Abel's Omega(Gay Paranomal MM

Mpreg Romance) (Mercy Hills Pack

Book 2) Ann-Katrin Byrde [Byrde
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 Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
CHAPTER NINETY
ABOUT ANN-KATRIN
NEWSLETTER
OTHER BOOKS BY ANN-KATRIN
 Abel’s Omega

Mercy Hills Pack Book Two

By
Ann-Katrin Byrde
© 2016 Ann-Katrin Byrde
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution
via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution
and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given
to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to
some readers. Please don’t read if you are under eighteen.
To Ashley—you’re a Starr! (See what I did there? Huh? Huh?) But really, thank you for all your help,
especially with the baby.
 CHAPTER ONE

I slipped out of bed as the first light of pre-dawn turned the horizon to gray, careful not to wake
my mate Patrick, still sleeping the sleep of the just Alpha. I stepped into my loose maternity pants, and
pulled an old t-shirt on over them, smoothing it down over the five-and-a-half month bulge of my
belly. The skin around my bellybutton was itchy again and I scratched at it as I bent over the cradle
tucked in the corner. Beatrice was still asleep, but I needed to get her out of the bedroom before she
woke up and started making noise. Patrick hated having the babies in the bedroom, but it was the one
situation that I—a powerless omega—stood my ground on. They were quieter if I could get to them
right away and after three babies in three years, the smallest sound woke me so it was even less
inconvenience for him.
I gathered Beatrice carefully up from the cradle and took her to the kitchen with me. She never
woke, even when I laid her in a clothes basket on the floor, cushioned with towels and an old blanket
that was too shabby even for a shifter enclave. It worked pretty well for a baby mattress and if there
were any accidents I didn’t need to worry about it staining.
One of her dark curls, so much like mine, lay across her eyes and I carefully twitched it away
before the tickle woke her. I’d been lucky with Beatrice. She’d started sleeping regularly through the
night at one month, and now that she was coming up on her first birthday, I rarely heard a peep out of
her from bedtime to morning.
My other two pups were still asleep; I usually took this quiet part of the day to catch up on
chores that were hard to do with their ‘help’. It was a perfect time to do a load of laundry and then
start breakfast for the family. Patrick would be up soon—or rather, I would go and carefully wake
him, when the time was right.
It only took a few minutes to gather a load of dark clothing and put it in a bag, then I picked up
the baby again and started the walk down to Central, where all the pack's communal resources
resided. As the Alpha’s mate, I had keys to most of the buildings—courtesy of Patrick, who liked me
to get these sorts of things done without pestering him, and preferred that I do chores that took me out
of the house only when he wasn’t around and therefore wouldn’t need me. I used my key to open the
door to the laundromat, signed the book so Patrick's account would be debited for the use of the
washer and dryer, and loaded everything up.
Time to go start breakfast.
Beatrice woke up on the walk home, burbling happily in my ear. "Da da da da da," she repeated
over and over, grabbing for my ears and my nose, her little fingers getting tangled in my dark curls.
"Yes, Dabi," I said, and rubbed my nose against hers. She squealed with laughter, so I did it
again, then blew a raspberry against her cheek, because I loved her so much.
Back at the house, I laid the ratty blanket out on the floor and set her down in the middle of it,
before I started about making breakfast. Eggs, sausage, four slices of toast for Patrick. As soon as I
had the sausage cooking, I walked pad-foot down the hall to Patrick's bedroom. I never thought of it
as mine—Patrick owned the house and I only got to use it because Patrick had seen me once while
visiting my original pack, and had made a deal with them to mate me. I was no more to Patrick than
something else to show off—his pretty, randy, fertile omega mate.
I hated him.
It wasn't a violent hate. Not anymore. That heat had burned out after the first year, after the first
pup and the six months that followed of trying to raise a young alpha, keep a house, and anticipate the
needs of a man who made my skin crawl. But a baby—my baby—oh, that had taken a lot of the sting
out of the mating.
I just wished my pack had considered my feelings when they agreed to it.
A curl of anxiety made my heart speed up as I put a hand on Patrick's shoulder and shook him
gently. "Patrick, it's morning." I never knew how he’d react—some mornings he woke up and went
about his day like normal, others he was snappish and I walked on eggshells until left.
Patrick growled and shook my hand off. "I'm awake." He didn't look awake, and I’d been on the
receiving end of his ‘corrections' before, when I'd taken him at his word and Patrick had slept in. So I
began moving about the room, tidying here, folding there, making small noises until Patrick finally sat
up and said, "Fuck, Baxter, I'm up. Go make noise somewhere else." And that gave me leave to return
to the kitchen.
Back in the kitchen, Beatrice—silly pup—had crawled off the blanket, heading toward the
hallway with the speed and determination of a racing snail. I put her back on her blanket, and cracked
the eggs into the frying pan. Four slices of toast into the toaster, a pot of water onto the stove to boil
for tea, and then I had to put Beatrice back on the blanket again. "You little crazy pup, stay still. Dabi
has work to do." But I couldn't help smiling. She was going be busy once she got her legs underneath
her.
Patrick strode up the hall just as the eggs were done. I’d had four years to perfect this timing,
and I was just buttering the last slice of toast as Patrick pulled out his chair and sat down. It wasn't
fifteen seconds later that I slid his breakfast in front of him.
My mate started eating, and when he made no comment on the quality of the food, I went back to
making breakfast for the pups. Oatmeal, with a few of the berries I'd scavenged in late summer from a
patch that had somehow escaped notice outside the walls of the Jackson-Jellystone Pack. Then again,
very few of this pack ever ventured outside walls. In my old pack, it had been common to scavenge
for grains and roots and fruit and berries in the land around their enclave, and I’d made it a practice
once I’d moved here to befriend the guards so I didn’t have to get permits every time I went out the
gates. It had made a huge difference to the food I had to work with and since I really wasn’t that great
a cook—the bruises from my first year mated had been proof of that—the fruits of the land often made
a difference between food being eaten, and a lecture or worse from Patrick.
Plus, a few frozen wild strawberries meant that Fan would eat his oatmeal, instead of playing
with it and causing a fuss because he couldn’t have eggs and sausage like his father. But, while my
mated pack was wealthier than my natal one, it wasn’t that wealthy. We couldn’t afford a protein-rich
meal like that every day for the pups. Or for me, for that matter, thought I tried to make sure I got some
every day. For the baby. I mostly ate whatever the pups didn’t finish, and leftovers from Patrick’s
meals. I did have pre-natal vitamins—Stores got them in on a regular basis, but there were always a
few bottles set aside with my name on them, since I spent so much time pregnant.
Not that I begrudged the pregnancies. It was the man who got the pups on me that I wanted gone.
While the oatmeal cooked, I put together Patrick’s morning tea and slid it in front of him, then
started washing the frying pan. The laundry was probably done now and I wondered if I could slip out
and back again before Patrick left.
Patrick took a sip and made a face. “Where’s the good tea?”
Oh, shit. “You drank the last of it yesterday evening. I was going to stop at Stores today for
more.” It would mean waiting to buy new jeans for Fan, but he could make it through the next week on
what still fit him. And I was grateful he would only have to wait a week—where I’d been born, it
might have meant doing without. Jackson-Jellystone wasn’t rich, but it was miles ahead of Buffalo
Gap.
“You should have gone yesterday.”
“I thought the other tin still had some. I’ll go as soon as they’re open.”
“Hmmph.” But when I tried to pass by him, intending to get Teca up and dressed before I tackled
getting our strong-willed boy out of bed, Patrick grabbed my arm, squeezing to the edge of painful.
“You need to pay more attention to your job. I picked you up out of the mud, gave you a home, gave
you status, when you had nothing going for you but your looks. Don’t forget that. I can repudiate you at
any time and send you back to that cardboard camp you call a pack. So if you want to stay here with
your precious pups, you need to smarten up.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and I bowed my head, partly to show him how scared I was,
partly to hide the anger that I could never quite squash. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll do better.” The thought
of losing my pups, of being forced back to Buffalo Gap, sent a painful surge of nausea through my
body. It made me grateful I never got to eat until after everyone else was done, or I might have lost the
contents of my stomach then and there, and that would have meant a beating. I waited there, the blood
thumping painfully in my arm because of the pressure of Patrick’s hand, and hoped.
He sniffed, and threw my arm away from him. “I’m going to be outside walls today and I won’t
be back until curfew. Make sure you pick up your slack while I’m gone.”
“Yes, Patrick,” I said, using the most submissive tone I could muster, and then I made my escape
down the hall to Teca’s room.
 CHAPTER TWO

My day was spent in blissful solitude, except for the company of my pups, who didn’t detract
from the sense of peace at all. They even went to bed on time, and right to sleep, and I had a few
moments after the last of the housework was done to curl up on the couch with a new romance novel,
complete with open-shirted hottie on the cover. They were my secret pleasure, bought from the
scrapings of the household budget, pennies saved here and there by trading labor or skill with other
shifters. Patrick didn’t know about them, and I never planned that he would. He’d take them, or make
fun of me for them, or worse—take them as a criticism of him.
This one was a cowboy story, and I squirmed in wistful arousal while the cowboy took his city-
boy lover in the open, under the stars. Some day, I’d like to do that, though not with Patrick. But if I
could have a man like the cowboy, strong but loving, I was sure it would be…an experience.
The knob on the front door rattled just after curfew, and I crammed the book back down in its
hiding place under the couch cushions. Patrick walked into the living room and my night went straight
to hell right after.
I braced myself against the mattress on hands and knees as Patrick pounded into me from
behind. Sex was never about me, but all about Patrick, and Patrick's Alpha status, and Patrick's pride
in having a young, pretty omega for a mate. An omega that was less than a month away from giving
him a fourth child, a fact he never seemed to get tired of bragging about. My own distaste for him
didn’t mean I never had an orgasm—omegas were known for their arousability—but they’d been
fewer and fewer lately.
I hoped this one was a girl. At least I sort of got to keep them, Patrick being mostly interested in
our firstborn son, Fan. If it was a girl, maybe Patrick would be disappointed in me too, and start
leaving me alone in the bedroom. That was really all I wanted out of the situation.
Well, that, and my baby. I loved my babies. Even Fan, spoiled as he was by his father. Patrick
wanted Fan to grow up to be Alpha of a pack, like he was. I would rather he wasn't—my experience
with Alphas wasn't one I wanted my first-born child to wreak on anyone. But what good would
wishing do? Fan would be what his alpha father wanted him to be, because no one paid attention to
omegas.
Patrick grunted and shifted his grip, changing the angle between us. Good, he must be close. I
put a hand to my swollen belly, where the baby squirmed and kicked in an attempt to tell the world
that he or she wasn't at all pleased with the pummeling. Patrick's grunts and growls grew louder, and I
cast an anxious glance over at the cradle beside the bed, where our third child, Beatrice, was
sleeping. Her eyelids twitched—a sure sign that the noise was going to wake her up.
"Patrick, you're going to wake the baby," I whispered, careful to keep my tone submissive.
Patrick thought omegas should be seen and not heard, and in the beginning of our mating he’d often
backed up his beliefs with some less civilized responses. Like a slap across the face, or a belt across
the ass.
Beatrice whimpered and I bit my lip. Patrick was taking forever tonight. If he didn’t show signs
of finishing soon, I was going to have to…move things along. I hated doing this, but it was the
quickest way to get my mate off.
I tightened the muscles of my ass and began to move with Patrick's motions, as if I couldn't help
myself. A few breathy moans on my part to make the deception more real, and I finally felt that
swelling sensation inside my body, a sure sign of Patrick knotting, his orgasm as agonizingly slow
tonight as the lead-up to it. The bulge of his cock pressed against my womb, uncomfortable for me at
this stage of the pregnancy, and upsetting to the baby, who kicked and punched in revenge. I grunted as
one particularly strong kick hit me under the ribs, but then Patrick was done, sliding out of me to fall
back on the bed. Beatrice started making little yips and yaws, the warning signs of a full-out wail.
Quick as a shot, I was out of the bed to pick her up. And maybe to get as far away from Patrick
as I could without getting in trouble. I took my moments of happiness where I could find them.
"You spoil that kid. She needs to learn to sleep through the night." Patrick's eyes gleamed in the
light from the hallway.
"It was just the noise. She'll go back to sleep soon." I began a gentle bouncing in place, swaying
back and forth as I hummed with the baby's head against my chest. The one in my belly stretched and I
thought that, if only Patrick weren't here, I could be happy.
But happy wasn't really in the cards for an omega.
Beatrice was an easy pup, and quickly soothed back to sleep. I placed her carefully in her crib,
then crawled back into the bed. My faint hope that Patrick had already gone to sleep vanished when
my mate’s burly arm wrapped around my waist. His fingers spread out over the curve of my belly as
if he were claiming it for his own.
“Gonna give me a boy this time?”
I froze. Something in Patrick’s tone made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. “I don’t
know.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Patrick that we could have had an ultrasound done in
Jackson, but I bit the words off before they could tumble irresponsibly from my lips.
Patrick licked the back of my neck, and I suppressed a shiver of disgust.
“Better be, or I’ll be looking for a new mate. One that can give me sons.” His hand squeezed,
and then he rolled over and put his back to me.
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night, praying that I’d have a son.
 CHAPTER THREE

