Chapter Text
“...I thank you all for gathering here to bear witness to the funeral of Viktor and Emilia Vesper. May their souls eternally rest in peace in God’s Heavenly Kingdom, as we all hope to at the hour of our passing.”
“Cielito, keep your head up,” Valentino Vesper whispers to his younger half-brother, Vangelis ‘Vox’ Vesper. The pup clings to his dress pants with an iron grip, refusing to part from his warm embrace. Val simply sighs and pats the child on the head comfortingly. It’s a gesture that he had seen his stepmother do many a time, and he does it now at her and their father’s joint funeral as a mimic of the comfort she had once provided to his brother.
In the freezing cold rain, as they’re both dressed in dark, damp clothes and mourning the loss of their parents together, that warm bit of comfort is needed more than ever.
Later that night, Vox finds himself unable to sleep.
It’s not unsurprising: for a child of his age, only eight and already having lost both his parents to black cholera, sleeping soundly the night of their closed-casket funeral is already a monumental task. Coupled with the ambient noises of the night and the thunderstorm busy crashing in waves down over the streets of New York, along with the absence of a proper parental nest or general pack caretaker, and it was no puzzle as to why the yet-unpresented child found himself staring holes into his mattress and willing himself to succumb to the warm hold of sleep.
Instead, though, what he hears instead is the scratching of nails on floorboards and creaking, groaning moans that echo through the house’s hallways.
“...Val…?” Vox pulls the covers up to his chin as he stares hesitantly at the door.
There’s nothing for a moment, and then—
The scratching sounds at the door this time. It’s closer. Louder. Deeper.
And then the groaning starts again, screaming and crying and wailing, don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t—
Don’t go to Crimson Peak.
The figure of his mother and father stand in front of him, both their faces sunken and caved in, and Vox screams, falling backwards and hitting his head on the bedframe before blacking out.
Five minutes later, when Valentino makes it to his younger brother’s room, terrified for his brother and panting for breath, he finds that the child is no longer a pup, having undergone a premature presentation.
This is not a miracle, no matter what the priests and bishops claim or what the declining presentation rate of omegas seem to represent. It has nothing to do with the fact that the last time that an omega presentation happened in the Vesper line, it was some hundreds of years ago in the stories of saints and magic. It has even less to do with destiny or a stroke of luck given to the family that had experienced such tragic losses.
What it is instead is a cruel twist of fate— one that not even the supernatural can solve.
This is how this story starts: with a beloved child, doomed to his horrific fate by the love of his family.
Eleven years later…
“Voxxy, cielo, don't look at me like that.” Valentino Vesper rolls his eyes, reclining back in his plush chair as he levels an unimpressed stare at his younger half brother. “He is a duke. Did you see his hands, estrella? They're as smooth as a baby’s . He's never worked so as much a day in his life— who's to say he's not just going to grab the money and splurge it on some useless uppity noble castle off in the West?”
“He's asking for help on behalf of his goddaughter. Isn’t that rather noble, Val? Don't be hypocritical, now— you’ve approved business ventures much more… risky, let’s say, than this one.”
Val sighs and removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looks over at Vox, who frowns at him, feeling a bit like a petulant child under the watch of his half-brother.
At nineteen to his older brother’s thirty-eight, Val had always taken up more presence in a room between the two of them, not least because of the difference in their secondary dynamics. After their parents death, his brother’s subsequent inheritance of their estate and his early presentation, Vox had grown up feeling like a small, insignificant shadow in the wake of his older brother’s majesty. Not that this had stopped him from wanting to be just like Val, for better or for worse.
“Mi cielo, look at it this way. You know how prestigious the duke's peerage is? To have someone like them asking at the doorsteps of a family that pulled themselves out of poverty by the mere bootstraps for monetary donations never bodes well. It means that they're suckered for money and now theyre trying to sucker others. ” Val finishes with a flourish, lighting up his pipe and turning away, effectively signaling that the conversation is over.
Vox sighs.
He hates it when Val gets like this— when he decides that he's right, and no one else's answer will do. It happens more often than not when they’re talking, and like always, Vox has to find a way to maneuver around that roadblock.
If he'd been lucky enough to present as an alpha like Val, it wouldn't be such a problem (Velvette certainly had no trouble talking her way around Val, and she was still a year younger than Vox! ), but… well, he'd learnt to simply deal with the cards he had been dealt.
“Obviously. But it's a bit cruel to turn them away so callously when they've got a struggling business they're trying to flip. It's not as if it's an impossible ordeal. This girl, Charlotte… she seems to already have a client or two interested.” Vox motions to the stack of papers sitting on Val’s desk. “Angel Dust, thirty-two, spinster omega… Cherri Bomb, twenty-four, bachelorette alpha. See, there's more people being affected here than you can see. If you’d just sponsor this hotel plan…”
Val pinches the bridge of his nose once more and breathes very slowly.
Vox can see the veins pulsing in his brother’s neck, knows he’s got him where he wants him— except when Val opens his mouth again, it isn’t to ask him about the investment (one that Vox is rather sure will be successful, despite his brother’s vehement protests), but instead to ask about a more unexpected prospect. “What about that… motion picture thing you and la muñequita have been working on? How’s that going for the two of you?”
Vox just sighs. He knows that Valentino isn’t being condescending right now on purpose, but it still strikes a nerve in him. “I’m going to go to the workshop now, Val. Bye.”
