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THE OMEGA’S ALPHA
Mercy Hills Pack Book Four
ANN-KATRIN BYRDE
 Cover Art by
ANA J PHOENIX
 C onte nts

Foreword
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
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
About the Author
Like This Story?
Other Books by Ann-Katrin
Fires of Fate
Coming Soon! A Brand New Series!
© 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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 So many people helped out with pushing this story out the door. First of all, thank you to the
members of the Byrde House, who helped with naming babies all through this book. The folks in
chat, who cheered me on when I thought this book would never end. And Ana J. Phoenix, who isn’t
just an amazing cover artist, but a great friend, with awesome chocolate, who kept me going
through these past weeks when all I wanted to do was melt into a puddle of angst.
 Foreword

T imelines. Timelines are fun. This book was supposed to be book five, but so many people
wanted Holland and Quin to get their happy ending, I ended up moving their book to fourth in the
series. It meant pulling some of the storyline from Legally Mated into The Omega’s Alpha. Because
of this, the book is incredibly long—like, 141,000 words (yes, longer than Abel’s Omega). It also
means going way, way back in time.
The Omega’s Alpha overlaps the last half of Abel’s Omega, actually starting just after Abel loses
his position as Alpha of Mercy Hills and just before Taden is born. The entire storyline of Duke’s
Baby Deal occurs in the background during the first half of The Omega’s Alpha. Characters pop in
and out—you’ll see Cas again, and Duke and Edmond, Jason and Mac, and Holland’s little brother
Cale (and isn’t he a pistol!). Garrick and Laine are back, and you’ll meet some of Quin’s old Marine
buddies.
 Chapter One

Q uin was walking on a dusty road to nowhere. He was at the head of his pack—his soldiers—
gun cradled in his arms, borrowing as heavily from his wolf as he could, even though he
knew he’d pay for it later. Once they were safe, he could pass the responsibility on to
someone else while he recovered, but he had to get them to safety first. Except, when he spun in a
slow circle to check on them all, it wasn’t the humans he’d known when he’d been overseas, but his
pack. His real pack.
He was leading a bunch of Mercy Hills shifters. Abel, and Cas, though he hadn’t seen Cas in eight
years and in the dream he was still a scrawny teenager. Ozgur, who had been his best friend until they
turned nine and Ozgur’s family had moved away to Winter Moon because he could work on cars
there. He didn’t look anything like Ozgur had, but somehow Quin knew it was him. An older woman
whose name he couldn’t remember but he knew in that same dream certainty that she was from Mercy
Hills. A few others—people he knew well, some he just knew by sight.
And then it all went to shit.
A heavy wave of doom rushed over him. He tried to get them to run, to take cover, to get out of the
way of whatever it was that was coming, while trying to walk through air like cement, his body
refusing to obey his commands. The gun in his arms twitched and he looked down and it wasn’t his
gun anymore, but Cas. Or what was left of him.
“Hey, Grampa.” Cas grinned, his jawbone hanging loose and sickening in his face. Quin tried to
put it back, because it shouldn’t be attached only on one side, but it kept slipping out of his hand and
he still had to run, but he was so tired, and then they were all dead, all but him. He couldn’t see them,
but he knew it—
Quin woke up face down on the bedroom floor, next to the little table that held his alarm clock,
his phone, his glass of water. The table was on its side, the phone half in and half out of the puddle
forming in front of the glass. Stupidly, he stared at it, then reached out and batted it away from the
water. It skittered across the fake wood of the floor, leaving a thin damp trace of its passing, and came
to a stop against the far wall with a clunk.
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the floor. His nights had been broken by
nightmares since leaving the army, but nothing like this. They were getting worse, and more frequent,
and he didn’t know what to do about it. He supposed he could talk to Adelaide. He could try to
access his veteran’s benefits, but he’d have to go outside walls for that and, well—he’d just gotten
home.
Damn, had it really been only a month?
 And just like that, his brain kicked off into overdrive, and any chance of getting to sleep
disappeared in a puff of smoke. Not that sleep was likely after one of those dreams, with his heart
still racing and all his senses straining for threats that weren’t really there. But sometimes he could
just roll over and force himself to sleep, like he had before he’d come home.
Not today.
Quin sat up in bed and scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair until the last
cobwebby feel of the dream had left him. The sky was still pitch black outside his window—no one
would be awake to distract him. Might as well get some work done. He reminded himself that it
would get better—he’d only been Alpha for a month and this stage where everything seemed to take
him two times longer than Abel said it should would eventually come to an end.
He pushed himself to his feet and shambled toward the bathroom.
 Chapter Two

A couple of hours and halfway through his second cup of coffee later, Quin’s phone rang.
“Hey, you want to come over for breakfast?” Abel’s voice bounded out of the phone,
sounding far too cheerful for this early in the morning. Whatever time that was—he’d kind of lost
track. Quin glanced at the clock on the computer screen. Six o’clock. Okay, it wasn’t that early, but
he’d been up since three, and it was the third day in a row this had happened. He was more tired than
hungry, but the lack of sleep and the stack of paperwork, reports, and decisions to be made reminded
him too much of the army. It laid a veil of history over everything he looked at that colored it all dust-
beige and dead, and sucked some of the joy out of being home. But being home was still better than
being in the army.
“Sure.” He’d only been home a month, barely scratched the surface of this new life, but he’d
already figured out that Abel’s pups could chase away the ghosts of the past better than anything else.
And there were—other—reasons for him to visit as well. “Right now?”
“Whenever you get here. Bax and Holland put together some sort of baked egg thing that they
promise is good enough even the pups will eat it.”
Quin chuckled. “I’ll be right down.”
“I do my best to hold off the ravening hoards.”
Quin stared at his phone for a moment after Abel hung up and tried to put his thoughts in order
again. Unfortunately, where Holland was concerned, instinct took point in that hunt and he found
himself thinking things he had no right to think. Hell, he hardly knew the other man. And even if he
did, it wasn’t like Quin was good mate material, with the long hours and the nightmares and the …
other symptoms.
He pushed it all away, the memories that rushed forward unbidden at odd moments, the sensation
of being watched, the tension when things got too quiet around him. Maybe that was what Abel’s pups
did for him—they buried the silence in their joy in life.
The coffee in his cup was lukewarm. He debated drinking it anyway just for the caffeine, then
shook his head and dumped it in the kitchen sink. There’d be better at Abel’s and, to be honest, what
was a half-mug of cheap instant going to do for him anyway? It was Bax’s one personal splurge, and
one that Quin appreciated whole-heartedly. He’d have to find some expensive brand of beans to give
him for Christmas, but he didn’t know a damn thing about coffee except that sometimes it kept him
awake.
Having in-laws was both fun and stressful.
It wasn’t quite raining, more a heavy drizzle that was still on the fence about whether it wanted to
be mist of full on rain. Quin pulled the brim of his ball cap down over his head and tugged the neck of
his winter jacket closer, squinting up at the sky. Fuck it. He went back into the building and signed out
one of the pack’s vehicles, a small Ford sedan with a pristine interior.
In the car, it took less than ten minutes to get to Abel’s house. He pulled up in front of the building
with its welcoming porch and the lights gleaming through the windows like beacons of warmth. The
roads still hadn’t been officially created here, though the repeated press of feet and tires had worn
tracks from the town to this still mostly unpopulated area. Not for long—Abel had done amazing
things since he’d taken over as Alpha. Would Quin do as well? He hoped so.
The front door opened and a little ball of fur came pelting out onto the porch, deftly evading his
father’s attempt to grab him before he could escape. The dark tips on his ears identified him as Fan.
The second one to sneak out past her father’s legs had more brown around the cheeks and chest—
Beatrice. Noah waddled out to the door in human form, but showed more sense than his brother and
sister and hung out in the warmth of the entryway.
The puppies barked at him and Abel crept out onto the damp boards in his sock feet to try to push
them back inside. It made Quin want to laugh, but laughter was still difficult for him, so he smiled and
climbed the steps up onto the porch.
He and Abel hugged briefly. “Let’s get inside before they get all wet and I end up on the couch.”
Quin looked at him sharply, wondering if he’d read Bax wrong the few times he’d met him, but
Abel’s eyes danced and it was enough hint for Quin to realize that Abel was joking. His suspicion
was confirmed when Bax, belly huge with Abel’s first pup of his own line, floated slowly out of the
kitchen. “Abel! I’d never do that. At least, not with winter coming on. I’d freeze.” Abel grinned and
put an arm around Bax’s waist to pull him into a kiss, the pups leaping around their feet. Quin relaxed
and reminded himself that this was pack, and omegas were notorious for their devotion to their mates
—after twenty years of watching every interaction he had with his command structure, he was hunting
problems where there weren’t any. It was good that Abel had someone he could joke with.
Bax laughed and shooed them all into the kitchen with offers of coffee, tea, and snacks to tide
them over until breakfast was perfectly ready.
And there he was—Holland.
He moved like a wolf in his prime, ease and grace and surety of step. His hair shone sleek black,
the barest hint of curl at the ends where they caressed his shoulders. He was cutting fruit into small
pieces and arranging it onto two plates and Quin looked away before he could make a fool of himself.
It was insanity to lose his heart over a man he’d only exchanged a few, awkward words with. And he
saw Holland, and knew he wasn’t what the young omega needed. He was too needy himself right now
to do for Holland anything that would be good for him.
Bax showed him to a chair and moved away with ponderous steps.
Holland made a face at him. “Sit down.”
“I’m fine. It’s not like it’s my first,” Bax replied. He began lining up mugs on the counter, three
over by the coffee maker, another by the stove where the kettle creaked and popped as the water
within warmed.
“You’re a week away from your due date,” Holland said in a wry tone that tugged at the corners
of Quin’s mouth, urging him to smile.
Bax gave him a look and Holland shook his head and his lips curved gently. He began pouring
coffee into mugs. “Go sit, there’s nothing left to do until it’s done cooking.” He got his way this time
and Bax took a seat at the table next to Abel and across from Quin, the pups arranged around the rest
of the table. The pups already had juice, and pieces of toast cut, Quin thought, according to their ages.
 Holland brought the coffee over, set out a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar, then moved
away to pour hot water over tea bags in a mug. He brought that over to Abel, then stepped away to
open the oven and peer inside. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, he lifted a stack of plates out of
the cupboard and set them on the counter beside the stove.
Bax started to get up and Holland turned around and pointed a finger at him. “Sit,” he said, and
Quin caught Holland’s slightly uncertain glance in his direction, as if Holland thought Quin would be
angry with Holland’s tone.
In response, Quin picked up his cup of coffee and sipped at it, then turned to Abel. “I think we
have the food organized for the full moon.” He nodded at Bax. “I don’t know what I’m going to do
without you.”
Bax cast Abel a significant glance, and Abel nodded. “We’ve been talking about that. We thought
we might ask Holland to look after the office while Bax was off, and have Cale come part time, and
Bram, to help out with the pups. It’ll mean some shuffling at the day care, but they’re both interested
in the extra pack credits to spend, especially with Christmas coming up.”
Abel would be paying back into the pack coffers what it cost the pack to have those two working
directly for him and not the pack in general. Quin almost asked him if he could afford the added cost,
but bit his tongue just in time. They were still negotiating around and through the traditional view of
omegas, and he realized at that moment that he didn’t know if Holland was being paid for his labor or
not. He assumed yes, knowing Abel.
“Whoever you think is best?” He didn’t know his personnel here well yet, but he trusted Abel to
know which of the many talented shifters here would be good. “And speaking of Christmas, what do
you want?”
Abel laughed, but before he could reply, plates laden with something deliciously savory appeared
in front of them, and they fell to eating.
It was after, when his stomach was full and his guard was down, that things went to hell on him.
Something loud and heavy clanged behind him, sounding exactly like the opening salvo of an
unexpected attack, and Quin hit the floor, pulling Fan down with him. The room smelled of hot metal
and dust for a never-ending moment, then those scents faded, replaced by the homey smells of the
breakfast they’d just consumed. He opened his eyes to see his family gathered around him in concern.
Fan squirmed underneath his arm and he released the pup and pushed himself up to a seated position.
Abel held one arm out to keep Bax in his seat, but had moved to crouch out of arm’s reach of
Quin. “You okay?” he said in a low voice.
“Yeah,” Quin croaked and despised the embarrassed flush that raced up his cheeks. “Loud noises.
I’m okay.” He got to his feet and glanced around, to catch Holland staring at him with wide eyes and
something that he read as pity. “I’m going to go outside for a bit.” He spun on his heel and headed for
the front door, barely keeping his pace to a walk.
Abel followed on his heels. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” Quin said, bending to pull his sneakers on. “I’m just going for a walk.” He
pushed past Abel and out into the rain.
A half hour later, completely soaked but in a better state of mind, he came back for the car. He
stood beside it for a moment, debating if he should go offer Bax a drive to work or just call and tell
him to stay home and Quin would handle things without him—it was no day for someone that heavily
pregnant to be out.
“You might as well come in and dry off,” came a voice from the direction of the front door. Quin
looked up—Holland. The other man glanced up at the sky, then back down at Quin. “You’ll get the
seat of the car wet. Come in and I’ll see if there’s anything of Abel’s or Duke’s that will fit you.” He
stood in the doorway expectantly, and somehow Quin found himself walking up the steps underneath
the roof of the porch. He’d always thought that omegas were self-effacing and obedient, and both Bax
and Holland were to a certain extent, but he could no more have refused Holland’s request than he
could have flown.
Holland handed him a towel as he walked through the door. “Dry off a bit and go take a warm
shower. Your lips are blue.” A small frown crinkled the skin between his eyebrows.
“Clothes are fine. Thank you.” He handed the towel back to Holland and added, “I’m sorry about
earlier.”
“It’s okay. Abel explained what happened.” He raised his eyes briefly to Quin’s, like a machine-
gun round to the heart, then looked away. “I’ll find you some clothes.” And then he scurried away
again, though not, Quin noted with mixed emotions, without a brief, backward glance at the Alpha
mooning after him.
 Chapter Three

