Chapter Text
Ghost has been Roba's most loyal dog since he overthrew his father's kingdom and took his son as a spoil of conquest. So, of course, he's by his side when the kingdom he's laid siege to offers him an Omega to keep him from destroying them. He hates the man, but brutality was all
he knew under his father, so really, the adjustment was about what he expected. Roba's not necessarily worse, but he's certainly no better.
When the massive iron studded gates open to reveal the offering, Ghost isn't really that interested. Roba will use them until he's bored and then ship them to his country estate. Again. But the young man walking toward them doesn't look like a polished pet. He looks like a soldier thrust into silks and gold. He can tell Roba’s interested. He likes the fighters best. Ghost would know. He's fit, he's handsome, and he looks like a challenge. Roba loves those types. Loves to make them fight and cry and surrender. He loves the way they look when they finally accept defeat.
But that's not what Ghost sees. No, what Ghost sees when he looks at him is a man willing to sacrifice, a man willing to bow if it prevents others from breaking. He looks resolute and prepared. He looks... like he belongs to Ghost, not Roba.
Well, fuck. That could be problematic.
~~~
Soap takes a deep breath as he stares at the iron bands across the doors in front of him. When the warlord had made his demand, he’d known they were in trouble. And when the king had said no and the siege cut them off from the rest of their forces, he’d resigned himself to doing whatever it took for his people to persist. They’d evacuated all the children, elderly and Omegas as soon as they’d received word that the warlord was in their territory, and settled in, hopeful something would give, or that their kind would find a solution. But it’s been weeks, the food is running low, and despair hangs like a haze of smoke over the people left behind. At least their well is sound. Dying of thirst is a nasty way to go.
~the night before~
He blinks back to attention as the king walks into the soldiers hall and the men fall silent, waiting for him to speak.
“He’s agreed to leave.”
There’s a muted cheer, but the King’s face is grim, and Soap can feel that there’s more to it.
“But he demanded our finest Omega in exchange.”
“My liege, we have no Omega’s here.”
The king sighs and holds up a hand to quell the murmurs that erupted at his announcement.
“I know that. But he wouldn’t agree to less. He’s given us til the morning to decide.”
Soap takes a deep breath to steel himself for what he is about to do and steps forward, rapping his hand on his chest to draw the King’s attention.
“I volunteer.”
He's not an Omega, but he's never been a very dominant Alpha either, too focused on caring for his partner to dominate like he "should". It doesn’t hurt that he looks like his mother, and a build that’s very much on the smaller side of what is considered typical for an Alpha. But he's also a soldier, and has a duty to protect his people.
He watches the King approach and stands firm.
“Are you certain?”
Soap nods, holding eye contact with the king to convey his certainty.
“I am, Sir. I’ve no family left and have yet to take a mate. If it keeps my people safe, it’s a duty I’ll gladly accept.”
The king hums, but Soap can see the relief in his eyes.
“Alright, then. We’ll outfit you as befits a fine Omega. But once you leave the confines of our gates, you will be alone. I cannot send anyone to accompany you when you meet him. It was part of the agreement.”
“I understand, my liege.”
~
Soap soaks and considers what he’s agreed to do. He just needs to convince the war lord to take him far enough away that his people can regroup. He knows the king will try to send a small rescue party if it’s possible, but he also knows with certainty he can’t explain that he won’t be back. Climbing out of the steaming copper tub, he dries and anoints himself with the oils and lotions the steward left for him. His skin gleams by the time he’s done, and he sends a brief prayer to the mother that the warlord overlooks the scars he’s earned from his years of service. Aside from the one across his chin, they’re largely well healed and faded, hidden unless one is really looking.
