Chapter 31: A Bite of Jealousy
The walk back to the tavern was quiet, a pocket of stillness after the storm of the faire. Taichi carried the stuffed wolf under his arm like a shameful secret, except he didn’t feel ashamed.He felt… settled. Yamato walked beside him, their hands brushing with each step, the contact casual but electric. They didn’t speak.The honeyed taste of the kiss lingered, a private souvenir.
The Ember & Stein welcomed them with its familiar, gentle roar. The shift from midsummer sun to firelit gloom was a relief. Here, the scents were his own—oak, malt, the savory ghost of tonight’s stew.His domain. He dropped the wolf on a shelf behind the bar, right next to the polished tally sticks.Sora raised an eyebrow but said nothing, a silent miracle.
The evening rush was a manageable chaos, a rhythm Taichi’s body understood. Draw the ale, wipe the spill, banter with the regulars, all while hyper-aware of Yamato’s presence. The knight had shed his formal surcoat and now sat at the bar’s end, his broad shoulders relaxed against the wood, a half-finished tankard of the dark winter stout in front of him.He wasn’t on duty; he was just there.A fixture. His pine-and-iron scent, usually muted by armor and travel soap, was more pronounced, weaving into the tavern’s aroma like a new, essential thread.
Taichi was wiping down a sticky spot when the atmosphere shifted.It wasn’t a sound first. It was a pressure change, like the air before a lightning strike.The chatter at the tables didn’t die, but it dulled. A few betas glanced toward the door, then quickly looked away. An older alpha couple near the hearth tensed, their hands tightening around their mugs.Yamato went perfectly still. His relaxed slouch vanished, replaced by a poised, predatory silence. His eyes, fixed on the tankard a second before, lifted to the doorway.Taichi followed his gaze.
The man who entered was an alpha—that much screamed from him in a visceral, unrestrained wave of scent. It was the smell of cold river stones and wet leather, aggressive and unapologetic. He was tall, though not as tall as Yamato, with the lean, coiled strength of a hunting cat. His dark hair was tied back, emphasizing sharp cheekbones and a thin scar that bisected his brow. His eyes scanned the room, dismissive, until they landed on Taichi behind the bar.
A slow, assessing smile spread across his face. He moved with a swagger that parted the crowd, heading straight for the bar.Taichi felt his own posture lock. He didn’t drop his gaze, an omega’s typical deference.He held it, his chin lifting slightly. His stubbornness was a physical force, a wall he built on the spot.
The alpha arrived, placing both hands on the polished mahogany. “Well, now,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone that carried.“Heard the new brewmaster out this way was something special. Didn’t hear he was so pretty to look at, too.”
“The ale’s two copper a tankard,” Taichi said, his tone flat. “The view’s not for sale.”
The alpha chuckled, low and deliberate.“Spicy.I like that.Name’s Ryo. I’m with the Riverland merchants’ convoy. We’re camped just west for the night.” His eyes dragged down Taichi’s frame, then back up, lingering on his throat. On the bare, unmarked column of his neck. “Thought I’d sample the local fare.”
Before Taichi could deliver the scathing retort forming on his tongue, a shadow fell across the bar.
Yamato was there. He hadn’t made a sound, but he was suddenly present, inserting his body between Ryo and the bar’s service edge. He wasn’t touching the other alpha, but his proximity was a territorial statement. The difference in their presence was stark; where Ryo was a prowling cat, Yamato was a stoic mountain, immovable and weathered by harder storms.“The fare is spoken for,” Yamato said.His voice wasn’t loud. It was quiet, a vibration that seemed to sink into the wood of the floor.A dangerous calm.
Ryo’s smile didn’t falter.It just gained an edge. He finally turned his full attention from Taichi to Yamato, looking him up and down with deliberate insolence. “Spoken for?Doesn’t look like it.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. His gaze flicked pointedly back to Taichi’s bare neck.“No mark.No bond. I see an unclaimed omega running a business, which is… impressive. And available.”