I watched Quin drive away through the rain and felt a pang for his loneliness. It must have been
hard, to be surrounded by humans all those years, to never know if you’d be alive the next day, to
never see your family. I’d seen one of the results of that isolation this morning. Abel called it Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder and just said that Quin was a good man and we’d have to be a bit careful
and patient around him. Of course, he’d spoiled it immediately after by saying, “Assuming he gets his
head out of his ass and starts talking to someone about it.” Bax had given him a look that I would
never have tried on my mate, and Abel had grumbled and kissed him and said, “I’ll talk to him again
about it. And, I’m going to call Mac and see if he can drive up to get the van so you and the pups don’t
have to walk through this mess.” Bax smiled at him and tipped his cheek up to accept a fond kiss, but
reminded Abel that he was quite capable of driving and I wondered again at the difference between
Bax’s second mating and my first. Because if I’d ever dared to comment on something that was alpha
business, I would have been—at the least—sharply set down. Not that I often did—I’d known my
place, and I’d had enough to do keeping the house the way my mate had wanted and learning his needs
and desires that I wasn’t bothered.
Once Bax and I had the pups dressed and Abel had come back with the van so they didn’t have to
make the long walk in the wet to go to school and daycare, I pulled out the phone Abel had given me.
I didn’t use it often except to text back and forth with Bax and Abel about the pups, but it had some
data attached to the account. Quickly, I searched out enough information that I knew I’d have to go to
the library and use the regular Internet and not Abel’s data in order to really understand what was
going on with our Alpha.
But until then, I had housework to do, and that last encounter with Alpha Quin to ponder. Because
he’d looked at me the way an alpha looks at someone he wants to mate. And I couldn’t imagine what
he’d want with a disgraced omega, unless… But no. I didn’t suspect that he saw me as an easy mark
for carnal pleasure, though I’d been told that it might be the only course open to me if I didn’t
somehow manage to conceive a child. They weren’t like that here in Mercy Hills. If they were, Abel
wouldn’t be who he was, nor would Mac, or Duke. They were all friendly, respectful, and I never felt
less around them.
Despite living on the charity of my cousin’s mate.
With no other outlet for my emotions, I set about giving the house a cleaning like none other. If I
finished everything this morning, perhaps I could get the walls painted in Bax’s and Abel’s living
room. One wall, at least. I’d finished the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom, places that company
would be likely to see and that could possibly be stained—or drawn upon by pups. My plan was to
get the public rooms done first, then to start work on the puppies’ bedrooms upstairs. Bax’s and
Abel’s room would be last, being the least likely one suffer the depredations of our wanna-be artists.
I found it soothing, these final touches to this home. My home? I supposed. I tried not to think too
much about it.
Once the dirty laundry had been collected, the floors swept and mopped, the dishes washed and
dried, and all the surfaces cleared of the coating of dust that grew on them every night—residue of the
house’s so recent construction—I was free to attack the living room walls.
I had an old sheet that I used to protect the floor, so I spread that along the bottom of the wall and
brought out the can of paint from the storage closet that ran along the back of the house, behind my
little apartment. I’d eventually get to those walls, but I wanted to show my gratitude for Bax’s and
Abel’s generosity by finishing their house first. And, really, who was going to see my walls except
me? No one, that’s who.
Half of the short wall on the far end of the room had been painted when I heard the shuffle of
footsteps on the porch, and then a knock. I left the paint brush propped up in the can of paint and went
to answer the door.
It was the Alpha.
I was so startled I gaped at him, which really wasn’t a particularly good look on me, but I
couldn’t understand why he’d be there.
“Can I come in?” he said and smiled. Or tried, anyway. I’d say he gave it a good shot, but there
was tension in the corners of his mouth that dragged at the lines of his face and made him look older.
“Of course. But no one’s home right now. Just me.” I stood back to let him in.
“I know. I came to talk to you.” He brushed past me and stood in the entry, dripping onto the rag
rug that had been my gift to Bax for his mating to Abel.
I closed the door, my brain running in all different directions. Please don’t let him be like the
other alphas. I hadn’t been home in Buffalo Gap long enough for the alphas to get the idea through
their heads, but I’d heard the whispering, couldn’t miss the way the rest of the pack had looked at me,
as if I had something to do with my own downfall. Fuck it. Might as well find out. “Did you want to
sit down?”
“I can’t stay long. I wanted to apologize for earlier.” Yet, despite his protested lack of time, he
wandered toward the kitchen and, I assumed, the promised cup of coffee. I followed him, curious
about this apology. What did an Alpha have to apologize for?
The pot was ready, just needed to be turned on. It felt like such a luxury still, to drink coffee
whenever I wanted, and of all the things that were new and wondrous to me about Mercy Hills, this
was the one thing that still remained so. I pushed the button with a feeling just shy of reverence, and
pulled down a plate to set out some cookies.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” the Alpha said behind me. “I… haven’t been sleeping well lately.
It makes me… jumpy.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” I said, turning around and leaning back against the counter. He was still
looking at me that way, though he tried to hide it. It was flattering, but also made me nervous, because
I was bound to my former mate by my biology. I had nothing to offer him, except maybe a friendly ear.
“Not once I realized it wasn’t a seizure. We had someone at Buffalo Gap that used to have them. It
was scary, but that wasn’t what it was with you.”
“No. I get…” He looked down at his hands. “Sometimes I forget where I am. When I’m tired, or
not paying attention.”
The coffee pot began to gurgle its promise of sweet bitter ambrosia and I set the plate of cookies
on the table in front of the Alpha. He looked so twisted up in his memories that I couldn’t keep myself
from laying a hand on his shoulder. “Me too, sometimes. Though my reasons aren’t as traumatic as
yours.”
“But traumatic for you.”
What could I say? He was right. I nodded and moved to pour the coffee into mugs. “Having a
place where I feel safe helps.” I looked around the kitchen. “Having a home helps.” I brought the
coffee over to the table and set his mug in front of him. “Talking to Bax helps.” I took a sip. “Do you
have someone to talk to?” I was half-shocked at my temerity, but at the same time, it felt like the right
thing, and the right time.
He shook his head and stared down into his coffee like it held all the answers and wouldn’t give
them up. “I don’t want to bleed on anyone here. People come to the Alpha for support, that’s my job. I
can’t put this on them.”
“No, I can see that.” And yet, here he was, talking to an omega. Then again, we were the nurturers
of the pack. And it occurred to me that this would be the time of year I would normally have a heat.
Not that I showed it much—defective that way too, and one of the insults my former mate had thrown
at me, that he should have known when he couldn’t smell it on me until he was up inside me. But now
that I’d thought about it, I could feel it, that sneaking warmth coiling through my body, the subtle
physical awareness of the alpha before me, and then I wondered if maybe my old mate’s hold on me
was fading with distance or time, and what that would mean for me. Or if it was Alpha Quin’s
presence here that had triggered it.
Regardless, I wanted to do something for him. Something to help, to make his life easier. And
there was something I’d seen on my brief investigation earlier. “You know, there are people who are
paid to help others by listening to them, and who have training to help them.”
He smiled crookedly, as if his mouth didn’t want to make that shape. “You mean a therapist.” He
sipped from his mug and sighed. “I can’t leave the pack a couple of times a week to go see one, even
if I could find one that would see a shifter. Particularly a shifter with my…problem.”
“No, and I don’t think you should.” I got up from my chair and came back with my phone, already
opened to the webpage I’d found earlier. “There are therapists who will talk to you over the Internet.
You could do it from home, and never have to let them know that you were a shifter.” It felt
surprisingly good to know this thing that might help him. I wanted to help, to take some of this weight
that was bowing down his shoulders.
His eyes widened slightly and he reached for the phone, his fingers brushing over mine. A shiver
ran over my skin and I dropped the phone, then stared up at him with the words, “Uh oh,” running
through my mind over and over again. His nostrils flared and then he stood up so abruptly the chair
fell over behind him.
“I should go. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” His words stumbled to a halt.
“No, I know. I didn’t either. Broken, you know. My insides don’t work right.” I wanted to cry—
stupid hormones. How could he tell when my mate had never been able to? I wanted to touch him, and
have him touch me, because this awareness was new and wonderful. And I wanted to take some of
that weight bowing down his shoulders on mine, because it wasn’t fair he should have to carry the
pack, and the weight of a past that was so much heavier than mine.
Instead, I got a, “Thank you. I’ll look into this. And again, I’m sorry,” before he bolted out the
front door with his shoes in his hand because he hadn’t taken the time to put them on. The door
slammed behind him.
I sat in the kitchen until it was nearly time for supper, and the paint had dried on the brush. I was a
fool and apparently a slave to my omega nature and I wanted him. But until my heat had run its course,
I wouldn’t know if it was real want, or just something cooked up by my hormones. Though it was nice
to know that I wasn’t tied to my asshole ex-mate for the rest of my life, which cheered me up a little.
I washed the paintbrush out as well as I could, put something on for supper that could cook
without supervision, and disappeared into my apartment at the first sounds of Bax’s happy family
coming home. At the moment, I wasn’t in the mood for someone else’s happy ending.
 Chapter Four

A week later, Quin still hadn’t done anything with the information Holland had given him.
Instead, he shambled through his work like a zombie, running on four or five hours of broken
sleep. He could do it—he’d gotten used to that overseas, sleeping light, ready to go at a moment’s
notice. The only thing which had changed was that now he had a wider variety of dreams dragging
him roughly from sleep. Intermingled with the nightmare memories of war came soft-footed fantasies
about Bax’s cousin, broken glimpses, scents, phantom touches. Somehow, it was more exhausting
here, home, than it had been there.
And most confusing, it was the dreams of Holland that upset his tenuous emotional balance the
most.
He forced himself to focus on work through the day, though Bax’s occasional presence in his
office brought Holland to mind and made it hard for Quin to string two thoughts together. Sometimes
he wondered if Holland realized just how big an effect he had on Quin, and sometimes he wondered
if—hoped, really—he was having the same effect on Holland. And then he’d feel guilty. Because it
was selfish and not at all what he’d been taught were the thoughts and manners of a leader. Holland
had been traumatized already once in his life—he didn’t need a man who couldn’t sleep through the
night for the smell of blood in his nose and the sound of men dying around him. If Quin wanted
Holland, he needed to be the kind of alpha that Holland could depend on, not one that he’d have to
tiptoe around. And Quin didn’t know how to claw his way back to the man he’d been before. Not on
his own.
But the thought of showing anyone what went on in his head made him sick with fear. Coward.
You’re a coward. How could you charge headlong into enemy territory, but be afraid of words?
Still, he was. And maybe that was what drew him so strongly to Holland—that quiet strength and
the courage the beautiful omega had, to face down a society that treated omegas as if they were
brainless and worthless except as an accessory, a jewel to be shown off but not something useful.
Quin was willing to bet that Holland had the potential for a lot more than he’d ever been allowed to
be.
It troubled Quin enough that, on this day, he gave in to his turbulent emotions and took the
afternoon off. He closed his office, asked Bax to take messages and have Abel handle any
emergencies, then retreated to the apartment, locking the door behind him. He had a laptop, courtesy
of Abel, and he set it up on the kitchen table to start his search.
It took two hours, but he finally found a therapist on-line. One that had experience with soldiers,
one that he’d found recommendations for. And, because he knew in his gut that he couldn’t hide things
from the man, one who was willing to work with a shifter and had time in his schedule to listen to
Quin bleed his emotions out into the quiet room.
So Quin made his appointment, then slipped his human form and ran four-footed out to the woods
at the far end of the enclave to hide from his past and his future. Except Holland. The other man shone
like a beacon, like the full moon guiding him through dark forest, and Quin hooked his heart on that
shimmering light and let it give him the strength he’d need to overcome himself.
 Chapter Five