A knock at the door has him gasping and he sets the bottle down, delicate glass clattering at the fine tremble in his fingers. He accepts the raiment of an Omega from one of his compatriots and is helped into it by older Alphas he’s served with who don't understand his decision, but still respect it. Once he’s dressed, they leave him with gentle hand clasps to his shoulder and he is alone, watching the faint gray edge of dawn climb through the wavy glass of his window. The king said he’d not be allowed to bring anything, but he can’t find it in himself to obey. Pulling up the gauzy material of one pant leg, he lashes a small leather bound book to the inside of his thigh, checking carefully that nothing shows in the full length polished brass mirror in front of him. He makes a few more adjustments and takes a final deep breath as he looks around his room.
And he walks head held high to meet his fate, nodding at the guard to open the gate.
~present~
He keeps going, not letting himself falter when the Alpha at the other end of the drawbridge rakes lustful eyes over him. He could do this, could keep his people alive a little longer. Movement to the warlord's side caught his eye as the gates creaked shut leaving him cut off. Firming his chin, he moved forward, discretely glancing at the shrouded man. As the warlord reaches for him, he braces for the unwelcome touch, skin crawling already. His eyes slipped back to the guard and warmed as he caught the flare of possession in his eyes. But unlike the warlord’s slimy glance just minutes earlier, this one made his stomach pitch pleasantly. He felt warm, confident, and protected. Well, shit. This might be problematic.
~~~
Roba’s hand never makes contact with the Omega's skin, already ripped away as Ghost's vision goes red at the threat to what should be his. The rest of Roba's party are slow to react, and by the time their weapons have cleared their sheaths, it's already over, red blood soaking into the dusty soil under their boots. The scent of aggression is so thick in the air that a few men step back, hands up to cover their noses against the astringent burn that warns of imminent threat. It's unusual for emotion to rise that way outside of pitched battles, and Roba's men are aware of the reputation of the Ghost. No one interferes.
Ghost straightens, hand extended to the Omega in front of him.
~~~
Soap glances over his shoulder at the still closed gates and the heads of the soldiers watching. They look like they're considering opening the gates. Given what he knows of the guard, now warlord, the one people speak of only in whispers, the Ghost, he can't be sure that's a good idea. He tucks one hand behind his back to sign for his people to stay back and locks eyes with the new warlord.
"As promised, warlord, a willing Omega for your pleasure."
~~~
Ghost blinks, surprised at the new title. He looks down at the cooling meat that used to be the warlord and focuses for a second on the sounds of armor clanking and men shifting at his back. They're reigned in by their fear of him, but it won't hold if he plays this wrong. Meeting the curious eyes of the waiting Omega, he straightens and nods once, sharply, holding out his hand. The Omega's gaze is sharp and observant. He knows something is off, but he's willing to leave it if it protects his people. That might be helpful. The Omega's smile turns knowing, grin widening as his pink tongue slides across the tip of one dainty bared fang. Or, Ghost considers ruefully, it might be exactly as problematic as he first thought.
Ghost turns on his heel and strides away, men parting before him like soft cheese under a sharp knife. He hears the Omega's footfalls and nods, a pleased hum building in his chest. He isn't sure what comes next, but he's done standing in the hot sun waiting.
~~~
Soap follows, stomach pitching as it starts to sink in just how committed to his choice he is now. He throws a glance over his shoulder at the former warlord, body already attracting carrion crows, and wonders if that will be his fate if the new warlord discovers his deception. The gravel and grit stab at his feet through the thin soles of his Omega slippers, and he thinks longingly of his stout boots back in his room, likely to be gifted to another when he fails to return. He snorts softly at the impossible notion of being allowed to leave. A benevolent man is not one of the things said about the Ghost.
Ahead of him, the warlord throws a questioning look over his shoulder. Shit. He thought he'd been quieter.
"Problem, Omega?"
"No, warlord. Just a passing thought."
The warlord considers him for a long second and then turns away, walking toward his mount. Soap lets out a silent breath and follows, wondering if it’s more likely that the Ghost will kill him, or the stress.