He’s not sure what’s come over the older man today. Normally, his brother is lightly amused, if not fully on board with whatever ridiculous schemes entrepreneurs come up to their elite circle to ask for investment in. But today… Vox frowns as he remembers the meeting that morning.
Two elites from overseas society— Duke Alastor Hartfelt and his aide, Baronet Rosamund ‘Rosie’ Levi— had traveled to their estate for the sole purpose of pitching an investment.
It was to sponsor the Duke’s goddaughter, an ‘impressionable but kind child’ (from the Duke’s words, not Vox’s own) who had a dream to run a hotel that housed people of all kinds, from even the regular spinster to those the public deemed embarrassments to society.
It was a lofty plan, for sure, but it wasn’t something that couldn’t be achieved, and Vox thought the idea held some consideration in it. In fact, he’d said as much to the Duke and Baronet, who had both thanked him politely and made small talk with him about his idea for a moving motion picture.
Now, though… it felt shitty on his part, to say something like that to the both of them and potentially give the pair false hope when Val had shut them both down so cruelly in the meeting.
He entertains the thought of trying to go back to convince Val to judge the matter differently before coming back to his senses and continuing down the stairs to his and Velvette’s workshop (technically, it was Velvette’s workshop in name, but Vox spent so much time down there that Val had once considered placing a bit of his trust fund into the workshop to invest more for them. They’d both rebuked him, of course, but it had been a fun little fantasy for them in the moment).
He’s so caught up in thinking about the meeting and wanting to get to the workshop as quickly as possible that he doesn’t notice the person moving towards him until he nearly crashes into them, just barely managing to stop himself before both of them end up sprawled on the ground.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, excuse me for my— misconduct…” Vox sucks in a breath as he realizes just who he’s crashed into. “I— are you all right, my Lord?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, dear,” Baronet Rosie Levi smiles at him as she straightens herself up using the banister, flicking off specks of invisible dirt from her pelisse. “I’m quite all right, really. What I’m curious about is what you’re up to, sweetheart. Vangelis Vesper, right? It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Ah… I prefer Vox. Nice to meet you too, your Lordship, though I wish it could be under different circumstances.”
Vox rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. There’s no mating mark there— obviously— but it had always brought him some sort of comfort to put his hand there and have it linger above his scent glands. It was nice and familiar, and it helped him calm down, especially in situations like these where he was very clearly in the wrong and had to thus face the consequences of his actions. “I’m just… working on a new sort of technology with my friend. It’s really nothing important.”
“A new kind of technology?” Rosie looks surprised, tilting her head. “Why, that certainly sounds like something important to me! You’re pioneering a new sort of telecommunication, darling— who could possibly call it unimportant?”
“Well, it’s not really like that, more like a form of entertainment—”
“What’s this I’m hearing about new technologies?” Duke Alastor suddenly appears from behind his aide, who turns around and catches her friend in a spin before pulling him by the arm to stand in front of Vox, who blinks, unused to maintaining such a close distance between someone not family. Clearly, Alastor hadn’t quite experienced such a thing either, for the alpha seemed uncomfortable thrust right in front of him.
“Alastor, dear, our lovely host here was just telling me about the technology he and his friend were pioneering! Mister Vesper, I—”
“Young Master Vox!” A servant comes running up to him, and Vox turns to the young man with a cool relief, unable to stand being in the same space as the people he’d horribly embarrassed himself in front of not even moments before. “Miss Velvette has been waiting for you for a while outside. She says she has something to show you that you have to see.”
“Ah… I see. Tell her I’ll be there in a moment’s notice, then, Elliot.” Vox looks over at Alastor and Rosie apologetically, smoothing down invisible folds in his dress to hide the nervous shaking in his hands, “I’m sorry, but I have to go now. That’s the friend I was talking about, and she gets very easily worked up if she doesn’t get her way, you see.”
“Oh, no, go ahead! Don’t keep your friend waiting on our accounts,” Rosie smiles sweetly.
Alastor chimes in, “Ah, wait. Hold on a second, would you, Mister Vesper?”
Before Vox can even think of an answer, the Duke takes him by the hand— the same one he had been trying to hide in his skirts— and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to the back of his palm before releasing him and offering him a smile. “Now, then. We won’t keep you from your meeting, dear.”
“Ah… right. My… I wouldn’t want to keep Velvette waiting. I— I’ll see you two, then,” Vox says awkwardly, before turning around and promptly fleeing the hall. (He nearly trips again in his haste to leave the crowded room, but it’s all in the name of hiding the telltale blush on his face.)
Over the next few weeks, Vox finds himself constantly bumping into the Duke and his aide.
Whether he’s out downtown, accompanied by Velvette and a servant for decency’s sake (even though both of them had already made it clear to each other that they didn’t hold feelings for each other in that way), or whether he’s down by the pond near the manor and relaxing under the shade of the willow trees he and Val had tended to in childhood, Alastor and Rosie always somehow manage to find their ways next to him. He’s not complaining about the attention— quite the opposite, really. After all, what sort of well-to-do but (relatively) socially inept omega wouldn’t find themselves pleased by two alphas constantly spending time with and fawning over them?
Well. Technically three, if he counted Velvette, but she was more like an annoying little sister than anything, so— it was somewhat like being chaperoned twice over while out on completely improvised dates.
Rosie had brought attention to it once or twice, the baronet commenting on it first when they’d found each other at a local pawnshop Velvette liked to visit to check for decorations and fabric stores.
