Chapter One: Sniffing Out Trouble
Clifton, Arizona
August 3rd, 1883
Nora
What would her papa think, Nora wondered, if he could see her now? Part the heavenly clouds above, peer down with loving eyes upon his own progeny, his beloved daughter, raised by his own kind and steady hand...
With a snort, Nora spared a brief glance skyward (or ceilingward, as it were), offering a silent apology to her departed sire, because she knew just how scandalized he would be at what had become of her after his passing.
The instant her father died, Nora’s peaceful, idyllic life seemed to rush by. Everything moved around her at double-pace: the bankers, the auctions, the pitying faces that tore her world apart all the same and left her destitute and alone.
Lacking connections, marriage prospects, and recognition in polite society, and with no family to care for her, Nora had few choices. When her meager funds ran out, she walked into the local parlor saloon and accepted her lot in life with Madam Cynthia upstairs, who was more than eager to take an untouched omega into her fold.
Even so, the world showed no signs of slowing. Her life seemed poised to continue speeding along this way, change after change, shock after shock, with no chance to reflect, to consider or plan. No time to process a single thing.
Until her first customer. And then time stopped altogether.
Nora pressed her fingertips to her cheek, feeling the still-swollen flesh, hot under her touch. The bruise had really started coming in this morning. Last night, her left cheekbone and the area around her eye had been angry red. She leaned back a little further into the shadows of her corner, where the madam had instructed her to remain unless called for, to ‘spare the customers from seeing her face’.
Now, time moved at a snail’s pace. Crawling by, trying to ensure she felt every second of her pain and suffering as long as possible. The dull throbbing in her face and head was nothing next to the raw ache deep in her breast, wrenching with every beat of her heart, every breath she took. Papa was gone. Why had he always fallen silent when she asked about her future? Why hadn’t she pressed him more when he told her they’d get her out among society in ‘good time’?
Though his illness was sudden, he was always resolved to get better. He had even improved before he’d just... gone. She hadn’t ever thought he’d die from it, not really. Not her solid papa, who could run their small homestead with just her help almost year round. He could do anything; he was strong as an ox and twice as stubborn. Had she suspected his demise, even fleetingly, she might have asked him about her future. Maybe then, all of this would be different.
But she hadn’t. And it wasn’t.
Nora startled from her painful musings abruptly, her head snapping up to cast her wary hazel eyes quickly around the dimly-lit saloon. At first, she thought the sound of the swinging doors creaking in protest had caught her attention, the hinges beyond ready for an oiling. Or perhaps the strange, muted tension that filled the space as the new man entered. The heels of his boots rang out in a muted click against the dirty, sawdust-covered worn wood of the floor beneath him, rusted spurs jangling with each step.
But no, it had been the man’s scent. Alpha. Powerful. Dangerous. A hint of spice, of gunpowder and green pastures and fresh-tilled earth. Smells that filled her with a sudden burst of indescribable joy.
Nora had never had much call to consider her designation before her father’s death. A beta, he’d been oddly reluctant to discuss much about such things. He’d mentioned once that her mother had been an omega. As she’d passed giving birth to Nora, she knew precious little about her, and had filed that one fact away in the precious space in her mind reserved for her scant knowledge about the woman who gave her life.
Living on their homestead, Nora saw few people beside her father. Only some betas from the nearby farm, who helped during planting and harvest seasons. Since there was no one for her to ask, she had put her questions and curiosity aside.
The scent of an alpha—the first she’d ever experienced—now overwhelmed her. All her questions about designations surged back to the forefront of her mind. Was it always this intense? How did an omega manage to exist in society? She could hardly catch her thoughts and put them into any semblance of order; she was so unbalanced by her response.
The man—the Alpha—had seated himself at the bar, his back to her. He took up perceptibly more space than any single person should, his presence, his aura itself feeling like a physical buffer around him. His shoulders were narrow, but even though his worn leather duster, she could see the strength of him, the power.
As Nora watched, he pulled off his equally-worn leather gloves, tossing them onto the bar top. The bartender slid a bottle and glass towards him and retreated several steps, as if unable to put enough distance between the two of them. The Alpha poured himself a finger of whiskey, lifted it toward his lips, and then paused. Went dead still.
