friends and backers the resemblance between the first theme of this
sonata in A major and the melody of the Prize Song in the
Meistersinger did not pass unnoticed. The resemblance is for an
instant startling, but ceases to exist after the first four notes.

The third sonata, that in D minor, opus 108, appeared two years
later. On the whole it has more of the sternness one cannot but
associate with Brahms than either of those which precede it. There
are grotesque accents in the first movement, and also a passage of
forty-six measures over a dominant pedal point, and even the
delightful movement in F-sharp minor (un poco presto e con
sentimento) has a touch of deliberateness. The slow movement on
the other hand is direct, and the last movement has a strong, broad
swing.

No violin sonatas show more ingenuity in the combining of the two

instruments than those of Brahms. Mr. Thomas F. Dunhill in his book
on Chamber Music,[55] chooses from each of them a passage which
really represents a new effect in this field of which one would have
thought all the effects discovered.
The concerto for violin and orchestra stands among Brahms’
supreme achievements, a giant among concertos matched only by
that of Beethoven. It is not a matter for surprise that Brahms, who in
many ways deliberately tried to follow Beethoven, and who even
here chose the same key (D major) that Beethoven chose for his
concerto, chose likewise the old-fashioned form of concerto. The
work gains ponderance by reason of the long orchestral introduction
in both the first and second movements. There is, likewise, as in the
pianoforte concertos, too conscious a suppression of superficial
brilliance. But what is this slight heaviness compared to the soaring
power of its glorious themes? Truly the violin rises high above the
orchestra as on wings of light.

The treatment of the violin relates the concerto to Joachim even

more definitely than the dedication. It is full of the most exacting
difficulties, some of which in the last movement gave even Joachim
pause. The double-stops, however, and the frequent passages in
two voices were, after all, effects in which Joachim was especially
successful. Some of the close co-operation of the two great masters
on this single great masterpiece is revealed in the correspondence
which passed between Joachim and Brahms and happily has been
preserved.

VIII
Turning now to music in its more recent developments, we shall find
that each nation has contributed something of enduring worth to the
literature of the violin. Certainly, high above all modern sonatas, and
perhaps above all sonatas for pianoforte and violin, stands that by
César Franck, dedicated to M. Eugène Ysäye. By all the standards
we have, this work is immortally great. From the point of view of style
it presents at their best all the qualities for which Franck’s music is
valued. There are the fineness in detail and the seemingly
spontaneous polyphonic skill, the experiments, or rather the
achievements in binding the four movements into a unified whole by
employing the same or cognate thematic material in all, the
chromatic alterations of harmonies and the almost unlimited
modulations. Besides these more or less general qualities, the
pianoforte and the violin are most sympathetically combined, and the
treatment of both instruments is varied and interesting. Franck’s
habit of short phrases here seems wholly proper, and never
suggests as it does in some of his other works a too intensive
development of musical substance. In short this sonata, full of
mystical poetry, is a flawless masterpiece, from the opening
movement that seems like a dreamy improvisation, to the sunny
canon at the end of the work.

This is by no means the only brilliant accomplishment of the French

composers in violin music. Lalo’s Concerto in F minor, opus 20, and
his Spanish Symphony for violin and orchestra, opus 21, must be
given a place among the most successful of modern compositions.
They were both composed between 1873 and the beginning of 1875.
Both were dedicated to Sarasate, whose influence contributed not a
little to their perfection of style, and who was the first to play them in
public. The ‘Spanish Symphony’ was greatly admired by
Tschaikowsky and apparently put the thought of writing his own
concerto into his head. In a letter to Mme. von Meck, written in
March, 1878, he showed a positive enthusiasm for Lalo’s work which
had recently become known to him through the performance by the
‘very modern’ violinist Sarasate. And of Lalo he wrote that, like Léo
Delibes and Bizet, he shunned studiously all routine commonplaces,
sought new forms without wishing to appear profound, and, unlike
the Germans, cared more for musical beauty than for mere respect
of the old traditions. Besides these two concertos Lalo wrote within
the next few years a ‘Romance-Serenade,’ a ‘Norwegian Fantasia,’
and a Concerto Russe, for violin and orchestra.