The woman had been dressed sportingly— a crisp two piece suit with a sleek waistcoat thrown over the outfit and a cute hat that pulled it all together— and Vox had felt slightly inadequate, seeing her so put together while he had thrown on one of the simplest day dresses in his closet for running errands. Still, it hadn’t seemed as if Rosie had minded, for the baronet lit up when they caught sight of each other, approaching him with a flounce in her step. “Oh, why hello there! I didn’t expect to see you around here, darling! What are you doing downtown without a supervisor, sweetheart?”
Against his better judgment, Vox let the alpha take his hand, flushing lightly when she took it in for a chaste kiss in much the same way her Lord had a few days prior. “I have a chaperone. Just… he’s currently off with my friend right now.”
“Oh, I see,” Rosie smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and Vox finds himself wondering why the woman seems to be a little out of sorts. Before he can ruminate any further, though, Velvette comes rushing out of the pawn shop, Elliot following close behind her and panting slightly.
“ Vox!” His best friend pulls him into a tight hug from behind, before grabbing him by the shoulders and scolding him. “Don’t disappear on me again! I was so worried when we couldn’t find you in the store!”
“I was right outside on the streets,” Vox rolls his eyes. “Don’t get so worried on my part. Besides, Her Lordship was right nearby to help aid me if I needed it.”
Velvette slowly slides her gaze over to Rosie, and the two alphas stare at each other for a moment, seemingly locked in some sort of staring contest.
Vox and Elliot both look between the two cautiously— though Elliot was a beta and thus at no risk of having his behaviour affected if the two alphas decided to get into a scuffle on the streets, Vox was not only an omega but also the only heir to his brother’s business empire, making him both the most valuable and most vulnerable person in the exchange. Elliot clears his throat once, before speaking up, “Ah, ladies… could we perhaps do this… battle of wills in someplace more appropriately suited and away from our dear young master?”
“Oh, no, it’s all right,” Rosie shakes her head. “I was simply just about to leave. Though, if I’ve caused discomfort to the young master, I am dearly sorry. It truly was not my intention to frighten—”
“You’re fine,” Vox says, flushing when Rosie turns to look at him, a small smile on her face. “I— Look, it’s not like you guys were doing anything. I can’t fault you guys for being a little out of sorts, I mean, the weather’s been hot recently and I—”
“It’s not the weather, it’s that you were outside alone with an alpha who was eyeing you up like you were some sort of filet mignon—” Velvette hisses into his ear, but Vox swats her away.
“I just mean, your Lordship, that there’s nothing to apologize for. Really. And I know our conversation was short, but I did have a good time speaking with you.” He smiles at her, willing himself not to break out into the grin that Val always told him looked a bit like he was going to try and take a bite out of someone’s arm, and from the mollified expression on her face, he wagers he’s been successful.
“I should apologize, though. I shouldn’t have… been so childish and immature, and because I was unduly irrational, I could have posed a risk to you and your manservant’s safety. For that, young master, I am dearly sorry.” Rosie bows her head, “I do hope to see you again soon, my dear. For what it’s worth, I had a good time during our conversation as well.”
And— because this is apparently a thing now— Rosie takes him by the hand once more and presses a sweet kiss to his hand, before straightening herself out and handing him a rose from her hat. Stray strands of platinum blond hair break away from underneath the alpha’s hat, and— almost without thinking— Vox steps forwards and sweeps some of the hair back behind her face.
“Then… I’ll see you later, my Lord,” Vox smiles, and he revels in the light blush that coats Rosie’s cheeks before she composes herself once more.
“Right… right. Well— I’ll be off to see His Grace now, darling! Do have fun on your errand!”
With that, the alpha is gone, her sweet floral scent of gardenias and peonies lingering on the air. Velvette huffs from behind him, her own scent of freshly pressed fabric and peppermint enveloping him in a soft embrace. “I don’t like her. Or the Duke, for that matter.”
“You and Val both, I guess,” Vox says. “I don’t know why. I think Rosie and Alastor are sweet.”
“Yeah, because Val kept you locked up at home for like, the first sixteen years of your damn life! You literally have never met any other alpha other than those two—”
“I’ve met you. And Val ,” Vox corrects, rolling his eyes when the girl huffs in exasperation.
“Vox, what I’m trying to say is that normal alphas don’t— you know, they don’t sneak up on unsuspecting omegas outside of stores when they don’t have a chaperone with them. And especially not when the omega in question is fucking Vangelis Vesper. ”
“What does that have to do with anything at all?” Vox asks, bewildered, growing only more confused when Velvette turns away with a huff. “Vel—”
“I still have more fabric to grab. And don’t you have that camera you wanted to start working on?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then hurry up!”
Another memorable time that Vox bumped into Alastor or Rosie, it had been down by the manor’s pond. While it wasn’t exactly a private space, most people didn’t dare intrude by the pond unless invited by the Vesper Family. After all, while Val was famous for his business empire, Vox knew that he was even more famous for the temper tantrums he’d throw if he didn’t get his way. Though, in fairness, calling them temper tantrums could be seen as a bit of an overexaggeration, but considering Vox was often the one who had to work to calm his brother down, he didn’t see the problem.