~~~
Ghost breathes for a second when he reaches his horse, placidly clipping bites of grass as she waits. He strokes her neck as he thinks and then turns back to the waiting men. His men now, he supposes.
"Tell your men to break camp and make for home. We're done here."
There are grumbles from the squad leaders as he expected. They'd laid in siege for weeks and were now to depart, no greater reward than a single Omega? Of course, there would be unrest. Ghost scans the men until he reaches the area of loudest complaint.
Vernon. Of course it was Vernon. He'd been Ghost's squad leader back when he'd been freshly torn from his family, a soft, gangly youth with peach fuzz on his cheeks and fear in his eyes. Vernon had beaten the fear from him, and age and training had taken care of the rest, and he'd grown tall and broad and strong. And when he'd won the position of Second from Vernon and become the Ghost, he'd known then that he had a target on his back. And killing Roba hadn't removed that target. Had, in fact, made it more attractive, as now the only thing standing between Vernon and rulership of Roba's protectorate was Ghost.
He drops his hand to his thigh, and the blades he had strapped there, bracing for the inevitable challenge. Vernon's hand twitches, and Ghost blinks as the man drops to his knees, the wet thunk of knife hitting flesh only registering after he was down. Vernon blinks dumbly up at Ghost, hands grasping for the blade in his throat. From his side, Ghost hears the sound of silk and the jingle of chain as the Omega walks past him, a blade identical to the one parked in Vernon's throat held loosely in his hand.
"I believe the warlord gave you an order."
The Omega glances over his shoulder and blinks slowly, long dark lashes fanning the tops of his cheeks for a second.
"Was that wrong, Alpha?"
Ghost swallows at the warmth in those words, the barest hint of invitation between the syllables.
~~~
Soap swallows, feeling it scrape in his throat at his own audacity. He'd attacked one of the warlord's men. Revealed he was armed. Made himself a threat. But it felt right, the need in his gut to protect the larger Alpha like a living thing. And when the warlord clears his throat and nods at him, eyes creasing with amusement, the approval feels greater than any accolade he'd previously been granted. He tucks his second blade back into the slim sheathe at his waist and retrieves the first from where it still sat in the now dead squad leader. Wiping the blade free of blood on the dead man's tunic, he turns and presents it to his Alpha. And as the Alpha tucks it away, Soap's chest flutters with what feels alarmingly like satisfaction.
He swallows again as the warlord turns away and mounts his horse, waiting for instruction. The Alpha leans down and extends an arm to him, pulling him into his broad, warm lap and settling him in a modified side saddle.
~~~
The other squad leaders disperse back to their men, and Ghost follows on horseback, walking through the camp where Vernon's men wait. Ghost points to an older man who stands, watching their approach.
"You, there. Your name."
"Price, Sir."
"Congratulations on your promotion, Price. You're now in charge of this squad. Get them packed and ready to move out."
Price eyes him for a second but nods, eyeing the corpse of his former leader.
"And him, Sir?"
"Leave him for the worms."
Ghost runs a considering eye over the man in his lap.
"I find I have other problems that are a higher priority right now." And as his Omega raises his head and meets his gaze with eyes the same blue as a clouded sky, he can't help but feel like it was a damn good problem to have.
~~~
Soap’s eyes droop as they plod along, the swaying wheat around them making a shushing sound that almost drowns out the sound of troops moving. It’s nearly hypnotic as he rides across his Alpha’s lap. He’s exhausted, weeks of limited rations and a sleepless night along with the adrenaline dump of risking his life conspiring to drag him down into the arms of slumber. It doesn’t help that the chest he’s held against is warm and smells of leather and soap and man, and he’s asleep before he realizes, head drooping until it comes to rest against the side of the warlord’s neck, nose brushing against the swell of his mating gland, breathing the beautiful scent of his Alpha deep into his lungs.