Sarasate seems to have stimulated almost all of the composers with

whom he came in contact. Saint-Saëns wrote three concertos for
violin and orchestra, opus 20, in A major, opus 58, in C major, and
opus 61, in B minor, and dedicated all to Sarasate. Of these the third
is the broadest in form and the most impressing, and is a favorite
among its fellows as the second concerto for pianoforte, opus 22, is
among the five works in that form. It was composed in 1880 and
played for the first time by Sarasate. Saint-Saëns wrote besides
these three concertos an ‘Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso,’ opus
28, a ‘Romanze,’ opus 48, and a ‘Concert Piece,’ opus 62, for violin
and orchestra, and two sonatas—opus 75, in D minor, and opus 102,
in E-flat major—for violin and pianoforte. There is also a brilliant
Havanaise, opus 83, for violin and orchestra.

There is a sonata for violin and piano by Gabriel Fauré, opus 13,
which has won favor, and which Saint-Saëns characterized as
géniale. The year 1905 heard the first performance of the admirable
violin sonata in C major of M. Vincent d’Indy.

Among the Scandinavian composers Grieg holds the highest rank,

and his three sonatas for violin and pianoforte are among the favorite
compositions for this combination. Their charm is like that of his
other works, and consists not a little in the presence of a distinct
national idiom which, until one becomes thoroughly used to it, strikes
the ear with delightful freshness. The three sonatas are respectively
opus 8, in F major, opus 13, in G major, and opus 45, in C minor.
The last is a fiery, dramatic work. The two earlier ones are
characterized by grace and charm. With the exception of the
pianoforte concerto in A minor, Grieg showed himself nowhere more
successful than in these sonatas in the treatment of form. His ideas
are generally slight, and his workmanship delicate and refined.
Hence he is at his best in short pieces. But the violin sonatas are on
the whole well sustained, and the themes in the last of them, and
particularly the chief theme of the first movement, have a breadth
quite unusual in the great part of his music.

Of far broader conception, however, than the sonatas, are the two
brilliant concertos by Christian Sinding, the first in A major, opus 45,
the second in D major, opus 60. Concerning his music in general M.
Henry Marteau, the eminent French violinist who introduced the first
concerto to the public and who is a close friend of Sinding, has
written: 'He is very Norwegian in his music, but less so than Grieg,
because his works are of far broader conception and would find
themselves cramped in the forms that are so dear to Grieg.’[56]

Among the Russians, Tschaikowsky’s concerto for violin in D major,

opus 35, is one of the greatest written for the instrument. Of
Tschaikowsky’s admiration for the Spanish Symphony of Lalo,
mention has already been made. After this had prompted him to
write a concerto of his own, the work went on with astonishing
rapidity; was, in fact, roughly on paper within the space of a month. It
was first performed on December 4, 1884, at a Philharmonic concert
in Vienna by Adolf Brodsky (b. 1851). It was originally dedicated to
Leopold Auer (b. 1845), but Tschaikowsky later re-dedicated it to
Brodsky, having heard that Auer had dissuaded Émile Sauret from
playing it in Petrograd. As to the difficulties of the work much may be
gleaned from a letter written by Brodsky to Tschaikowsky after the
first performance. Among other things he wrote: 'I had the wish to
play the concerto in public ever since I first looked it through. * * * I
often took it up and often put it down, because my laziness was
stronger than my wish to reach the goal. You have, indeed, crammed
too many difficulties into it. * * * One can play it again and again and
never be bored; and this is a most important circumstance for the
conquering of its difficulties.’[57]

Of the three movements only the last (allegro vivacissimo, 2-4, D

major) has a distinctly Russian flavor. This comes to it not only from
the nature of the two chief themes, which are in the character of
Russian folk-songs, but from the gorgeous coloring, both harmonic
and orchestral, the wildness of climaxes, and the Slavic idiom of
repeating a single phrase over and over again. It is a riotous piece of
music, this last movement, full of an animation, almost a madness
which is intoxicating. Hanslick heard in it only the brutal and
wretched jollity of a Russian Kermesse; but his fierce judgment has
not been supported by the public or by the profession.