N ine months later…

I didn’t need an alarm to wake me up. The first rumbling thumps of puppy feet on the floor snapped
my eyes open, and I got to the top of the stairs before Beatrice could take a tumble down them.
Really, we needed to get another baby gate, to replace the one that Fan had broken swinging on it, but
it always seemed to get bumped down the list by other things. Like puppy clothes, and books, and
Bax’s secret ‘gifts’ to needy pack members. Not that I was going to tell on him. I remembered what it
was like back in Buffalo Gap. And despite the fact that Bax—and by association, me—had come up
in the world by miles, we tried not to forget that not every pack member had more than the absolute
minimum necessary. Not everyone could create software that even the humans would buy, or design
solar panels that meant more heat and more power for the pack, or could cut a straight board or wire
a house. Not everyone had a skill that let them earn beyond their pack-required service.
Kind of like me. All I’d ever been taught was omega skills—cooking, cleaning, housekeeping. I
wanted to learn more. And with Bram heading outside walls, maybe I, too, could learn to do…
something? But what? I didn’t know. I’d never thought about it before and, now that I had the chance,
the absolute mountain of possibilities overwhelmed me. So I reverted to what I did best, or what I
knew best anyway.
“Bea, hush, come on, let’s go downstairs.” I took her hand and we sat on the top stair, grinned at
each other like conspirators, and bumped all the way down to the bottom on our bums.
The kitchen was still empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. Bax was an early riser by habit and
training. And he had Taden still in the room with him, so even if he wanted to sleep in, he couldn’t. I
felt a little guilty, because I’d stolen the extra bedroom that had been meant for Bax’s pups when I’d
moved from my little apartment into the main house. At the same time, it was only right that Duke and
Bram, as a newly mated couple, should have their own place. Besides, the way those two looked at
each other, I was pretty sure that Bram’s imprinting on Justin was fading, though I doubted either of
them realized it in the hustle and bustle of building houses and getting ready for school and dealing
with two very intelligent pups. I knew it was possible, because mine had begun to fade some time in
the fall, though what good that did me I didn’t know. I was still a repudiated omega, my reputation in
shreds, my worth nothing because I was unable to do the one thing that made an omega worth having.
Okay, maybe not the one thing, but an alpha wanted pups, and there was no reason to keep around a
mate that couldn’t have them, no matter how much they enjoyed screwing around in bed. And I did
enjoy it, very much.
Sure made it awkward when Abel’s brother came around.
Abel was good looking, absolutely. I didn’t begrudge Bax his handsome mate. Or his pups. Well,
maybe the pups a little, though I knew the fault of that was all mine. But when his brother walked into
the house, which he did all too often for my comfort?
Fuuuuuck.
Literally. That’s what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, I never met him anywhere but here at the
house, and occasionally in public. Which made my wistful dreams of planting a huge kiss on that sexy
mouth just that—dreams. And seriously, why would I do that and ruin my reputation more?
Could it be ruined more?
I wasn’t even sure he liked me. I thought he liked to look at me—he certainly seemed to glance in
my direction often enough. I know that he’d gotten hard at least once when he was around me. But I
supposed I couldn’t blame him for not acting on it. He was Alpha, and he’d need to keep himself free
to mate someone who could give him pups, someone with the connections to make his life easier.
Someone, probably, who wasn’t someone else’s cast-off. I was none of those.
But a guy could dream.
I set Beatrice on her chair with a glass of milk and started to put together a batch of pancake
batter. Quick, and delicious. The bottle of fake syrup in the refrigerator was half full, but sticky. I
wrinkled my nose at it and set it in the sink to be washed. We had jam too—I set out a jar from the
new batch of strawberry and another of peach while the cast-iron frying pan was heating.
“Pancakes?” Bax asked from the doorway. He had Taden on his hip, and he went to the freezer to
get one of the teething rags out.
“Is he teething again?” I asked, and poured out tiny dollops of pancake batter to puff up in the pan.
“I think so. He hardly slept last night.”
I could see the truth of it in Bax’s eyes. “You put him in the chair and sit down while I make
coffee for you.” I pulled the coffee pot out from the back of the counter.
“I can make my own coffee.”
But he shouldn’t have to, and I felt like I had to pay him back somehow. Everyone in Mercy Hills
had a job. Except me. Repudiated omegas, right? Keep ‘em behind doors so they don’t shock anyone.
No, that wasn’t right, or kind. With five pups, Bax needed the help. And he was still playing the
part of Alpha’s mate too, plus getting ready for something—a conference?—where the pack was
going to display their new solar panels for the first time. Bax would be going to be the public face of
the company. His new job.
I wouldn’t be going. Someone had to look after the pups, and he couldn’t take them with him. I
understood completely.
But I was getting really restless and I didn’t know what to do about it.
The first of the pancakes were done. I slipped one onto a little plate for Beatrice, and three more
of the tiny circles onto a larger plate for Bax. The coffee gurgled away in the background as I quickly
washed the sticky off the bottle of syrup and put it on the table in front of them. Taden chewed happily
on his teething rag, his lack of appetite telling me Bax had stopped to nurse him before coming out to
the kitchen. I opened the freezer and spilled a few frozen raspberries into a bowl for him to gnaw on
as well. He grinned, showing off his front teeth and—was that a tiny sliver of white peeking out of his
gums on the top? Bax was right, he was teething. And the raspberries were soon a bright red mess all
over his face. It was adorable and my heart panged for want of one of my own.
 No point in thinking about that, or about the things my former mate had said in the moments before
he officially tore up our mating contract and dismissed me from his sight.
Puppy wails sounded faintly from the other side of the door that led into Duke’s apartment.
Immediately after they began, I heard the low murmur of Bram soothing one of the twins, then the
rumble of Duke doing the same for the other. Who ever heard of an alpha getting up with the pups?
Although around here, the alphas were more involved with their pups. Some mornings, Abel had
looked as tired as Bax because he was getting up with the baby as well.
I probably shouldn’t be surprised that Duke helped out; it seemed to be in his nature, as well as
being a Mercy Hills thing. And after all, Bram hadn’t been able to make enough milk to feed them, so
they’d started feeding formula and I’d seen Duke more than once with a baby in one hand and a bottle
in the other while Bram worked on filling out more paperwork so he could go to school outside
walls. Guess I wasn’t the only un-omega omega in the place.
Ow. That was nasty. I needed to watch out for those ugly comments inside my head. It didn’t do
anyone any good, me included. Just made me more and more frustrated with my lack of future. What
was an omega that couldn’t…omega?
Ugh. Mornings were the worst. It was like I wasn’t awake enough to get ahead of these nasty
comments my own brain threw at me.
I started more tiny pancakes, poured a mug of coffee for Bax and set it in front of him, then filled
the kettle and put it on the stove. Just in time, too, because Abel came around the corner with Teca in
his arms, Noah in his wolf form on Abel’s heels.
“Breakfast,” he declared in satisfaction. “Thank you, Holland.” He set Teca on a chair and went
to the cupboard to find his mug. “Bax, if those brochure samples don’t arrive today, can you call and
find out what the delay is? And the labels for the panels, though I don’t know what we’re supposed to
do without the logo.”
“Of course,” Bax said, then, in a slightly ironic tone. “May I finish breakfast first?”
“What?” Abel looked baffled a moment, then blushed. “Sorry. I’m just—this isn’t a product that’s
specialized to one small group. Kind of like Alpha Hunt, you know? It should have a wider market
than the accounting software.” He crouched down beside Bax and laid his head against Bax’s arm,
then kissed where his cheek had just been. “It’s frivolous, but I was thinking it would be nice to have
a movie theater.”
Bax’s eyebrows went up; keeping mine company, I supposed. “You don’t think more housing is a
better idea?”
“I do. I want that too. And more skilled trades and professionals. But do we always have to be
practical?”
Bax gave him one of those oh, aren’t you just such an alpha? looks, and smiled. “True enough.
What’s your brother going to think when you take your old job back?”
I had to turn away to hide my smile at the former Alpha’s expression. Even now, nearly a year
after he’d been stripped of his position by the other Alphas—entirely planned by Abel and Quin,
which was the funny part—he still had a finger in most of the pies in Mercy Hills.
I filled a small plate for Teca and set it on the table, and another for Noah and placed it on the
floor, out of the way of everyone’s feet. The rest of the pancakes went onto a larger plate for Abel. I
had just enough time to start a few more before the kettle began to make noises and I grabbed it before
it could scream for attention and wake Fan or upset the baby.
Abel’s mug still sat empty on the counter. I found one for myself and made his tea straight in the
mug, then poured out coffee for myself. My one luxury, and one I hoped never to take for granted.
 My stomach grumbled, finally as awake as the rest of me. The pancakes were almost ready, but
Bax’s plate was empty and Teca was eyeing the frying pan hopefully. Next batch. A sip of coffee
placated my stomach, and I brought the frying pan over to the table to dole out pancakes again, then
back to the stove to scrape the last of the batter out of the bowl.
Fan wandered into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes.
“Good morning,” Abel said to him.
Fan looked at him as if Abel had just squashed his favorite ball. Abel grinned. “Holland made
pancakes.”
“Don’ wan’ any,” Fan grumbled and meandered around the table to grab at Bax’s sleeve and tug.
“Up.”
Bax lifted him up into his lap, though at six I thought Fan should have been old enough to sit in his
own chair, even early in the morning. But Bax hugged him, and offered him some of his remaining
pancake, slathered with a thick layer of peach jam. Fan ate and sighed, his head falling back against
Bax’s chest with a thump. Noah barked and wagged his tail at his bearer, accepting his own portion of
Bax’s breakfast.
“Hey, you guys. Let Dabi eat,” Abel scolded. “If you’re that hungry, you can have some toast.” He
looked up at Holland. “Make sure you get breakfast this morning. I saw what happened yesterday.”
“I ate. After you all left, though.” It was true. I’d had some toast, buttered, and allotted myself the
luxury of a slice of cheese melted on top.
“Don’t short yourself, Holland.”
I glanced at Bax. His expression was blank, but we had a long history of reading each others’
minds. He knew a lot more than he talked about when it came to what was going on in my head, just
like I understood him better than Abel did sometimes.
“We can afford it,” Bax said softly. His expression said, I don’t need someone else to look after.
Right. Well, full breakfast it was then. “If I get fat I’m blaming you.”
Abel snorted, drained his mug of tea, and disappeared out into the hall, though not without a four
footed friend behind him.
 Chapter Six

T oday was laundry day. Bax and I got the pups all ready to go to the daycare, or—in Fan’s and
Beatrice’s cases—school, and we each took a bag of dirty clothes with us while we walked the
distance over to the park. Abel came with us, Noah on his shoulders and Beatrice on his hip.
“We should look at getting drivers’ licenses for more of the pack too,” Abel remarked casually as
we followed the rutted track toward town. “And roads. Real roads.”
I glanced over at Bax’s mate, wondering what had gotten into him. Bax, too, seemed baffled.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Abel turned slightly to look at him, but kept walking. “I didn’t tell you?”
“Apparently not,” Bax said dryly, but he tempered it by bumping briefly against Abel’s arm. “It
must be good news.”
“It is. There’s been an expression of interest in the panels by a home renovation chain that
stretches all across the country. We have to prove we have the capacity to supply them first before
they’ll sit down and talk to us, but Quin’s looking for funding now and trying to find ways to trim the
pack budget so we can build a bigger space for the factory. That, or we’ll have to find space outside
walls to rent, which might be the best option all around. No idea how this will fly, but it’s hopeful.”
He frowned and reached for Bax’s free hand, then said, “Oops!” and put it back on Noah’s leg.
Bax shook his head, but his love for his mate was obvious in the fond smile and the way he
rubbed Abel’s arm and laid a kiss on his shoulder.
I knew I’d never have that. It had taken me six months to come to terms with being repudiated, and
then another to come to terms with my lack of purpose. Now, I was starting to think toward the future.
I had a home with Bax and Abel for as long as they had pups—which could be another couple of
decades, knowing those two—but after that? Or even before? And I was starting to get restless,
trapped in the house with the family. I’d been careful not to go out too much, first because I was
heartsore and scared, later because I didn’t want to cause gossip for Bax and Abel. But that could
only last so long.
We dropped the pups off at the daycare. Bax lingered in the doorway, unwilling to leave even
though Taden was almost nine months old now, and I decided not to wait for them. Instead, I took the
other bag of laundry and waved goodbye as I set off for the laundromat.
I figured I’d put the laundry on to wash, go to pick up food and a new pair of jeans to replace the
pair that Teca had completely totaled on the playground the other day. By then, the wash should be
gone through, and I could switch everything to the dryers and take the food home. Then I could get the
breakfast dishes cleaned up and the floors swept before heading back for the laundry. After that, the
rest of the day was mine until school was out and it was time to go pick up the pups. I was lucky I had
that much free time—most families would have kept the pups home with me, to make up the credits I
would use up for food and clothing.
Mercy Hills was certainly different. I could see how it had changed Bax, could feel how it was
starting to change me. Like in the fairy tales, I wondered what I would become by the time it was
done with me. Certainly educated—I was taking two courses toward a high school certificate,
something which was usually reserved for the more academic shifters in both of the packs I’d been in.
Even here, where they sent all the pups to school until they had the same basic education as the
humans, I was startled when Bax had presented me, the Christmas after I’d arrived, with a box of
textbooks. “I did it,” he’d said. “You can too.”
So after the cleaning was done and the laundry collected, I would spend the afternoon with my
books, playing catch-up with shifters three years younger than me. I didn’t care—I loved it. Oh, not
the work, though I was capable of doing it. But the sheer normality of it, that there was nothing special
about sending an omega to school. That amazed me.
The laundromat was in the big main building of the pack, the one that Bax and Abel used to live
in, that Quin lived in now. Abel’s software company, all six of the pack’s computer nerds, were on the
eleventh floor, just underneath the floor where the guest apartments and the Alpha’s office were. The
next one down was just large rooms with nothing in them, a requirement of the human government,
who said that there had to be a place to segregate parts of the population if necessary. It was strange
that it was up so high, until I realized it was a giant raised middle finger to the humans to put it on that
floor. Apparently, it was full of stuff right now—Fan’s description, which made me smile.
Along with the laundromat, Supplies, the clinic, and some other things that I hadn’t been out and
around enough to discover occupied the first four floors. One floor was set aside to become a real
hospital, whenever we had the money to attract a doctor and buy the equipment, which apparently was
crazy expensive. Abel got real quiet whenever it came up, so no one mentioned it unless it was
absolutely necessary.
Most of the rest of the structure was the young adult barracks. All the new adults moved out of
their parents’ homes into rooms on these floors, sharing bathrooms and kitchens and learning how to
get along in larger sub-packs. It also meant that most of the damage that high spirited young shifters
could do was limited to a space that was easily repaired. If I’d been born here as something other
than omega, I’d be living there now.
I glanced up at the building as I got close. It towered over the rest of the pack, towered even over
the walls that kept the humans safe from us. Or us safe from the humans—no matter what they’d
started as, I was convinced that that’s what they’d turned into. I shouldered through the front door and
down the hallway to the last door on the right. A couple of the young shifters that lived in the building
came out of the door opposite that led to the inside stair. They carried laundry bags too, so I politely
held the door for them to enter behind me. One of them said something, too low for me to make out,
though the tone was pretty easy to read. I schooled my face and took my bags down to the machines at
the far end of the room, closest to the shifter working the desk, hoping they’d pick the ones by the
door.
No such luck, though they didn’t choose the machines right next to me. Instead, the stopped about
halfway down and began unloading their things into two of the washers.
I finished loading mine—four machines, between lights and darks and the pups’ filthy play clothes
—added the soap, signed the register for the machines, and packed everything away again in the bags
to head out.
 The two young shifters were taking their time, and clogging up most of the aisle between the row
of washers and the matching opposite row of dryers. I contemplated the dryers while I watched them
out of the corner of my eye, and wondered if I had enough time to run the supplies home before I had
to come back to the get the wet clothes. I could take them home to hang on the clothesline, instead of
spending the credits to dry them here. As the person who actually handled the household budget, I
tried to cut costs where I could.
Yeah. If I went fast, I could do it. I picked up the laundry bags and the now empty little bottle I
carried the soap in and started to make my way out of the laundromat. “Excuse me,” I said politely to
the two young shifters. They didn’t move out of the way, but instead seemed to expand so that in order
to get by, I’d have to brush up against them.
It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Though, to give Mercy Hills credit, it
was far less often than I’d expected, though part of that was because of how rarely I was out on my
own. It made me wonder what kinds of stories the young alphas and betas told each other about
omegas that they thought it was okay to just grab at me in public, instead of politely coming to call.
Although, here I was, running around without an escort—I guessed I was asking for it. Though I’d
kind of expected better of Mercy Hills.
I couldn’t even ask, because I didn’t want to scare Bax, and I was, honestly, a little afraid what
Abel might say.
I didn’t want to hear again, “Well, you should expect it, being what you are,” my father’s words
floating back up from whatever pit of forgetfulness I’d thought I’d drowned them in.
“Hello, Holland,” one of the young men said in a tone that made my hackles rise.
“Excuse me, I have things to do.” I pushed my laundry bag out in front of me, using it to lever them
out of my way.
One of them laughed. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. We’re just being nice.” He put his arm out to
keep me from forcing my way past them.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I told them through clenched teeth. I did not want to make a scene.
Didn’t mean I wouldn’t make one, but I’d be pissed if I had to.
“But you could be.” He leered, or at least it looked like that to me. The shifter at the desk called
out my name, but I was so focused on these two I didn’t quite hear him.
“Not on your life.” I tried to shove past him—we were about the same size—and he grabbed me.
Oh, fuck that. “Keep your damn hands to yourself,” I snapped and kicked him in the knee, then
rammed his face with my laundry bag. He fell over and I jumped over him, backhanding the other one
in a sort of pre-emptive strike. I’d never been taught to fight, and we’d been well trained when we
were young to always go around with someone we trusted—a rule that I’d been ignoring since I
moved in with Bax, but that didn’t mean I’d never planned how to keep myself safe on my own. I
heard the raised voice of the shifter at the counter as I slammed through the door, and then I hustled
out of the building, racing around the corner toward Supplies so that, if they came out after me, they
wouldn’t know where I went.
I made it around the corner and stopped a second to catch my breath in the alcove of the door to
Supplies, leaning against the wall. No one came racing down the side of the building looking for
revenge, so I straightened my t-shirt and tidied my hair with a quick finger-comb, then headed through
the door to pick up the food. Yeah, even if I had to let the wet laundry sit for a few minutes, I was
going to take it all home and hang it out to dry. The fewer trips out in public I made today, the better.
 Chapter Seven

