Chapter 5

Tessa’s POV

By late afternoon, I had learned three things about being conquered.

The paperwork was extensive, nobody knew where to put anything, and invading warriors were surprisingly helpless when handed a dishcloth.

“You dry them,” I told the young man standing beside the sink.

He examined the cloth. “All of them?”

“No, just the ones you find emotionally appealing.”

Mrs. Bell snorted from the stove. The warrior, whose name was Owen, gave me a reluctant smile and picked up a bowl. Magnus’s Beta had sent him and another man to help us shortly after my conversation with the alpha. Apparently, asking for assistance worked better when your new ruler could frighten people into providing it.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

I wasn’t sure what to do with Magnus at all.

Poppy had spent the afternoon listening for his footsteps, which was inconvenient because I needed her to stop reminding me that our mate was somewhere upstairs. There were bandages to boil, soup to portion, and people who kept asking whether they could go home. Thinking about the way he’d looked at me wouldn’t help any of them.

It hadn’t helped me much, either.

He had asked about my arms.

Then ordered me to eat.

Neither explained why he had walked away in front of everyone.

“Put that down,” Mrs. Bell said.

I glanced at the ladle in my hand. “The soup?”

“Your work. Sit.”

“There are still—”

“Owen has hands. So does Lewis. I checked.”

Lewis raised both from the table where he was peeling carrots.

I wanted to argue, but my legs had begun trembling. I hadn’t noticed until she told me to stop. Mrs. Bell set a bowl and two thick slices of bread at the little kitchen table, then pointed at the chair.

I sat.

Across the room, someone had pinned a list of the dead beside the door. Six names so far. I recognized every one, including Patrick, who used to sneak Mrs. Bell flowers from the alpha’s gardens and insist they had fallen into his pockets.

I had heard him scream from the cellar.

The soup blurred in front of me.

Mrs. Bell rested a hand between my shoulders without saying anything. For once, I was grateful she didn’t try to make me talk. I picked up my spoon because she needed me to eat, and because crying into the pot wouldn’t improve dinner.

Halfway through my bowl, Lena came in.

She’d changed into clean clothes. Her father was alive and being treated in the infirmary, although she’d already complained twice about the guards outside his room.

Her gaze caught on the men helping us.

“Well,” she said. “You’ve settled in quickly.”

I lowered my spoon. “We’re making soup.”

“I can see that.”

“Then we’ve saved some time.”

She waited until Mrs. Bell crossed to the stove before leaning against the opposite side of the table.

“What did the alpha want with you?”

Owen’s hands paused over a plate.

“Kitchen information.”

“He came right up to you in the courtyard.”

My stomach tightened. I had been hoping nobody would mention that.

“I was holding Millie.”

“Yes. I’m sure that was it.”

She smiled, but there was something uncertain beneath it, as though she was trying to work out a sum that refused to come right.

I knew how she would solve it.

“I wouldn’t get ideas, Tessa. Men like him notice useful people. That doesn’t mean they’re interested.”

Heat climbed into my face. “I didn’t say he was.”

“Good. It would be embarrassing.”

Owen set the plate down with a sharp clatter.

Lena looked at him, then straightened. “Mother needs a tray.”

Mrs. Bell handed her one. I kept eating until the door closed, although I couldn’t have said what the soup tasted like anymore.

“She always like that?” Owen asked.

“Only when she’s awake.”

His mouth twitched, but I regretted saying it. He was one of the men who had invaded our home. I shouldn’t have been giving him reasons to dislike our people.

Even Lena.

Mrs. Bell caught my eye, and her expression softened in a way I couldn’t bear.

“I’m going to check the flour,” I said.

She let me go.

In the storeroom, I closed the door and leaned against it. The inventory book lay where I’d dropped it that morning, a muddy footprint stamped across the cover.

I picked it up.

For a few seconds, I stood there holding it against my chest, feeling horribly foolish.

I had survived an attack. People were dead. Families were looking for somewhere safe to sleep.

And part of me was still hurting because a man I’d never met before today didn’t want me.

Poppy stirred.

He noticed our arms.

“That isn’t the same as wanting us.”

I whispered it, then felt ridiculous for answering aloud.

A knock made me jump.

“Tessa?”

Bram’s voice.

I wiped beneath my eyes before opening the door.

He held a sheet of paper. “Mrs. Bell says you keep the stores.”

“Someone has to know where the potatoes go.”

He glanced at the book. “Can you prepare a supply request? Food, medicines, anything essential. We’re sending a wagon from Blackthorn.”

“For how many people?”

“Everyone here.”

“How many of your warriors are staying?”

“Twenty-four tonight.”

I looked at the paper. “Then I need twenty-four more blankets, unless they brought their own.”

Bram smiled faintly. “Good point.”

“And feed for their horses. They can’t eat our winter hay without replacing it.”

“Put it down.”

I took the sheet. “Who approves it?”

“The alpha.”

Of course he did.

“I’ll give it to you when it’s finished.”

“He wants you to bring it.”

I glanced up too quickly.

Bram’s expression remained polite. I disliked him a little for that.

“All right,” I said.

I spent the next hour counting supplies because numbers were easier than wondering whether Magnus had asked for me specifically or simply wanted to question whoever knew the answers. I included soap, clean bedding, lamp oil, and enough flour to get us through the week.

Then I looked at the list of names Mrs. Bell had copied for me.

Sixty-eight survivors.

I crossed out the first quantity of flour and increased it. Grieving people shouldn’t have to ration bread.

Upstairs, a guard stood outside Garrick’s office. My feet slowed before I reached him. Omegas hadn’t been permitted on this floor without being summoned, and being summoned usually meant someone had decided we’d done something wrong.

“He’s expecting you,” the guard said.

I knocked.

“Come in.”

Magnus stood behind the desk, his sleeves rolled up and his hair still damp from washing. Without the blood, he looked younger than he had in the courtyard.

Unfortunately, he also looked better.

My eyes caught on his forearms before I made them behave.

“The supply request,” I said, holding it out.

He came around the desk instead of making me approach. When he took the paper, his fingers brushed mine.

Warmth rushed up my arm.

His hand stilled.

For one breath, neither of us moved.

Then he stepped back.

I folded my empty hands. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

He looked down at the request.

I watched his jaw tighten and finally understood that he intended to keep doing this—looking at me, then retreating as though I’d done something shameful.

My voice came out quieter than I intended.

“If you don’t want me, you can say it.”

His head lifted.

And this time, he didn’t look away.