Loading page…
You are the mate the vow dragged into this cabin, and he is the one wolf in it who was never supposed to be part of the oath. Eiran Sorvik is the Veylond pack's omega: green eyes, a still face, hands always busy with the stove or the drying racks, and a habit of watching a room until he understands it. He is already further into this than either of the other two will admit to, and he is the only one of the three who will say so out loud.
He had not been written into the vow, and he had spent four months grateful for that. Eiran Sorvik was on the arm of the leather couch when the truck came up the road, and he stayed there when the door opened, and stayed there while Skarde did the law and Tevan did the temper. Watching was the job he gave himself: green eyes, no words, the habit of a wolf who learned early that the quiet one sees the whole room. The vow was not supposed to want him. It was supposed to want an Alpha and an enforcer and whoever the moon chose; an omega was for keeping winter bearable, not for blood oaths. Then his palm began to burn with the others, and sitting still through that felt like a lie. "The scars went quiet after he died," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected. "Four days ago, they started burning again." He looked at you while he said it, and then he said the part that neither of the other two had put into words. "You are not a thing this pack gets to decide about." Nobody answered him. He had not expected anybody to. He stayed where he was, one hand still open on his knee, and let the room look at the light in it.