Patrick was gone all day again, doing whatever it was outside walls. I put the pups to bed, then
put them to bed again, then curled up on the couch with Fan’s head on what was left of my lap and
Teca pressed against my other thigh.
They’d been clingy and whiny all day. I suppose that was my fault—my mood had been off, my
thoughts constantly circling around to Patrick’s threat the night before. I’d seen him off to work with a
kiss and wish for a good day, but after he was gone, depression had set in, and I’d spent most of the
time hoping something would happen to keep him from coming home that night. I wanted a break, just
a short one, to build up my reserves and come up with a plan of action in case this baby was a girl.
Being trapped on the couch with my grouchy darlings, I pulled my secret pleasure out from its
hiding place under the cushions and spent a moment admiring the muscular physique of the cover
model before diving back in. While the pups snored and yipped softly in their sleep beside me, I lost
myself in a story of lust and limousines and a man that would move heaven and earth for the one he
loved.
Time passed, and a knock on the door broke the silence. Quickly, I closed the book and stuffed it
down inside the couch, then looked up to see Carl and Salvodoro, entering the house like it was theirs
and not the Alpha’s. I glanced up at the clock and realized curfew had come and gone hours ago.
He’s dead. I didn’t know where the knowledge came from, but the truth rang through me like the
tolling of a bell. I gently moved Fan off my leg and levered myself to my feet. Emotion overwhelmed
me—joy at the thought that I’d never need to deal with Patrick again, laced with the bone-grinding
fear of the unknown future, and a sick feeling that I wasn’t prepared for this at all.
“Baxter,” Carl said.
“What happened?” I asked. The baby inside me squirmed as my emotions leaked over into his. I
put a hand on my belly, though who I thought I was reassuring I didn’t know.
Carl gave me a sympathetic stare. “Maybe you should be sitting down for this.”
My belly panged and I pressed against the sudden tension in my womb. “No. Tell me now.”
When Carl remained quiet, I said, “Please. I just need to know.”
“There was an accident on the way back from the meeting. They were running late and they hit a
curve wrong, going too fast.” His voice was low and there was a wealth of sorrow in it.
I felt no sorrow—I just needed to know. “And?” The pain grew to a peak and I stood there, deaf
to everything except the call of my body. When the contraction faded, I glanced at the two shifters.
“I’m sorry, I…missed that.”
“Are you okay?” Salvodoro asked. He reached awkwardly for me, understanding growing in his
face.
“Please. Just tell me what happened.” I had time. I needed to get the pups into their beds and
call the midwife. I was early, though I hoped not too early. It was less than two weeks to my due date
—surely that was okay? Please don’t let my baby die.
“He’s having the baby.” Hands gripped me, and I shook them off.
“Fan and Teca. They need to be put to bed.” I bent to pick them up, but Salvodoro shouldered
me aside.
“Go call the midwife. I’ll look after them.”
Call the midwife? How? I stared back and forth between them in confusion.
Carl was the first to break the stasis. “Stupid omegas.” He shook me, but gently. “Go get your
phone and call the midwife.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
He and Salvodoro looked at each other as if their estimation of my IQ had just dropped twenty
points, which would be hard considering that they spoke to me like I was a five-year-old some days.
They thought he hadn’t given me a phone because I was too stupid to look after one. I knew it was
because he didn’t see the point, since all I needed to do was look after the house and drop pups for
him. Oh, and ease his cock whenever he felt like it.
Carl pulled his out and placed the call, while Salvadoro carefully picked up the pups and
followed me down the hall to their rooms.
My birthing kit was in the large closed porch on the back of the house. Once I was certain Fan
and Teca were going to stay asleep, I retrieved it and set it up on the floor out there. Even though
Patrick was dead, I couldn’t bring myself to risk staining the mattress with the messy side-effects of
birth. So I spread everything out, like I had for the last three, on a heavy layer of foam that covered
the floor at one end of the porch. Blankets and towels, a bowl for water, the faded receiving blanket
that I had used for each of my precious babies. Salve to ease the aches and tenderness around my
Omega line afterward and a long strip of cloth to cover it until my body sealed itself again. The
cradle would have to wait—Beatrice was still in it, and I had thought to set up her new bed this
week. The newborn could sleep out here with me for the three days I would need to recover, anyway.
I rather enjoyed the excuse to keep my baby close by me. It was something that hadn’t been possible
when Patrick was around.
The midwife’s footsteps sounded inside the house. I laid down on the foam and prepared to
bring my new baby into the world.
 CHAPTER FOUR

In the end, the baby didn’t come that night, but the midwife put me on bed rest, which of course I
couldn’t do. Still, Noah manged to hang on for another week, and then he came in an almost painless
rush, and so quickly I’d washed and wrapped him even before the midwife arrived. He was the first
one I’d been allowed to name, and I chose a name that would have been a source of contention with
Patrick. Yes, it was a strong name, from one of the human religions, but it meant Comfort. And he was
a comfort to me, as I held him close and dreamed of a better future.
I told no one about his Omega line.
It would have been a joyful occasion, except for the limbo I found myself in. I was still in
Patrick’s house—the Alpha’s house. But I wouldn’t be allowed to stay there. The new Alpha would
live here now and I and my babies would go…where? I had no family here to claim me. No one had
come forward to claim guardianship, which told me Patrick had never thought about what might
happen to his family if he died. I could go back to Buffalo Gap, but the babies belonged to the pack—
I’d have to leave them, and that was something I absolutely wasn’t going to do.
Which left finding a new mate. I spent that week after Noah’s birth making list after list of all
the single shifters in Jackson-Jellystone, male and female alike. I didn’t much care for sex,
considering how little it seemed to be about me, so it made little difference to me where I mated.
Maybe some day I’d discover a preference, but not now. I thought I was prepared when Salvodoro
came to see me.
“Baxter,” he said. His eyes were sad as he gestured me to a seat in the living room. I sat on the
couch, in the very seat where I’d first learned the news of Patrick’s death. Salvodoro sat across from
me, in the chair I rocked my babies in when they had trouble sleeping.
“The new Alpha has been decided. It’s time to speak about your future.”
I composed myself and did my best to look open and cooperative. “Yes?”
He glanced away and cleared his throat. His hands twitched upon his knees, and he made a
visible effort to still them. “The Alpha and I have spoken at length about you and your situation.
You’re an attractive young male. Obviously fertile, a hard worker, and pleasant to all around you.”
I nodded. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. I’d worked hard at the second two and
had been blessed—or cursed, depending on your point of view—with the first two.
He looked me in the eye and a terrible suspicion began to grow in me, confirmed by his next
words.
 “Patrick, obviously, wasn’t expecting to die so young. He made no provision for you, appointed
no pack member to be guardian to you and your pups.”
Nothing I didn’t already know. I lowered my eyes and waited to hear what he had to say.
He took one of my hands in his and held it. “Baxter, an omega on his own, or with only one
child, would have no trouble finding a home. But four…” He shook his head. “No one wants to take
on that responsibility.”
A rage like I’d never experienced swept through me. Damn Patrick and his forced weanings of
my babies, bringing me back into heat so he could get another pup on me. How dare he? I hated him
even more now than I ever had, and if he hadn’t been burned as the human laws demanded, I would
have pissed on his grave in hopes of passing my own curse on to him.
I don’t know what Salvodoro saw in my face, but years of hiding my anger behind a mask of
submission or regret must have held. He moved to sit beside me and put a comforting arm around my
shoulders. “It’ll be okay. They’ll go to families who will look after them. They’ll be cared for just
like you would care for them. And you can have more. Your new mate will want pups, so it’s not like
you’ll never have children again.”
The pain his words brought robbed me of breath, left me curled over my knees while I wished
I’d never been born. I couldn’t lose my babies! They were all I had. I loved them so much… I looked
up and saw the concern in his face, and something else…desire. I’d always known he enjoyed looking
at me. He’d more than once complimented me on the bright green of my eyes, the fairness of my skin,
the silky blackness of my hair. “Salvodoro, please, there must be some other way. Please don’t take
my babies away, they’re all I have left…” I let my voice trail off, and hoped he’d take it as the desire
to keep something of Patrick’s. His expression wavered between firmness and his innate need to care
for the members of his pack.
I needed to fan the flames of that need, or of any other need he had. As much as it sickened me to
do it, I put a hand on his chest, just enough pressure to indicate willingness, and spread my legs
slightly, though my Omega line was only barely sealed. Sex now would hurt, but I could fake it. I had,
for most of my mating—I could do it again for my babies. And again, if need be. However many times
it took.
His head dipped and for a moment I thought I’d won, but I had miscalculated, badly.
Salvodoro’s expression hardened and he reared away from me. “How dare you? Your mate only
two weeks dead and you’re throwing yourself at another man?” He stood up, shoving me backwards
on the couch. “You don’t deserve any consideration.”
“No, Salvodoro, wait!” I stumbled after him, falling to my knees in front of the door to keep him
from leaving. “Please, listen!” I was bawling, and there was no way anyone could say I was pretty
now, but I didn’t care. “Please, they’re my life. Everything has been for them and for Patrick. I’ll do
anything to stay with them. Please, help me. I don’t know what to do.” And I collapsed on the floor at
his feet.
The back door slammed and Fan came running in. He stopped dead at the sight of his bearer on
the floor at a man’s feet, and I hastily wiped my cheeks and did my best to hide my distress. “Hello,
sweetheart. Are you looking for something?”
“What’s wrong, Dabi?” He gave Salvodoro a suspicious look and came to pat me on the
shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Don’t cry.”
I smiled at him and pulled him into a hug. “I know, sweetie.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Are
you hungry? Where’s your sister?”
“In the yard.” He still looked uncertain, a not-quite-four-year-old trying to understand an adult’s
world.
Salvodoro sighed. I looked up to find him watching us, and I thought he maybe understood some
of my pain.
“I’ll talk to Roland. There may be a way to sort this out. At least for now.”
I nodded, and blinked back tears of gratitude. “Thank you.” I hugged my baby closer and
repeated, “Thank you.”
That evening, he came back to see me. He found me in the kitchen, feeding Beatrice mashed up
carrots while the older two ate sandwiches at the table and the baby slept against my chest. “Roland
has agreed to stand guardian for you and your babies, at least until you’ve had a chance to mourn
Patrick. He agrees with me that it’s too quick, and we can revisit it later, once you’ve recovered and
the baby is older.”
I doubted very much that that was how Roland had put it, but I appreciated Salvodoro’s care for
my feelings. “I am so very grateful.”
“He wants to move in here tomorrow, get the business of the pack back on even footing.”
“I’ll pack tonight. Where am I going?”
Salvodoro started to look uncomfortable, but I didn’t care, as long I was with my babies.
“There are no homes to put you in.”
I paused in scraping carrot off Beatrice’s chin. “Then where will we go?”
He glanced away and muttered, “He’s asked that you move your personal possessions into the
porch at the back of the house. He says also that he’ll feed you out of his allotment, but in exchange
you’ll take care of the house for him. The credit in Patrick’s account is Fan’s, and Noah’s, but he’s
agreed that you should have access for necessities for the pups.”
The porch? They were moving the children of the late Alpha into a porch to live? I might have
hated Patrick, but he would never have done something like that. Still, I had no rights, and no one to
argue for me. I was lucky they’d let me keep the credit. “What can I take from the house in the way of
furniture?”
“He says you can have the cradle, and the baby bed, since he won’t need them. Anything you
need for the baby, you can take. You can have the extra dresser in the smallest bedroom, and he’ll
allot you blankets and sheets from the house supply.”
The edges of my vision went dark for a moment, and only an effort so ugly it would have scared
small children kept me from bursting into tears. I pushed my emotions away, telling myself that it was
just the change in hormones after Noah’s birth, but I didn’t really believe myself.
This was going to be horrible.
 CHAPTER FIVE