Q uin picked up the phone to take the call Bax had transferred in, but the line was dead. He hung
up and tried again, but now he had a dial tone. “Damn.” It wasn’t the phone lines—it was
Bax, trying to do two jobs with a growing family. He’d have to talk to Abel again about
getting Bax to back off on the dutiful omega thing. In the meantime, though, he really needed to find a
new secretary for the pack. He wondered if Holland would be willing to come back again, and
whether that was a good idea, considering he became a slave to his hormones around the other man.
Maybe he’d bring it up in his therapy session this afternoon.
How had Abel managed before, when he only had the one person out there handling everything
that went on? Quin shook his head and got up to peer out into the outer office. “The call dropped.
Who was it, I’ll call them back.”
“It did?” Bax’s expression was appalled and embarrassed. His desk was a flurry of papers and
brochures—he was getting ready for something called a Home Show, whatever that was. “It was the
photographer. He wants to do another series.”
“Photographer?” What photographer?
“Oh, you weren’t here for all of that. Remember the human at our mating, running around with a
camera? We probably still have a copy of the magazines with the articles in them around here
somewhere. If not, I know I have them at home.”
“Bax? The whole story please.”
Bax turned slightly pink. “That human, Laine, that helped with the problems with Jason and
Montana Border? He’s got a bit of a white knight syndrome, I think the humans call it? Wants to
rescue people, make the world a better place. He convinced Abel that it would help humans not be so
scared of us if they could see that we did a lot of the same things as they did. So he came up, took
pictures, wrote a short article, got it into a magazine. About a year after, I think, he managed to do it
again, with some of the pictures he hadn’t used. Anyway, he wants to talk to you about a book. He
says he knows someone who would do a good job, and he could take pictures and that a book would
probably, um…” Bax’s voice trailed off and he frowned. “He thought they could get on television
shows and get a lot of attention.”
Ah, he remembered it now. “A book about what?”
Bax shrugged. “Our history? Us? He wasn’t sure, just that the guy would do a good job.”
“I’ll think about it.” And probably say no. Could he, as Alpha, trust a human to tell the story
properly?
“You can come over for supper if you want, I’ll find the magazines for you.” Bax smiled and Quin
could tell he’d drifted away from the here and now, back to the past. Bax’s lips curled in a smile, then
he started and came back to himself. “We were going to make spaghetti and see how much of a mess
Taden makes.”
It was tempting, and Holland was a good cook. Definitely going to talk to the therapist this
afternoon. “How could I resist that?”
On the desk, Bax’s phone rang and he answered it. “Mercy Hills Shifter Enclave, Baxter
speaking. How may I help you?” He paused, and listened for a moment. “Oh, good, I’m glad you
called back. I hit the wrong button on the phone. Yes, I’ll transfer you over to him.” Bax pressed a
button, then Quin’s phone started ringing. “That’s the photographer again.”
“All right. Thanks.” Quin retreated to his office and picked up the phone. “Tarquin Mercy Hills.”
“Tarquin. That’s an unusual name.” A pause followed, the empty air filled with the sound of a
pencil scratching across paper. “I haven’t been keeping up much with werewolf politics, but Laine
filled me in on some of the stuff that’s happened.”
Quin gritted his teeth and did not snap at the human for the werewolf reference. It wasn’t good
form, and his skin should have been thicker than that by now, after all the doggy and mutt references in
the navy. “What can we do for you?” He forced himself back to politeness.
“I got some mileage out of the magazines back when your brother got married, but magazines
aren’t really where the money is, and I think there’s enough interest, if we collect some good stories,
some histories, put it all together in a book, or in a couple of books, we can probably find a publisher.
I hear you were in the army—we could get some use out of that, too. Might even get a movie deal.”
Right. “Navy, actually. And what would we get out of it?”
“Share of the royalties, share of any sales of television and movie rights. Whatever else we can
market—werewolf shirts, mugs, hats. That’s not my end of things, we can hire someone for that.
You’ll want an agent. And if we tell the story right, Laine’s little plan to ease the tensions between
your people and mine might get a kick in the pants.”
Quin ignored the mention of Laine’s little plan. But royalties. Money that kept coming in, for just
opening their hearts and bleeding in front of the humans. As tempting as it was, the price still felt too
high. “I’m not comfortable with that. What makes you think I would be?”
“Why? I thought you guys were strapped for cash.”
They were. Even after the new housing was finished, there would be thirty-nine couples left on
the waiting list for mated housing, still living with their parents, either separately or together. Too
many shifters in too small a space—Mac had dropped some ‘incident statistics’ on his desk just
yesterday that had made him wish he’d re-enlisted. Tension in the pack was showing in a sharp
increase in fights and vandalism, getting worse the longer the uncertainty of who was going to get the
houses lasted. He’d have to make a decision on that soon, though it was really no decision. The best
solution would be to find the money to build the rest of the houses they’d planned, but for now, he’d
put the couples who’d been waiting the longest in the new housing as it finished. “I don’t know if
we’re strapped enough to show our bellies in public.”
“I see.” The photographer paused. “Can I at least bring him out so you can meet him? He might
have some ideas.”
Fuck. Like he needed another thing on his plate. Maybe he could pawn this off on Abel. Or Cas—
he was due back in a month, after Duke and Bram moved out to the city. With the added bonus that
Cas was a lawyer, or would be if they’d let him take the bar. He’d be able to spot potential problems
in a contract that Quin couldn’t. “September. I can’t do it before then.”
“Okay.” The photographer sounded dismayed, but he took it well. “I’ll call again at the beginning
of the month to set up a date.”
“I’ll let the office know to expect it.” They hung up, and Quin shook his head and checked the
time. “Bax,” he yelled. “I think I’ll take you up on that meal.”
“I’ll let Holland know,” Bax called back, and seconds later, Quin heard the click of Bax’s phone
being picked up.
 Chapter Eight

I got off the phone with Bax and cursed. I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as if being happily
mated meant he couldn’t imagine why someone else wouldn’t want to be. As if he thought that
Mercy Hills was so special I’d find someone to make me a happily mated shifter again. As if that was
even possible.
Only if he was six-foot-five with dark hair with a bit of a curl in it, and brown eyes. And if I
wasn’t a disgraced omega.
Okay, the truth of it was, I was still kind of shaken from the episode in the laundromat. I’d gone
back a bit later than I should have, nervous as a deer, to find someone angrily emptying my clothes
into one of the dryers because all the rest of the washers were full. I’d apologized and taken the
clothes home to hang out, intending to put the incident behind me and study my math while they dried.
Except I couldn’t focus—my mind kept going back to the way the young shifters had spoken to me,
instead of trying to figure out how to draw the graph of a parabola.
It wasn’t what they’d said so much as how they’d said it, the way their mouths had caressed my
name like it was one step removed from my body. Like they had that right, and it was just my lot in
life to expect to be an amusement to them.
It pissed me off.
Why should I have to change what I wanted, ignore my own desires, because of what other people
thought of me or thought I was? And, for that matter, it looked like they’d already made up their minds
about who I was anyway. Today’s incident was extreme, as Mercy Hills behavior went, but I got
enough side-long glances from other packmembers to get the message.
Well, fuck them all.
No, not them. Quin. It occurred to me that, if the pack thought I was loose and easy to have, why
was I fighting the reputation? It was like trying to push water uphill—you could make small inroads,
but it all eventually ended up at the bottom again. If I was going to be a scandal, I might as well enjoy
it.
Math was going nowhere, so I put my books away and checked the freezer to see if there was
more ground beef or if I’d pulled the last of it out this morning to thaw for supper. No, no, no… yes! I
filled the bottom of the sink with hot water and dropped the plastic bag in. By the time it was thawed,
about an hour, I could have the rest of it seasoned and rolled into meatballs to simmer away in the
sauce all afternoon. Maybe I’d even put some of the sauce into them, to add to the flavor.
I spent a busy hour mixing tomato sauce from last year’s batch of tomatoes, some spices,
mushrooms, and a couple of handfuls of the baby tomatoes that Bax and I had planted around the
house. We’d meant to use them for snacks for the pups, ripe and sweet and ready to burst, but they
added a freshness to the sauce that I liked. Then I grated some summer squash and carrots into the pot,
for flavor and bulk, and set the whole thing on the stove to simmer away for the afternoon. Meatballs
were all different sizes—large ones for the big people, small ones for the littles. I made a few in the
middle size for Fan, because he was in school and had decided he was too big now for little
meatballs, which amused the hell out of me so I catered to him, but only a little.
Bax and I had a lot of the same ideas about child-raising and neither of us wanted to encourage the
idea that being an alpha—or just being Fan, because the boy could totally go there—meant that he
could do and demand whatever he wanted without any responsibility on his part. Abel deferred to
Bax on most of the child-raising decisions, or they came to an agreement before they changed
anything, and he spent as much time with the pups as Bax did. But I’d realized less than a month after
moving to Mercy Hills that his idea of an alpha’s and an Alpha’s responsibilities in a pack were
different from a lot of what I’d seen in others. And that included his conviction that the better part of
the job of any alpha was to look after and protect the other pack members, and to hold themselves in
check for the good of the rest of the pack. It still struck me as odd compared to how I’d been raised,
but the strangeness of it was wearing off, and I supposed that eventually I’d be as odd as the Mercy
Hills shifters too. At least, about that.
Maybe about this too. With the meatballs simmering away, I stole upstairs to pick out an outfit that
wouldn’t look like I was trying to hard, but would also look really good. After going through every
drawer, I settled on a sky-blue t-shirt in heavy cotton that hung like it was way more expensive than it
actually had been, and an old pair of jeans, washed soft and nearly white. I trimmed a few threads
away where the seam was trying to fray again and laid them out on the bed for later. Then I went to
raid Bax’s library for reading material while I had a bath.
Baths had never been my thing. Nor had reading. But Bax, for all his sweetness, had a bit of the
devil in him and he hid it so well I never even noticed him getting under my skin. Not until the day I
picked up one of his books to fill a spare half hour, and later realized I hadn’t gotten any of the
housework done and the breakfast dishes were still sitting in the sink, unwashed, as suppertime
roared down on me.
The book was damn good though.
Since then, I’d tried to make a little time to read every day, just enough for a chapter or two. A lot
of it happened in the bathtub after the pups were safely in bed and Bax and I had caught up on the
thousand and one little chores that didn’t seem to get done during the day. And even though it was only
the beginning of August, we’d already started knitting winter sweaters for the pups. Well, I was
knitting—Bax was knit two, undo one, knit four, undo one. I could tell he hated it, but the pack had
gotten a deal on wool and embroidery thread from a shop in the city that was going out of business,
and he was determined to make use of the supply.
Didn’t matter. We’d started early enough that even if he never finished a thing, I could get them all
done.
So, yeah, reading happened in the bath, and I finally understood what the attraction was.
What should I read? I knew he’d bought another book, sneaking it guiltily into the house, though I
doubted Abel would have noticed if we’d waved it in front of his face wearing nothing but pompoms.
Actually, I could guarantee he wouldn’t notice the book, because he’d have Bax on whatever
horizontal or vertical surface was closest and Bax would be asking what took him so long, which
would have been funny except for not needing to see my favorite cousin’s mate balls deep in said
favorite cousin.
 But truthfully, Abel was head over tail in love with Bax. I thought Bax was worried about money
and pack credits, and just not used to having anything to spend. I also thought that Abel understood
that, because his usual response when Bax awkwardly mentioned that the pups needed something or
he needed something was, “Why not buy two, just in case?” Old habits died hard and it was hard to
put yourself first after years of being last.
Me, I could easily get used to this life, if I ever found a well-to-do mate that didn’t mind used
goods. In the meantime… “Ha! Found you!” There was a bookmark in between the pages, but that was
okay. I wouldn’t lose his place. It was called The Sheik’s Secret Concubine.
Sounds promising.
Half an hour later, I’d skimmed the boring introductory parts and gotten to the meat—I giggled at
that thought— of the story. This Sheik wanted a secretary who was familiar with Britain and could
guide him through British society. And, evidently, one he could diddle on the side.

“I like blonds,” the Sheik told Edward, walking toward him like a cat stalked its prey. “You
are a particularly fine specimen.”
“Your Majesty,” Edward stammered. “I’m not—” The Sheik’s hand touched his face,
stroking down his neck to test the musculature hidden under Edward’s suitcoat. “Your
Majesty!”
“Tell me,” the Sheik said, ignoring Edward’s protests. “I hear that young men from
your country often shave their entire bodies. Are your balls as lovely and smooth as your
face?” Without warning, he cupped his hand between Edward’s legs and rubbed.
“Beautiful,” he whispered and pressed close. “You’ll come to my chambers tonight. I’ll
send a servant for you. Be certain you wash well—I like my lovers clean. And if you haven’t
shaved—” He gave Edward’s stiffening cock a last, loving stroke. “Do so.” Then he left,
and Edward leaned against the wall, panting and painfully aroused.
He didn’t want to surrender to this man, this—arrogant prick who upended lives
without thinking about it. But he needed this job.
And, God help him, he needed that man too.