In any case, he’d been down by the pond with only Elliot, Velvette having sequestered herself away in the workshop to tinker away with their newest project. Though he’d wanted to relax and bask in the sunbeams, Val had insisted that he’d taken a parasol with him ‘ just in case’ the sunshine was too bright, so in the end Vox had begrudgingly brought out a pale blue parasol, one to match his baby blue afternoon tea dress.
“Young Master, are you sure you want to go down by the water?” Elliot fusses as Vox strides down the steep path to the pond with a confident gait. “There are plenty of bugs down there, you know, and you could trip and fall and dirty your dress—”
“Elliot,” Vox frowns. “I’ve taken this path hundreds of times. I’m not going to mess up just because I’m carrying a parasol with me today.”
“Still, though…” Elliot looks hesitant to let him continue, which makes Vox heave a deep sigh. “At least, if you’re going to do that, let me escort you.”
“I really don’t think there’s that much to it, Elliot. Just let me—”
“Ah, is that Young Master Vox I see?” Duke Alastor Hartfelt approaches the two, sweeping into a low bow and— again— taking Vox’s gloved hand in for a kiss. With his parasol up and long blue tea dress just barely hovering above the bright green blades of grass, Vox almost feels like the protagonist of one of the awful romance novels Velvette’s always trying to have him read. “How are you today, my dear?”
“The same as always, I suppose,” Vox smiles sweetly.
He’s going to do something that is, perhaps, going a little too far and being a little too cruel to Elliot, who’s just trying to do his job and make sure that Vox is safe, but Vox is a little shit at heart and no one knows that better than his servants. Well, no one besides Vel and Val, he supposes.
In any case, Alastor doesn’t know this, which makes it all the easier for Vox when he sidles up to the man and takes the alpha’s hand in his, standing just a little too close for proper decorum. He can tell by the Duke’s face that Alastor hadn’t expected this, though, giving credit where it’s due, Alastor doesn’t falter even as Vox intertwines their fingers together.
“I was thinking about going down to the pond today. See, while the weather is absolutely wonderful today, the sun is a little hot for my liking, and staying by the waterside helps me mitigate my temperature.” Vox smiles once more, a little wider this time and showing off his canines, in a way that he hopes communicates to Alastor that he’s not trying to come on to him and rather trying to include him in a sort of ‘inside joke’.
Whether the Duke gets it or not, Alastor is the perfect partner to play along with. “In that case then, shall I accompany you down?”
“Wait, your Grace, I— it’s not that I don’t trust you with the young master, but you must be careful. The path down is steep, and his clothes—”
“Well, if it’s the steepness of the path and the length of the hem that’s the matter, then that’s an easily resolved problem, no?” Alastor says, and before Vox even realizes it, he’s being scooped up and held in Alastor’s arms like a sort of coddled pet, parasol tilted backwards such that it’s hardly even shielding him from the sun anymore. “I’ll take Young Master Vesper down to the pond, and you can come along if you wish to monitor the young master further.”
Elliot looks absolutely horrified by the two of them, and Vox almost feels bad. But he really wants to go down to the pond, and his servant was standing in the way of that… but to spare him, Vox just waves a hand at Elliot. “I’ll be fine. If you really want you can go and send Velvette out, but I trust the Duke. He’s a gentleman, see?”
“As gentle as can be, when I’ve got such a lovely omega in my arms,” Alastor agrees. The comment catches Vox off guard, and he feels his face heating up as he purses his lips and turns to Elliot. “R-right. Well, you can go back to the house and we’ll go down to the pond.”
Elliot narrows his eyes at Alastor once more before sighing. “If you insist, young master… but be warned, your Grace, your ducal status will not matter if Master Valentino finds out that you were being inappropriate to the young master.”
“I’d never dream of such a thing,” Alastor says, and after a few more moments of Elliot fussing over Vox, Alastor slowly starts making his way down the path to the pond.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stand up? I can get up, you know. That was just to make my servant leave me alone.”
“I’m aware,” Alastor says simply. “But I’d rather assist you like this, so that I have more of an excuse to get to know you.”
“Oh,” Vox says simply. “Uh. Well, then, in that case… er, what is it that you want to know?”
“Anything at all, dear. We’re hardly in a rush, now are we? Unless you’ve got someplace to be soon, in which case, I’ll leave you be once we get down to the pond—”
“No, no, I’ve got nowhere to be today. Velvette’s off in her own workshop and Val’s probably going through documents again and trashing his office, like always, and I don’t even want to start guessing at where everyone else might be. It’s— we’re good.” Vox fiddles with his hands, pulling at the silken fabric of his gloves as they continue chatting quietly, walking down the slope until they finally reach the edge of the pond, where Alastor lets Vox down gently.
“Will you show me around?” Alastor asks, and Vox nods before pulling him along. There’s a small wooden boat docked by the bridge that Vox likes to sit on and sketch with Velvette, which is where he takes Alastor, who he has to help into the boat— an endeavour made a tad trickier by the parasol still in hand and Alastor’s unnecessarily long coattails.
“I could just cut them off,” the Duke offers, but Vox shakes his head.
“No, don’t. That outfit looks nice on you. Don’t ruin it just because of a single afternoon outing. Hupf— okay, got it. Stupid parasol, I don’t know why I even listened to Val when he made me bring this outside…” Vox groans as he finally makes his way into the boat, grabbing onto Alastor’s hand as he extends a hand to help stabilize him. “Thanks. Have you ever rowed a boat, your Grace?”