~~~
Ghost tenses as the man in his arms grows heavier against him. He looks down in time to see his Omega’s head droop, nose ghosting over his throat in a way that tightens his guts pleasantly. He’s not unfamiliar with people tempting him into their beds, offering favors in an attempt to earn the Ghost’s assistance when approaching Roba with a request. But he’s mostly unfamiliar with the sensation as most of the people who’ve taken him to bed have complained that they can’t tolerate the strength of his pheromones and even fewer had been able to last long enough to cash in on the promise of his help. As the seconds tick by and he sways in time with the strides of his mount, he relaxes and enjoys the sensation of touch. He watches the column of men move along the road, checking the shadows and then making a judgment call. They’ll ride for a couple more hours and then stop for the evening. It will allow them to put his Omega’s home out of sight and offer his men some time to take stock and possibly restock the meat stores for the trip home and the protectorate’s winter stores. He knows the men aren’t pleased to be going home empty handed. A few days to hunt might go a long way to smoothing some ruffled feathers after the rather abrupt change in leadership. But he also knows most of them aren’t actually that upset, and are likely looking forward to reuniting with their loved ones and sleeping in an actual bed instead of beaten earth and whatever blankets they can scrounge up. While it wouldn’t have hurt to be able to bring home some coin or trade, Roba was good at what he did, and no one under his protection went without. But that didn’t mean he was kind, or even benevolent. The people under his care paid dearly for it, and he knew a large part of the reason he hadn't been challenged yet was due to the expectation he would continue in the same vein.
He feels the weight of the man in his arms shift and looks down when the Omega’s head presses into his shoulder. His eyes are closed, face relaxed and expression soft as he slumbers in the cradle of Ghost’s arms. An Omega. His Omega if he chooses. There’s an unfamiliar warmth in his belly and he mutters a quick prayer to the elders that he can convince the man to stay. He needs more time with this Omega, needs to figure out why he's so drawn to him, why he would risk himself when his entire life had been survival. Who was the Omega curled so sweetly in his lap and what did it all mean?
~past~
“And if you take thirty bushels of wheat from each farmer and your protectorate has 37 farms, what is the yield to be stored for winter?”
“370 bushels.”
“And why is it 370 bushels?”
“Because we store 2/3 for later use, and set the remainder aside for milling.”
“Yes, my love. That’s correct. Oh, you will be a good protector after your father steps down.”
Simon felt the heat flood his cheeks from his mother’s praise and ducked his head, staring at the scratchings on the sheet of vellum under his hand. He found math interesting, but was guilty of second guessing himself, and he was grateful his mother had chosen to take over his lessons after his father was unexpectedly pulled away. His father was a good protector, but a hard man, no allowance for softness or hesitation. He believed that one should avoid sentiment as much as possible and that kindness was a waste of resources. For the Riley family, practicality was very nearly the family motto. Simon glanced over at his mother who hummed as she dipped into her basket of brightly colored thread and pulled out a length of snow white cotton.
“Mother, when I’ve completed my lesson, can we-”
His voice died as the door was pushed open and his father stepped in, mouth twisted cruelly and eyes hard as he looked at his eldest son.
“You, boy. With me.”
Simon gaped for a second but scrambled off his chair quickly enough, aware just how limited his father’s patience was even on a good day. And based on the tension Simon could see threaded through his father’s body, it did not appear that today was a good day. He ducked his head and followed silently, eyes locked on his father’s boots as they walked down dimly lit halls until they reached the open courtyard. Simon squinted against the brightness as he waited for his eyes to adjust and when they finally did, he saw a retinue of men, the one in the center clearly the leader.
“You said you’d take a son. Here he is. Now be off and leave my lands in peace.”
The man shifted in his seat and Simon swallowed as his cool eyes raked down his frame.
“No tearful goodbyes, Riley?”
“He’s useful enough, but there will be others. I trust he’ll do well for himself.”
The man on horseback gestured him forward and Simon went on trembling legs, fully aware that his father had just set the expectations for this meeting. He had no wish to earn his father’s ire should he fail to meet them. When he was just a few feet from the man, he stopped and folded his hands behind his back, gripping his fingers to stop the twitching.