Oh, yeah, this was going to be a good one. But my time was up, and I had to get out of the bath and get
dressed because it was almost time to go pick Fan up from school, and he would probably be
bringing friends and wanting snacks, so I reluctantly stuck a scrap of paper in the book to save my
place and closed it.
 Chapter Nine

Q uin closed up the office just before supper and he, Bax, and Abel walked across to the
daycare to pick up the pups. “Quin!” Teca screeched, sounding more like a pterodactyl than a
five-year-old pup, and ran across the room toward him, leaping over toys, pups, and a table
in her excitement. “Are you coming home with us?”
“Coming for supper,” he agreed.
“Yay!” she said and jumped around. “Let’s get the babies.”
Abel snorted and scooped her up. “Here’s my baby!” He blew a raspberry on her belly and made
her squeal, then propped her on his hip. “Where’s Bea?”
“She’s Princess Bea today. She’s in the castle.”
Outside. Duke had built a playhouse-slash-castle out of scraps and leftovers from the houses in
his spare time, what little he had. Quin knew it was going to hurt to lose him for the winter, possibly
for the next six years depending on Bram’s schedule, even though they had other talented carpenters in
the pack. But Duke had started showing a knack for making something useful out of scrap, and in a
place where nothing was wasted, that was almost a more important skill than the ability to measure
and build to plan.
The castle was a busy spot. Pups ran through the doors in both directions, hanging out windows
and yelling at the top of their lungs. Quin saw a knight, a cowboy, and a police officer race in and out
of sight in quick succession, and then Bea, in a sparkly blue gown, came tearing out the door straight
for them. “Pap! Dabi! Come see the dragon!” Then she came to a full stop. “QUIN!” She giggled and
ran up to hug him. “Come see the dragon. We built him today in school.” She grabbed his hand and
Bax’s and led them around behind the castle. “See?”
Cardboard boxes, probably scavenged from Supplies before they could be turned to other uses,
had been cut and bent and twisted into something that kind of looked like a dragon, then painted to
complete the almost-resemblance.
“Wow, he’s great,” Bax cooed.
“He is,” Quin agreed.
“I colored his tail,” she informed them proudly. Quin let her take him over to examine it more
closely.
“You did a good job,” he told her and she grinned happily at him, then skipped back to her
parents. “Dabi, Pap, can Quin come home with us?”
“He’s coming for supper.”
“Yay!” She ran back over to him. “We can play.”
 Quin sent a glance at his brother, a request to be saved from the perils of glitter and baby dolls,
but Abel smiled wickedly back. “Sure,” Quin finally said, giving Abel a simultaneous stink-eye.
“Unless something comes up. Then Pap will play with you.” His satisfaction at Abel’s expression
was almost immediately punctured by Bea’s “Nah. He’s boring. He keeps wanting to build things, but
then he never lets me knock them down.” Abel’s thoughtful look in response to the pup’s innocent
critique gave Quin hope of escape, and when Bax smiled at Abel, it clicked that Bax might have
mentioned the concept of play versus work to Abel a few times. Then Bax smiled at Quin and he felt
the knots in this shoulders, so constant he hardly noticed them anymore, begin to unwind.
That omega thing. True Omega. They really needed to dig farther into it—the project seemed to go
in fits and starts as the project members got involved in other things. Bram had gotten a lot done in the
spring before the twins came, but then it had been put aside once more. And Abel wanted it kept
within a small circle of packmembers, at least until they knew what they were dealing with.
Quin had to admit he agreed. If True Omegas could do what the legends said they did, then it
might have been better if they’d died out in the Enclosure after all. And it wouldn’t only be the
reactions of the other packs they’d have to deal with, but the reactions of the humans as well.
But even knowing it was Bax that had drawn down the tension that never quite seemed to leave
him, it still made the decision to skip out on the last of his work today a little easier on his mind.
Anything Bax did would be to make things easier for the other person.
His session with the therapist had been profitable, too, at least from his point of view. Maybe
today he would take that first step and sniff out how Holland felt toward him.
They picked up Noah and Taden from the baby yard. Bax carried Taden—who was already
fussing with Bax’s shirt—and Quin let Noah perch up on his shoulders. It was a twenty minute walk
to their home next to the gate connecting the newly expanded section of the enclave. That travel time
for people living in the new section itself was going to become an issue. He was tempted to set up a
Supplies depot and maybe another small library, so packmembers didn’t have to come all the way in
to the main building to make use of those services. The other half of Bram’s duplex was already
designated as a clinic, for that moment years down the road when he could take over on his own. Quin
wished there was some way to hurry time along.
Talk to Adelaide and see if she’ll let him shadow her whenever he’s here. Should have been
doing that all summer. No, he couldn’t have. No alpha in the history of Mercy Hills had ever stolen
that first six months from the pack’s pups, and Quin wasn’t going to start it either.
Realistically, he had to find a way to convince more packmembers to go outside walls to get
training, but it was hard. Humans were unpredictable, except in that you could be sure something
negative would happen. Maybe he should take that photographer’s offer seriously, in the hope that it
would ease tensions between the two species. They couldn’t keep on like this, hiding behind their
walls. Sooner or later the whole structure would collapse, or implode, and they’d tear each other to
pieces in their frustration.
When they opened the door of Abel’s sunny home, now painted a cheerful yellow on the outside,
the rich smell of tomato and herbs rolled out to draw them in with promises of a delicious meal. They
put the pups down so the young ones could run inside and wash, but the sounds of other pups playing
in the back yard proved too great a lure and all of them except Taden and Noah disappeared around
the side of the house, forgetting their adult companions in an instant.
Holland came out of the kitchen wearing a wide smile and a blue shirt that made his eye spark
like sapphires. “Oh, good, you’re just in time.” His smile deepened when he saw Quin. “I hope
there’s enough. I made biscuits to go along with it and I can make garlic butter if anyone wants garlic
bread.” He turned and disappeared back into the kitchen, and Quin found his feet automatically
padding after him. He barely noticed Abel and Bax turning down the hallway toward their bedroom.
There was something different about Holland tonight. The reticence was gone and in its place was
something Quin couldn’t quite put a finger on. Or maybe the difference was in Quin. Lysoon, he hoped
so.
Holland moved about the room with quiet assurance as he put the final touches on the food. On the
surface, he appeared completely absorbed in his task, but it felt to Quin as if he was being observed
the entire time. It was…unsettling in a strange way and also exciting, because it seemed to herald
some shift in their non-existent relationship, a change that he’d been hesitant to put into play while he
struggled with his memories and Holland struggled with his.
Holland flicked a glance at him from under his lashes and it felt like flirtation, and not that subtle
verification of mood Quin had seen both Bax and Holland perform so often. “Why don’t you sit down,
Alpha, and I’ll get you a beer.” Holland’s words seemed to caress Quin’s title. He’d always stood
tall and straight, only a handful of inches shorter than Quin, but today he wasn’t trying to fade into the
woodwork and Quin suddenly wished his brother and all his brother’s family in the Moonlands so he
could explore this new, exciting side of Holland. Quin let himself be shown to one of the kitchen
chairs and given a beer, ice cold with condensation already beginning to collect on the side.
Abel entered the kitchen and raised his eyebrows at Quin’s beer before helping himself to one.
“Smells good, Holland. Do we have enough time to take the babies outside before it’s ready?”
“I just have to put the pasta on. We can eat whenever you want.”
“Bax!” Abel called down the hallway. “Do you want to eat now or take the pups outside?”
“Noah’s hungry,” Bax called back. “And Taden’s not done yet. But I can feed them if you want to
play ball with the older ones.”
“He can have a drink and a cracker,” Holland put in. “That will keep him happy until Taden is
done. Should I make garlic bread?”
“Why not?” Abel said. He went to the refrigerator and extracted a jug of bright orange juice.
“Noah, want some juice?” he shouted in the direction of the bedroom.
A few seconds later, the young shifter bounded down the hall and into the kitchen, leaping onto his
Pap and wrapping his arms around Abel’s leg. He was almost two and a half now, Quin remembered,
and the busiest critter Quin had ever seen—his and Abel’s youngest brother Cas included. “Juice!”
Noah said, and grinned up at Abel.
“Juice it is.” Abel smiled down at him and walked over to the cupboard for a plastic tumbler,
Noah hanging off his leg and giggling as he was carried along for a ride.
Quin noticed Holland watching the two of them, the fond expression mostly hiding the pain
underneath it. He guessed that it was the lack of children, and he wondered what it would take to get
Holland to talk about it. Abel and Bax knew what had happened—Holland had come to Mercy Hills
before Quin had been made Alpha, so Abel had been the one who had heard his story and accepted
him. Quin had never asked.
At first, it had been because he was too much of a mess in those months right after he’d come back
from overseas. Then there’d been the political maneuvering with the other packs and his eventual rise
to the Alpha’s station. And in the middle of it all, in a rush of need which had terrified him, there’d
been that day where he’d casually touched Holland, the day Holland had pointed him in the direction
of the on-line therapist, and he’d had to fight down the urge to lay the gorgeous omega down, right
there on the kitchen table.
Luckily, he’d come to his senses and bolted before anything had happened; he wasn’t whole
enough at the time to handle the consequences. Then later, when he was—less messy, he’d started to
wonder if the other shifter’s response had truly only been his heat, or if there’d been something more
than biology at work. But Holland had kept himself to himself and seemed wary of the interest of
alphas, so Quin had pushed aside his attraction, even during those times he’d thought Holland had
noticed him in turn. And he wondered what it was that had dropped Holland here, unmated and
uninterested.
There was no mistaking Holland’s interest now. He wandered around the kitchen, but seemed to
spend most of his time in some sort of Quin-centered orbit. A couple of times, while setting the
kitchen table, he came close enough to brush against Quin’s arm, and his scent rose to Quin’s nostrils
like opium.
Bax slipped into the room, using what Quin had dubbed ‘omega stealth mode’ one night about two
months after he’d taken over as Alpha and he was still leaning pretty heavily on Abel. He’d made a
joke about Abel’s mate’s ability to move about the house without being noticed and how he could
have used him in the Marines, until Abel filled him in on why Bax moved like that and it became an
awkward subject to joke about. Though Abel had taken to calling it stealth mode shortly afterward,
and apparently Quin’s faux-pas was now an in-joke between the mated couple.
Abel held out his arms for Taden and sat at the table next to Quin. Bax raised his eyebrows at
Noah, still wrapped around his Pap’s leg, but turned toward the cupboard and the loaf of bread sitting
on the cutting board without comment. “I’ll make garlic bread,” he said lightly.
“None for me,” Holland told him. A look passed between the two of them, then Bax smiled and
sliced enough off the loaf for everyone except Holland.
Why did Quin suddenly feel like prey?
And why did he like it?
 Chapter Ten

M y plan was working, as much of a plan as it was. Now that I’d stopped ignoring him with all
my might—which, I might add, hadn’t been terribly successful anyway—I found myself
constantly aware of him. How he smelled, how he looked, the stretch of cloth across his chest as he
moved, teasing me with hints of the muscle beneath. I shivered as my body thrust an image of being
pressed between that chest and any relatively solid surface, and I curled my toes painfully to distract
myself. I wasn’t going to bite my lip, just in case I did get a chance to test out the romantic waters
later.
Except for keeping up with puppy demands, the meal was uneventful. Conversation went in spits
and starts, never anything serious or heavy, but small things, such as the letter Bax had gotten from his
mother, still writing in longhand on sheets of paper to keep in touch with friends and family moved far
away. Her side of the family was the one Bax and I were related on, my mother several years older
and gone to the Moonlands just before my first heat came on me. I listened without even a twinge of
homesickness as Bax recounted some mischief a few of our more distant cousins had gotten up to, and
noticed that Quin listened intently to every word. It didn’t appear to be just politeness—there’s a
certain stiffness to a person’s expression when they’re being polite, as if they’re letting the
information bounce right off them. Quin looked like he was trying to understand Buffalo Gap, to fit it
into what he already knew about it. And us.
Abel wasn’t wrong when he chose his successor. It made me sad that any play I made for him
would have to be temporary. The more I watched him, the more I came to respect what he did and
what he wanted to do. But I’d enjoy him while I had him—if I managed to get him—and then I’d try to
be gracious when I faded into his past.
Quin stretched and looked down at his empty plate. “Thank you, Bax and Holland. It was
delicious.”
“Thank Holland, really. It was his work.” Bax flicked a glance at Abel, who grinned wolfishly
and reached over to lace his fingers through Bax’s hair.
“I don’t mind your cooking.”
“When I don’t burn it,” Bax said with dry humor.
Quin smiled vaguely, seeming lost in thought, but I used a foot to poke his knee under the table and
said, “Earth to Quin, are you in there Quin?”
“Holland!” Bax scolded, but Quin waved him off.
“If we’d criticized our mother’s cooking—” He paused and grinned at Abel, who threw his hands
in the air and pretended to be terrified. “Yeah. She didn’t take it well.”
 “And then everyone got punished,” Abel added. “Because they had to eat our cooking.”
Bax snorted with laughter. “No wonder he avoids the kitchen.”
“You keep saying you can’t cook,” Abel complained. “I don’t see it. You’re as good as Mom ever
was.”
I made a face and Bax met my eyes with rueful dismay. Yes, I was a better cook than he was, but I
hadn’t bucked the system as hard as he had. And I still wasn’t as good as some of the omegas I’d met
were. “I suppose,” I said slowly, my gaze moving back and forth between the two alphas. “It depends
on your measuring stick. It was our one potential claim to fame, aside from sewing, really.” Bax
nodded, but didn’t offer a contribution of his own, so I kept going, feeling my way through an
explanation I understood in my gut, but had never before dragged up to be seen in the light of day.
“Omegas mate. That’s what we do, what the pinnacle of our ambition is allowed to be. To be a good
mate, to be the mate that the best alphas wanted, was the goal of everything. So everything became a
competition—looks, grace, dancing, homemaking. Cooking.” He shook his head and pushed his chair
back from the table. “I met an omega on a trip to another pack, when my father was looking for a mate
for me, that could make a four-course meal, with everything cooked perfectly, exactly the way the
diners liked it. Like, if you—” I pointed to Abel. “—preferred well-done steak, yours would be well
done. Your—” I pointed to Quin. “—rare steak would be ready at the same time. Plus everything else
that went on the plate. Yes, she had help, but still, that’s way beyond me. Even if I practiced, I don’t
have the talent. And she mated well. Extremely well.”
Abel tilted his head to one side and gazed at me with eyes that saw more than I was comfortable
with. “You mean Lydane. Salma Wood’s mate.”
I nodded and began piling empty plates on top of mine. “Yes. I have the traditional omega skills,
but I’m lacking…something.” Yeah, a working womb. Ignoring the ache in my chest, and wondering
why I’d suddenly gone so sullen, I hurried away with the dishes and began to run water into the sink
while I filled the kettle and started the coffee maker, gathering mugs in one efficient movement. I was
disappointed with myself—I was supposed to be flirting and now here I was back on the edge of tears
again. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.
“Bax is gone to check on the pups.” Quin’s voice slithered up my spine, raising pleasant
goosebumps despite my less than stellar mood. “I’m supposed to dish out ice cream.”
A glance around showed me an empty kitchen. Empty, that is, except for myself and Quin. How
had I missed it? “I can do that.” Omega, right? I should have been more prepared.
“Holland?”
I looked up at him, and he kissed me.
I think it surprised him as much as it surprised me. I’d expected to flirt longer, to maneuver him
until he came upon me alone and then make my interest plain. I’d expected it to take days, weeks, and
then for him to jump on me—I knew he hadn’t been seeing anybody. This swift response was
unexpected, his kiss such a gentle exploration, touching only where our lips brushed against each
other. Not even any tongue, which was a bit of a disappointment, but it probably would have ruined
the mood, which was sweet and wondrous. My hands were still full of mugs and I had nowhere to put
them down, so I just stood there and sighed in contentment.
Of course, it eventually had to end, and I remembered later trying to follow his mouth as it parted
from mine, but then I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—and watched him to see what he’d
do next. Because I obviously didn’t have a fucking clue.
He smiled at me and took the mugs from my hands, placing them carefully on the counter. “I hope
you don’t mind.”
 “Mind what?” What was there to mind?
“That I kissed you?”
“No. Don’t mind at all.” My stomach fluttered and I waited to see what his next move would be,
that anticipation as delicious as I hoped whatever he did next was.
“Good.” He put his hands on my waist and pulled until I could feel the heat coming from his body
in the minuscule gap between us. I opened my mouth to invite him to do more, but I didn’t need to, or
perhaps my expression was invitation enough. He bent his head to me again and my entire body went
up in flame.
 Chapter Eleven

