"But, Omega?—"
"Now," I growled.
Chapter Thirty-Three
TORION
“Alpha Feargus!"
My lungs were tight, and cold water sloshed over the lips of the buckets I hauled, shocking my burning arms. I didn't know if the heat scorching me from head to toe was a result of the effort of a half hour of hauling water, or the ash and sparks still floating through the air, hiding in billows of smoke to kiss and sting against my cheeks and sizzle at my hair.
"Alpha!"
I ignored the lad calling for me. Anyone not working to douse the last of the flames would have to wait for my attention when it could be spared. There was nowhere for a dragon to land near Brigid's cottage, so we were left hauling water by hand. It was slower, grueling work, and we were already too late.
"Omega Feargus demands I bring you to?—"
I let out a snarl of effort as I tossed the bucket of water onto the unrecognizable blackened skeleton of Brigid's cottage. My arms went immediately limp, the wooden bucket knocking uselessly against my knee as I spun, eyes burning as I searched for the voice.
"Reassure her that I'll come back to the keep when this is done. There's no danger now."
"But she's here, my lord."
The bucket dropped and hit my toe, another tally of pain that I ignored, cursing and striding toward where I thought the voice was coming from. "What do you mean she's?—"
"Torion!" Her voice was distant, a spirit in the woods meant to tempt me away from my duty. I followed it immediately.
I tried to call out Brigid's name, but all that came out was a rough cough. I raised my hand over my mouth, only to find it tasted even more bitterly of ash than the air.
"This way, my lord." Suddenly, a young man appeared at my left, catching my elbow and guiding me out of the smoke. I'd turned myself around in the smoke, a thick cloud which felt endless from near the cottage but dissipated near the road. A carriage waited there, and in front of its door stood my omega, her arms crossed atop her rounded belly and her scowl fierce.
"You shouldn't be here," I croaked out.
Brigid's arms unwound, her head shaking, and she twisted toward the open door of the carriage, pulling a sodden cloth from a bowl of clean water. "Come here. Look at what a mess you are. Thank you, George. Tell the men to get back from the smoke. We only need to be sure the fire doesn't spread now."
I was stumbling closer. My arms were useless at my sides, and my feet were barely more helpful than lead blocks at the end of my legs, but I managed to stay upright. "We aren't done—I need to?—"
"The others will manage," Brigid said, snatching my hand with the cool cloth. I hissed and then groaned in relief, my eyelids slowly closing over what felt like gritty rocks.
"There's only a few of us," I said, but it was a token protest. Now that my omega had me in her clutches, I was sure I was too weak to escape.
"Nonsense. There are dozens. I brought five myself," Brigid said, and even her voice was refreshing to my fevered mind. Shefinished wiping clean my hand and huffed, holding it in her own smooth grip for a moment before replacing her touch with cold, hard glass. "Drink."
The water was sweet with honey and mint, and I gulped it down greedily, wasting some that ran from the corners of my mouth and down my throat. "I'm sorry," I gasped out when I finished the glass. "I wanted to save it for you."
Brigid's smile was half-hearted. "I know you did. Take that filthy shirt off and let me see the worst of it. Are you burnt anywhere?"
I started to strip the shirt, but my arms had lost all their strength. Brigid huffed, batting my hands away and unfastening the shoulders so the fabric fell from my wings easily enough. "I should dip into the river," I said.
"It would be expedient, but let me look you over first."
"We'll find who did this," I assured her.
Brigid hummed and frowned, circling me. I was relieved to note that the breeze was carrying smoke in the opposite direction from where we stood. When I looked back at the cottage, I realized Brigid was right—many more men had arrived to help while I'd been focused on the repetitive path from stream to cottage and back again.
"You're right, I suppose. We shouldn't let it go without investigation," she mumbled, lifting one arm and giving it a cursory wash before moving to the other. "Your wings look dirty but uninjured. You'll sound like a frog in your meeting this week."
I wasn't sure if the smoke had addled me, but I was beginning to feel like my mate and I were holding two separate conversations. "I'll rebuild you the cottage. I promise."