There is a concerto for violin in A minor, opus 82, by Alexander

Glazounoff, composed in 1904 and first performed at a Queen’s Hall
concert in London, by Mischa Elman, on October 17, 1905. The work
is dedicated to Leopold Auer, to whom, as has just been mentioned,
Tschaikowsky originally dedicated his concerto for violin. It is a work
without distinction.
Modern Violinists. From top left to bottom right: Pablo Sarasate,
Fritz Kreisler,
Eugène Ysäye. Jacques Thibaud.
The violin concerto of Sibelius in D minor, opus 47, was composed in
1905 and first played by Karl Halir in Berlin, October 19, 1905. It is a
work of far greater power than that of Glazounoff. Mrs. Rosa
Newmarch in her monograph on Sibelius,[58] likens the difficulties in
it to those of the Tschaikowsky concerto, which were for a while
considered insurmountable. The concerto is in three movements of
which the first is gloomy and forbidding, though poignant in the
extreme, the second noble and more classic, the last—the coda of
which was added by Pietro Floridia—savagely effective.

In Germany we meet with Sarasate again in the second concerto

and Scottish Fantasy by Max Bruch. These are the best known of
Bruch’s works for violin and orchestra, among which may be
mentioned a first concerto, opus 26, in G minor, a Romance, opus
42, an Adagio Appassionato, opus 57, and a Serenade, opus 75.
The second concerto, opus 44, was, according to Bruch, inspired by
stories of the Carlist wars in Spain, told by Sarasate. It was
composed in Bonn in 1877, ten years after the first, and was first
publicly performed by Sarasate, in London, during the fall of that
year. In form it is free and rhapsodical, consisting of an adagio
movement, then a movement in recitative style, and a final rondo. All
through the work the solo violin predominates. The Scottish
Fantasia, composed a year or two later, was dedicated to Sarasate.
The use of Scotch songs in the five movements is so free that
English critics could hardly recognize them, and were angry.

Among more recent works for the violin by German composers the
sonata by Richard Strauss stands conspicuous. This is an early work
—opus 18—and its popularity is already on the wane. There is a
concerto in A major, opus 101, by Max Reger, and a Suite im alten
Stil for violin and piano, opus 93. There are concertos by Gernsheim,
as well: but on the whole there has been no remarkable output of
music for the violin in Germany since that of Brahms and of Max
Bruch.
Karl Goldmark, the Bohemian composer, has written two concertos,
of which the first, opus 28, in A minor, offers an excellent example of
the composer’s finished and highly pleasing style. The second
concerto, without opus number, is among his later works. Two suites
for piano and violin, opus 11 and opus 43, were made familiar by
Sarasate. Dvořák’s concerto, opus 53, has been frequently played.
He composed as well a Romance, opus 11, for violin and orchestra,
and a sonatina, opus 100, for violin and pianoforte. The works of
Jenö Hubay are of distinctly virtuoso character.

The Italian Leone Sinigaglia became known to the world by his

concerto for violin, opus 20, in A major, played in Berlin in 1901 by
his countryman, Arrigo Serrato. Later works include a Rapsodia
piemontese for violin and orchestra, and a Romance for the same
combination, opus 29. The violin music of Emanuel Móor, including a
concerto and a remarkably fine suite for violin unaccompanied, has
yet to be better known. Georges Enescou first attracted attention by
compositions for the violin. On the whole, however, it may be said
that the violin is awaiting a new contribution to its literature. This
contribution is doubtless delayed by the great attention given at the
present day to the piano, the orchestra, or other combinations of
instruments, by which the modern growth in harmony and the
change in ideas of polyphony may be given a full expression. Until
these various ideas have become firmly rooted and well-grown, the
violin will profit but vicariously by them.
 FOOTNOTES:
[51] This famous arrangement was published by the Maison Richault in Paris as
Thème de Rode, chanté avec variations dans le Barbier de Séville en Italien par
Mmes. Sontag, Alboni, Trebelli; en français par Mlle. Maria Bailly; paroles
françaises d’Adolph Larmande, avec accompagnement de piano par L. Moreau.
See Notice sur Rode, by F. A. A. Paroisse-Pougin (Paris, 1874).