A fter the kissing, things went back to normal, except for this shimmering excitement that filled
me. Bax and Abel came back from cleaning the pups up, their arms fulls of dirty plates and
glasses, and I went about setting out the pups’ little bowls so Quin could scoop ice cream into them.
Everything was normal, except I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and maybe he couldn’t stop thinking
about me. His hands brushed against mine, even when there seemed no logical explanation for their
nearness, and I felt his eyes following me, warm and heavy like the fur blanket my grandmother used
to wrap me up in when I was sick. I certainly felt fevered now, but it wasn’t a virus.
We served the pups and took our own bowls out into the living room. It felt like a celebration—
dessert was a rare thing in the enclaves, though more common here in Mercy Hills. Conversation
wound around different topics, some personal, some pack-related. Quin wanted to either buy one of
the houses next to the pack’s house in the city, or look for a new, larger one. “We need more trained
people. It’s okay to apprentice, but some things need book learning.”
“Are you going to set money aside for it?”
“As I can. It can work as an emergency fund too.” He swirled his spoon around in the bowl. “It
would be better to buy one right next to this one. I can’t see getting a decent price for the old one with
all the specific renovations we had to do. And I think we got robbed on it.”
“We did. I saw the paperwork.” Abel set his empty bowl down on the coffee table. “I don’t mind
the renovations, but jacking the price up when we ask about the place makes me want to chew
something.”
Quin put his bowl down on the table too and I scooped it and Abel’s up. Bax had declined the ice
cream, instead disappearing back into their bedroom to look for something, so I only had the three
bowls to clear, but all the dishes were still to be done, so I quietly left the alphas to their chat and
headed for the kitchen.
Bax was sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a magazine. Two others sat underneath it and it
took me a moment to figure out that this was the article that had been written about him and Abel
when they were getting mated. I hadn’t realized he’d gotten a copy.
“Feeling sentimental?” I glanced at the pages as I walked by and my steps slowed, then stopped,
and I came back to peer over Bax’s shoulder. “Wow. They turned out really well.”
“He took a million pictures. There’s only nine in the article, but they’re nice.” His tone was
dreamy, and his fingers traced the edge of one picture, one of him and Abel and all the pups. “I really
like this one.”
“It’s nice,” I agreed. “What made you get them out?”
 “Oh,” he sat up and closed the magazine. “The photographer who did them called today, wanting
to bring a writer over to see about doing a book. Quin asked to see the old articles before he made up
his mind.”
“Ah.” What good would a book do? I turned back to the sink and let my mind drift back to the kiss
earlier.
Bax came to stand beside me, a dish towel in his hand. “I think he wants to continue what Abel
started, to start breaking down the barrier between us and the humans.”
I handed him a plate to dry and started on the next one. “It would be nice.” Imagine, being able to
come and go freely from the enclave. What would it mean to our future? I couldn’t even picture a life
where a shifter was equal to a human, able to go and do and be the same way that humans were. But
Bax evidently did. “Would you like that? To be able live outside walls? To just go wherever?”
He glanced around the kitchen and thought about it for a moment. “No. It’s not for me. This is
home, my home. I’m happy here.” He leaned against me briefly. “You might want to do something
outside walls, though.”
I snorted and handed him another plate. “We’ll see.”
The alphas soon came in with the rest of the bowls, those that had been given to the pups.
Abel made tea for himself and poured coffee for Quin. Quin wandered over to the table, mug in
hand, and began leafing through the magazine. “Are these the articles?”
“Yes.” Abel trailed his fingers across Bax’s shoulders, eliciting a smile from his mate, and
walked over to the table. “This one was when we were planning the mating, and during it. This one
too. This third one used pictures he got while he was here, but it was about our culture. None of these
are big magazines, though, and it didn’t have the impact we’d hoped for.”
I finished the last of the pots and poured a cup of tea for myself, one of coffee for Bax while he
put the last of the pots away. He smiled as I handed it to him, and looped his arm through mine to lead
me over to the table.
Bax showed me to the seat beside Quin, sneaky creature that he was. I didn’t mind, and I settled in
happily next to the Alpha to look at the rest of the pictures I hadn’t seen.
There were a few of the mating ceremony, and as I looked at the images, they triggered memories
of other portions of the night. Of the fight, and how fierce Abel had been. Of how fierce Bax had
been, in his own way. Of Fan, running into the middle of the clearing to protect his Pap, getting hurt in
the process. And Abel’s fury and how he’d finally stopped holding back and made his rival pay. Of
the end of the ceremony and how they’d looked at each other, as if the rest of us didn’t exist.
Lady Lysoonka, I wanted that.
Quin put his arm around me. Without realizing it, I’d leaned against him, but I couldn’t regret the
action given the results. He seemed comfortable like that, and neither Bax nor Abel commented on the
gesture, so I settled in to enjoy the moment, looking through the pictures.
“Do you think he could do this when he doesn’t have a mating to work with?” Quin asked, his
voice thoughtful.
“Probably.” Abel moved Taden casually up onto his shoulder, patting his little back while the
baby dozed. “It’s going to take some organizing. Bax won’t have time to do it—he doesn’t have
enough time to what he does do.”
“It’s not that bad,” Bax said, but I knew it was.
Quin glanced up at me, then gazed speculatively at Bax for a moment, but he’d gone back to
taciturn and continued to leaf through the magazine.
 Chapter Twelve

F ull moon night. It was four days after that surprising kiss in the kitchen. I could still feel his lips
against mine, but we hadn’t spoken since.
I had offered to stay with the babies tonight, like usual, but Bax had refused. “Go have some fun,”
he’d said, with that look.
“Who am I going to have fun with?” I’d asked him, knowing full well who he was referring to. It
was ridiculous, and I thought that Bax was maybe forgetting a little how the real world worked,
outside this fantasy land called Mercy Hills. Because he seemed to think that two kisses in his kitchen
could become something much more than what it was, or would be. At first I’d been hopeful, but as
time wore on, my hopes grew thinner, until they faded away entirely. Quin was the Alpha of Mercy
Hills. If he was looking to mate and have pups, he’d want someone who could, you know, have pups.
So that was definitely off the table.
And I hadn’t seen him since the kiss.
But I was also tired of hiding myself away in Abel’s and Bax’s home and trying to be
inconspicuous. If Bax was going to work in the puppy shelter, then maybe I would dress up and go
enjoy the party.
And that was how I ended up wearing a deep blue cotton shirt that I’d embroidered over in silver
and white, my best jeans, and a pair of boots that I’d forgotten I had, buried in the back of my closet
with the rest of the wreckage of my mating. I’d never worn them, having bought them—with my mate’s
permission—to wear when it was officially announced that I was pregnant. And of course, that never
happened.
Tonight, they would be dancing shoes. And I planned to break them in well. If the Alpha couldn’t
find ten minutes to come see me after kissing me in his brother’s kitchen, then I was going to show
him what he was missing out on.
“You’re going to break hearts tonight,” Bax said from the doorway.
“As long as I don’t break toes, I’m happy,” I told him.
He laughed and leaned against the frame. “Don’t worry about being home to help with the pups.”
“I can be home,” I told him absently while I traced some eyeliner along my lower lid. I never
wore much, but I did like to show off my eyes a little. I had Bax’s same black hair, without the curl,
but my eyes were bright blue and I’d been told often that they were my best feature.
“Go have fun. You haven’t taken a day or a night off since you came to live with us.” He stepped
up and hugged me from behind.
I stared at him in the mirror. “You know why.”
 “Stop being a martyr. This isn’t home. It also isn’t Perseguir.”
“Hmmph.” He was right, but was he right enough? Quin’s image hovered in my mind’s eye for a
moment, then I brushed it away, though it left traces of itself behind. It would be nice if he was
entirely right. How risky would it be to test the waters further? And maybe I should just make a
decision and stick with it, take the consequences like an adult. I was tired of hiding in Bax’s home.
And if he was pushing me to go out and meet people, maybe he was tired of having me in it too. I’d
never really thought about it from his point of view, except to make sure he got his money’s worth out
of me in labor and care. But perhaps he wanted his house back, to parent his pups, to be a family
without the unwanted omega hanging on.
Ugh. I was turning maudlin. Time to buck up and remind myself of what I had.
I finished with my eyes and put the pencil down. “Do you want help herding your pack over to the
park?”
“Please!” he exclaimed, and we laughed together.
Because it wasn’t Harvest Moon, the meal before the run was potluck. Bax and I had made
pineapple upside down cakes to bring as our contribution and Jason’s mate, Mac, came by with the
truck to get us all there with the food on time and in one piece.
The air was chilly and Bax and I both ended up running back into the house for jackets to put on
over our party clothes. Jason opted to sit in the back with us despite the cool air, leaving the cab to
Mac and the four oldest pups. The rest of us sat in the back and bumped along the rough road, trying to
keep the pups from falling on top of the cakes.
“Mac wants to get these roads paved if the solar panels do well,” Jason said after a particularly
sudden bump.
“Abel wants a movie theater,” Bax told him with a grin.
“What on earth would we do with a movie theater?” Jason said, and laughed in amused disbelief.
“I think he’s hoping to sit in the back seats and enjoy some pup-free time,” Bax said with a
mischievous grin and a waggle of his neat eyebrows.
Jason laughed harder this time. “Who’s going to explain to him that it’s not going to be one of
those theaters?”
I stared at him in confusion then glanced at Bax, who looked just as confused.
Jason shook his head. “You know, the kind where they show dirty movies and people get all
worked up? Those kinds.”
“There’s theaters like that?” I asked.
He looked puzzled. “You guys didn’t know?”
Bax shook his head. “We’re not allowed out much, and then once you’re mated, you don’t have
time to go learning other stuff. I don’t know much about human society, except for dealing with the
gate guards.”
“How did you learn to drive then?”
Bax’s lips twisted. “My mother. She said it would be a useful skill, and that my mate would find it
handy.” He glanced over at the pups and pulled Noah away from one of the cakes. “It was useful, in
the end, but not the way she’d planned.”
Yeah, I’d heard the story. It didn’t surprise me in the slightest that Bax would take his pups and
run. What had surprised me was that he hadn’t done it before. Though really, where would there have
been to run to? His family would have just sent him back. I knew, because it was my family.
We pulled up at the park and I jumped down to help the pups out. Jason and Bax handed out the
food, which we carried over to the table before rounding up the pups to take them over to the puppy
Another random document with
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 CHAPTER II.
REPTON (HISTORICAL). THE PLACE-NAME
REPTON, &c.