“Never, though I certainly won’t turn down the chance to try,” Alastor smiles, his eyes crinkling as sunlight hit those warm, honey-brown irises. “And though I’m loathe to break decorum usually, I don’t mind if you call me just Alastor instead.”
“Oh, um. Okay. Well, Alastor, then…” Vox trails off before remembering what he was going to say, composing himself once more as he adjusts the skirts of his dress. “You don’t have to learn to row, ‘cause I’ll be doing all the work. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to accidentally lose control of the boat and send us both into the pond, right?”
“But you…”
“I might not look like it, but I’ve got a bit more strength than your average helpless omega, all right?” Vox rolls his eyes, though he does crack a smile when Alastor’s expression turns more apologetic. “Really. Trust me, I’m not going to capsize us, or like, try to push you out of the boat or something.”
“If you say so, dear,” Alastor responds, watching intently as Vox takes off his gloves and leaves them in the glovebox compartment in the side of the boat. “Then, will you tell me why exactly you were so eager to come down to the pond today?”
Looking at Alastor then, with the golden sunlight hitting his lashes and eyes just right, Vox would have told him anything he wanted to know.
When the both of them return to land by the end of the afternoon, Vox finds himself once more being escorted by Alastor (read: carried all the way up to the manor even though he could clearly walk) back home.
When they make it back to the front entrance, though, the person waiting to see them is not Elliot, as Vox had expected, but instead Val, who for a second looks as if he’s about to say something disparaging to Alastor, but instead simply pulls Vox into a loose embrace before seeing the Duke off cooly.
“You really shouldn’t be spending so much time around him,” Val says as they enter the house. “For one, it’s against decorum. For another, I don’t trust that man.”
“You say that as if it’s our first time disagreeing on something. I don’t need your approval to have a friend.”
“…Go and freshen up before you eat dinner,” Val says, and Vox knows he’s won the argument, at least temporarily.
There had been only once where Vox had had to deal with both Alastor and Rosie at once, besides their first ever meeting. It had been during a ballroom dance, one thrown in the Duke’s honour.
He had originally planned not to show up— Val had asked him to stay in his room, and knowing the kinds of characters who usually showed up to whatever social gatherings he threw, Vox had easily complied, asking Elliot to prepare some refreshments and snacks for him to bring to his room.
But when he’d spoken to Rosie about it while down in the gardens one day, the alpha had mentioned offhandedly that both she and Alastor would be present, and had asked Vox if he was going to show up.
And of course he did. After all, Rosie had asked him ever-so-politely, and Vox had never been to a ball before (besides his own debutante, but that hardly even counted considering the fact that Vel had been his chaperone and neither Val nor Vel had allowed him to dance with literally anyone else besides his servants) so, in his admittedly weak justification, showing up to the ball was no more than a favour for a friend as well as a new experience. A research opportunity, even, for scenes he wanted to recreate in motion picture.
But it was harder to deny to his brother and Velvette the real reason why he showed up, and he could tell they knew just from the evil eye both of them shot towards the guests of the evening.
“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” Vox hisses as Velvette narrows her eyes at Alastor’s approaching figure.
She makes to hiss something right back at him, but Vox is no longer paying attention because he’s more focused on the picture that Alastor makes, dressed in a fine cut and tailored crimson red suit with gold embellishments and fine embroidery. The alpha’s scent— something he usually kept under lock and key, even when Vox asked to smell it (out of pure curiosity, he swears )— was now clearly out and wafting through the air, because no one else would have been able to produce that strong smell of aromatic spices and the thick, warm smell of earth and rye whiskey, and if Vox was a weaker man he’d probably be throwing himself into Alastor’s arms right about now.
“Vox, my dear, how are you tonight?” Alastor greets him with a chaste kiss to the knuckles, shorter than the ones he’d usually plant on his hand— probably due to Val watching from right behind, but also probably because the alpha was a gentleman through and through. “I heard you originally weren’t going to show up.”
“Well, I changed my mind,” Vox laughs awkwardly. “I’ve got a lot of evening dresses rotting away in my closets, you know, since I have nowhere to wear them, so I figured I might as well try brushing off the dust off of one of the prettier ones for tonight.”
“And I’m glad you did. You look beautiful, dear,” Alastor says, his voice a little lower than before. “Rosie and I were looking forward to seeing you tonight. We made a bet on it, actually.”
“A bet?” Vox raises an eyebrow. “And what kind of bet would that be?”
“You’ll see,” Alastor says with a wink. “Ah, right. And there’s the woman of the hour— Rosie, my dear, we’re over here!”
Vox stifles a laugh as Rosie comes running up to them, looking harried but still handsome in a tailored suit that opens up into a half-structured skirt on the bottom half, a cage crinoline underskirt giving her outfit more structure. The corseted bodice that wraps around her waist and bust is slightly crooked, and Vox (again against his better judgment, and that was becoming an unlikely pattern and probable problem for him in the future) steps forwards without thinking, quickly adjusting the stays of the corset to ensure it was held in place better.
Rosie stares at him once he finishes, and Vox— his brain finally having caught up to him— flushes a deep red before immediately bursting into justifications, “Your bodice was, uh, crooked, so I just— I wanted to help, I swear, it wasn’t like— I didn’t mean it to be inappropriate, my Lord, I just—!”
“You’re so sweet,” Rosie cuts him off quietly, hand gently intercepting his own and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles as Alastor had done only moments prior. “Thank you, darling. You look gorgeous tonight, did Alastor tell you?”