His gaze swept the saloon, steel blue eyes searching until they met hers, somehow, in her darkened spot near the end of the bar. His nostrils flared, his brow furrowed. Then the corner of his lips quirked upwards, a brief tick before his face returned to an impassive mask.
“You might as well come on out.”
Nora knew immediately that he was talking to her. As she continued to stare at him in an equal mix of abject wonder and terror, the man knocked back the whiskey.
“Ain’t leavin’ ’til I get a look at you, little omega.”
The saloon was silent. The stillness resembled a painting, so vast the space felt frozen. Nora swallowed, fisting her hands in her skirts for a moment before she let out a slow breath and stood, stepping just barely into the lamplight, leaving her features shrouded in shadow. Her heart raced in her chest, a frantic rhythm that threatened to send her to the floor in a dead faint.
He’d turned on his stool now, feet up on the rungs, elbows leaned back on the bar top as he gave her his full attention.
“Come on, let’s see you proper, now.”
His voice, pitched low, was rough, as if from disuse. The faintly cajoling tone coaxed her to step forward into the light.
Nora’s reddish-brown hair hung over her shoulders in loose waves. Her pale skin made the deep purple bruise that covered her entire left cheek stand out in stark relief, and the dark ring under her left eye, the sclera slightly bloodshot, worked in tandem with the bruise to tell a story plain as day across the canvas of her mottled flesh.
With her hands clasped in front of her, the purple and dark blue marks ringing her wrists and upper arm were just visible beneath the short cap sleeves of her low-cut blue silk dress. Several bite marks decorated her décolletage, and she held herself stiff and rigid, her body still achy and sore.
Nora’s eyes lifted to meet his. Only a few steps closer, and his scent was even more overpowering. She had never seen this man before; she knew that for sure, but she couldn’t deny a certain familiarity about the smell of him. Something that spoke to a part of her deep inside.
He was off the stool in an instant, his casual posture traded in for the coiled muscles of a predator ready to pounce. A woman somewhere to Nora’s left gasped, as if in fear for her mortal soul.
In two strides he was directly in front of her, staring into her eyes with an intensity that quite stole her ability to think. His piercing gaze held her captive.
“Who did this to you?”
The words were bitten-off rather than spoken. His hand went to the revolver at his hip, and the entire room seemed to hold its breath. He leaned down, bringing himself even closer to her. This time when he spoke, he pitched his voice low for only her ears.
“Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll make sure they never do it again.”
Nora could feel the stares, none more acutely than those of the madam standing nearby. She looked up to meet The Alpha’s gaze before letting her eyes move to rest on a nearby portly man slouched low in his chair. Several empty tankards sat on the table before him, and just visible beyond the wide brim of his hat were several long, angry-looking scratches across his right cheek, barely beginning to scab over. Fresh.
She took a deep breath of The Alpha’s scent, finding it deeply comforting in her distress. It grew stronger, deeper, infused with power and aggression, and Nora felt herself tremble. Not in fear, but some other strange, quaking emotion that made her breath catch, her body ache. Several men at the nearby tables shifted uncomfortably, as if trying to edge away from the display of dominance, to show their surrender.
Then he was leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered: “Stay here.”
The Alpha turned on his heel and stalked across the saloon. He didn’t draw his gun. He didn’t need to. Just planted one hand on the beta’s table and leaned down, his shadow swallowing the man whole.Nora’s breath caught in her throat as she watched.
“Those scratches look fresh,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Funny thing about scratches like that… they usually come with a story.”
The beta swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the revolver.
“I-I don’t know what you’re—”
The Alpha’s free hand shot out, gripping the man’s collar and yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.
“Let’s hear it.”
The beta’s breath hitched, his scent souring the room with fear. His eyes rolled wildly in a futile attempt to find a champion among the saloon patrons. When everyone’s gazes remained averted, he looked back up at The Alpha, and a kind of resigned resolve overtook his features.
It probably helped that he was pretty drunk.
