On the other side of the table, Fluffy sits on Nathan’s feet and, for the first time, I register that he’s barefoot.
“Did you know alphas live longer than any other designation?” Nathan asks as he retrieves up his fork and stuffs an oversized bite of lasagna into his mouth.
I’ve no clue where that non sequitur came from, but decide to reply rather than get caught in another staring contest. “No, we don’t. Omegas and betas both tend to live to their seventies or eighties, regardless of sex, but alphas die younger—especially males, because we’re so reckless.”
The doctors dinned that into my head decades ago, as motivation to take supplements and keep my alpha under control.
“It’s more accurate to say one-third or more of all alphas die within three decades of presenting, maybe even half,” Nathan says.
“All the fucking and fighting?” The urges still flow in my veins, and my cock is half-hard, but I ignore it as I dig into the vinegary, overdressed salad.
“More arrogance and attempts to dominate the world, though young male alphas are notorious for making bad choices about who to fight or fuck. Thank fortune we’re both past that.” Nathan smiles. “But those of us who live past fifty have a good chance of making it to our nineties in decent health.”
I and my alpha like that, the notion that we’ve passed some marker and might get a reward—a mixed reward, granted, because the longer one lives the more one watches the world one knew slip away. Of course, that’s assuming we can believeNathan and his sources. Yet, right or wrong, for some reason, I do.
And wait for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m over fifty. I spent nearly three decades with one mate and over two with the other. I know they wouldn’t want me to spend the rest alone.” He turns his hands out, gesturing at our surroundings. “They haunt me in this house because, if they could watch me, they wouldn’t want me to hide here but get out and about, living my life and finding new loves.”
Turns out, his diversion into alpha ages wasn’t such a non sequitur after all. “They sound like the best kind of mates. I’m sorry I’ll never meet them.”
Chair legs squeak against the floor as Nathan gets up. He gently removes a photo magnet from the fridge door, cupping it in his hands as he returns to the table. He caresses the image, then lays it in front of me before shuffling backward, hands behind his back as though resisting the urge to snatch it back.
The details of the faces escape me. I could never describe them afterward and do them justice—but their smiles embed in my brain. Three smiles, all as big as can be: Nathan and another man, a little older than him, on either side of a woman.
Only then does it occur to me that I haven’t seen Nathan smile. Granted, I’ve only met him three times—twice at the Shallot Consulting offices and now here—but each time, he’s been thoroughly serious.
Not so the man in the photo. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but it never captures the whole of reality. My alpha and I share a sudden desire to see Nathan smile at something, doesn’t have to be me.
Nathan leans back against the cabinets, hands still behind him.
I lift the photo with both hands, holding it, as he did, with respect. Rising, I return it to him, and he places it againstthe fridge, magnet snicking as it takes hold. His hands linger, framing the smiles.
I position myself right next to him, aligned so as not to push or press or lean, but just be present to lend support.He’s a little taller than me, and our proportions aren’t quite the same—he has a longer torso—but my right shoulder and hip brush his.
“Renee was more dominant than me, though she let me take my share of the load.” He runs a thumb down the side of the photo with her face, then that of his other mate. “Lawrence never challenged either of us, but not because he was a beta. He picked his battles and reserved his dominance for work, but at home, he was the sweetest person we ever knew. I found Renee first, though she always claimedshefoundme. Lawrence walked into my office seeking help with a divorce. I knew the moment I saw him. Referred him to a colleague and had to wait an agonizing ten months before I could bring him home to Renee. Him and his daughter, who became our eldest.”
He points to a different photo on the fridge, this showing a pack of five—two male and three female, one holding a baby. “She lives in Vespucci, with her pack.”
Another photo, a studio image of a young woman in cap and gown. “Our other daughter. She graduated with honors last year and is now teaching English and studying languages in the Mongolian Confederation. Our son”—the last photo, of a teenager—“is a junior at the University of Cleaveland.”
Other than to indicate the photos, Nathan barely moves as words pour out, so neither do I. His perfume shifts a dozen times, enough to make me a little dizzy, but quite understandable. He shares snippets of the quiet, solid love his pack shared, the three children they raised together, and the car accident that left him alone.
His children and cats carried him through the loss, but the children are grown and spreading their wings, the cats aging.
I don’t remember what I thought when I first met him, all of two days ago. He looked like a lawyer—truth in advertising—a solid, salt-of-the-earth guy with an eye to his main chance and his rights. Now, he seems more like a tent after a storm blew through, tearing out half of the ropes tethering it to the ground.
He’s not in danger, yet.
And somehow, someway, my alpha decides to like him more because of this.
“We’re both in this because of Johanna, because we know and want her. I don’t know you, not yet, though you showed an insane willingness to share intimate elements of your life with strangers the other day.” Nathan shakes his head, hands trembling. “Now, you’ve somehow you got me doing the same with you. You’re infectious, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Infectious—and addictive.”
I’m not sure what Nathan means by this, but this close, it’s impossible to miss the signs of his arousal. Beyond the notable ridge in his pants, his pupils are blown, and his scent overwhelms everything else, except mine.
I’m not sure who moves first, but our mouths meet in a clashing kiss. Lips and tongues duel. A sweet taste blooms in my mouth as he licks the inside of my lips, teeth tight against mine.
Inside, my alpha stretches and snarls, so I pull back, breathing hard. My jeans are so tight I expect to see ridge marks on my cock when I next remove them.