“Oh, uh—” Vox flushes, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscientious. He fiddles with the fabric of the heavy evening gown he’s wearing, eyes staring down at the butterfly prints covering the thick satin. “He did, but… I, um, you two…”
“Rosie,” Alastor says in a warning tone, before taking Vox by the arm. “Dear, come with me, would you?”
“Now, now, Alastor, don’t you think you’re being a bit presumptuous of our dear host’s time?” Rosie hooks her arm around Vox’s left arm, and at this point, he’s been more or less sandwiched in between two alphas, both with very strong signature scents and a good track record with him. He’s enamoured and— he realizes belatedly with a little bit of horror— a little bit aroused, even, and he clamps his legs together a little tighter at the realization.
“I think that’s enough.”
A hand comes in between Rosie and Alastor, pushing them both away from Vox before his brother is pulling him away from the two alphas crowding him earlier, Val’s own sweet, cloying scent of syrup and smoky mezcal overpowering both Rosie and Alastor’s signature scents. “Voxxy, cielito, what about you go and get some fresh air? I’ll send a servant when it’s time for the dance, I promise. ”
Vox knows his brother’s lying— knows Val is probably just going to take Alastor and Rosie off to the corner and threaten them never to speak to him again if he leaves and does what he says, and knows that Val’s also probably only going to call him back in by the time the ballroom dance is done— and so, just as the light piano music stops and the guests stop idly chatting with each other, Vox grabs Alastor by the hand.
“Do you— um. Do you want to dance with me?”
Alastor’s eyes almost shine with glee, and Vox can tell from the way that Val’s hand tightens on his shoulder that his brother is very displeased with this situation and that the maids will have to clean up another few broken bottles of whiskey— but he also knows that no matter what, Val’s first priority is Vox. So he doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable grabbing Alastor’s hand and dragging him onto the dancefloor to perform a twirling waltz that the rest of the party’s congregation gleefully joins in on once they finish.
He does feel a little bad for leaving Rosie to his brother’s company, and he expresses that when the alpha comes to take him for the next dancetune, but Rosie only laughs and tells him that it’s no big deal, sweetheart, and I’m glad you came to help us out at all, especially after we were so inconsiderate for your own wellbeing.
That night, though he retires having listened to an hour of ranting from Val, Vox can’t help the warmth that threatens to burst his chest as he thinks of the two alphas and imagines a future by their sides.
“...I think you’ve outdone yourself this time, my dear,” Rosie says quietly to her companion, watching their young omega host interact with his friends from above a hillside cliff.
Vox almost seems to glow in the late afternoon sun, blue morpho butterflies fluttering around him in a flurry of blues. It’s a sight that looks plucked from a renaissance painting: he looks beautiful, almost ethereal under the shine of sunlight. The unusually strong features for a typical omega only accentuate Vox’s unreal presence, with a sharp jaw and cheekbones angular enough to cut being complemented by his soft, rosy cheeks. His mismatched eyes— one the blue of larimar gems, and one a warm axinite brown— twinkle with mirth as the alpha girl near him shrieks with laughter, bringing him in for a hug that makes Rosie’s hands twitch with agitation.
She sighs, knowing that staring won’t do her any good if she’s to get over her current indecision, and instead looks over at her closest confidante. “Are you sure about this, Alastor? He's just a child.”
“Rosie, my dear, trust me when I say that I’ve never been more sure on a decision,” Alastor responds lightly. He, too, is fixated on the omega, his eyes trained on the sight that Vox makes when he tilts his head back and laughs wholeheartedly, the fine fabrics of his golden yellow dress swaying with him as he lets his friend twirl him around in circles. Alastor finds himself wondering how the young man would look clothed in crimson red, instead, and the image it invokes is quite a satisfying one.
He continues, a small smirk on his lips. “Besides, you should be honest with yourself. Do you truly mean to tell me you don't wonder how he'll taste?”
“How utterly inappropriate of you, darling!” Rosie slaps at his arm with faked offense, a wobbly smile on her face just barely managing to keep itself together before she breaks out into tinkling laughter, not unlike the ringing of church bells; though the thoughts in her head are anything but holy. She mellows out quickly, though, head too occupied with thoughts of their host to rest easy. “Really, though. He’s… sweet. I don’t quite know if it’s all right to…”
“You’ve done it before,” Alastor reminds her, not unkindly. When his companion’s face grows stony, he sighs, knowing he’s overstepped. “I’m not saying that we need to go about it the same way as last time. In fact, we probably shouldn’t, in case something like that happens again. But…”
“Time will tell?” Rosie says.
“Time will tell,” Alastor agrees. “For the record, I quite like him as well.”
“But you still insist on doing the same as we did for— for her. And the others.”
“Not as much,” Alastor says, shrugging. “If anything happens again, like it did last time, I’d rather have him healthy and able to go through with the procedure. I’d rather like to keep this one, if you concur.”
“I think I do,” Rosie says. “But… we’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.”
She glances at the red ring that Alastor is rolling in between his gloved fingers and stifles a small laugh. “Ah, are you going to ask him now? ”
“Absolutely not. That’d be ignoring all decorum,” Alastor whirls around to his friend with an offended expression on his face. Rosie waves him off with an ‘of course, of course’, though Alastor’s gaze returns to the ring quickly, eyes flitting between the dreamy sight Vox makes in his golden yellow dress and the ring in hand. “But… soon, maybe. Maybe this time we’ll have a Duchess we can keep.”
