Unnatural (The Wrong Alpha 1)

“Everything okay?” Royce said, approaching him.

Haydn turned and smiled at him faintly, the feeling of unease fading. “No. Just Devlin being Devlin.”

“I thought you liked him?”

“I love him, which is not always the same as liking him,” Haydn said with a sigh. His cousin could be frustratingly mercurial sometimes.

“Trouble?” Royce said.

Haydn gave a shrug. “Maybe. Don’t know yet.” He pulled a face, glancing at his phone. “I probably need to call my father and let him yell at me.”

Royce just eyed him for a moment before saying, “No.”

Raising his brows, Haydn laughed a little. “No?”

“Don’t let him bring you down,” Royce said, laying a hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the house. “You did nothing wrong. Our marriage is none of his business.”

Haydn’s heart did a funny flip-flop at the words our marriage.

“I probably still need to call him,” he said, running a hand over his face as they entered the house. “If I don’t, he’ll likely send Uncle Yurev to bother me.” Haydn shuddered at the thought. “That old coot is worse than my father. It doesn’t help that he’s known me since I was in diapers so he doesn’t respect me at all.”

Judging by the expression on Royce’s face, he’d already had the dubious pleasure of speaking to the new Pelugian ambassador and knew exactly what he meant.

“You can call him later,” Royce said. “I’m not returning to work until tomorrow, so I have the rest of the day free. Let’s leave our phones home and go to the beach.”

Haydn chuckled. “Beach? Seriously?”

Royce smiled widely, his grin making him look ten years younger. “Why not?”

***

They did go to the beach.

Haydn would’ve liked to say he’d gotten a good tan, but considering that he spent the majority of the time with Royce’s face buried in his throat and Royce’s body half on top of him, the resulting tan wasn’t exactly flawless.

It was still the best afternoon he’d had in a very, very long time.

They returned home still flushed from the sun, laughing together, Royce’s arm around his shoulders.

Haydn felt… he felt happy. And warm on the inside. So very warm.

The lowest point of the day was when they had to part for the night. To his discomfort and mortification, Haydn found that he did feel clingy—literally. He was loath to step away from his husband, and he nearly whined when Royce finally did pull away after wishing him good night.

Haydn entered his room and just stared at his bed in silence, a strange shiver running through him. He suddenly felt very cold and alone.

He wondered if this was how junkies felt coming down from a high.

Chapter Sixteen

Although Haydn’s phone remained off, his father did send Uncle Yurev to hunt him down. Every single day.

So far, Haydn had successfully managed to avoid his uncle by being out most of the day. Sometimes he took long walks with Belinda, learning their lands and getting to know her better. Though she was nine years his junior, she was easy to talk to—when she wasn’t teasing him about Royce.

“Don’t touch me!” she said, giggling, when Haydn offered her a hand to help her jump over a creek. “My brother dearest will bite my head off if I smell of you too much.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Belinda rolled her eyes. “I wish. Haven’t you noticed Royce doesn’t like seeing omegas around you? Me being his sister doesn’t seem to matter much. He gets all moody and growly when he smells you on me.” She grinned. “Though I don’t know how he can smell you on me when you barely smell like yourself.”

Haydn put his hands in his pockets, feeling a little too warm. He knew he smelled overwhelmingly of Royce—with all the time Royce spent scent-marking him and scenting him, it was unavoidable. Haydn… didn’t exactly mind. In fact, he got an embarrassing amount of pleasure out of bringing his own hand to his face and smelling his husband on his skin. It made him feel good. Warm. Giddy on the inside.

“I’m so glad you and Royce get along so well,” Belinda said, tearing him away from his thoughts. “You’re good for him. He used to be too serious, all business and politics and no fun, but now he actually comes home in time for supper instead of working himself to the ground!”

Haydn cleared his throat. “I’m glad we get along, too.”

They did get along. That was actually an understatement. When he’d agreed to this arranged marriage, he’d expected to merely tolerate his spouse, not crave their company.

But crave it he did.

If he were honest with himself, that was why he often ended up randomly stopping at Royce’s work and taking him out for lunch. Well, they called it lunch, but it really was just an hour of Royce marking his neck up with bruises and bites and pumping out his pheromones like crazy until Haydn smelled sufficiently liked his. His stuff. His thing.