The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a factual observation. The unspoken law of their world whispered through the silent tavern: an unbitten neck was an open invitation.
Yamato’s jaw tightened. A low sound, almost inaudible, began in his chest—a subvocal growl that Taichi felt more than heard. The scent of pine from him sharpened, spiking with a warning of dominance, of outright threat.
“You see wrong,” Yamato ground out, each word a clipped stone.“Walk away.Now.”
Ryo’s smirk deepened. He uncrossed his arms, spreading his hands in a mock-peaceful gesture. “Or what?You’ll knight me to death?I’m not breaking any codes. He’s not wearing your teeth.” He tilted his head, the performative pity in his expression as insulting as the leer.“Maybe you’re not as sure of your welcome as you pretend to be. Or maybe…” His eyes slid back to Taichi, gleaming.“Maybe he just likes playing the field. Can’t blame him. Might be waiting for a real offer.”
The growl erupted then, full and undeniable, rumbling through the room. Yamato took a single step forward, closing the distance. The firelight caught the old scars on his knuckles, whitening where his fists were clenched.“Last chance,” he said, the heat in his voice lethal.
From behind the bar, Taichi’s heart was a wild drum against his ribs. Anger, hot and bright, flashed through him—anger at Ryo’s smarmy entitlement, at the public spectacle. But underneath it, coiling low in his gut, was something else.Something dark and thrilling.
It was the anticipation.
He watched Yamato’s back, the powerful set of his shoulders, the raw, protective fury rolling off him in waves. He saw the absolute certainty in Yamato’s posture—the certainty that Taichi was his. The fact that it was both infuriating and deeply, devastatingly true was the core of the tension humming in his blood.He was unmarked.He was independent. He was his own man.And he was, irrevocably, Yamato’s.
The silence in the tavern was absolute now, every eye fixed on the two alphas. The decision hung in the balance, a spark ready to ignite.
Ryo opened his mouth, his own alpha scent flaring in defiance, ready to pour more poison.Taichi moved.He didn’t rush. He reached below the bar, his hand closing not around the cudgel he kept for drunks, but around the cool, glazed handle of a fresh tankard. He drew a perfect pint of the stout, the dark liquid frothing at the top. Then he walked to the end of the bar, the sound of his boots on the floorboards unnaturally loud.
He stopped, right beside Yamato, so close their arms almost touched. He could feel the heat coming off Yamato’s body, the vibration of his controlled rage.He looked straight at Ryo, and he smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the sharp, edge-of-a-knife smile he reserved for distributors who tried to short-change him.
“Here’s your ‘local fare,’” Taichi said, his voice clear and cutting through the thick air. He slid the tankard across the bar toward Ryo.“On the house.Drink it. Then get the fuck out of my tavern.”
He didn’t look at Yamato. He kept his eyes locked on the stunned, flickering expression on Ryo’s face. The power in the room didn’t rest with the two posturing alphas anymore. It had pivoted, decisively, to the omega behind the bar who owned the ground they stood on.
Ryo looked from the tankard, to Taichi’s defiant face, to Yamato’s blistering, promised violence. He snorted, a forced sound of dismissal. He grabbed the tankard, took a long, perfunctory swallow, and slammed it back down, ale sloshing over the sides.
“Keep your swill,” he muttered, but the bravado was gutted. The challenge had been met, not by an alpha fight, but by a sharper, more absolute authority. He turned on his heel and stalked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a final, hollow thud.
The tavern remained frozen for a three-count.Then, slowly, conversations resumed, a forced, hushed normality returning.
Yamato finally turned his head. He looked down at Taichi, his blue eyes blazing with a storm of emotions—fury, pride, a possessiveness so deep it shook him.He said nothing.
Taichi met his gaze, his own heart still pounding. The dangerous anticipation hadn’t left; it had crystallized, hanging between them in the ale-scented air. The untouched, ridiculous stuffed wolf on the shelf seemed to watch them, a silent witness to the thing Ryo had vocalized, to the truth Yamato’s growl had echoed.
Taichi’s neck felt very, very bare.