“Maybe,” Rosie agrees, her gaze drifting over to the omega again, greedily drinking in all his beautiful features. Floral patterns spin in almost hypnotizing patterns as Vox dances and twirls in the rich meadow pasture, laughing so sweetly that Rosie wants to bottle up that darling sound and keep it all for herself and Alastor only . “God, I hope so.”
On the night of a dinner schedule specifically in their honor— rather ironic, given the fact that the discussions for their plans had been more or less spectacularly shot down— Alastor finds himself waiting impatiently by the main staircase to receive Rosie and then (hopefully) intercept Vox before he makes his way to the dinner party. He turns a ring of red diamond over and over in his hand as he taps a rhythm into the banister, slowly humming to himself.
“Alastor!”
Rosie is the one to find him first, her hair done up in an elaborate updo that the Baronet typically didn’t go to such lengths for. She’d tucked red and white roses into her hair and sprinkled a dusting of white powder on her face, and though Alastor personally didn’t see why she still adhered to such customs of decorum as an alpha, he could appreciate the time and effort that Rosie put into her appearance. The burgundy red suit accentuated her tall stature, with black and platinum accents mirroring the red and gold accents on his black suit. “Why, you look dashing, sweetheart. You’ll ask him tonight, then?”
“Hopefully,” Alastor hums. “I’m a little afraid that after what happened at the ball, that brother of his will pose some trouble for us. Not that he’ll stop us, of course, but…”
“But if it causes trouble, then I’ll be there to fix it,” Rosie finishes with an absolution to her words. “Now, then. Where’s our pretty omega?”
“I’d wager he’s still getting ready,” Alastor shrugs. “I’m not privy to any of the elaborate rituals you put yourselves through, so don’t look at me for any indication.”
They only have to wait a moment longer before a door opens and closes from upstairs, and both look up with expectant looks on their faces.
“What are you two doing here? Were you waiting for me?”
Vox descends the stairs with all the grace of a newborn fawn, seemingly having trouble with the length of his long evening gown. Not unsurprising, considering the omega typically wore dresses that cut off a centimeter off the ground and gave him ample room for movement, but Alastor could only find himself appreciating how difficult of a time the gown was giving the heir, because it gave him more time to take in Vox’s exquisite features.
About a week ago, after Alastor had come to a decision, Rosie had told him half-intoxicated and fully indecent, that she really wanted to tear off the fabrics of one of his gowns and watch the pretty dear writhe and squirm with arousal. Though at the time Alastor had more been inclined towards a more emotional sort of connection, he admitted now that he could understand his companion’s more carnal desires.
The gown that Vox wore was one with a gaping neckline and puffed sleeves, baby blue lace and sheer white fabrics combining together in a mélange of hues. The cut of the fabric emphasized his bust and waist, and in that one moment, Alastor wanted for nothing more than to get his hands around the omega’s waist.
Then, Vox descends the stairs completely and gives Alastor and Rosie a sweet smile, one that makes Alastor want to devour him whole. “Thanks for coming to receive me, if that’s what you were doing.”
“It is,” Rosie takes his hand in hers and presses a light kiss to his knuckles and then lets go before Alastor takes him by the other hand and mirrors the action. It’s become sort of a ritual for the three of them— whenever he or Rosie see the young heir, they first take his hand in greeting before anything else. “But tonight, there’s something else Alastor and I would like to tell you—”
“Voxxy,” the annoyance pops up from seemingly nowhere, dressed in an admittedly handsome looking suit, but Alastor can’t really find it in him to compliment the man who’s trying his utter best to get him and Rosie thrown back to England before they secure Vox’s hand. “Vel wants to see you before you go to dinner. Said she wanted to talk to you about something with the new tech cameras you guys were working on?”
“Oh, uh…” Vox glances back towards Alastor and Rosie, and Alastor would be lying if he said that the hesitant look Vox threw towards them, clearly worried for them, didn’t make him feel something.
There’s a deep sated sense of fondness for the omega and then a sharper pang of annoyance— once more directed to his brother, of course— but as much as he’d like to keep Vox by his side and perhaps even propose to him in front of Valentino Vesper, Alastor finds that he doesn’t want to put Vox in a precarious situation. Which sounds preposterous, really, coming from him of all people… but he finds that as much as part of him would like to simply tear the sweet thing open with his teeth, there’s a louder part that wants to cradle him and smother him with affection, and part of that tells him that he should just spare Vox of the embarrassment that will no doubt follow whatever it is Valentino wants to say.
“Don’t worry about us, dear,” Alastor tells Vox, hand lightly resting on the omega’s arm. Rosie nods emphatically behind him as he continues, “You should go off with your friend and enjoy the dinner. We’ll be right behind you, of course.”
“You’re sure?” Vox looks between them and his brother, and when all three of them simply smile at him, he huffs and crosses his arms. “Fine, then. But Val— we’re talking about this when the night is over!”
“Of course, estrella,” Valentino smiles at his younger brother, who stomps past him to the dining hall. The moment that Vox leaves their presence, though, the older Vesper’s smile drops, as well as the rest of his expression, and he beckons for Alastor and Rosie to follow him into his office.