“Alpha, you said?”
Simon heard his father grunt behind him.
“Of course. He’s already presented. Riley men are always Alphas. I’ve no need for soft Omegas, and my wife knows it.”
The man cocked his head and met Simon’s eyes. They weren’t kind, but they weren’t any more terrifying than his father. He stood, waiting, trembling, for the man to decide. Finally, he hummed in what sounded like satisfaction.
“I did agree to take your eldest in exchange for peace. I suppose the deal is struck, then.”
“Take your men and go. And should the boy not be what you hoped, I wish you luck finding an alternative use for him. I’ve enough spares that you need not return him should he be the disappointment I suspect him to be. If it weren’t for the fact that he favors me so strongly, I’d wonder if my wife had grown enough spine to place a cuckoo in the nest.”
The man on horseback laughed, as though his father had just told the best joke he’d ever heard and a few of the others with him laughed along. Simon kept his mouth shut and eyes down even as he felt his ears burn in humiliation, waiting for instructions now that the man wasn’t trying to stare into his soul.
“Well, boy, you’ll do. Your father promises great things from you. And you will deliver.”
Simon straightened his spine against the chill that crept down it and nodded once, sharply.
“Yes, Sir.”
The man laughed again.
“Roba. The name is Roba. Welcome to your new life.”
~~~
~present~
A whistle from the head of the column startles Soap back to wakefulness and he rolls his head to the side, blearily staring at the new scenery. They’d made it as far as the edge of the neighboring protectorate, the fruit trees standing in straight lines indicating the borders. He’d slept for several hours, deep and dreamless, and he reaches up a hand to wipe at his face, cheeks heating as his hand encounters moisture. Apparently he’d slept deeply enough to drool. He wipes discreetly at his cheek but blushes as he sees that not only had he drooled on himself, he’d also drooled on the warlord’s chest.
Glancing up, he prays the man hadn’t noticed and is immediately disappointed when their eyes lock, the crinkles at the side of the Ghost’s eyes giving away his smile. Scrunching his nose, he wipes his hand discretely down his leg, passing his fingers over the edge of the small package secured to the inside of his thigh, the reassuring shape still where he’d tied it that morning. He looks back up and his Alpha is closer to his face and Soap swallows hard, caught by the way the setting sun turns his eyes to molten amber, sparks of gold and deep earth scattered across them like stars in the sky.
The air between them goes humid as they come closer and closer together, and Soap can see faint freckles across the bridge of the Ghost’s nose. He badly wants to touch them. He’s never kissed another Alpha before, but he’s pretty sure that is what is happening, eyes fluttering closed as the heat of his Alpha’s breath slides across his mouth. Soap hangs in the moment waiting for the final sliver of space to be removed and after a few breathless seconds he opens his eyes and sees the Ghost waiting for something, eyes alert as they skim over his face looking for something he obviously fails to find. Glancing away, he pushes himself back from the Ghost and clears his throat. He’s disappointed the kiss failed to materialize, and equally confused by the disappointment.
“I apologize, my lord.”
“It was no burden. Come, we break for the evening. We’ll set camp and eat and continue in a few days.”
The warlord offers his hand and Soap dismounts, taking a few seconds to get his legs under him after several hours off his feet. Once he’s stable, he steps back with a nod of thanks to his Alpha. Soap looks around as men work to set up camp, tents pulled from wagons and horses unsaddled and tied to lines to graze. Everywhere he looks, there’s movement and noise.
In his former life, he would have been one of them, carrying items and setting up for the tasks of the evening. The air is warm against his bare stomach, but the wind is sharpening as the sun sinks toward the horizon and he can’t help the shudder that rolls over him. He jerks when the weight of something hits his shoulders and he nearly fumbles his grip on the cloak that has been draped over him, the fur at the edges soft against his skin. He looks over his shoulder and meets the eyes of his Alpha, soft as they consider him.