“I paid. Full price, even—an’ she didn’t come cheap, I’ll have you know! ‘New and fresh’, the madam said, pshaw!” He spat out of the corner of his mouth, a glob of tobacco-stained spittle that hit the floor far short of his intended target—the bruised and battered Nora.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she shifted back a step, her eyes refusing to leave the scene before her.
“I paid, an’ I didn’t get my money’s worth, I’ll tell you that! The hellcat attacked me! What’s she doin’, selling her body if she ain’t gonna let a man take what he’s owed?”
Nora stood rigidly, grinding her teeth. She kept her eyes lowered, even as she heard the sharp click of the madam’s heeled boots coming across the floor. The beta wasn’t wrong. She had agreed. Only, in the moment, when his hands were on her, his horrible breath in her face… she panicked. She couldn’t go through with it.
Something seemed to snap in The Alpha, and his grip on the man’s collar tightened, knuckles white. The scent of his rage filled the air. Several patrons beat a hasty retreat out of the saloon, the swinging doors protesting the harsh treatment with indignant squeals.
“You paid,” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “And you think that buys you the right to break her?”
The beta opened his mouth—to protest or to beg; The Alpha didn’t care. Before he could speak, the outlaw yanked the round man forward, slamming his face into the table.
Wood cracked. Blood splattered.
The saloon erupted into chaos; chairs scraped, men shouted, and the madam’s shrill protest cut through the noise, setting Nora’s teeth on edge.
But The Alpha didn’t let go.
He dragged the beta upright by his collar, blood dripping from the man’s broken nose, and leaned in close, his breath hot against his ear.
“Listen real careful,” he ground out. “You so much as look at her again, I’ll peel the skin from your bones and feed it to the coyotes. Understood?”
The beta whimpered, nodding frantically.
He shoved the man back into his chair with a snarl, then turned on his heel, his gaze locking onto the madam as she stormed toward them. His hand hovered near his revolver.
“Your turn.”
The madam, a tall, striking, and buxom woman, dressed a bit more provocatively than a woman of her age probably should, strode forward. Nora’s hands wrung behind her back. This was it, then. She’d be in trouble now.
“I must insist that you do not assault my customers,” Madam Cynthia said, her voice a sharp hiss.
The Alpha didn’t blink. He stared the madam down with the cold, dead-eyed calm of a man who’d already decided how this would end. The rest was just details.
“Your customers,” he echoed, voice rough as sandpaper. “Funny. Did you step in when he was breakin’ what’s yours?”
His gaze flickered to Nora for just a heartbeat before returning to the madam. Something dark and unreadable passed behind his eyes, and she felt her heart strangle in her chest for a moment.
“You got two choices.”
He took a step forward, close enough that Madam Cynthia had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Alpha dominance rolled off him, thick enough to taste in the air, choking in its potency.
“One. You hand her over to me. No debts. No strings. She walks out that door with me tonight, and you forget she ever worked here.”
A pause. His fingers twitched near his holster.
“Or two. I burn this place to the ground with everyone still inside, and take her anyway.”
The saloon went dead silent.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that Nora was just able to hear.
“Pick fast.”
Madam Cynthia frowned, obviously struggling to hide her reaction to The Alpha’s dominance. It was plainly obvious that the man was not bluffing. This Alpha meant what he said.
“Take her, then.” Her hand waved dismissively, trying to cover her unease with an affectation of nonchalance that she didn’t quite pull off.
Nora watched with wide eyes, no longer able to keep her gaze on the floor. She looked at the man before her, heart racing.
After giving Madam Cynthia one last, long look, he strode back to her side. The saloon stayed quiet around them, the air heavy with trepidation. He stopped in front of her, close enough that his shadow swallowed her whole, and his gaze raked over her from head to toe.
Without a word, he shrugged out of his duster and draped it over her shoulders. The weight of it, warm from his body, heavy with the scent of leather and smoke, settled around her like armor, the eyes of the patrons and the seething rage of the madam no longer able to touch her.
“Let’s go.”
His voice was rough, but softer now. He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and started for the door, his boots heavy against the floorboards, rusty spurs jingling in the silence.
But he walked slowly.
Slowly enough that she could follow.
