Waves of heat twisted out from his groin, twined up through his body and spread into his chest, his limbs, his mind.
Beckett would come if he asked.
Jack wouldn’t mind if he did.
But Arden wanted to show them both that he wouldn’t be a bother, that he could control himself and not make everything about him all the time.
He was happy. He was finally happy. Jack wanted him—he’d said!—Beckett wasn’t angry about it—he’d kissed Arden, andhe’d shown Arden how to kiss Jack!—and Arden was so excited about living somewhere he belonged, and about being loved, that he just…
He wanted to make a good impression.
While Jack had known him forever, he didn’t really know Arden the adult, and Beckett didn’t know him at all.
In other words, Arden had been blessed with the glorious opportunity to become a whole new Arden.
An Arden who wasn’t best kept out of sight in a different wing.
An Arden who wasn’t told to go away. Who wasn’t a useless burden.
An Arden who was strong.
Or,he thought glumly a few hours later, he could just continue on being the same old Arden.
Oh, but he’d tried. He really had.
Ithurt.
He stood, swaying, a hand knotted around the bell pull and crushing the heavily embroidered fabric with the kind of grip he didn’t know he had in him. He was still debating whether or not to ring for someone when the door opened and he realised blearily that he must have rung it anyway.
Footsteps came quickly across the polished wooden floor and tentative hands helped him up off his knees—he was on his knees?—and guided him to his bed.
He looked up into wary blue eyes and squinted. It wasn’t Jack or Beckett. He knew that without looking, of course. His stupid omega body would be throwing itself at either of them if it was. This was a beta. A footman. “H-hapton?”
“Your Grace.” Hapton sat Arden on the edge of the mattress. “Shall I send for Beckett, Your Grace?” He kept a hand on Arden’s shoulder to stop him from toppling over.
“Um. Perhaps. I hate to ask, but…”
“Right away, Your Grace,” Hapton said, and darted off. Before he left the room, he rushed back, muttered something like, “Fall over anyway,” and pushed Arden gently down to lie on the mattress.
Arden whined with protest and fear as Hapton caught both his ankles in one big hand and tossed his legs up on the bed to join the rest of him, but that was all the man did before running off again.
Arden lay there and concentrated on calming his racing heart, his rapid breathing.
Any minute. Beckett would be here any minute.
He’d probably be annoyed with Arden for pulling him away from his duties again, but he’d be here. Arden would make sure that Beckett knew he’d at least tried.
He wrestled back some measure of control over his wretched body, and even had the coordination to push up expectantly to his elbows when the door opened.
It wasn’t Beckett.
It was Hapton again.
“What?” Arden said weakly. “Where? Beckett?”
His cheeks burned at the sound of his voice. Feeble. Beseeching.
Hapton clearly found it as awful to hear as Arden did. His shoulders hunched and he didn’t step into the room. It took him a few attempts before he managed to grind out, “Shit. Ah, shit.”