“Baxter!”
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. I set down the pot I was scrubbing and scurried into the
living room. “Yes, sir?”
“Get me another beer, and something to eat.” Roland, Alpha of the Jackson-Jellystone Pack,
turned back to the TV. I paused in the doorway to see what had set the Alpha’s temper on edge. It
looked like a special news program, showing a trial going on in another shifter enclave. Mercy Hills
—I’d heard that name before. When I was young, I used to wish I’d been born there.
I lingered in the doorway as long as I thought it was safe, drinking in the details of the trial, and
the people involved until nerves and a healthy sense of self-preservation kicked in. With a last wistful
glance at the TV screen, I ducked back into the kitchen to pull together a thick roast beef sandwich
with a side of potato chips, and a beer dripping with condensation.
“Took you long enough,” muttered the Alpha, but he picked up one half of the sandwich and
began to chew without further comment.
The program was still on, so I looked for things to do around the room, an excuse to remain and
listen in. The name Jason Mercy Hills came up a couple of times, and it hit me with a blinding flash
that he was an omega, and that Mercy Hills was fighting with his birth pack over rights to him. The
camera zoomed in on a young omega, heavily pregnant, leaning on the arm of an attractive red-haired
man the newscaster called Mac. Then it moved to show a human male who spoke on their behalf.
Behind him stood the young and handsome Alpha, Abel Mercy Hills. I’d actually seen him once in
real life, when he’d traveled here to discuss something with Patrick. All I remembered of that visit
was Patrick’s displeasure, and the Mercy Hills Alpha’s quiet intensity.
“What are you doing fussing around in the corner over there?” Roland snapped.
“Just tidying up. I thought I’d dust tomorrow and having things tidy makes it all go quicker.”
That had been the deal—mending, cleaning, cooking. Nothing else. I didn’t think I wanted another
alpha to touch me again, ever.
The Alpha’s mate, a beta female named Miranda who ran the Housing Commission, was very
happy with the arrangement, as it left her free to pursue other interests once her pack duties were
done. That didn’t mean she was kind, or welcoming, but she let me stay, and didn’t much care what I
did as long as the house was clean and the meals cooked.
Roland grunted and waved at me to keep on doing whatever I was doing.
 I kept puttering around the room until I was able to piece together the whole story. The omega
had run away from his own pack and landed in Mercy Hills, where he’d promptly ended up mated.
Which was fine, and made total sense. It also made sense that his pack would want him back if Mercy
Hills hadn’t paid anything for him—and Mercy Hills was rich, so there had to be something else
going on there. What I was having a problem with was that the omega really seemed to want to stay
with the shifter who’d so abruptly mated him. Of course, coming from a dirt-poor enclave like
Montana Border, ending up mated to a stranger in Mercy Hills might seem okay. No, actually, it
definitely seemed okay. I’d do it, if I could be sure they’d take my babies.
But there was something off about that omega’s story. What omega, if he’d managed to live on
his own for six years—would willingly go to a pack and ask to be mated? It made no sense at all.
Damn. I was running out of stuff to tidy, and the program seemed nowhere near over. Maybe
Roland wouldn’t mind too much if I hung around to watch the rest? I padded silently over to the old
chair next to the door into the kitchen and sat, watching Roland for signs that he’d noticed that I
wasn’t where I was supposed to be, or cared that I wasn’t. He appeared engrossed in the program,
though, and I thought I might have gotten away with it, until I heard the first disjointed mumbles of the
baby as he started to wake up. Roland hated it when the baby cried—not so different from Patrick,
after all—so I cast one last longing glance at the television and hurried into the kitchen.
“There, there, I’m here,” I murmured, lifting Noah out of the battered cradle and up to my
shoulder. “Oh, you smell. Someone needs a change, doesn’t he?” I couldn’t help the smile that curved
my lips. I might have hated my mate, but I loved my babies. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll
see if you’re hungry.” I took Noah out into the screened-in back porch where we lived, and laid him
on the slab of foam that I now used for a bed. Beatrice played in her corner, fenced in behind her
plastic baby gate. She seemed content to bash her wooden blocks together, then pile them up and
knock them down. I was grateful that she was a self-possessed little thing and good at entertaining
herself, or I might have been in trouble. Two half-wild pups and a month-old-baby were enough. I
didn’t need an adventurous toddler as well.
I unpinned the diaper, using the cloth to clean the poo off little Noah’s bum, then rolled it up and
stashed it with the rest in a nearby garbage bag. I’d have to get them washed tonight—I was running
low, and they were starting to smell, which would create problems with the Alpha’s mate. Noah
squealed when I sprayed him with soapy water from a bottle I kept at the head of his bed, then giggled
some more while I wiped away the mess that the diaper hadn’t picked up. I checked Noah’s omega
line to make sure it wasn’t getting inflamed, and then gave him a last spray, this time with pure water
to wash away the soap residue.
With that, and a new diaper, Noah was ready for the world. I laid him on my shoulder and
cooed at him some more because it made him laugh, then went to check on Beatrice. She grinned up at
me, her two front teeth peeking shyly out from her gums. It wouldn’t be long now before she’d be able
to chew her own food, which would make less work for me. Though I supposed I had little Noah here
to take up that slack. I bounced the baby, then picked up Beatrice’s stuffed rabbit and shook it at her.
She laughed and reached for it, shoving its tail into her mouth and waving her other arm until her
ragged pile of blocks tumbled to the floor again.
“Oops!” I said, and helped her pile them up again. She knocked them over and looked up at me
expectantly. “Oh, no!” I cried. “All fall down!” She giggled and began chewing on her rabbit again.
“Baxter!” Miranda stood in the doorway. “We had an agreement.”
I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. The baby woke up and then he needed to be changed. I was just
going back in to finish.”
 “You were playing with your pups.” She sniffed derisively. “You’ll have time to play when
you’ve done your chores.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and stepped out of Beatrice’s play area. Miranda followed me into the
kitchen, watching closely as I tucked the baby back into the cradle and dragged it over by the sink. If I
didn’t, Noah would fuss, and the Alpha would stomp into the room yelling, and then both babies
would be crying.
Noah squawked a bit at being put down, but settled as soon as I got a foot under the cradle’s
rocker and started it swaying back and forth.
I could see my two older pups out the kitchen window, playing in fur-form. Fan, bigger than his
sister, jumped on her, pinning her to the ground with his greater weight. I watched for a moment, but
when Fan started chewing on his little sister’s ear, I rapped on the window and shook my head at the
young shifter. Fan let go of Teca’s ear and ran off to grab a stick and savage it furiously.
I watched for another few minutes, my hands working away at the last of the dishes
automatically. As I scrubbed at the bottom of a pot, working at what seemed like years’ worth of burnt
food, I wondered if things might have been different if Fan had been given a different name, and how
much influence the names actually had on a child’s personality. Fan seemed to take his name’s
meaning—lethal—as seriously as if it was a label that had been pinned on him.
These past five months had been hard on him. Going from Alpha’s son to the local orphan, and
from being well-to-do in the pack to having nothing—I don’t know if he was picking up on my
frustration, or if it was his own that he took out on the other pups. But I was beginning to dread the
knocks on the door, the parents coming to complain about Fan biting their little one, or breaking things
of theirs. Stealing, destroying. It never seemed to end. I felt like a failure, because what little time I
had left, between keeping house for the Alpha and the odds and ends of cleaning a few neighbors
hired me for out of pity, had to be split between the four of them. More often than not, the only time I
had to spend with him was when I was dealing with his misbehavior, and that wasn’t helping things
either.
Which meant that now I had an aggressive little alpha wolf on my hands, and I had no idea what
to do about it or if it was already too late, but the future I saw for Fan if I didn’t figure something out
scared me.
 CHAPTER SIX

Finally, a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Abel, Alpha of the Mercy Hills Pack, settled down onto his favorite sheltered bench, the one
hidden in a small patch of shrubs in the corner of the L-shaped building that held both the pack’s
administration and Abel’s own company, GoodDog Software. He pulled out his phone and loaded his
mostly finished Alpha Hunt game.
With the practiced ease of the man who’d designed it, he started moving through the levels,
watching for anything that didn’t work right, that did something it shouldn’t. He made it all the way up
to the twenty-first level before his little wolf icon balked at a door it should have been able to pass
through, and he pulled out a notepad to record where the problem had happened.
“Abel!” Mac’s voice echoed off the walls surrounding him.
Abel winced and wondered what crime he’d committed that he couldn’t escape his
responsibilities for even half an hour. That was all he wanted—thirty minutes to sit someplace and
play a game. It wasn’t like it was even entirely not work related—it was his own bloody game, that
he’d made, and was hoping to start selling. They needed to come up with the money to pay for Jason
somehow, and it was the only thing he had anywhere near ready to go.
With a sigh, he shut the game down and put his phone away. “Hey, Mac.” He moved over to
make room for his friend on the bench beside him. “What’s up?”
“Jason and I have been talking—”
Abel held a hand up to stop him. “What crazy plan does he have now?”
Mac frowned at him. “He’s trying.” The bruising around his eye, left over from when the
Montana Border shifters had rammed their car a week ago, had seeped down onto his cheekbone,
staining the skin an unappetizing greenish-brown. But that had been the worst of his injuries. Duke had
taken the brunt of it all, with a broken wrist and a spectacular black eye in the fight afterward. Abel
himself had caught a fist or two, which had left him with a thigh that still ached where Orvin had
kicked him, and what Jason cheekily said would be a ‘rakishly sexy’ scar over one eye.
Abel closed his eyes and tilted his head back to catch the beams of sun slipping between the
leaves of the shrubs. With his eyes closed, he didn’t have to see the leaves changing color, didn’t
have to look at the weight of his responsibilities, didn’t have to watch his friend grasping at straw
after straw, desperate to keep his mate. “What’s he want to do now?”
Mac shifted beside him, the heavy canvas of his jacket scraping across the wood of the bench.
“He wants to try the solar collectors on the greenhouses and see if he can grow crops during the
winter. He says there’s two of them that shouldn’t be too hard to heat.”
“That will hardly touch it. And he’s just barely had a baby. Who’s going to look after Macy?
She too young to go to the daycare yet.” Abel opened his eyes and looked at his friend.
Mac shrugged. “Jason’s dad. He’ll move back in, we can coordinate her care between the three
of us. Jason says she can come to the greenhouse with him anyway.” Mac rubbed at the back of his
neck. “I was thinking I could work outside walls too. There’s got to be some manual labor jobs
somewhere.”
“And still cover our security? And help raise your child? Don’t tell me you won’t be out in
those greenhouses all winter too if I give Jason the go-ahead. No, that’s not workable either.”
“Well then what the fuck are we going to do? I can’t lose him.”
Abel sat up and gave up on his alone time. “I’m working on it. I just don’t have any time.”
Mac propped his elbows on his knees and let his head droop. “He’s so happy to be here, but
there’s the shadow of that money hanging over him. He thinks I don’t notice.”
Abel put a hand on his friend’s back and rested his forehead against Mac’s shoulder. “I’ll figure
it out. You go back and enjoy that daughter of yours.”
Mac sat up and leaned against the back of the bench, his face tipped back into a sunbeam.
“Jason wants you to come for supper. Friday night. Six o’clock.”
It was a good thing that Mac’s eyes were closed because he couldn’t have missed the you’ve
got to be kidding me expression on Abel’s face. The word, “No,” danced on the tip of his tongue, but
something stopped him. An evening spent in the company of Mac’s omega mate, with his eerie ability
to calm and soothe, might be just what he needed to shake a solution to this problem loose in his
brain. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?” As soon as he said the words, the world
seemed brighter.
Mac laughed and stood up. “Nope. He’s got the whole thing planned down to the tiniest detail.
You have to come—I made a deal with him. He stays in bed until Friday, and I talk you into taking a
bit of time to spend with your friends.” He clapped Abel on the back of the shoulder. “Just be
prepared to be wrapped around the fingers of the prettiest little alpha pup you’ve ever met. Uncle
Abel.”
Abel got to his feet. “I’m looking forward to it.” Yeah, he needed some down time. An evening
spent with Mac’s family would be good for him.
They parted, Mac back to his second job harvesting in the gardens, Abel into the building, to his
office and the stacks of problems that never seemed to end.
“Hey, Louise, how’s the rest of my morning looking?” he asked as he walked through his
secretary’s office.
“There’s a phone call from the Department about new forms for travel, and another from a
different branch about the request you put in to extend the enclave to the east. And then there’s a
conference call with Twilco’s IT department. Apparently they broke the inventory software again and
he’s raging. And then—”
He held up a hand to stop her there. “I think that’s enough. Put Francis on the software problem
—she’s the least likely of any of us to say something we’ll regret later. Let me get my coat hung up
and we can start with the forms and move on from there.” He opened the door to his office and
stepped inside, thinking furiously. That land to the east of the enclave walls—he’d bought it with the
first of the big payments he and his—at that time—tiny software company had earned, for that same
piece of inventory software that was going to send his blood pressure through the ceiling if Francis
couldn’t talk them through a fix. It had always been his intention, tentatively approved by the
department, to have that land incorporated into the enclave and extend the walls to make more space
for the pack. Shifters weren’t meant to be crammed into apartment buildings and dormitories, even if
it was the only way to keep a roof over everyone’s head and still have the space they needed to run in
wolf form. And he was lucky—most packs weren’t as well off as his. Mercy Hills had had three
strong Alphas before him, with goals and plans. If they hadn’t, they’d be in the same situation as many
of the other packs.
Selling the land was an option. It wouldn’t bring in much, but he’d been in the habit of putting
money aside as a security measure and, while he didn’t have anything near to what they needed, the
two funds together brought them a little closer.
He cast a frustrated glance at his cell phone. If he could find the time to get that game finished,
this whole issue could simply vanish. Maybe. Until then… He picked up the handset of the land line.
“Louise, I’m ready to talk to them about the travel forms.”
 CHAPTER SEVEN

