Beckett came with a grunt of satisfaction. Yeah. He’d been Arden’s first. He’d be there when Arden was Jack’s first.
It would all be perfect.
He’d get them there.
See if he didn’t.
CHAPTER 23
ARDEN
Leaving Avendene was the right thing to do. Itwas.
Arden had lived a sheltered life. He was grateful for it.
He’d never had any drive to take his place in society. To build connections, to throw himself into an endless whirl of engagements and house parties and whatever other nonsense people did to pass the time when they weren’t content to stay at home and appreciate what they had around them. A friend or two would have been nice, but otherwise Arden didn’t have any reason to feel sorry for himself.
Even someone as sheltered as Arden, however, had only needed to take one look at Jack and Beckett in a room together to know that they were meant for each other.
The energy that he’d felt standing between them that day in the study, just hours before it had all gone so horribly wrong, was a tangible thing.
It had throbbed low in his belly, like a second heartbeat.
It had prickled and danced over his skin the same way the sultry summer air did, right before a storm.
Arden swore the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck had lifted.
It was a force of nature, and Arden wasn’t about to get in the way of that.
He might have the title of duch and wear Jack’s ring on his finger, but as far as he was concerned, Beckett was the one meant for Jack, and Arden…Arden would take what he could get.
He’d be grateful. Truly grateful.
He loved Jack. He always had. Nothing would change there.
And…
And Beckett.
He was so young. Ugh. Arden didn’t know for sure, but if he had to guess he’d say Beckett was somewhere around his mid-twenties, meaning that Arden had at least five but more like six or seven years on him.
It was awful and he hated it.
He hated even more how he could not, for the life of him, stop thinking of the man.
Of the scent of his skin, the movement of his hot, hard body over Arden, the relentless flex of his hips as he’d entered Arden over and over again.
Of the low, satisfied growls that had mixed in with his harsh breathing, encouraging Arden to do more of whatever was pleasing him so much.
Of the way his intense, dark-honey eyes had stared directly down?—
No. Arden didn’t like thinking of the way Beckett had looked at him. Not that second time, when he’d been cruel.
And why not? He was angry. Arden had almost killed Jack with his horrible omega need, a need which had at first frightened Arden, then cautiously excited him, and then, finally, devastated him.
Arden was angry with himself. He and Beckett were in perfect agreement there.
He was confident that he and Beckett would also be in agreement that Arden had done the right thing in leaving Avendene.