“Come, there is a fire started. Warm yourself while I see to our supper.”
Soap nods silently and follows, slippers silent on the dry grass. When the Ghost points at a spot beside the fire, he lowers himself gracefully, careful to keep the edges of the fur away from the firepit and the spitting sparks of the slightly damp wood that had recently been added. He watches the activity of the camp and fails to realize his Alpha was gone until he hears the grumble of someone behind him.
“Can’t believe all we have to share for the whole thing is a single Omega. And not even an Omega that’s been tested. Should at least get to share him”
He hears the sound of spitting and takes a deep breath, trying to keep from revealing he’d heard the man. The grumbling continues at the edge of his hearing until a second set of footsteps join the first and the scent of pipe smoke reaches him.
“Price. Here to boast of your good fortune?”
The man grunts before speaking.
“What fortune? Now I’m saddled with a whole squad to be responsible for. I’m too old to be playing wet nurse for a bunch of green boys too busy swinging their cocks at each other to listen.”
Soap snorts at the sentiment and then freezes as the men go silent. He hears the sound of footsteps and then sees a pair of boots enter his vision. The smell of pipe smoke lingers, fresh and strong, so it’s most likely Price, the one who’d been promoted due to Soap’s actions.
Price knocks his spent pipe against the bottom of his boot and crushes the embers, making sure not to ignite the grass.
“Should I thank you for my current situation?”
Soap sniffs, delicately. An Alpha, but not an overly aggressive one. He didn’t reek of aggression the way some do, and Soap’s spine softens just a fraction.
“I apologize, Sir. It was never my intention to inconvenience you. But my Alpha was in danger.”
“Your Alpha, eh?”
Soap looks up and meets Price’s eyes.
“Yes, Sir. My Alpha.”
Price’s eyes squint as he smiles at the possessive note in Soap’s voice, and he fishes a leather pouch from his belt. Stuffing shredded leaf into the bowl, he lights it with a flaming stick pulled from the fire pit and inhales, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs before blowing it out, disappearing momentarily in a cloud of thick white, like a dragon considering a challenging knight.
“With an attitude like that, you just might survive this, kid.”
~~~
Ghost stops behind the edge of the tent and watches as Soap speaks to Price, face fierce as he answers the questions posed to him. He can't hear them, but he knows his Omega well enough already to know he was uncomfortable about the line of questioning and bluffing his way through. He’d worn a very similar expression just before Ghost snapped and killed Roba.
Stepping out of the shadows, he carries the plates of food to the fire, handing one down to his Omega.
“Price. Join us.”
“All due respect, Ghost, but you gave me Vernon’s men to see to. I regret I cannot stay for long as they are uncommonly skilled at getting into and causing all manner of trouble.”
Price tips his hat and turns away, leaving the fire now that Ghost is back. Settling onto the grass, Ghost pulls off a glove with his teeth and tucks it into his belt before spearing a bite with his eating knife. He swallows and takes a second bite, looking up just in time to see his Omega pop a bite into his mouth with his fingers, lips catching on his fingertips as he pulls them free. Choking, Ghost shakes his head, trying to knock the food caught in his throat loose. His Omega is clearly alarmed, dropping his plate and scrambling behind him before he delivers two sharp smacks between his shoulder blades. The impact jars him and the bite in his throat loose and he coughs it into his hand, shocked when his Omega snorts, giggles slipping out as he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in shock.
“I’m sor-”
Ghost raises a hand, cutting off the apology before it can be finished.
“You did nothing wrong. I was distracted. Would you like me to go retrieve a fresh plate since you sacrificed your dinner to come to my aid? And maybe some eating utensils?”
Ghost gestures to the spilled plate, food covered in grass and dirt between them and the fire. The utensils are purely for his own benefit, as he’s not sure he’d survive seeing his Omega suck on his fingers like that for a whole meal. The Omega shakes his head and Ghost realizes he can’t put off the next part much longer.