The Alpha’s household had been fed, and I’d finished cleaning up the kitchen afterward. Now I
had a free couple of hours to play with my pups and get the diapers washed. I piled the bag into my
laundry basket and set it by the stroller, then collected Beatrice from her play area and strapped her
in.
I opened the door that led from the porch to the back yard. “Fan! Teca! I’m going!” I couldn’t
see them, but I could hear them, out of sight behind the trees. There were a few other pups out there
too, some barking, some yelling as they played. While Patrick had been alive, my pups had had lots of
friends. Now that I was simply an unmated omega, they were down to the three or four lowest status
families in the place.
Another thing I wanted to change.
“Pups! Now! Don’t make me come out there.”
I didn’t want another mate, but it was a foregone conclusion that as an omega—with no property
rights, no legal rights—I needed a mate to have the opportunity to raise my pups the way they should
be raised. And for them, I’d submit to anything.
I was just about to yell for the pups again when Fan and Teca pelted around the clump of shrubs
they’d been playing behind. Teca ran full tilt, her little human legs a blur of almost-clumsy waddling.
Fan was in wolf form. He raced circles around her, then jumped up and knocked her down before
tearing off for the house.
“Fan!” I shouted, and ran out to comfort a now crying Teca. Fan yipped and stayed just out of
reach, his ears and tail angled aggressively. I picked up my daughter and set her on my hip. “Go
inside and change, Fan. And put clothes on.”
Fan took off in the other direction, but I’d been expecting it. As the pup ran past me, I grabbed
him by the ruff and picked him up. “No. We’re going to do laundry. And you’re coming with us.” I
almost wished Fan was old enough to leave on his own, but he’d already proved that he wasn’t
capable of behaving when there wasn’t an adult around. Even when there was, he couldn’t always be
trusted. If this didn’t stop, I figured he’d either be the most hated Alpha of all time, or he’d end up
being brutish muscle for one. Fan’s personality didn’t leave much room for compromise. And I was
essentially running two households, and the time he needed from me inevitably got swallowed up in
chores. If his life was ruined, it would be my fault. Maybe I should talk to Roland about trying other
packs to see if I could entice a nice shifter elsewhere.
 Inside, I got everyone ready to go—Fan and Teca clean and dressed, Beatrice changed—another
diaper for the laundromat—and the baby tucked into my sling. I’d planned to get a new one for this
pup, since Patrick had shown no sign of losing interest in keeping me pregnant. This one had seen
better days, but it still worked. And it left my hands free for other work, or to keep up with my older
pups.
I had them all lined up at the door, and was doing a last check to see what else I had that could
be washed, when Miranda came into the porch without so much as a courtesy knock. “You’re going
out?”
“Laundry, and the pups are going to Story Time. Did you have anything you wanted washed?” I
hated that she just walked through my space like I didn’t matter, hated that subtle confirmation of my
lack of status, lack of personhood. It had made me much more careful about being dressed at all times.
Not that shifters were particularly body shy, but I didn’t like the way she looked at me, either, those
few times she’d caught me less than fully clothed.
“We have a guest coming Tuesday evening, a pack trained doctor from Maine. He’s considering
setting up a practice here. We want to impress him, so you’ll need to make some nice finger foods to
have on hand.” She eyed me greedily, and I had an uneasy suspicion there was more to this story than
I’d yet been told. I was also reminded that it wasn’t just alpha males that could get a pup on an
omega. Alpha females had been known to as well, though no one seemed to be able to explain how it
happened, and rumors always floated around about the omega afterward.
I dropped my eyes to avoid that uncomfortable stare. “I can stop at the library on the way back
to look up some recipes.” Everyone knew that my cooking skills were woefully underdeveloped for
an omega, although Patrick had taught me pretty quickly to at least not burn things. I’d never been
interested in it and I was just stubborn enough that they couldn’t make the lessons stick. The same
with sewing—my seams were always crooked, and I never seemed to manage a proper fit for
anything. And of course, I’d been either pregnant or nursing since I was sixteen. Who had time to
learn anything when they were elbow deep in spit-up and diapers?
“Yes,” she said. “That would be a good idea. Don’t worry about supplies—whatever you need,
I’ll make sure you have it.” She gave me another one of those uncomfortable looks. “Well, get going!
You have to be back here for lunch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A doctor. The pack needed a doctor. We had someone who acted as a sort of nurse/medic, but
they had no real training—just read a lot of books. There was a clinic that accepted shifters, but it
was an hour’s drive away, and sometimes getting a permit to travel could be difficult. I’d been there
shortly after Teca was born, when I’d developed an inflammation along my Omega line. But if
someone was truly ill and needed immediate attention—well, they usually died.
Case in point: Patrick.
Though I still thought—despite everything—that was a blessing in disguise.
But damn, they were expecting fancy food from me? I bent over the stroller to hide my grimace.
Maybe I’d get lucky and find one of those ‘Sophistication in 5 Ingredients’ books. “All right, pups,
let’s go.” I herded them off out the door, keenly aware of Miranda’s gaze on my back. For once, the
two oldest stuck close to me. Maybe they’d been weirded out by Miranda too.
I was lucky enough to get two machines at the pack laundromat. I signed for them, watching my
few pack credits dwindle even further with a small inward sigh, then started unloading the diapers
into the first. Even though I rinsed them at home—home, ha!—I usually ran them through a second
rinse here, and then a wash. Then home to dry on the clothes line, because I had little enough income
to keep four children clothed.
The second washer got all our light things—mine and the childrens’ combined. I didn’t bother
keeping them separate any more—it wasn’t like any of us had anything that didn’t have at least one
stain on it. I started the water and tossed some washing soda in with the soap, in the hopes of dealing
with the worst of them. “Okay, who wants to sit on the washer?” The big excitement—hanging onto
the vibrating washer during the spin cycle.
“Me, me!” Teca cried, holding her arms up.
“I’m the oldest!” Fan yelled, and pushed in front of her.
“Which is why,” I reached around him to pick Teca up. “You should let her go first.” I set her on
top of the machine with the diapers in it.
Fan started to frown, and I could see the warning signs of the temper tantrum to follow, which
would mean I’d have to punish him, something I absolutely didn’t have time for today. I swooped
down on Fan, tickled him, and set him on the other washer, where the little alpha seemed content.
“Up, up!” Beatrice chanted, her only intelligible word, other than ‘milk’ and ‘Dabi’. It had been
Fan’s name for me when he was first learning to speak and he’d never grown out of it, so of course
they all called me that.
I was already too tired to deal with Fan’s meltdown if he had to share his machine, so I undid
the clips holding Beatrice in the stroller and set her on Teca’s machine, keeping one hand on her to
make sure she didn’t fall off. I bounced on my toes to keep the baby happy, and disappeared into my
little fantasy world, the one where I wasn’t a poor widowed omega with no prospects. In this world, I
was useful, and wanted for my skills, though I didn’t quite know what they were. I just knew I was
important. And somewhere, in the far distance, was a shifter who liked me for me, not for my omega
womb and my omega heats and the fact that I was prettier than most of the female shifters in the pack.
A shifter who would love my children and take them as his own, and who wouldn’t care if I never
wanted to have sex again as long as I lived.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

Once the machines had finished, I escorted my family into the library—really, two rooms
sectioned off inside Central, where all the pack’s supplies were kept and the offices that kept track of
housing and who still had credit in their accounts were found. Mine was nearly empty—my attempts
to supplement what had been left in Patrick’s account were pitiful.
I discreetly dumped the bags of still wet laundry in a corner where I could keep an eye on them.
They were still setting up in the tiny room they used for story time, and meetings and whatever else
they needed a room for, so I grabbed Teca and had Fan help me push the stroller up to the desk. “Hi,
could I book a computer while they’re in for Story Time?”
The woman behind the desk knew who I was—everyone did. They also knew my situation. “Of
course, Baxter. You can take number four.”
“Thank you.” I signed her clipboard, took the librarian’s nameplate from Teca and put it back on
the desk, and hustled the pups off to the Story Time room. As soon as I got the two oldest settled, I
hurried back to the little cluster of computers in the center of the room and logged in. While I waited
for the computer to work its way through whatever computers did when they were starting up, I dug
into the back of the stroller for the chewy-book, as I called it. It was plastic, and tough as nails, and
had been gnawed on by both my eldest two before going to Beatrice to entertain her while she
teethed. She took it with a squeal of glee and immediately put it in her mouth. “Yeah, you go to town
on that, ravenous little creature.” I tickled her belly, then turned back to the computer.
Okay. What do I search for? I tried easy and sophisticated, then party food, then tried finger
food. The baby burbled and waved his hands around, then spit up a tiny bit. Absently, I wiped a cloth
over both of us as I read through the recipes, becoming more depressed with each one. I knew the
Alpha would want what he called ‘a spread’. Good food, and lots of it. Why they had to pick on me,
instead of getting one of the more talented shifters to do it, I couldn’t imagine. There was really only
one reason that I could think of…
No. They wouldn’t. Noah wasn’t even five months old. Would they really mate me again so
quickly? Sure, I’d been thinking that I needed too, but the sudden reality of it sent a chill down my
spine. I shrugged that train of thought off, but found myself wandering away from the cooking
websites.
Search: Mercy Hills Omega.
A list of websites came up, some of them news, some blogs, some of them those kinds of sites
that I didn’t go to anymore. The kinds that thought all shifters should be just walled up and left to fend
for themselves, and shot if they went outside walls. Or even just shot. Period.
I clicked on one of the good ones, meaning only to read one story before I got back to looking
for food ideas, but then there was a link… and another link… Soon, my whole hour was gone and I
had to pick the pups up, and I hadn’t accomplished anything.
Except to know that Mercy Hills had used tradition and human justice to fight the rule of pack
law for this omega, and it seemed they’d done it because he was in love and it was the only way he
could be happy.
Imagine that ever happening here.
I glanced at the clock and realized I’d gone over my time. If I didn’t move now, I was going to
be late starting lunch. I gathered up my things in a panic, and wondered if I could sneak back down
again tomorrow morning, early enough that Miranda could still get whatever supplies I would need.
Probably not. I was going to be in so much trouble, and that familiar tight panic began to smother me.
“Baxter? Are you okay?”
I looked up from tucking Beatrice’s rabbit in beside her and found the librarian watching me
with concern. “The Alpha asked me to make food, finger food things, for a meeting he has with a
potential new pack member. I just couldn’t find anything I thought I could do.”
Her expression said that she was thinking the same thing I’d thought earlier—the Alpha was
crazy to ask me to produce anything fancy in the kitchen. She patted my arm. “I have just the book for
you. Follow me.”
I grabbed the stroller and wheeled it behind her to the other side of the room. She walked down
a shelf, fingers ticking off each book in turn, until she came across one with a wide white spine, with
green letters sprawling along it. Then she pulled out another, smaller, not much more than a leaflet.
“Here, you take these. They’re all easy, and you can bring them back after you’re done.”
I stared at the books, promised salvation, but… “I can’t. You know I can’t sign for them.” I
needed a not-omega if I wanted to take anything out of their tiny library.
“I’ll sign them out for you. I trust you to bring them back.” She pushed them into my arms. “It’s
not like I don’t know where you live.”
I laughed, part relief, part not-so-funny humor. “Yeah.” Then, softer, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Fan came running up to me and crashed into my leg. “Dabi, can we have more stories? Can we?
Can we?” He jumped up and down in his impatience. Teca toddled out in the middle of the small
crowd of pups, her head turning this way and that as she looked for her family. Finally, she spotted us,
and she hopped over as if her legs had been tied together. Fan was still jumping up and down like he
had to pee, wanting another story, and the baby started to fuss at the noise. I threw a grateful smile at
the librarian and began maneuvering the stroller in the direction of the exit. “No, Fan, not right now.
You’re going to play in the back yard. Do you want to invite someone over? I think there’s still some
cookies in the box.” I knew there were, because I’d put them up on the highest shelf on the wall in our
porch. No way Fan was climbing up there.
“Can we have candies too?”
“I don’t have any. Maybe next disbursement day.” I’d have to find some more work somewhere,
but there just wasn’t that much extra money going around that people could afford to hire me for
anything, especially when they could probably do it better themselves. And I sure as hell wasn’t
taking up any of the other…offers…that had come my way. Though if I couldn’t find any other way to
earn credit, I might be forced to start earning it on my back. The thought made me sick, but I had four
pups to think about, and human welfare wouldn’t be enough to keep us fed and sheltered. My situation
didn’t leave much room for scruples. That knowledge, though, made the idea of mating again soon a
little more palatable.
Fan stopped walking, his face set in stubbornly determined lines, and crossed his arms over his
chest. “No!” he yelled. “I want candies.”
“I don’t have any.” Thank you, child of mine, for telling the whole world how poor I am.
“Come on, now. It’s nearly lunch.”
“No!” Fan yelled, even louder this time.
I glanced around at all the curious stares. Probably I was only imagining the judgment in them,
but still, I cringed. I crouched down beside Fan. “We can’t get anything here. It’s a library. Come on
home.”
“No!”
The baby started to cry, and suddenly I’d had enough. I looked Fan straight in the eye. “If you
don’t come right now, the next time we go anywhere, I’ll carry Beatrice, and you’ll have to ride in the
stroller.”
Fan’s eyes went wide, and I could see the wheels turning in that smart little brain. His eyes went
to the stroller, and Beatrice happily waving her rabbit about, then back to me, perhaps to see if I was
actually serious. “Fine,” he spat, the word laughably incongruous in his little boy’s voice, and
stomped toward the door.
Grimly, I grabbed Teca’s hand and followed my son outside.
 CHAPTER NINE

Mac got home just as it was getting dark. He’d have to leave again before midnight for his shift
in the security building farthest from their home, but it was okay. He’d have supper with Jason and
Macy, grab some sleep, perhaps curled up with his two favorite shifters, and then head out to his
second shift of the day.
This mating-price worried him. Jason’s attitude toward it worried him even more. As much as
his mate tried to prove he wasn’t bothered, and that he had every faith in Mac and Abel finding a
solution, Mac had been living with him for almost seven months now. He’d started picking up the
signals.
“I’m home,” he called quietly as he came in the door. He didn’t want to wake Macy if she was
asleep, which the newborn did a lot.
“Hey.” Jason came around the corner of the kitchen, stirring something in a bowl. He sidled up
to Mac, the bowl held off to one side, and lifted his face for a kiss.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
“I’m fine, it’s been a week.” Jason kept his voice low, and Mac looked around for the baby. He
found her on the floor behind the table, tucked into a woven basket, and wrapped up in one of the
blankets Jason had made before she was born.
“I know, but it wasn’t exactly a perfect birth. And you promised me until Friday.”
“It’s Thursday evening. I’m okay. How did the harvest go?”
“There’s still some left for tomorrow, but it’s about done. Bumper crop this year. We’ll all eat
like kings.”
Jason laughed and turned back into the kitchen. “I’m making muffins, and there’s stew on the
stove.” He began ladling the soupy mixture from the bowl into a muffin pan. “You go wash up and I’ll
have supper on the table when you come back down.”
Mac kissed him on the side of the neck, careful not to touch him with his still dirty hands. “It
smells fantastic.” Then, just because he could, and he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to in six months,
he said, “I love you.”
Jason smiled fondly at him. “I love you too. Go wash.”
Mac took a quick shower, scrubbing at his hands until the dark stains left by the soil he’d been
working in were mostly gone. He got out of the shower to discover that Jason had been upstairs and
left him a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt, clean underwear, and freshly darned socks. Mac
smiled as he dressed, and made sure he cleaned up after himself before heading back downstairs. If
he didn’t, Jason would be upstairs wiping up the puddles before he’d feel comfortable sitting down to
eat.
True to his word, Jason had the table set and two bowls of savory stew set out on the table, with
fresh baked bread and butter.
“This looks fantastic.”
“Thank you.” Jason sounded truly pleased, as if he didn’t expect his efforts to be praised. And
once again, Mac wondered what had gone wrong in Montana Border to create a shifter with so many
talents, who believed he was nothing without an alpha’s approval. Or maybe it was Mercy Hills that
was the odd pack out—it wasn’t like there was a whole heck of a lot of travel between the packs to
get to know them.
Mac shook off the thought and sat down to eat. Jason was better than that. It was only at odd
times that he got like this. Generally, he was more alpha-like in his manner, except that he was the
diplomat, the soother of feelings, the grease that kept tempers from running high. Mac glanced across
the table, to meet Jason’s gaze. Jason smiled, and Mac smiled back, his mouth full of bread and stew,
and his heart full of happiness.
They’d find a way to pay that mating-price. If worst came to worst, he’d set Jason on them, and
Jason would have them all eating out of his hand.
 CHAPTER TEN