The first mention of Repton occurs in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,

under the year 755. Referring to “the slaughter” of King Ethelbald,
King of Mercia, one out of the six MSS. relates that it happened “on
Hreopandune,” “at Repton”; the other five have “on Seccandune,” “at
Seckington,” near Tamworth. Four of the MSS. spell the name
“Hrepandune,” one “Hreopadune,” and one “Reopandune.”
Under the year 874, when the Danes came from Lindsey,
Lincolnshire, to Repton, “and there took winter quarters,” four of the
MSS. spell the name “Hreopedune,” one “Hreopendune.” Again,
under the year 875, when they left, having destroyed the Abbey and
the town, the name is spelt “Hreopedune.” The final e represents the
dative case. In Domesday Book it is spelt “Rapendune,”
“Rapendvne,” or “Rapendvn.” In later times, among the various ways
of spelling the name, the following occur:—Hrypadun, Rypadun,
Rapandun, Rapindon, Rependon, Repindon, Repingdon, Repyndon,
Repington, Repyngton, Ripington, Rippington, &c., and finally
Repton; the final syllable ton being, of course, a corruption of the
ancient dun or don.
Now as to the meaning of the name. There is no doubt about the
suffix dun, which was adopted by the Anglo-Saxons from the Celts,
and means a hill, and was generally used to denote a hill-fortress,
stronghold, or fortified place. As to the meaning of the prefix
“Hreopan,” “Hreopen,” or “Repen,” the following suggestions have
been made:—(1) “Hreopan” is the genitive case of a Saxon proper
name, “Hreopa,” and means Hreopa’s hill, or hill-fortress. (2)
“Hropan or Hreopan,” a verb, “to shout,” or “proclaim”; or a noun,
“Hrop,” “clamour,” or “proclamation,” and so may mean “the hill of
shouting, clamour, or proclamation.” (3) “Repan or Ripan,” a verb, “to
reap” or a noun, “Rep, or Rip,” a harvest, “the hill of reaping or
harvest.” (4) “Hreppr,” a Norse noun for “a village,” “a village on a
hill.” (5) “Ripa,” a noun meaning “a bank,” “a hill on a bank,” of the
river Trent, which flows close to it.
The question is, which of these is the most probable meaning?
The first three seem to suit the place and position. It is a very
common thing for a hill or place to bear the name of the owner or
occupier. As Hreopandun was the capital of Mercia, many a council
may have been held, many a law may have been proclaimed, and
many a fight may have been fought, with noise and clamour, upon its
hill, and, in peaceful times, a harvest may have been reaped upon it,
and the land around. As regards the two last suggestions, the arrival
of the Norsemen, in the eighth century, would be too late for them to
name a place which had probably been in existence, as an important
town, for nearly two centuries before they came.
The prefix “ripa” seems to favour a Roman origin, but no proofs of
a Roman occupation can be found. If there are any, they lie hid
beneath that oblong enclosure in a field to the north of Repton, near
the banks of the river Trent, which Stebbing Shaw, in the
Topographer (Vol. II., p. 250), says “was an ancient colony of the
Romans called ‘Repandunum.’” As the name does not appear in any
of the “Itineraries,” nor in any of the minor settlements or camps in
Derbyshire, this statement is extremely doubtful. Most probably the
camp was constructed by the Danes when they wintered there in the
year 874. The name Repandunum appears in Spruner and Menke’s
“Atlas Antiquus” as a town among the Cornavii (? Coritani), at the
junction of the Trent and Dove!
So far as to its name. Now we will put together the various
historical references to it.
“This place,” writes Stebbing Shaw, (O.R.), in the Topographer,
Vol. II., p. 250, “was an ancient colony of the Romans called
Repandunum, and was afterwards called Repandun, (Hreopandum,)
by the Saxons, being the head of the Mercian kingdom, several of
their kings having palaces here.”
 “Here was, before a.d. 600, a noble monastery of religious men
and women, under the government of an Abbess, after the Saxon
Way, wherein several of the royal line were buried.”
As no records of the monastery have been discovered we cannot
tell where it was founded or by whom. Penda, the Pagan King of
Mercia, was slain by Oswiu, king of Northumbria, at the battle of
Winwadfield, in the year 656, and was succeeded by his son Peada
who had been converted to Christianity, by Alfred brother of Oswiu,
and was baptized, with all his attendants, by Finan, bishop of
Lindisfarne, at Walton, in the year 632. (Matt. Paris, Chron. Maj.)
After Penda’s death, Peada brought from the north, to convert
Mercia, four priests, Adda, Betti, Cedda brother of St. Chad, and
Diuma, who was consecrated first bishop of the Middle Angles and
Mercians by Finan, but only ruled the see for two years, when he
died and was buried “among the Middle Angles at Feppingum,”
which is supposed to be Repton. In the year 657 Peada was slain “in
a very nefarious manner, during the festival of Easter, betrayed, as
some say, by his wife,” and was succeeded by his brother Wulphere.
Tanner, Notitia, f. 78; Leland, Collect., Vol. II., p. 157; Dugdale,
Monasticon, Vol. II., pp. 280-2, all agree that the monastery was
founded before 660, so Peada, or his brother Wulphere could have
been its founder.
The names of several of the Abbesses have been recorded.
Eadburh, daughter of Ealdwulf, King of East Anglia. Ælfthryth
(Ælfritha) who received Guthlac, (see p. 12). Wærburh (St.
Werburgh) daughter of King Wulphere. Cynewaru (Kenewara) who in
835 granted the manor and lead mines of Wirksworth, on lease, to
one Humbert.
Among those whom we know to have been buried within the
monastery are Merewald, brother of Wulphere. Cyneheard, brother
of the King of the West Saxons. Æthelbald, King of the Mercians,
“slain at Seccandun (Seckington, near Tamworth), and his body lies
at Hreopandun” (Anglo-Saxon Chron.) under date 755. Wiglaf or
Withlaf, another King of Mercia, and his grandson Wistan (St.
Wystan), murdered by his cousin Berfurt at Wistanstowe in 850 (see
p. 15). After existing for over 200 years the monastery was
destroyed by the Danes in the year 874. “In this year the army of the
Danes went from Lindsey (Lincolnshire) to Hreopedun, and there
took winter quarters,” (Anglo-Saxon Chron.), and as Ingulph relates
“utterly destroyed that most celebrated monastery, the most sacred
mausoleum of all the Kings of Mercia.”
For over two hundred years it lay in ruins, till, probably, the days of
Edgar the Peaceable (958-75) when a church was built on the ruins,
and dedicated to St. Wystan.
When Canute was King (1016-1035) he transferred the relics of
St. Wystan to Evesham Abbey, where they rested till the year 1207,
when, owing to the fall of the central tower which smashed the shrine
and relics, a portion of them was granted to the Canons of Repton.
(see Life of St. Wystan, p. 16.) In Domesday Book Repton is entered
as having a Church with two priests, which proves the size and
importance of the church and parish in those early times. Algar, Earl
of Mercia, son of Leofric, and Godiva, was the owner then, but soon
after, it passed into the hands of the King, eventually it was restored
to the descendants of Algar, the Earls of Chester. Matilda, widow of
Randulph, Earl of Chester, with the consent of her son Hugh,
enlarged the church, and founded the Priory, both of which she
granted to the Canons of Calke, whom she transferred to Repton in
the year 1172.
 CHAPTER III.
REPTON’S SAINTS (GUTHLAC & WYSTAN).

“The sober recital of historical fact is decked with legends of singular

beauty, like artificial flowers adorning the solid fabric of the Church.
Truth and fiction are so happily blended that we cannot wish such
holy visions to be removed out of our sight,” thus wrote Bishop
Selwyn of the time when our Repton Saints lived, and in order that
their memories may be kept green, the following account has been
written.

ST. GUTHLAC.
At the command of Æthelbald, King of the Mercians, Felix, monk
of Crowland, first bishop of the East Angles, wrote a life of St.
Guthlac.
He derived his information from Wilfrid, abbot of Crowland, Cissa,
a priest, and Beccelm, the companion of Guthlac, all of whom knew
him.
Felix relates that Guthlac was born in the days of Æthelred, (675-
704), his parents’ names were Icles and Tette, of royal descent. He
was baptised and named Guthlac, which is said to mean “Gud-lac,”
“belli munus,” “the gift of battle,” in reference to the gift of one,
destined to a military career, to the service of God. The sweet
disposition of his youth is described, at length, by his biographer,
also the choice of a military career, in which he spent nine years of
his life. During those years he devastated cities and houses, castles
and villages, with fire and sword, and gathered together an immense
quantity of spoil, but he returned a third part of it to those who owned
it. One sleepless night, his conscience awoke, the enormity of his
crimes, and the doom awaiting such a life, suddenly aroused him, at
daybreak he announced, to his companions, his intention of giving
up the predatory life of a soldier of fortune, and desired them to
choose another leader, in vain they tried to turn him from his resolve,
and so at the age of twenty-four, about the year 694, he left them,
and came to the Abbey of Repton, and sought admission there.
Ælfritha, the abbess, admitted him, and, under her rule, he received
the “mystical tonsure of St. Peter, the prince of the Apostles.”
For two years he applied himself to the study of sacred and
monastic literature.
The virtues of a hermit’s life attracted him, and he determined to
adopt it, so, in the autumn of 696, he again set out in search of a
suitable place, and soon lost himself among the fens, not far from
Gronta—which has been identified with Grantchester, near
Cambridge—here, a bystander, named Tatwine, mentioned a more
remote island named Crowland, which many had tried to inhabit, but,
owing to monsters, &c., had failed to do so. Hither Guthlac and
Tatwine set out in a punt, and, landing on the island, built a hut over
a hole made by treasure seekers, in which Guthlac settled on St.
Bartholomew’s Day, (August 24th,) vowed to lead a hermit’s life.
Many stories are related, by Felix, of his encounters with evil spirits,
who tried to turn him away from the faith, or drive him away from
their midst.
Of course the miraculous element abounds all through the
narrative, chiefly connected with his encounters with evil spirits,
whom he puts to flight, delivering those possessed with them from
their power. So great was his fame, bishops, nobles, and kings, visit
him, and Eadburgh, Abbess of Repton, daughter of Aldulph, King of
East Angles, sent him a shroud, and a coffin of Derbyshire lead, for
his burial, which took place on the 11th of April, a.d. 714.
Such, in briefest outline, is the life of St. Guthlac. Those who wish
to know more about him, should consult “The Memorials of St.
Guthlac,” edited by Walter de Gray Birch. In it he has given a list of
the manuscripts, Anglo-Saxon, Latin, and Old English Verse, which
describe the Saint’s life. He quotes specimens of all of them, and
gives the full text of Felix’s life, with footnotes of various readings,
&c., and, what is most interesting, has interleaved the life with
illustrations, reproduced by Autotype Photography, from the well
known roll in Harley Collection of MSS. in the British Museum. The
roll, of vellum, is nine feet long, by six inches and a half wide, on it
are depicted, in circular panels, eighteen scenes from the life of the
Saint. Drawn with “brown or faded black ink, heightened with tints
and transparent colours, lightly sketched in with a hair pencil—in the
prevailing style of the twelfth century—the work of a monk of
Crowland, perhaps of the celebrated Ingulph, the well known literary
abbot of that monastery, it stands, unique, in its place, as an
example of the finest early English style of freehand drawing,” one or
more of the cartoons are missing.
The first cartoon, the left half of which is wanting, is a picture of
Guthlac and his companions asleep, clad in chain armour.
The 2nd. Guthlac takes leave of his companions.
The 3rd. Guthlac is kneeling between bishop Headda, and the
abbess, in Repton abbey. The bishop is shearing off Guthlac’s hair.
The 4th. Guthlac, Tatwine, and an attendant are in a boat with a
sail, making their way back to the island of Crowland.
The 5th. Guthlac, with two labourers, is building a chapel.
The 6th. Guthlac, seated in the completed chapel, receives a visit
from an angel, and his patron saint Bartholomew.
The 7th. Guthlac is borne aloft over the Chapel by five demons,
three of whom are beating him with triple-thonged whips. Beccelm,
his companion, is seated inside the Chapel, in front of the altar, on
which is placed a chalice.
The 8th. Guthlac, with a nimbus of sanctity round his head, has
been borne to the jaws of hell, (in which are a king, a bishop, and
two priests) by the demons, and is rescued by St. Bartholomew, who
gives a whip to Guthlac.
The 9th. The cell of Guthlac is surrounded by five demons, in
various hideous shapes. He has seized one, and is administering a
good thrashing with his whip.
 The 10th. Guthlac expels a demon from the mouth of Egga, a
follower of the exiled Æthelbald.
The 11th. Guthlac, kneeling before bishop Headda, is ordained a
priest.
The 12th. King Æthelbald visits Guthlac, both are seated, and
Guthlac is speaking words of comfort to him.
The 13th. Guthlac is lying ill in his oratory, Beccelm is kneeling in
front of him listening to his voice.
The 14th. Guthlac is dead, two angels are in attendance, one
receiving the soul, “anima”, as it issues from his mouth. A ray of light
stretches from heaven down to the face of the saint.
The 15th. Beccelm and an attendant in a boat, into which Pega,
sister of Guthlac, is stepping on her way to perform the obsequies of
her brother.
The 16th. Guthlac, in his shroud, is being placed in a marble
sarcophagus by Pega and three others, one of whom censes the
remains.
The 17th. Guthlac appears to King Æthelbald.
The 18th. Before an altar stand thirteen principal benefactors of
Crowland Abbey. Each one, beginning with King Æthelbald, carries a
scroll on which is inscribed their name, and gift.
The Abbey of Crowland was built, and flourished till about the year
870, when the Danes burnt it down, four years later they destroyed
Repton.
Guthlaxton Hundred in the southern part of Leicestershire, and
four churches, dedicated to him, retain his name. The remains of a
stone at Brotherhouse, bearing his name, and a mouldering effigy, in
its niche on the west front of the ruins of Crowland Abbey, are still to
be seen. His “sanctus bell” was at Repton, and as we shall see, in
the account of the Priory, acquired curative powers for headache.