[52] See Paul Bekker: ‘Beethoven.’ Berlin, 1913.

[53] Joachim had in his possession a concerto for violin by Schumann, written
likewise near the end of his life.

[54] The theme of the last movement can be found in two songs, Regenlied and
Nachklang, opus 59, published seven years earlier.

[55] ‘Chamber Music.’ London, 1913.

[56] See Song Journal, November 10, 1895.

[57] See Modest Tschaikowsky: ‘Life of Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky.’

[58] ‘Jean Sibelius, a Finnish Composer.’

 CHAPTER XIV
THE BEGINNINGS OF CHAMBER
MUSIC
The term ‘chamber music’; fifteenth-century dances; lute music,
early suites; vocal ‘chamber music’—Early ‘sonatas’: Gabrieli;
Rossi; Marini; etc.—Vitali, Veracini, Bassani and Corelli; Corelli’s
pupils; Vivaldi; Bach and Handel.

I
In giving an account of early chamber music we may confine
ourselves to the consideration of early instrumental music of certain
kinds, although the term at first did not apply to pure instrumental
music alone. Chamber music in the sixteenth century meant
instrumental or vocal music for social and private purposes as
distinguished from public musical performances in churches or in
theatres. In its modern sense chamber music applies, of course, only
to instrumental ensembles, and it is therefore not necessary to dwell
upon the vocal side of chamber music beginnings, except where, as
in its incipient stages, music was written for both kinds of
performances.[59] In searching for examples of early chamber music,
therefore, we must above all consider all such music, vocal or
instrumental, as was not composed for the use of the church or
theatre. Properly speaking the accompanied art-songs of the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which were discussed in Vol. I,
Chapter IX, of our narrative history, represent the very beginnings of
artistic instrumental music that during the following three centuries
developed into pure instrumental chamber music. In forwarding this
development the dance music of the period and other instrumental
compositions of the fifteenth century were important factors.

The fifteenth century dances such as the Pawirschwantz, the

Fochsschwantz, and others, employed the polyphonic style peculiar
to the vocal compositions of the time. They lacked inspiration and
were of a restless character because of frequent changes of rhythm.
There was little to distinguish them from each other; they were in
fact, in the words of Michael Prætorius, ‘as like as eggs,’ and their
general character was not different from that of the vocal
compositions of the same period. Probably no modern ear could
listen to them with enjoyment.

Presumably this music was to be played on any instrument, without

differentiation. No single instrument was especially favored until the
following century, when the perfection and the popularity of the lute
helped to bring chamber music into existence. This instrument was
indeed so highly perfected and the players so skilled that they were
able to perform upon it even difficult polyphonic works. This gave an
opportunity to the people to become acquainted, through private
performances, with a great number of musical compositions. To
satisfy the demands of their friends lutenists arranged and
transcribed for their instruments all kinds of compositions, including
even entire six-part masses. While these arrangements served their
purpose they were probably not more satisfactory than the pianoforte
arrangement of orchestral scores today. Pieces of polyphonic
character were also composed directly for the lute, and bore such
names as Ricercar, Fantasia, Præludium, Preambel, Trio, Trium,
Toccata, Tartar le corde, etc. Besides this the lutenists produced a
large amount of music in a more popular vein, popular tunes,
dances, and descriptive pieces including ‘battles,’ ‘echoes,’ ‘bird-
songs,’ in which the composer’s intention was often not self-evident.