I loaded a platter up with the stuffed mushroom caps I’d pulled out of the oven not ten minutes
ago and carried it out to the living room, where Roland, Carl, Salvodoro, their mates, and Sebastian,
the potential new pack member, discussed the world, politics, and the state of the pack system. Deftly,
I exchanged it for the empty one where the phyllo bites had been, and retreated with a pleasant smile
plastered across my face. As soon as I made it to the kitchen, I slumped against the wall and closed
my eyes. I was sick with the strain, but so far everything had gone to plan. I hadn’t fucked up any of
the food, and the pups had been well-behaved, distracted in the porch by a movie on the small
television Roland had borrowed from another pack member.
Drinks. Their glasses had been near empty when I was out there. Bourbon, white wine, and beer
enough for all the men—they were really going all out. They must have thought he was a good doctor.
Although, any doctor would be better than what we had. I carried everything out to the living room
and filled glasses, being perfectly unobtrusive, completely omega. The only person, in fact, who
seemed to notice me was the new shifter. I caught his eyes on me several times, watching my hands as
I served, my ass as I bent to place something on the table, my mouth the few times I spoke. I’d dressed
well tonight, in some of the clothes I used to wear when Patrick entertained, though so many of them
were designed to accommodate my belly that there hadn’t been much choice. Still, I thought I looked
good, in deep green cotton and black dress pants, a necklace Patrick had given me when Fan was
born glittering gold and emerald around my neck.
After the past five miserable months, the stranger’s attention was like balm to my soul, and I
preened under it.
I did a last sweep of the room, picking up dirty plates and taking them with me back to the
kitchen. They should have been all right for a while, and I should have taken the time offered to start
on the clean-up, but I was curious to hear what they were saying when I was out of the room. So I put
the tray on the counter by the sink, and snuck back to the door to eavesdrop.
Roland’s voice drifted out the opening. “…was surprised when you agreed to speak with us. I’d
heard that you were also considering Mercy Hills.”
Sebastian answered, “I was, but I didn’t care for the Alpha’s attitude there.”
Roland chuckled. “Well, we’re not a huge community, Not like Mercy Hills or Los Padres, but it
does give you a chance to really get to know your patients. We’ve got a site picked out not far from
here where we can build you a house with an attached clinic, or we can set the clinic up in Central,
and just build you a house. Whichever you find more convenient.”
“I’m sure whatever you decide would be fine. There are advantages to both plans.”
“I’ll have someone do up a sketch of both ideas and present them for your approval.” The
conversation paused to allow for the clink of cutlery against plates.
A new house! I wasn’t certain when the last one was built, but it had been a while ago. Most of
the pack lived in barracks, or cheap mobile homes from the seventies, or the few apartment buildings
the pack had. I wondered how big the new house would be. They would want to impress the new
shifter, keep him happy, so probably close to the Alpha’s house in size. Although, part of the reason
for the size of the Alpha’s house was the guest accommodations built into one end. The rooms this
doctor would be staying in tonight.
I bit my lip, wondering what the best option would be. Miranda had made it plain to me this
afternoon that I needed to impress this potential pack member, not that I hadn’t come to that
conclusion myself. She would miss her housekeeper, but she wouldn’t mind not having an unattached,
attractive omega under her mate’s nose all the time either.
And I wanted my own house again, so badly. I really didn’t doubt that my smartest move would
be to attach this man, as soon as possible; I was willing to be what he wanted to have that security for
my babies. The question was, would he rather have an omega that couldn’t wait to get into his bed, or
one that waited obediently for the mating night?
I’d never realized how much I had with Patrick until it was gone. Though I didn’t miss Patrick, I
did miss the status, the ability to just sign for something we needed and take it. Today, while I did the
work of preparing tonight’s mini-feast, I’d decided that as much as I didn’t feel ready for another
mate, the way things were now was no life for the pups, and I was going to have to be an adult. I’d do
my best to be agreeable to this new pack member, and maybe once he settled here, things would
progress. I told myself that it would be different this time, that he had a choice to take me or leave me,
and if he took me—that meant something good, right? Maybe he would like a mate that kept his house
organized, kept track of his appointments, ran things like clockwork. I couldn’t cook, and I couldn’t
sew, or knit, or anything like that, but any system I got my hands on ran exactly how I wanted it.
Like tonight. The food was a stumbling block, but I’d left enough time to remake anything I
screwed up, and everything else had gone perfectly. No one had been late, everyone was dressed
properly, and the entire crew played their parts perfectly. I never quite understood how things
happened like that, but I was too busy right now to bother worrying about it. If I managed it, this
mating would give my pups a better future than they had right now.
My focus had drifted away from the conversation, but it snapped right back when I heard the
word, “Pups.”
Roland finished his sentence. “He’s definitely fertile, and Patrick used to say his heats were
strong. You’ll have to take a vacation each fall.” There was a burst of lascivious laughter, and I
flushed. Yes, my heats were strong. It didn’t make me a bad person. And Patrick had liked it. If I had
to be humiliated once a year by irrational behavior, I hoped that the new shifter would like it too.
Then this new shifter, my best hope, said something that chilled me to the core.
“I appreciate that, but I’m not sure I’m at a point either in my life or my career to take on
responsibility for another man’s pups. He’s gorgeous, and I would gladly take him—I’ve dealt with
omegas before in my practice and I couldn’t imagine mating anything other. But not the pups.”
Miranda’s voice slithered into the conversation. “I’m certain something can be done about that.
We’re pack, after all. Someone will take them in.”
I slid down the wall, both hands over my mouth to hold back a scream of rage and fear, while
they calmly discussed who could be bullied into taking on my pups.
No, no, no, no, no, no. Never. I’d never go to him, no matter how much he promised me. Not if I
had to give up my pups. I’d grown up with abandoned pups in Buffalo Gap. I’d seen what their lives
would be like first hand—the bullying, the neglect. In some ways, it was worse than being omega, and
I didn’t want that for my babies. And, oh, poor Noah. I’d hidden his condition so far, but if he went to
another family…
I wanted to kill them.
No, stupid idea. That would for sure lose me my pups.
There was only one more course to serve, and then I could start my clean-up. I always did my
best thinking while my hands were busy, so I started arranging tiny cheesecakes on one of my—no,
Roland’s. I had to remember that. Roland’s best plates. Once they were all in place, and I’d carefully
cleaned away the crumbs that had fallen from the crusts, I picked it up, forced my face into pleasant
lines, and headed into the living room.
The alcohol had taken its toll, or its effect. I didn’t particularly care. Flushed faces abounded,
except for the new shifter, who I regarded with suspicion from behind my perfect omega’s smile. The
laughter was loud, and it grated on my ears. I offered the tiny cakes around, then picked up the empty
platter from the mushrooms and put them in its place. Some of the glasses were empty, so I filled
them, wishing bitterly that they’d get so drunk they’d do or say something that would ruin the whole
deal.
Salvadoro put a casual hand on my hip, drunk enough that he’d forgotten his mate seated on the
other side of the room. I stepped to the side and ignored him, but I caught a glimpse of his mate, and
knew I would be in for a long, hard winter.
Assuming I didn’t mate the doctor.
Grimly, I finished filling glasses and picked up some dirtied cloth napkins, switching them out
for clean ones from the side board. I piled everything on the platter and eased myself out of notice.
Finally, I could escape back to my kitchen, check on the pups, and start the end of my long day.
The strain and effort had taken their toll, and my body felt forty pounds heavier as I left the
conspirators behind me.
My pups were content in the porch. Fan and Teca had fallen asleep, curled up under a blanket on
my layer of foam. I gathered up the empty cookie bag and checked on Noah and Beatrice. Beatrice
was asleep as well, but Noah was wide awake, watching me with more intelligence than any five-
month-old had any right to have.
“How’s my little boy?” I cooed and picked him up. If I had to, I could finish cleaning with him
in the sling, though it was harder to reach the sink. Then again, I’d had plenty of practice reaching
around a baby. I propped him on my shoulder and grabbed the sling before I went back to the kitchen.
Sebastian stood in the open arch between the kitchen and the living room, watching me
quizzically. I froze, holding my baby protectively to my chest. Noah squirmed and twisted his head. I
suppose he felt the sudden tension in my body. Desperately, I rubbed his back with my thumb, in case
he decided to cry.
“The food was good,” Sebastian said. He took a step, and reached out to touch Noah. “He
seems healthy.”
I nodded automatically. “He is. They all are,” I said through lips gone suddenly numb. What did
he want?
“You seem healthy as well.” His hand moved from Noah’s head to my jaw, his thumb playing
over my chin, then moving up to stroke along my lips, prodding until I couldn’t do anything but open
them and let him in.
We stood there, me frozen in a myriad of emotions, him calmly evaluating me as if I was an
animal he wanted to purchase. Gauging my worth, my training, my obedience. And here I was, with
the perfect opportunity to prove I was unsuitable, and all I could do was stand there and let him
manhandle me.
He took a step closer, trapping me between the frame of the door and his body. I trembled,
knowing what was coming, powerless in the moment to stop it. Then his lips met mine and he kissed
me, the way an alpha kisses, conquering what was his. I stood quiet, compliant, and—if I were to be
honest—scared. If he wanted me, he could take me right now, and sign the papers to mate me as soon
as he decided that my bedroom skills suited him. I worried about Noah, knowing this man didn’t want
him. Would he be careless of him, take him roughly from my arms and drop him as something of no
value?
His kiss deepened. It was cruel, but to me it was very obvious that he was testing to see where I
would break. My lower lip pressed against one of my canines, a sharp point of pain barely noticed in
my emotional turmoil.
Then he stepped back and nodded. “I think you and I will do very well together. It’ll be spring
before I can move. In the meantime, Roland will want to know what furnishings will be needed. Make
a list. I want everything ready when I come back.” He spun on his heel and sauntered back to the
living room. A moment later, I heard the congratulatory hum of voices from the living room.
I snuggled Noah close. The kitchen was still a mess, but I was tempted to just leave it and go to
bed to cry myself to sleep. That would make more trouble for me than it was worth, though, so I
rolled up my sleeves and tucked Noah into his sling.
Besides, there was lots to keep my hands busy.
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

The morning of the second day after Sebastian’s visit, I put my travel permits down in front of
Roland for his signature.
“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he read down my stated itinerary.
“My cousin Jason just had a pup in Mercy Hills. I’d like to go visit him, before things get really
busy here. He hasn’t seen my pups,” I paused here, and put as much quiet despair in my voice as
possible. “It might be his only chance.”
“I didn’t know you two were related,” he said, and gave me a considering once over.
“On my mother’s side. He disappeared when he was thirteen, and I just found out he’s back.” I
was using him ruthlessly, but I hoped that any omega desperate enough to run from his pack for six
years wouldn’t mind being used this way.
Roland glanced down at my permit. “Mercy Hills, eh?”
I nodded. “He might be able to help with the pups.”
They’d broken the news to me the day after the visit. I’d played my part, begged and sobbed and
acted like I hadn’t already decided that the only way I’d touch that shifter was with a ten foot pole
with a cattle prod on the end of it. They’d been firm and sent me to my porch to collect myself.
Later, I’d tracked Roland down to plead some more, and when he’d refused to budge, I’d
reluctantly laid a list of families who would make good foster parents in front of him, as if I’d been
entirely defeated.
Never stand between an omega and their pups.
He frowned, and I could see him considering the potential benefits of encouraging my
‘relationship’ with a member of Mercy Hills. “Very well.” He scribbled his name on the line at the
bottom, granting me permission for a one week’s stay with my ‘cousin’, then paused, squinting at the
dates I’d written. “Do you want to pass the full moon with them?”
“It would be nice.” Two weeks would give me plenty of time to plead my case in Mercy Hills
and, if that didn’t work, to make a plan to do what Jason had done—hide in the human world. I didn’t
know how he’d done it, but I could probably tease the information out of him. Surely he’d be willing
to help another omega being forced into an unwanted mating, especially now that he had a pup of his
own. He’d have to feel it in his gut how impossible giving them up was.
Roland changed my return date to give me another two days past full moon and initialed it. I felt
a momentary pang of guilt for deceiving him, made worse when he scratched out my name and added
his to the section indicating what account to debit for the vehicle use, preserving my last few credits.
My plan had included sneaking food out of the kitchen here, because the use of the pack’s van would
empty my account completely. Another twinge of guilt shot through me, which I fiercely repressed in
the face of what he and the pack had planned for me.
“Thank you, sir.” I picked up the piece of paper with hands that only trembled slightly. It took
all my strength not to run out of his office, but I managed it, at least until I was out of Roland’s view.
Then I raced full tilt down to Central to arrange for the van, and back home to hurry my children into
what I hoped would be a better future.