ST. WYSTAN.
 Among “the Chronicles and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland
during the Middle Ages,” published by the authority of Her Majesty’s
Treasury, under the direction of the Master of the Rolls is the
“Chronicon Abbatiæ de Evesham,” written by Thomas de Marleberge
or Marlborough, Abbot of Evesham. In an appendix to the Chronicle
he also wrote a life of St. Wystan from which the following facts, &c.,
have been gathered.
Wystan was the son of Wimund, son of Wiglaf, King of Mercia, his
mother’s name was Elfleda. Wimund died of dysentery during his
father’s life-time, and was buried in Crowland Abbey, and, later on,
his wife was laid by his side. When the time came for Wystan to
succeed to the crown, he refused it, “wishing to become an heir of a
heavenly kingdom. Following the example of his Lord and master, he
refused an earthly crown, exchanging it for a heavenly one,” and
committed the kingdom to the care of his mother, and to the chief
men of the land. But his uncle Bertulph conspired against him,
“inflamed with a desire of ruling, and with a secret love for the
queen-regent.” A council was assembled at a place, known from that
day to this, as Wistanstowe, in Shropshire, and to it came Bertulph
and his son Berfurt. Beneath his cloak Berfurt had concealed a
sword, and (like Judas the traitor), whilst giving a kiss of peace to
Wystan, drew it and smote him with a mortal wound on his head, and
so, on the eve of Pentecost, in the year 849, “that holy martyr leaving
his precious body on the earth, bore his glorious soul to heaven. The
body was conveyed to the Abbey of Repton, and buried in the
mausoleum of his grandfather, with well deserved honour, and the
greatest reverence. For thirty days a column of light, extending from
the spot where he was slain to the heavens above, was seen by all
those who dwelt there, and every year, on the day of his martyrdom,
the hairs of his head, severed by the sword, sprung up like grass.”
Over the spot a church was built to which pilgrims were wont to
resort, to see the annual growth of the hair.
The remains of St. Wystan rested at Repton till the days of Canute
(1016-1035), when he caused them to be transferred to Evesham
Abbey, “so that in a larger and more worthy church the memory of
the martyr might be held more worthily and honourably.” In the year
1207 the tower of Evesham Abbey fell, smashing the presbytery and
all it contained, including the shrine of St. Wystan. The monks took
the opportunity of inspecting the relics, and to prove their
genuineness, which some doubted, subjected them to a trial by fire,
the broken bones were placed in it, and were taken out unhurt and
unstained. The Canons of Repton hearing of the disaster caused by
the falling tower, begged so earnestly for a portion of the relics, that
the Abbot Randulph granted them a portion of the broken skull, and
a piece of an arm bone. The bearers of the sacred relics to Repton
were met by a procession of prior, canons, and others, over a mile
long, and with tears of joy they placed them, “not as before in the
mausoleum of his grandfather, but in a shrine more worthy, more
suitable, and as honourable as it was possible to make it,” in their
Priory church, where they remained till it was dissolved in the year
1538.
In memory of St. Wystan, the first Parish Church of Repton was
dedicated to him, as we shall see in our account of Repton Church.
 Plate 3.

Repton Church Crypt. (Page 17.)

 CHAPTER IV.
REPTON CHURCH.

Repton Church is built on the site of the Anglo-Saxon Monastery,

which was destroyed by the Danes in the year 874. It was most
probably built in the reign of Edgar the Peaceable (959-975), as Dr.
Charles Cox writes:—“Probably about that period the religious
ardour of the persecuted Saxons revived ... their thoughts would
naturally revert to the glories of monastic Repton in the days gone
by.” On the ruins of the “Abbey” they raised a church, and dedicated
it to St. Wystan. According to several writers, it was built of stout oak
beams and planks, on a foundation of stone, or its sides might have
been made of wattle, composed of withy twigs, interlaced between
the oak beams, daubed within and without with mud or clay. This
church served for a considerable time, when it was re-built of stone.
The floor of the chancel, supported on beams of wood, was higher
than the present one, so the chancel had an upper and lower “choir,”
the lower one was lit by narrow lights, two of which, blocked up, can
be seen in the south wall of the chancel. When the church was re-
built the chancel floor was removed, and the lower “choir” was
converted into the present crypt, by the introduction of a vaulted
stone roof, which is supported by four spirally-wreathed piers, five
feet apart, and five feet six inches high, and eight square responds,
slightly fluted, of the same height, and distance apart, all with
capitals with square abaci, which are chamfered off below. Round
the four walls is a double string-course, below which the walls are
ashlar, remarkably smooth, as though produced by rubbing the
surface with stone, water and sand. The vaulted roof springs from
the upper string-course, the ribs are square in section, one foot wide,
there are no diagonal groins, it is ten feet high, and is covered with a
thin coating of plaster, which is continued down to the upper string-
course. The piers are monoliths, and between the wreaths exhibit
that peculiar swell which we see on the shafts of Anglo-Saxon belfry
windows, &c.
The double string-course is terminated by the responds. There
were recesses in each of the walls of the crypt. In the wall of the
west recess there is a small arch, opening into a smaller recess,
about 18 inches square. Many suggestions have been made about
it: (1) it was a “holy hole” for the reception of relics, (2) or a opening
in which a lamp could be kept lit, (3) or that it was used as a kind of
“hagioscope,” through which the crypt could be seen from the nave
of the church, when the chancel floor was higher, and the nave floor
lower than they are now.
There are two passages to the church, about two feet wide and
ten feet high, made from the western angles of the crypt.
A doorway was made, on the north side, with steps leading down
to it, from the outside, during the thirteenth century; there is a holy
water stoup in the wall, on the right hand as you enter the door.
For many years it has been a matter of dispute how far the
recesses in the crypt, on the east, north, and south sides, extended.
Excavations just made (Sept. 1898), have exposed the foundations
of the recesses. The recess on the south side is rectangular, not
apsidal as some supposed, it projects 2 ft. 2 in. from the surface of
the wall, outside, and is 6 ft. 2 in. wide. About two feet below the
ground level, two blocks of stone were discovered, (each 2 ft. × 1 ft.
4 in. × 1 ft. 9 in.), two feet apart, they rest on a stone foundation. The
inside corners are chamfered off. On a level with the stone
foundation, to the south of it, are two slabs under which a skeleton
was seen, whose it was, of course, cannot be said. The present
walls across the recesses, on the south and east, block them half up,
and were built in later times.
The recess on the east end was destroyed when a flight of stone
steps was made leading down to the crypt. These steps (there are
six of them) are single, roughly made stones of varied length, resting
on the earth, without mortar. When the flight was complete there
would have been twelve, reaching from the top to the level of the
crypt floor.
 The steps would afford an easier and quicker approach to the
crypt and church, but when they were made cannot now be said.
The recess on the north side was also destroyed when the outer
stairway, and door, were placed there, probably, as before stated, in
the thirteenth century. On the outside surface of the three walls,
above the ground level, are still to be seen traces of the old
triangular-shaped roofs which covered the three recesses, and
served as buttresses to the walls. Similar “triangular arches” are to
be seen at Barnack, and Brigstock.
The eastern end of the north aisle is the only portion of the ancient
transepts above the ground level. During the restorations in 1886 the
foundations of the Anglo-Saxon nave were laid bare, they extend
westward up to and include the base of the second pier; the return of
the west-end walls was also discovered, extending about four feet
inwards.
Over the chancel arch the removal of many coats of whitewash
revealed an opening, with jambs consisting of long and short work; a
similar opening to the north of it used to exist, it is now blocked up.
The Early English Style is only represented by foundations laid
bare during the restoration in 1885, and now indicated in the north
and south aisles, by parallel lines of the wooden blocks, with which
the church is paved. In the south aisle the foundations of a south
door were also discovered (see plan of church). To this period
belong the windows in the north side of the chancel, and in the
narrow piece of wall between the last arch and chancel wall on the
north side of the present choir. There were two corresponding
windows on the south side, one of which remains. All these windows
have been blocked up.
The Decorated Style is represented in the nave by four out of the
six lofty pointed arches, supported by hexagonal columns; the two,
on either side, at the east end of the nave, were erected in the year
1854.
The tower and steeple were finished in the year 1340. Basano, in
his Church Notes, records the fact—“Anᵒ 1320 ?40. The tower
steeple belonging to the Prior’s Church of this town was finished and
built up, as appears by a Scrole in Lead, having on it these words
—“Turris adaptatur qua traiectū decoratur. M c ter xx bis. Testu Palini
Johis.”
A groined roof of stone, having a central aperture, through which
the bells can be raised and lowered, separates the lower part of the
tower from the belfry.
The north and south aisles were extended to the present width.
The eastern end of the south aisle was also enlarged several feet to
the south and east, and formed a chapel or chantry, as some say, for
the Fyndernes, who were at one time Lords of the Repton Manor. A
similar, but smaller, chapel was at the east end of the north aisle,
and belonged to the Thacker family. They were known as the
“Sleepy Quire,” and the “Thacker’s Quire.” Up to the year 1792 they
were separated by walls (which had probably taken the place of
carved screens of wood) in order to make them more comfortable,
and less draughty! These walls were removed in 1792, when “a
restoration” took place.
The square-headed south window of the “Fynderne Chapel”
composed of four lights, with two rows of trefoil and quatrefoil tracery
in its upper part, is worthy of notice as a good specimen of this style,
and was probably inserted about the time of the completion of the
tower and spire. The other windows in the church of one, two, three,
and four lights, are very simple examples of this period, and, like the
chancel arch, have very little pretensions to architectural merit, in
design at least.
The Perpendicular Style is represented by the clerestory windows
of two lights each, the roof of the church, and the south porch.
The high-pitched roof of the earlier church was lowered—the pitch
is still indicated by the string-course on the eastern face of the tower
—the walls over the arcades were raised several feet from the string-
course above the arches, and the present roof placed thereon. It is
supported by eight tie-beams, with ornamented spandrels beneath,
and wall pieces which rest on semi-circular corbels on the north side,
and semi-octagonal corbels on the south side. The space above the
tie-beams, and the principal rafters is filled with open work tracery.
Between the beams the roof is divided into six squares with bosses
of foliage at the intersections of the rafters.
The south porch, with its high pitched roof, and vestry, belongs to
this period. It had a window on either side, and was reached from the
south aisle by a spiral staircase (see plan of church).
The Debased Style began, at Repton, during the year 1719, and
ended about the year 1854. In the year 1719 a singers’ gallery was
erected at the west end of the church, and the arch there was
bricked up.
In the year 1779 the crypt was “discovered” in a curious way. Dr.
Prior, Headmaster of Repton School, died on June 16th of that year,
a grave was being made in the chancel, when the grave-digger
suddenly disappeared from sight: he had dug through the vaulted
roof, and so fell into the crypt below! In the south-west division of the
groined roof, a rough lot of rubble, used to mend the hole, indicates
the spot.
During the year 1792 “a restoration” of the church took place, the
church was re-pewed, in the “horse-box” style! All the beautifully
carved oak work “on pews and elsewhere” which Stebbing Shaw
describes in the Topographer (May, 1790), and many monuments
were cleared out, or destroyed. Some of the carved oak found its
way into private hands, and was used to panel a dining-room, and a
summer-house. Some of the carved panels have been recovered,
and can be seen in the vestry over the south porch. One of the
monuments which used to be on the top of an altar tomb “at the
upper end of the north aisle,” was placed in the crypt, where it still
waits a more suitable resting-place. It is an effigy of a Knight in plate
armour (circa Edward III.), and is supposed to be Sir Robert Francis,
son of John Francis, of Tickenhall, who settled at Foremark. If so, Sir
Robert was the Knight who, with Sir Alured de Solney, came to the
rescue of Bishop Stretton in 1364, and is an ancestor of the
Burdetts, of Foremark.
The crypt seems to have been used as a receptacle for “all and
various” kinds of “rubbish” during the restoration, for, in the year
1802, Dr. Sleath found it nearly filled up, as high as the capitals, with
portions of ancient monuments, grave-stones, &c., &c. In the corner,
formed by north side of the chancel and east wall of the north aisle, a
charnel, bone, or limehouse had been placed in the Middle Ages:
this house was being cleaned out by Dr. Sleath’s orders, when the
workmen came upon the stone steps leading down to the crypt,
following them down they found the doorway, blocked up by
“rubbish,” this they removed, and restored the crypt as it is at the
present day.
During the years 1842 and 1848 galleries in the north and south
aisles, extending from the west as far as the third pillars, were
erected.
 Plate 4.

Repton Camp. (F. C. H.) (Page 3.)

Repton Church. (Before 1854.) (Page 22.)

 In 1854, the two round arches and pillars, on either side of the
eastern end of the nave, were removed, and were replaced by the
present pointed arches and hexagonal piers, for, as before stated,
the sake of uniformity! Thus an interesting portion belonging to the
ancient church was destroyed. The illustration opposite was copied
from a drawing done, in the year 1847, by G. M. Gorham, then a
pupil in the school, now Vicar of Masham, Bedale. To him our thanks
are due for allowing me to copy it. It shows what the church was like
in his time, 1847.
In 1885 the last restoration was made, when the Rev. George
Woodyatt was Vicar. The walls were scraped, layers of whitewash
were removed, the pews, galleries, &c., were removed, the floor of
the nave lowered to its proper level, a choir was formed by raising
the floor two steps, as far west as the second pier, the organ was
placed in the chantry at the east end of the south aisle. The floor of
nave and aisles was paved with wooden blocks, the choir with
encaustic tiles. The whole church was re-pewed with oak pews, and
“the choir” with stalls, and two prayer desks. A new pulpit was given
in memory of the Rev. W. Williams, who died in 1882. The
“Perpendicular roof” was restored to its original design: fortunately
there was enough of the old work left to serve as models for the
repair of the bosses, &c. The clerestory windows on the south side
were filled with “Cathedral” glass. The splendid arch at the west end
was opened.
The base of the old font was found among the débris, a new font,
designed by Sir Arthur Blomfield, (the architect employed to do the
restoration), was fixed on it, and erected under the tower.
Since that restoration, stained glass windows have been placed in
all the windows of the north aisle by Messrs. James Powell and
Sons, Whitefriars Glass Works, London; the one in the south aisle is
also by them. The outside appearance of the church roof was
improved by the addition of an embattled parapet, the roof itself was
recovered with lead.
In 1896 all the bells were taken down, by Messrs. John Taylor, of
Loughborough, and were thoroughly examined and cleansed, two of
them, the 5th and 6th (the tenor bell), were re-cast, (see chapter on
Bells).
The only part of the church not restored is the chancel, and we
hope that the Lord of the Manor, Sir Vauncey Harpur-Crewe, Bart.,
will, some day, give orders for its careful, and necessary restoration.
INCUMBENTS, &c. OF REPTON.

Jo. Wallin, curate. Temp. Ed. VI.

1584 Richard Newton, curate.
1602 Thomas Blandee, B.A., curate.
” John Horobine
1612 George Ward, minister
Mathew Rodgers, minister
1648 Bernard Fleshuier, ”
1649 George Roades, ”
1661 John Robinson, ”
1663 John Thacker, M.A., minister.
” William Weely, curate.
1739 Lowe Hurt, M.A.
1741 William Astley, M.A.
1742 John Edwards, B.A.
1804 John Pattinson.
1843-56 Joseph Jones, M.A.
1857-82 W. Williams.
1883-97 G. Woodyatt, B.A.
1898 A. A. McMaster, M.A.