“Then I suppose we should retire to our tent for the evening. The men are hoping to set out to hunt early and I agreed to accompany them.”
Ghost holds out a hand to his Omega, helping him to his feet when he accepts.
“And for the love of the Mother, can you tell me your name? If I keep calling you ‘The Omega’ in my head, I may just go mad.”
He’s still holding his hand and waits for an answer in the flickering light of the fire.
“John MacTavish of the Northern Hold. But my friends call me Soap. And you are the Ghost. My Alpha.”
Ghost’s stomach goes hot at the way his name sounds on his Ome- on John’s lips, and he nods, eyes locked to his mate.
“We need to talk about what comes next.”
~~~
What comes next is a tent finer than any Soap’s ever stayed in and a pallet that feels better than the straw mattress he’d left behind. He slept the majority of the afternoon, but as he kicks off his flimsy slippers and stretches out on the ticking, he can’t contain the groan that leaves his throat. He sees Ghost go still where he stands and rolls to his side, pushing up on an elbow and cocking an eyebrow.
“Alright, Alpha?”
Ghost nods jerkily and Soap knows he’s not being honest, but he has a sneaking suspicion about what he wants to discuss and he’s better off not upsetting the man who holds his life in his hand if he can avoid it. Ghost kneels in front of him and unwraps his scarf, settling it aside and looking at Soap where he is still sprawled out, an invitation written into the lines of his body and accented by the shimmer of his clothing, all chosen to best tempt and overwhelm an Alpha. Soap swallows and pushes up to a seated position, crossing his legs and setting his elbows to knees, hands draped over one another in his lap.
“What do we need to discuss, Alpha?”
“Call me Ghost, please. Not warlord, not the Ghost, just Ghost.”
Soap nods his understanding.
“Alright, Al- I mean, Ghost. Is that all?”
Ghost shakes his head and Soap’s stomach pitches, thinking back to their earlier near kiss and the grumbled words of the soldier he’d overheard earlier.
“Is this where you claim me, Ghost?”
~~~
Ghost swallows as his mouth fills with saliva at the thought of claiming John. He starts to nod, then stalls, shaking his head, but changes midway through the motion, ending up performing a wobbly circle with his head. He can see John’s amusement, but he’s kind enough not to outright laugh as he curls his mouth into a smile. It dims as the silence continues, and Ghost knows he needs to speak, torn between doing what is right, and doing what is prudent if he wants to keep the man in front of him. He opens his mouth to speak, not entirely sure what is going to come out, but John beats him to it, leaning forward and placing a hand on Ghost’s knee.
“You seem unsure, Ghost. What concerns you?”
“You know you don’t have to stay, right?”
Ghost curses himself for blurting that out, hating that as much as he craves his Omega, he cannot let his leadership begin by taking someone who never wished to be taken. He may have to act in a certain way out amongst his men, may have to pull back the cruelty slowly as they adjust to his leadership, but inside his tent, his space, he has choices. And in this at least, he needs John to choose him. Not to be forced. He doesn’t know why, exactly, but he knows whatever is building between them has to be freely offered if it is to work.
John blinks at him, but his lips turn back up in a soft smile.
“You’re not actually anything like your reputation, are you?”
Ghost scoffs, but doesn’t deny the accusation. John kneels up and knee walks closer, bracing himself on one hand as the pillows and blankets under him shift. He stops when their knees touch, and ducks to meet Ghost’s gaze, gray blue eyes questioning as they lock on his.
“I appreciate your offer, warlord. But I think I prefer to stick to the arrangement my people made with your predecessor.”
Ghost nods, relieved, but strangely sad. It’s nearly what he wanted, but not quite, his consent still overshadowed by the actions of Roba.
“And you understand that if you stay, I have to claim you, yes? And you accept that?”