I blew the last of my pack credit on treats for the pups, since I didn’t have to use them for the
van anymore. Fresh apples, berries imported from human territory, little packages of dark cookies
filled with sweet white icing, slightly stale because of how expensive they were. Fan and I shared a
huge bag of barbecue potato chips—luckily Noah didn’t seem to mind any barbecue flavor in my milk
when it came time to nurse him.
The normally six-hour drive took me eight, with bathroom breaks and stops to clean up messy
pups. I didn’t care. I was free, at least for now, and my undefined future shone in front of me like a
full moon in summer, bright and hopeful. I stopped once more as the sun set, underneath the sign for
the exit to the Mercy Hills Shifter Enclave, and dragged all my babies out for a last pee before we got
to the gates.
My own bladder was feeling a little nervous—everything depended on Jason going along with
my deception. I hadn’t been able to find a way to contact him, so I was banking on the tendency of
shifters to side with each other in any situation involving humans and sort out the details later. I just
hoped he was quick enough to follow my lead, though if he’d stayed out of the hands an Alpha who’d
been actively hunting him, he had to be pretty bright.
“All right, darlings, time to go. We’re almost there.” Fan climbed into his car seat all by himself
while I got everyone else into their seats and buckled in. He fumbled the straps into place on his own,
but was still struggling with the buckles when I got to him.
“Let me do that for you.”
“No! I’ll do it.”
You’re such an alpha. But for once, the thought didn’t bother me. He’d been so good during this
trip, like just getting away from Jackson-Jellystone had turned him into a whole new pup. It gave me
hope. “How about if I hold one side for you, and you click the other one in.” That worked, and only
moments later we were on the road leading to Mercy Hills.
I slowed down as we got close to the gate, my headlights skating across the heavy concrete
walls and the rolling iron bars. One of the officers stepped out onto the road, and I stopped beside
him. My papers were ready on the passenger seat, and I touched my collar tabs as if to reassure
myself that I was there on legitimate business.
“Can I help you?” the human said. He peered into the back of the van and raised his eyebrows at
my crowd of pups.
“I’m here to visit my cousin, Jason.” I prayed the lie would hold.
“Papers,” he said, and held out his hand, though his eyes never strayed from my pups. “These all
yours?”
 “Yes,” I answered, handing out my travel permit. “They’re too young for tabs yet.”
He read through the page listing our ages and physical descriptions, and I could tell when he’d
done the math on when my first pup was born, because he sucked in a breath between his teeth and
gave me a funny look. “All right. You know where you’re going?”
I shook my head. That was the one real weakness in my plan. Well, that, and the possibility that
Jason might out me anyway, though I thought shifter solidarity would hold up. It had to.
The officer nodded and handed me back my papers. “I’ll call one of their security team down
once we’ve searched your vehicle. He can tell you where to go.”
“Thank you.” And I really did mean it. He’d just solved one of my worries, and did it without
blinking an eye.
 CHAPTER TWELVE

