Arden had bitten his lip bloody trying not to make a noise.
At least he’d been facing away from Hapton, so he hadn’t embarrassed himself further.
That was a while ago. And…
And Arden was sure that he’d be fine any moment.
Yes, he’d cried out for Jack. He wasn’t proud of it. He had the sense to cover his face with a pillow first, though. He was confident no one had heard him.
He’d made Jack sick. It was a lot worse than Jack had let on, obviously. He didn’t blame Beckett one little bit for being angry with Arden. Hapton was angry, too. Gods. The whole of Avendene was probably furious with him. Arden didn’t blame them. He was angry with himself, too.
He discovered that it helped to keep moving.
It helped to keep a hand on the wall as he paced, otherwise the waves of lightheadedness would take him down to his knees again. Each time, it was harder to get up. He couldn’t feel his knees right now—couldn’t feel anything, really, other than that twisting, roiling, biting need—but he had a feeling they’d be black and blue in the morning.
Which wasn’t so far away.
It wasn’t so far.
Arden reached the windows, turned, and began his slow, steady pace to the opposite wall. He had to force himself to keep his eyes from wandering to the door. He’d actually opened it twice, despite not intending to. His stupid, wretched body. Trying to make him seek out Beckett. Trying to force him to make demands on the poor boy.
And Beckett would, Arden had no doubt, do his duty.
He’d be angry about what Arden had done to Jack, and he’d fuck Arden silly anyway because he was lovely, and he’d hate every moment of it.
That small part of Arden that had begun to unfurl that morning when Beckett escorted him to Jack’s study and playfully, bossily kissed him, closed up tight.
He pushed it down without mercy.
The pain wasn’t easing up but he was, he was sure, getting used to it.
It couldn’t last much longer, could it?
“Your Grace? Shit-fuck-bollocks. Fuck. YourGrace.”
“Mm?” Arden blinked water from his eyes but it didn’t do much to bring his wavering vision into focus.
Hapton crouched before him, one hand hesitantly out. And Arden—oh, the humiliation. Arden was on his hands and knees in the corridor between his chamber and Jack’s.
“Enough,” Hapton said. “Fucking…enough.” He bent down, scooped Arden up, and strode down the corridor.
“Where...where…”
“Taking you to His Grace’s chamber, Your Grace. You’ve tried to get in there five times already. Let’s just…tuck you in. Or something.”
Arden’s skin crawled at the sensation of being in Hapton’s arms. This wasn’t his alpha. Itwasn’t. He began to fight.
Hapton didn’t have any trouble containing him. He booted the door in front of him open, rushed across the large space, and deposited Arden on Jack’s bed.
Arden wheezed in relief at the familiar scents that surrounded him.Jack. Beckett.
“You hold on, Your Grace. You hear? Hold on. I’ll get you help.”
CHAPTER 17
BECKETT
Beckett paced up and down the length of his small room.
