He’d nearly punched Hapton last time the beta came in. Only reason he didn’t was because Hapton could move fast enough to get his arse out of reach.
The rut, to Beckett’s grim satisfaction, was holding steady. He’d mastered it. Wasn’t about to lose himself to it. He’d done the right thing in removing himself from the duch’s presence. The duch had poisoned Jack, and he’d done his best to poison Beckett, and?—
No. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t true.
The duch hadn’t asked to go into heat. He hadn’t asked Jack to take suppressants. He hadn’t asked for anything.
Not yet. He would, though.
Beckett’s rut had faded to something bearable. The duch’s heat wouldn’t.
Beckett didn’t much like himself right then. He should have gone straight to the duch’s chambers when asked, but he did have a choice in this, damn it. He was more than just a convenient alpha cock. He was busy being terrified that he’d loseJack, and when the time came, he’d see to the duch. He’d do it willingly.
When the time came.
Which was to say, when the duch commanded him, in his own pretty voice. When he did it face to face, didn’t send Hapton to ask him.
Until then, Beckett was perfectly entitled to do as he pleased, and whatpleasedhim was to pace like a caged bear up and down his room, waiting for the stubborn little duch tocommandhim, and he’dusethat time toworryabout Jack.
He almost broke. Five times—five!—he got all the way out his room and into the corridor. Five times he had to haul himself back from hunting down the duch, to find him and fuck him and soothe him, because he was probably scared about it all over again.
Hapton came back for another go. “Beckett, he’s suffering. I can’t stand seeing it. He’s trying so hard to hide it and he can’t. Youhaveto.”
If it was that bad, Beckett thought, pushing down a swell of uncertainty, the duch would be here. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Not for nothin’.
Finally, hours later, the door opened, and the only thing he felt was relief that the wait was over and he could tend to his omega.
It wasn’t the duch. It wasn’t even Hapton.
It was Marl.
Beckett’s stomach twisted with sheer, sizzling panic. “Jack—” he said, as winded as if he’d taken a blow right to the gut.
“He’s fine.” Marl watched stonily as Beckett bent over and braced his hands on his thighs, sucking in air. “Mrs Foley is attending him. He will be perfectly well by tomorrow.”
“Thank fuck.” Beckett straightened. “Ah, fuck. I thought you came to tell me?—”
“The duch is also fine,” Marl continued, talking over him. “And you can stand down. Your service is no longer required.”
“But—”
“You may take the rest of the night off. I expect you to be back on duty tomorrow.”
“The duch?—”
“The duch is no longer your concern,” Marl said. “Oh, don’t you dare growl at me. Don’t you dare.” Marl stalked over to stand in front of Beckett, tipping his head back to glare up into Beckett’s face. “He will not command you. How could you have thought otherwise for even a second? That man has difficulty ordering a second pot of tea. In what world would you think he’dcommandyou to service him when you have already told him no? Dunn is with him now, and I heartily wish I’d asked him?—”
Beckett shoved Marl out of his way and broke into a flat-out sprint.
Dunn? Dunn was with his omega?
No.
Fuckin’no.
Beckett crashed into the duch’s bedchamber.
Empty.