Abel stretched his legs out and leaned back on Mac and Jason’s couch. Macy slept on his chest,
a warm comfortable lump that made him disinclined to move, ever. He canted his head down to take a
peek at her peaceful and absolute sleep, and wondered what it would be like to have his own. If he
could ever rearrange his life well enough to make space for one. Or two.
Watching Mac and Jason make a go of their unlikely mating made him wish he could have the
same chance. Of course, he’d have to find someone to take over half of his workload. Even tonight’s
stolen moments of ease would have to be paid for tomorrow, but they were all worth it.
Macy smacked her lips and rubbed her nose, then fell back into boneless slumber.
“I made brownies,” Jason said, leaning over the back of the couch to gently brush Macy’s pale
hair back.
“I think I’m trapped,” Abel told him.
Mac sat beside him and handed him a plate with a single brownie in the center. “That’s how
they get you. The greatest hunters of our species aren’t the Alphas, they’re the babies.”
“Well, she’s caught me.” He set his plate on his thigh—not the bruised one--and picked up the
brownie, his mouth already watering in anticipation. They were at the end of their harvest cycle, and
everyone was producing good food, but Jason could make canned tuna and macaroni taste amazing.
He always shrugged it off as a result of being on the run for six years, but Abel thought there was
some real talent there, if he could figure out how to get Jason to tap into it. And it might be a way for
Jason to help pay into his mating-price, since he and Mac seemed so determined. He bit into the
brownie, and closed his eyes in appreciation. “Holy shit, Jason, I should have mated you when I had
the chance.”
Jason poked his head out of the kitchen. “You snooze, you lose, oh great and wise Alpha.”
Mac simply sat at his end of the couch, happily enjoying his brownie.
Abel poked him in the shoulder. “No comment?”
Mac shook his head. “Ouch. Easy on the bruises. And nope. I know he’s mine.” He grinned up at
his mate as Jason came back into the room, and pulled Jason down onto his lap as the omega tried to
scoot by to check on the baby. “She’s fine. Look, see how happy she is with Uncle Abel.”
Abel laughed. “Don’t confuse the poor girl. We’re second cousins at most.” He turned his gaze
back to the baby again. She really was adorable.
“Let me know if you get tired of holding her,” Jason said.
 “I will.” Hardly. He liked pups, just didn’t have any time for them.
The buzzing of a phone filled the room.
Mac jumped. “That’s me.” Jason started to get off his lap, but Mac wrapped his arm around
Jason’s waist, holding him in place.
“You’ll never get your phone that way,” Jason said, but he was laughing.
“Watch me.” Mac squirmed, trying to force his hand into his pocket. Or at least, that what Abel
thought he was doing, until Jason squawked and slapped him.
“Behave. Fine example you’re setting for Macy.” But Jason didn’t look particularly offended.
“I hope she has someone of her own to grab someday. Maybe we’ll share pointers.” He pulled
out the phone and checked the screen. “Duke. Wonder what’s going on?” He let Jason slip off his lap
and thumbed the screen to return the call.
Reluctantly, Abel gave the baby back to his bearer and listened in on Mac’s side of the
conversation. “Who? No, he’s never mentioned one.” He tilted the phone away from his mouth.
“Jason, do you have family in Mississippi?”
“Not that I know of.” Jason bobbed slowly in place, the baby cradled under his chin. “Unless
someone got married there since we ran away. What’s their name?”
“Baxter, he says.”
Jason shook his head, and the tension in the room began to grow.
Duke’s voice rumbled indistinctly out of the speaker, and Mac added, “Duke says he’s an
omega. He brought pups.”
The three of them looked at each other.
“We have to go see,” Jason said.
“I’ll go. You stay here,” Mac told him.
Abel stood. “I’ll go too.” He reached for his jacket against the chilly late October air.
“How are you going to know if he really is family?” Jason shook his head. “Let me get some
heavier clothes on Macy and we can all go.” He was already moving toward the stairs.
“Jason—”
“Mac.” Jason’s tone was flat, leaving no doubt that he intended to go. “If he’s an omega, it
would take something huge for him to arrive unannounced at a strange pack. I’m going.”
Mac nodded reluctantly. “But he doesn’t get near Macy until we know what’s going on.”
“Agreed.”
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I waited by the gates as the daylight disappeared. I might have gotten past the human guards, but
I thought the shifter ones knew something was up. A huge dark-haired man with a cast on one hand had
called someone, his eyes fixed on me as if my deception were written all over my face in neon letters.
And now we were waiting, trapped in the harsh light cast by the floodlights like so many bugs.
The human guards hadn’t yet closed the gate, and they watched us intently. Maybe they didn’t
entirely believe me either, or maybe some sixth sense had warned them that the shifter guards were
suspicious. My heart pounded; I was so close I could taste safety.
Beatrice had fallen asleep while we waited. Fan and Teca chased each other around the van,
both of them in wolf form. I got Noah out of his car seat and held him against my chest for comfort.
Together we walked around the on the grass beside the road, and I pointed to things and named them
for him, while Fan and Teca growled at each other over a stick they found on the ground.
“Ba, ba, ba, ba,” he said, and I kissed his head for good luck.
The sound of a motor broke the stillness, and then a truck drove up and parked to one side of the
gate. A man got out, tall, broad. As he got closer to the light, I saw that he had red hair. I remembered
him from the TV show—this was the alpha who had mated Jason Mercy Hills. And then behind him I
saw a smaller, darker-haired man, carrying a baby.
Jason.
I started forward, ignoring the mate and the hulking security team, and zeroed in on the other
omega. “Jason!” I cried, as if we’d once known each other.
He paused and cast a glance at his mate, then handed the baby over. “Hi,” he said and we met in
the gap between the humans at the gate, and the pack’s security.
I stepped close and lowered my voice. “I’m Bax. Please, help me. They’re going to give my
babies away and force me to mate again.” I blinked away the tears forming at the words. “I can’t…”
My throat closed with emotion and I bent my head and pretended to adjust something in Noah’s
clothing.
The silence felt like it went on for minutes, though it was probably only a few seconds. But my
life, and my pups’ happiness, rested on the next words to come out of a stranger’s mouth, and every
heartbeat stretched into forever.
Then Jason stepped forward and bent over little Noah. “Is this your newest?” He reached in to
tickle Noah’s cheek? “What did you name him? Or is it a her?”
 “He’s a boy. I called him Noah.” Then, because Jason looked at me funny, I explained, “He was
born after my mate died.”
“Ah.” Jason turned his gaze back to my baby. “He’s adorable.”
A voice rumbled out of the dark. “Jason?”
Jason looked up and I followed the line of his gaze to the red-headed shifter standing a bit more
than arm’s-length behind him, the baby resting peacefully against his shoulder.
“Mac, this is my cousin Bax.” He grinned. “That’s going to get old. I’ll yell for one of you, and
you’ll both come running.”
I looked at him oddly—his words didn’t make sense.
He turned the grin on me. “I didn’t realize when I mated how similar your names sound. Mac
said you brought more pups?”
“Yes. I have four.” It was only then that I realized that I hadn’t heard anything from either Fan or
Teca for several minutes now. “Shit! Where are they?”
“These yours?” A dark-haired man with a neatly-trimmed beard and a row of stitches above one
eyebrow walked out of the shadow of some bushes about fifteen feet away. He had a squirming pup
under each arm and he laughed as he carried them over. “I found them digging in the dirt underneath
the currants.” He lifted Fan up so the light shone on his filthy coat. Dark streaks showed on the man’s
T-shirt where the pups’ paws had left their mark. “Someone needs a bath.”
Fan barked, and everyone except me laughed. I was horrified. We hadn’t be here ten minutes
and Fan was already destroying stuff.
“Let me take him.” I shuffled Noah onto one hip and reached for my pup, but the man holding
him fended me off.
“That’s fine. I’m already dirty. So, you’re Jason’s cousin?” There was a slight emphasis on the
last word, enough to force me to look him in the eye.
Oh shit. He was more handsome than he had been on the television, and my heart sped up,
though whether it was fear, or my omega hormones kicking in even though I was still nursing, I didn’t
have time to figure out. “You’re the Alpha.”
“I am.” He smiled, and I noticed a dimple that the cameras hadn’t caught. “You can call me
Abel.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—” My tongue tripped over itself and I tried again to take Fan from him. “Really,
he’ll get you dirty.”
“And I said I already am.” But he let go, and I promptly dropped my oldest boy on the ground.
“Fuck,” I muttered, on the verge of tears. He was going to think I was an idiot. Not that I wasn’t
used to that, but I didn’t want him to. Stupid hormones. “Fan, baby, are you okay?”
He barked and ran in a circle around the Alpha, obviously unshaken by his unexpected high-
speed descent. Teca yipped and squirmed, so the Alpha set her down too, and she took off after her
brother, who was now running excitedly back and forth between us and the security team.
The Alpha stepped up to my side and looked down at Noah. “How old is he?”
“Five months.” My mouth was dry. I licked my lips and added, “His name is Noah.” If my heart
had been beating fast while I waited for them to show up, now it was trying to leap out of my chest.
Oh, he was handsome, but what got me the most was that he had kind eyes. They were warm and, I
thought, a dark brown like the chocolate Patrick had brought home for the pups once. But kind was
most important, because it could mean the difference between help and hindrance when I begged for
their aid.
The Alpha glanced up at my two crazed pups, then turned his gaze back on me. “And what’s
your name?”
It took me two tries to get it out. “Bax. Baxter, really, but I was always called Bax at home.”
“I like it.” He was close enough that I could feel the heat from his body against my arms, and my
own reaction confused me. I was here for sanctuary, not scouting for another high-status mate. But he
was handsome, and his voice vibrated pleasantly against my skin. What would it have been like to
have been mated to him instead of Patrick? The thought made tears start in my eyes, and I looked
down so he wouldn’t see.
He must have sensed something, because he stepped away and turned back to Mac. “Why don’t
we load everyone up and go someplace warm? The pups for certain shouldn’t be out without jackets.”
And now I looked like a neglectful parent on top of a dumb omega. Fantastic start to my time
here.
But the Alpha scooped up Fan and Beatrice and dumped them in the van, blocking Fan’s escape
attempt with a well-placed knee. “Wow, you have another one. That must keep you busy.”
“A bit.” I didn’t know quite how to handle that comment. Did I laugh it off and say no? Or did I
talk about having no time at all to myself? Neither of them felt right, so I stood there in mute idiocy.
The Alpha turned to Jason’s mate. “Mac, are we taking them back to your place, or over to
mine?”
Mac handed the baby back to Jason. “Probably mine. We’ve got baby stuff.”
“Right. I’ll ride shotgun here with Bax, make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
Oh, dear. What did I say to that? Nothing. He was the Alpha and this was his pack. I would
have liked the time to collect myself, though.
We got into the car and I nervously put it in gear. Fan crawled between the seats to stand with
his hind paws on the Alpha’s lap and his front ones on the dash, tongue lolling in excitement. I was
about to tell him to get down, but the Alpha laughed and rubbed his fur, apparently amused by my
pushy pup.
Mac and Jason drove off and I followed their taillights into the night.
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Turn right at this corner,” Abel said, pointing Bax to the correct street. The young omega still
held his baby close to his chest, driving with one hand on the steering wheel.
He was stunning. That was the only word Abel could come up with for it, mostly because he felt
like he’d been hit with a two by four. Gorgeous, but halfway to being broken too. Abel could see it in
his eyes, and after listening to Mac talk about Jason for the past half a year, he knew there were
aspects of an omega’s life he’d never imagined. Like this, whatever it was, that would drive an omega
to pack up his pups and show up on the doorstep of a stranger. Who did that?
Then again, Jason had done something similar, hadn’t he? “Take a left here.” Abel put a hand on
the pup’s shoulders and held him steady against the turn, and glanced into the back seat, where the
other pup had packed herself away into their car seat again, back in human form. “You’ve got them
well trained.”
Bax checked the rear view mirror and smiled lovingly. “They’re good pups. I don’t know what I
would have done without them.” He turned his gaze back to the road and Abel hoped for something
more, but the young omega was silent.
Abel guided him automatically through the increasingly crowded streets. The mystery of this
omega showing up here, claiming to be Jason’s cousin—and Abel was nearly a hundred percent sure
that that was a total fabrication—made him want to dig deeper into the situation.
He reminded Abel a bit of Jason—nurturing, but not weak. What Abel liked most was that he
didn’t cower. Oh, he presented the appearance of it—he’d obviously been taught to behave in a
certain way in the presence of alphas, and the wary manner in which he watched Mac and Abel told
Abel that he’d suffered when he’d failed to meet expectations. But there was an inner strength to him,
in the way he held himself, how he stayed focused on his pups despite the strangeness of his
circumstances, that spoke of a spirit that wouldn’t be broken.
That was attractive.
The silence in the car was awkward. “So, where were you born?” He might as well find out a
little about the newcomer.
Bax started and turned wide eyes on him. “I was born in Buffalo Gap, but I was mated in
Jackson-Jellystone.”
“That would explain the accent.” He could listen to that Texas twang all day, the slow way of
speaking with its nasal vowels.
 The corners of Bax’s mouth turned up. “Patrick hated it. He said it sounded like a back country
yokel.”
“That’s funny, coming from a Mississippi native.”
“I know.” Bax’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he rubbed his thumb over his baby’s back. “I
didn’t make much effort to lose it.” He bit his lower lip and cast a quick, assessing glance at Abel.
Taking my temperature. “That’s a silly thing to complain about; I think your accent is
charming.” He watched a slight flush rise in Bax’s cheeks and was surprised—or perhaps not—at his
own satisfaction. “You drove here all by yourself?”
“Just me and the pups. It was fun.” He reached over to ruffle the fur on the head of the pup Abel
held. “It’s a wonder we weren’t sick, after all the junk we ate on the road, right Fan?”
So this one was Fan. The pup didn’t pay any attention to his bearer, too busy trying to see
everything to be bothered with anyone else in the car. “He’s your oldest then?”
“Yes. The next one is Teca, then Beatrice, and finally Noah.” Bax pressed a kiss to the baby’s
head, and Abel could hear the pride in the other shifter’s voice as he talked about his pups.
Something niggled at the back of Abel’s mind, and he fell silent for a few blocks, scrounging
through his memory. For an instant, he thought he’d never figure it out, and then he had it. “We’ve met
already, haven’t we?”
Bax paused, then nodded. “Just after Patrick and I were mated.”
Yes, now Abel remembered him. He also remembered thinking that Patrick didn’t deserve the
calm, elegant creature that waited on them hand-and-foot during his visit. “Turn right here. It’s at the
third cross street.” He considered not asking, but he wondered how it was that Bax was so friendless,
when he’d been mated to the Alpha of his pack. “It was a car accident, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” The light of a streetlamp glanced across Bax’s carefully neutral expression. “They’d
been outside walls for something to do with welfare for the pack, and decided to have a few drinks
on the way home. Which made them late, and they hit a turn too hard just outside the city.” His lips
tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
Bax said nothing, but his hand began to move again on the baby’s back. Fan barked and jumped
to look out the passenger window at a family playing in front of an apartment building.
“Fan, sit down,” Bax told him.
“I’ve got him. He seems ready to get out and play.”
“We’ve been in the car all day. He was really good, but you’re right. It’s too long for a little boy
to be stuck in a car seat.”
“How old is he?” Abel was curious. Bax didn’t look that old, but with his clear skin and
delicate bone structure, he could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty.
“He’s three and a half. He was born eight months after Patrick and I were mated.”
And obviously an unhappy mating, from the clenched jaw and the white knuckles. Some days,
Abel despaired of his people. He’d taken over Mercy Hills just over six years ago, the youngest
Alpha the pack had ever had. Arranged matings were already on their way out in Mercy Hills long
before he came to power—even Abel’s parents had been allowed to choose, subject to consanguinity.
But most of the other packs were still stuck back in the days of the Enclosure, when there was no
contact between the enclaves, and the elders of the pack had to worry about too close relations
breeding. “So, how did you and Patrick meet?” He should stop now, but he couldn’t seem to help
himself. Abel soothed the prickings of his conscience with the knowledge that he would need to know
these things anyway. This was just a little earlier.
Another random document with
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table, with which it was furnished, were located centrally, and so
crossed each other exactly under the spindle. It was therefore
impossible to use a boring-bar in this tool, and its usefulness was
ridiculously disproportioned to its size. The contrast between it and
the Smith & Coventry drill, which was set in its place, was really
wonderful. We had no trouble in disposing of this and all other
rejected tools to parties who were delighted to get them cheap. It
took us about six months to get rid of all the rubbish and fill the
works with the best tools then obtainable, though still deficient in
many respects, as, for instance, the great planer, which had only one
cutting tool on the cross-slide, whereas a planer of that size should
be provided with four cutting tools—two on the cross-slide and one
on each upright, and should be twice as heavy.
One of the first engines we sold was to D. M. Osborne & Co., the
celebrated makers of mowers and reapers in Auburn, for driving their
rolling mill. This was 18×30-inch engine, making 150 revolutions per
minute, and was the fifth engine I had furnished to different
industries in my native town.
Twenty-five years afterwards I saw this engine running. They had
increased its speed. By means of a large ball on projections of the
forked lever they were able to vary the speed from 200 revolutions to
250 revolutions per minute, according to the sizes they were rolling.
I observed that, as our facilities for doing work were increased, the
belief that I was unable to execute orders became general through
the country, and applications, at first numerous, dwindled to almost
nothing. United and well-directed action would soon have put a new
face on matters, but now I was to meet with obstacles that time could
not overcome.
Mr. Merrick was an amiable and high-toned gentleman, whose
sole aim was to do his duty; but he was exactly the wrong man for
the place. He was not an engineer or mechanic. In the firm of S. V.
Merrick & Sons he had been the office man. He was entirely a man
of routine. He seemed obtuse to a mechanical reason for doing or
not doing anything. Of course he knew nothing about my business.
He was impressed with the idea of the omnipotence of the president,
which in his case was true, as the directors would unanimously
approve of whatever he might do. He at once deprived me of the
power of appointment and discharge in my own department,
arrogating all authority to himself. In addition he was naturally a very
reserved man, I may say secretive. He consulted me about nothing. I
never knew what he proposed to do or was doing until I found out
afterwards. He had grandly confessed his first two blunders, but
unfortunately he continued to make mistakes equally serious to the
end of the chapter.
About the first order we had was from a company formed for
lighting the streets in Philadelphia with arc lights, of which Thomas
Dolan, a prominent manufacturer in Philadelphia, was president. Our
order was for eight engines, 8×16 inches, to drive eight Brush
dynamos each of 40-light power. The order was given to Mr. Merrick.
I never saw Mr. Dolan; his own mill was at the northern end of the
city, and he met Mr. Merrick by appointment at lunch in the business
center, to which conferences I was never invited. When the plant
was in operation I heard incidentally that they had a new engineer at
the electric-light works, and I thought I would go up and make his
acquaintance. I went the same evening. I was met at the door by a
stranger who politely showed me the plant. I did not introduce
myself. He asked me if I were interested in electric lighting. I told him
I was not but might be. He said it was his duty to warn me against
the use of high-speed engines; he should not have advised these,
but found them already installed when he took charge of the place,
and he was doing the best he could to make them answer for the
present, but the works would be greatly enlarged after a while, when
these engines would be gotten rid of and proper engines substituted
in place of them. He called his assistant to corroborate his statement
of the difficulty they had in getting along with them. I listened to these
outrageous falsehoods and looked around and saw the eight
engines running smoothly and silently at 280 revolutions per minute,
each engine exerting the power of four engines of the same size, at
the old maximum speed of 70 revolutions per minute, and giving
absolutely uniform motion without a fly-wheel, and said nothing.
The next morning I made an early call on Mr. Dolan at his office. I
introduced myself to him, although I think he knew me by sight. I told
him the state of affairs I found at the electric-light station and
received from him in reply the following astounding statement. He
said: “Mr. Porter, when this company was formed I selected the
Southwark Foundry as our engineers. I had previously become
acquainted with the running of some of your engines and had come
to the conclusion that they were just what we needed; accordingly I
ordered our first engines from you. I assumed the engineering
department of this enterprise to be in your hands, and that you would
be represented here by an engineer selected by yourselves and
devoted to your interest. Accordingly, when your men had finished
their job I applied to your president to send me an engineer. He sent
me a workman. That was not the kind of man I asked him for; the
engines were in charge of workmen already from your own works. I
wanted an educated man who could represent us in the courts and
before the city councils—in short, an engineering head for this
business, now in its infancy, but which was expected to grow to large
proportions. He ought to have known what I wanted, or if he did not
he should have asked me; his whole manner was entirely indifferent,
he seemed to take no interest in the enterprise.
“Seeing I could get no help from Mr. Merrick, I applied to William
Sellers for an engineer. He sent me a young man from his drawing-
office, and I soon found out he was not the man I wanted; he knew
nothing about a steam-engine—was merely a machine-tool
draftsman—so I found I must rely upon myself. The only man I could
think of was this man I have. He had done some good work for me
two or three years ago in repairing one of my engines, so I offered
him the position, which he accepted. I knew nothing of his
engineering preferences; he seems to be doing very well, and I am
afraid he will have to stay;” and stay he did.
The result was most remarkable. A demand for electric-lighting
plants was springing up in all parts of the country. This became
widely known as a pioneer plant, and was visited daily by parties
who were interested in such projects. These visitors were met at the
door by the engineer and his assistant and were warned, just as I
was, to have nothing to do with a high-speed engine. They were
always business men, quite ignorant of machinery, and with whom
the testimony of two practical men who had experience with the
engines and were actuated in their advice by a sense of duty was
conclusive. The result was that we never had a single application to
supply engines for electric lighting. Yes, we did have one application;
a man came into the office when I was there alone and gave me an
order for his mill and apologized to me for giving it. He said the place
where he was obliged to locate his lighting plant was so limited, he
found he could not get in the engine he wanted.
This result I felt especially exasperated at when a year afterwards
the secretary of the lighting company, who had his office at the
station, told me that he had done something of which he knew his
directors would not approve; he had sold every light they were able
to furnish. He had felt safe in doing this, because no one of the
engines had failed them for an instant. For his part he could not see
what those men were there for—they had absolutely nothing to do
except to start and stop the engines as required and attend to the
oiling. Their principal occupation seemed to be waiting on visitors.
This great disaster would have been avoided if Mr. Merrick had
conferred with me with respect to Mr. Dolan’s most important
request. We should have had a man there who would have told the
truth about the engines, and would have impressed every visitor with
the enormous advantage of the high-speed engine, not only for that
service, but also for every use to which steam power can be applied.
It will be observed that this disaster was widespread and
continuous. It not only caused a great immediate loss, but its
ultimate injury was beyond all computation. Its effect was that the
Porter-Allen engine was shut out of the boundless field of generating
electricity for light and power purposes, a field which was naturally its
own.
The following story is too good to keep, although the incident had
no effect that I am aware of to accelerate my downward progress.
While in Newark I had built for Mr. Edison an engine for his
experimental plant at Menlo Park. The satisfaction this engine gave
may be judged by what follows: One day I had a call from Mr.
Edison, accompanied by Charles L. Clarke, his engineer. They had
been walking very rapidly, and Mr. Edison, who was rather stout, was
quite out of breath. As soon as they were seated, without waiting to
recover his wind Mr. Edison began, ejaculating each sentence while
catching his breath: “Want a thousand engines.” “Thousand
engines.” “Want you to make the plans for them.” “Have all the shops
in New England working on the parts.” “Bring them here to be
assembled.” “Thousand engines.” In the conversation that followed I
gently let Mr. Edison down, not to the earth, but in sight of it. The
result was that two or three weeks afterwards I was injudicious
enough to accept from him an order for twenty-four engines, luckily
all of one size and type. This was to be a rush order, but it called for
new drawings and patterns, as he wanted a special proportion of
diameter and stroke, larger diameter and shorter stroke than those in
my table. Before the drawings and patterns were completed, Mr.
Edison, or the people associated with him, discovered that they had
no place to put more than six of these engines, so the order was
reduced to six. These were for a station which was being prepared
on the west side of Pearl Street, a few doors south of Fulton, New
York City. Three of these engines were finished first. After they had
been running a few days a defect of some kind, the nature of which I
never knew, was discovered, and Mr. Edison’s attention was called
to it. He charged it to the engine, and exclaimed impetuously, “Turn
them out, turn them out!” It was represented to him, however, that
they could hardly do this, as they were under contract for a
considerable amount of light and power, and the current was being
furnished satisfactorily. “Well,” said he, “we’ll have no more of them
at any rate,” so the order for the remaining three engines was
countermanded, and three Armington & Sims engines were ordered
in place of them. When these were started the same difficulty
appeared with them also. A fresh investigation disclosed the fact that
the difficulty was entirely an electrical one, and the engines had
nothing to do with it. Mr. Clarke claimed that had been his belief from
the beginning. So the thousand engines dwindled to three engines
sold and three thrown back on our hands. The two triplets ran
together harmoniously until in the development of the electrical
business that station was abandoned.
Directly after we began to do work, Mr. E. D. Leavitt brought us the
business of the Calumet and Hecla mine. This was then the largest
copper mine in the country, owned by a Boston company of which
Mr. Agassiz, son of the great naturalist, was president. He brought it
to me personally on account of his admiration for the engine, and
also for the character of work which I had inaugurated. His first order
was for an engine of moderate size. While that was building he
brought us a small order for a repair job, amounting perhaps to a
couple of hundred dollars. That work was spoiled in the shop by
some blunder and had to be thrown away and made over again. By
accident I saw the bill for that job; a green boy brought it from the
treasurer’s desk for Mr. Merrick’s approval. We both happened to be
out, and by mistake he laid it on my side of the table. I came in first,
picked it up and read it, and saw that it was for the full amount of the
material and work that had been put on the job. It seemed to me
quite double what it ought to be. I laid it on Mr. Merrick’s side and,
when he came in, told him how I came to see it, and I thought it
should not be sent, being so greatly increased by our own fault.
“Oh,” said he, “they are rich; they won’t mind it.” I said: “That is not
the question with me; I don’t think it is just to charge our customers
for our own blunders.” He smiled at my innocence, saying: “If a
machine-shop does not make its customers pay for its blunders, it
will soon find itself in the poorhouse.” “Well,” said I, “I protest against
this bill being sent.” However, it was sent, and in the course of a few
days a check came for the full amount, and Mr. Merrick laughed at
me. Weeks and months passed away and we had heard no more
from Mr. Leavitt, when I met him in New York at a meeting of the
council of the Society of Mechanical Engineers. When the meeting
was over he invited me to walk with him, and said to me: “I suppose
you have observed that I have not visited the Southwark Foundry
lately.” I told him I had observed it. He then said: “Do you remember
that bill?” I told him I did very well, and how vainly I had protested
against its being sent. He said: “When that bill was brought to me for
approval, I hesitated about putting my initials to it until I had shown it
to Mr. Agassiz. I told him what the job was and the bill was quite
twice as large as I had expected. He replied, ‘Pay it, but don’t go to
them any more,’ and I have taken our work to the Dickson
Manufacturing Company at Scranton.” I realized that I had lost the
most influential engineering friend I had since the death of Mr.
Holley. I heard some years after, and believe it, though I do not
vouch for its correctness, that the work sent to the Dickson
Manufacturing Company through Mr. Leavitt had in one year
exceeded one hundred thousand dollars.
 E. D. Leavitt

Some time previous to these events, Mr. Merrick had done a very
high-handed thing. Assuming supreme power as president of the
company, he had invaded my department, and, without a word to
me, had appointed over Mr. Goodfellow a superintendent to suit
himself, reducing Mr. Goodfellow to be general foreman of the
machine-shop, to take his orders from the new superintendent and
not from me, whereupon Mr. Goodfellow resigned, and accepted a
position as master mechanic in the Pennsylvania Steel Works, and
by his advice the engine ordered by them from me was taken from
the Southwark Foundry in its incomplete condition and finished by
themselves under Mr. Goodfellow’s direction. Mr. Merrick then filled
Mr. Goodfellow’s place with another friend of his own as general
foreman, a man who would have been as valuable as a stick of wood
but for his incessant blunders. I was fully alive to the arbitrary nature
of this usurpation, but was entirely helpless, knowing perfectly well
that the directors would sustain the president in whatever he did.
With the coming of the new superintendent, the fatal change took
place. He came, first of all, full of the superiority of Philadelphia
mechanics, and, second, feeling that in the nature of things I must be
entirely ignorant of anything mechanical. I was nothing but a New
York lawyer; never did a day’s work in a shop in my life; had gone
into a business I was not educated to and knew nothing about. My
presuming to give orders to mechanics, and Philadelphia mechanics
too, filled him with indignation. He would not take an order from me
—perish the thought—and as for my drawings, he would depart from
them as much as he liked.
All this appeared by degrees. I observed on the floor several
cylinders fitted up, in which the followers for the piston-rod stuffing-
boxes were made sliding fits on the rods. I asked him why he had
made them in this way when they were drawn and figured to be
bored ¹⁄₃₂ inch larger than the rod. He replied, “Because this is the
way they ought to be.” I told him every one of them would be fired
before the engine had run an hour; that I wanted him to bore those
followers to the drawings, as well as the cylinder heads back of the
stuffing-boxes. “It shall be done, sir,” said he. On examining them
after this had been done, I found he had turned as much off from the
outside of the followers as he had bored out of the hole. I asked him
why he had done that. He said he supposed if I wanted the inside to
be loose, I wanted the outside to be loose too. I told him I did not. He
asked me why. I told him he was not there to argue with me; I
wanted him to throw those followers away and make new ones
precisely to the drawings, and I saw to it myself that it was done. I
went to Mr. Merrick about this matter, and can the reader imagine
what his reply was? “My advice to you, Mr. Porter, is to leave all such
matters to the superintendent.” Think of it; an amateur president
assuming the direction of my business, and giving such advice to
me, who never had left the least thing to anybody, and without
considering the fact that the action of his superintendent would be
ruinous, except for my interference. I realized that I was absolutely
alone, but I felt very much like fighting the whole world. The above
incident is a fair sample of my constant experience. I was on the
watch all the time. Many times I required the work to be done over
when the superintendent departed from my drawings, and in doing it
over he generally contrived to ruin the job, and would say, “Just
according to your orders, sir.” I was reminded of a story told of Dr.
Beman, a minister of Troy, N. Y., whose wife was peculiar, to say the
least. On a certain occasion the presbytery met in Troy, and one
evening he invited its members to his house, and told his wife to
provide just a light supper. When they were ushered into the supper-
room there was nothing on the table but lighted candles. “A light
supper,” said she, “just as you ordered, sir.”
 Samuel T. Wellman

I proposed to appoint an inspector to represent me. The general

foreman said if an inspector were appointed he should resign, and
Mr. Merrick forbade it. Was ever a man in so helpless and ridiculous
a position?

February 2nd Porter-Allen Engine—40×48

Otis Iron and Steel Co.
93 Rev. Cleveland,
84 Lbs. } April 14, 1882

The second of the large engines which I finished was for the Otis
Steel Works. I went to Cleveland myself to start the engine and
found that Mr. Wellman, the general manager, had it running already.
Mr. Otis, the president, was very much pleased with it, and well he
might be. This was the first mill to roll plates from the ingot to the
finish without reheating. These were the kind of diagrams it made. It
will be observed that these were taken at different times and under
different pressures. Unfortunately the right hand one is the only
diagram I have from the crank end of the cylinder. In rolling these
heavy plates the changes were made instantaneously from full load
to nothing and from nothing to full load. The engine made 93
revolutions per minute, and it will be seen that the changes were
made by the governor in a third of a second or less, the speed not
varying sensibly. Mr. Otis said to me: “Oh, Mr. Porter, what shall I do
with you? You cannot imagine the loss I have suffered from your
delay in furnishing this engine.” I said: “Mr. Otis, you know the
terrible time I have had, and that I have done the very best I could.”
“Yes,” he said, “I know all about it.” He had, in fact, been to
Philadelphia and seen for himself. He added: “You make a small
engine suitable for electric lights; what is the price of an engine
maintaining twenty-five arc lights?” I told him $1050. “Well,” said he,
“you strike off the odd fifty and let me have one for a thousand
dollars, and we will call it square,” so I had some sunshine on my
way. I present a portrait of this just man. The engine is now running
as good as new after twenty-five years, and the company five or six
years afterwards put in another 48×66-inch to drive a still larger train.
I had a funny experience at the Cambria Works which has always
seemed to me to have been prophetic. In August, 1881, the Society
of Mechanical Engineers held a meeting in Altoona, and the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company gave us an excursion to Johnstown
to visit the works of the Cambria Company. The anticipations of the
members were expressed by Jackson Bailey, then the editor of the
American Machinist. As I was going through a car in which he was
seated he called out to me, “This is your day, Porter.” The party was
taken in charge by Mr. Morrell, the general manager. Our route took
us first to their new blast-furnaces, where considerable time was
spent in examining their new and interesting features. Next we came
to my second engine, started some two months before. The engine
was just being slowed down; we were told there were not yet
furnaces enough to keep the train running continuously, so they were
shut down from half an hour to an hour between heats, and a heat
had just been run off. We went next to see my rail-mill engine, which
had raised the output of that mill 150 per cent. That too had been
shut down. They had just broken a roll, a most rare accident and one
which I had never before seen or heard of there. “Well, gentlemen,”
said I, “at any rate I can show you my engine driving a cold saw.”
Arrived at the spot, we found that all still, and were told that sawing
cold rails was not a continuous operation, we had hit upon the noon
hour, and the men had gone to their dinner. That was the end of the
show, as far as I was concerned. The Gautier Works were a mile
away and were not included in our visit, so we were entertained with
the great blooming-mill in operation and the casting of the enormous
ingots for it, and after the customary luncheon and speeches we
returned to Altoona.
 Charles A. Otis

One day the superintendent came into the office and told me he
had tried my machine for facing nuts and it would not work. I felt
disappointed, because I had confidence in it. I went out to see what
the matter was, and at a glance I saw that it had been ingeniously
arranged not to work. The feed had been made rapid and the cutting
motion very slow, so that the tools could not take their cuts and the
slow-moving belt ran off the pulleys. I did not reduce the feed-
motion, but increased the speed of the cutters and the belt some
eight or ten-fold, when the trouble vanished. I never knew anything
to work better than that tool did.
 Porter-Allen Engine 40″×48″ #207
Dash pot for Governor.

The burning anxiety of the superintendent was to show up my

ignorance. A first-rate chance to do so soon seemed to present itself.
The counterpoise of the governor of the Otis engine dropped
instantly to its seat when a plate struck the rolls and as instantly rose
to the top of its range of action when it left them. This made a noisy
blow which was disagreeable and might in time cause an accident.
Mr. Wellman sent me a sketch of a device he had thought of for
arresting this motion by air-cushions. I told the superintendent to
have that apparatus made and make the air-cushions four inches in
diameter. He said four inches diameter would not answer; they must
be eight inches. “No,” said I, “four inches diameter is ample; make
them four inches.” A few days after he called me into the shop to try
my four-inch air-cushions. I found the apparatus secured in a vise in
a vertical position. I took hold of the lever and lifted the piston; it met
with no resistance until it struck sharply against the end of the
chamber. For a moment I was stunned by the man’s audacity, and
threw the piston up and down again to make sure it was not a
dream. I then turned my back on the superintendent and called to a
boy to find Mr. Fulmer, the foreman of the second floor, and tell him I
wanted him here. In a moment he appeared, and I said to him: “Mr.
Fulmer, I want you to make a new piston for this apparatus and
make it a proper fit; you understand.” Mr. Fulmer bowed assent. I
added: “There will be time to-day to get it into the sand, and it can be
finished early to-morrow. When it is ready for my inspection come
yourself to the office and let me know.” About the middle of the next
forenoon Mr. Fulmer called for me. I went in and found the piston
arrested at each end of its motion by a perfect air-cushion. “All right,”
said I, “see that it is shipped to-day.”
Mr. Fulmer was an excellent mechanic and a man of good general
intelligence; he would have made the piston a proper fit in the first
place if he had not been expressly ordered to make it loose and
useless. The superintendent, on his persistent assumption that I was
a fool, had actually expected me to say when I tried the apparatus:
“Oh, I see, four inches diameter will not do. You will have to make it
eight.”
Some time in 1881 or 1882 I had a queer experience with an
engine for the New York Post Office. It was to take the place of an
engine then running. The engineer of the Post Office informed me
that this engine had a cylinder twelve inches in diameter. I told him it
looked to me from the external dimensions that the diameter must be
fourteen inches and asked him to take off the back head and
measure it for me. He wrote me a few days after that he found that
he could not get the back head off, but I might rely upon it being
twelve inches. So I did rely upon it being fourteen inches, furnished
an engine accordingly, and found it to be the size needed.
Daniel J. Morrell
 Some time after the engine was started I received a line from the
Postmaster saying they were much disappointed in it. They expected
a gain in economy, but they were burning more coal than before,
also that the engine pounded badly. I went to New York to see what
the matter was. The engine seemed to be working all right except for
the knock, so I made my way down to the sub-cellar. There was
nothing there but the boilers and the engineer’s desk. On the cellar
stairs, after I had shut the door behind me, I heard a loud sound of
escaping steam. The boilers were under the middle of the building; a
four-inch steam-pipe ran from them a distance of about eighty feet,
suspended from the ceiling, to a point under the engine, then turned
up through the floor to the under side of the steam-chest. The
exhaust pipe, of the same size, came from the engine through the
floor and was carried parallel with the steam-pipe to the middle of the
building and upward through the roof. The two pipes were about
eighteen inches apart, and in the vertical portions under the ceiling
they had been connected by a half-inch pipe having a globe valve in
the middle of its length. The valve-stem was downward and the valve
set wide open. The noise I heard was caused by the steam rushing
through this pipe. I computed that about as much steam was being
thus blown away as was used by the engine. My first impulse was to
call upon the Postmaster and tell him what I had found, but I decided
not to bother him. I could not reach the valve to close it, but
discovered a box used for a step to an opening in the wall, so I
brought that out and standing upon it was able to close the valve;
then the noise ceased and I put the box back.
There was no one in the cellar but a boy firing the boilers. I asked
him if he knew who put that pipe there. He knew nothing about it, but
supposed our men put it there when they set up the engine. I hunted
up the engineer and asked him the same question, and got the same
answer. I went to the people who did the engineering work for the
Post Office and who had put in the pipes; they knew nothing about it.
I could find out nothing, but had to content myself with telling the
engineer that I had closed the valve and relied upon him to keep it
closed. I asked him what he thought caused the thump in the engine;
he said he had not the slightest idea, but he would try to cure it. I
contented myself with writing to the Postmaster that I had removed
the cause of the waste of steam and hoped he would now find the
engine satisfactory. Soon after Mr. Merrick was in New York for two
or three days. When he came home he said: “I have cured the thump
in that Post Office engine.” “How did you do it?” I asked. He replied:
“I gave the engineer a twenty-dollar gold piece, and when I went to
see it the next morning the thump was gone.” I should add that when
the old engine was taken down I had the back cylinder head
removed, which was done without difficulty, and found the diameter
fourteen inches. “For ways that are dark and tricks that are vain” this
engineer was “peculiar” in my experience.
I had brought with me from Newark an order from the Willimantic
Linen Company, who were manufacturers of cotton thread, for two
engines for quite an interesting application. They were building a
new mill entirely unique in its design, which has never been
repeated, being an ignorant freak. It was a one-story mill 800 feet
long and 250 or 300 feet wide, intended to contain five lines of
shafting. Each line was independent and drove the machinery for all
the successive operations from opening the cotton bales to packing
the spools of thread. These lines of shafting 800 feet long were to be
in the basement and to drive these machines by belts through the
floor, the engine to be in the middle of each line. For this purpose I
supplied a pair of condensing engines, 11 inches diameter of
cylinder and 16 inches stroke, making 350 revolutions per minute,
with their cranks set at right angles with each other in the line of
shafting. These required no fly-wheel and would start from any
position. I had a great deal of trouble with this order on account of
the delay in its execution, so much so that before the first engine
was finished the order for the second one was countermanded, and
this order was placed with the Hartford Engineering Company, a new
concern which was foolish enough to undertake the same speed.
However, after my first engine was started they found themselves
face to face with an impossibility and had to throw up their contract,
whereupon the president of the company became very civil and
asked me to be kind enough to make the second engine for them,
which I was quite happy to do, as I had on hand the peculiar bed for
these engines, which I did not break up after the order was
countermanded, but had it set up against the wall of the shop in