Once inside, Valentino strides over to his checkbook, scribbling something down that Alastor can’t quite see from his position. “So. Duke Alastor Hartfelt, Baronet Rosamund Levi.” He cracks a smile when he sees the way that Rosie shifts uncomfortably at the use of her given name, and Alastor wraps an arm around her to comfort her slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Does the use of your name offend you, your Lordship?”
“Just tell us what it is you want,” Alastor grits out. It’s difficult to keep on the smile he’s managed all this time, but he certainly doesn’t want to let Valentino know that he’s got the better of him. Of course, it seems that the man had figured it out anyway, for he gave them a smug smirk.
“Here,” Valentino says, “is a check for… about five hundred thousand dollars. I don’t mean to brag, but that’s not the sort of money you’ll be seeing anytime soon, what with the decline of your estate and lands, right, your Grace?”
“Get to the point,” Rosie is the one who steps in this time, her eyes narrowing as she places a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “You’re not offering this for free, especially not after you declined to sponsor Charlie’s hotel. So what’s the caveat?”
“The caveat ,” Valentino repeated in a deep accent, before reverting back to the smooth American English he’d spoken in just moments prior, “is that you stay away from my brother. Break his heart and his dreams and break off whatever damn ‘lovey dovey’ bullshit you tried to pull on him.”
“ Mister Valentino— ”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Valentino shrugs. “You love him, right? You’re going to say, oh, no, but I love him and I’m going to marry him and bring him back home and mate him— and you’ll even say it with a pathetic, pitiful and puppy-like expression that makes everyone in the world fall at your feet, waiting to serve you. Well, guess what? You picked the wrong guy. I’m not stupid and I’m certainly not letting you whisk away my baby brother when you’ve already got this shit under your belt.”
He nods to a sealed envelope, which he picks up and quickly opens, throwing it at Rosie, who barely manages to catch it properly. Her eyes scan the page and quickly her expression grows tenser, and when Alastor leans over to read the paper, he too grows tense. “Where did you—”
“It doesn’t matter. If I found it out, then Voxxy will too— that is, if I don’t decide to tell him first. Which, of course, I will. So, here’s your deal: you break my brother’s heart and stop whatever bullshit you’ve planted in his brain about marrying you and hightail your way back to England first thing tomorrow and the five hundred is yours. I’ll even get rid of your bad press, if you really want, but that’s a thing for later discussion.”
Alastor and Rosie exchange a glance, and the look that passes between them is one that they both know well.
“Fine. We’ll take the deal.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, your Grace.” Valentino’s grin stretches almost as wide as his face, deep and mocking, and Alastor can only comfort himself with the image of the man dying horribly and alone.
Vox taps his foot under the table, impatiently waiting for Alastor and Rosie to show up. He finds himself humming a quick melody under his breath, one that Alastor had taught him (and showed him on the piano, too, when he’d asked very politely) as he fiddles with the fork.
“Don’t play with that,” Velvette rolls her eyes as she nudges him, and Vox just nudges her back in retaliation. “I’m serious, you’ll stab yourself or something.”
“I’ll stab myself… on a fork? Velvette, I’m not some sort of damsel in distress who starts getting faint when he sees the sight of blood,” Vox rolls his eyes. “And anyway, it’s not like other people aren’t doing the same. What, is it different for me somehow ‘cause I’m an omega?”
“No, it’s not like that…” Velvette sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ugh. Nevermind it. I’m not going to be able to put it right, anyhow. In any case… I wonder why the Duke and the Baronet haven't come yet? Didn’t you say you saw them earlier in the hall before Val pulled them away?”
“Val’s probably got them caught up in one of his temper tantrums,” Vox snorts. Though even as he says the mocking words, he knows it’s most likely untrue. Val had forever done a good job of only letting down his indulgent, ‘boss in control’ mask around Vox, and the ‘temper tantrums’ he threw were often justified. For stupid reasons sometimes— such as the time he’d gotten so angry over a commoner killing a bunch of moths in the forest that he had broken a painting Vox had made for him— but he’d never done any actual damage (after he’d broken the painting, he’d gone out and bought several months worth of supplies for Vox and, although he’d had work and administrative duties to complete, decided instead to accompany the twelve year old while he’d slaved away on clumsy-handed drawings).
But it’s better to think of something that probably hasn’t happened than something else. After all, Vox isn’t sure what else Val could be doing to the two— God, he hopes that he hasn’t told them to stop spending time around Vox. He’s not quite sure if he could bear with that, if it came down to it. He’s only ever had Velvette as a friend— no, servants don’t count— and if he has to lose Rosie and Alastor so soon after meeting them… Vox stares down at the tablecloth, fork completely forgotten to the side.
Then, just as quickly as his anxiety had arrived, it dissipates as the double doors to the dining room open, and Val enters, followed by Alastor and Rosie. Vox notices that their smiles don’t reach their eyes, but he can’t really ask them what’s wrong until the dinner reaches a point where they’re allowed to start mingling, so he simply resolves himself to sit and stay quiet until then.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Val calls as he takes his seat at the head of the table, holding out a glass of wine for a toast. “I’d like to dedicate tonight’s dinner to our honorable Duke Hartfelt and his aide, Baronet Levi. As the two of them will soon be leaving our company, I thought this fitting as a last goodbye… ”
Val continues speaking, but Vox doesn’t hear any of the words that his brother is saying. His head is buzzing— repeating that same phrase over and over again. Last goodbye. Leaving— leaving us. Leaving America for England, leaving Vox for England—
He stands up suddenly, unable to stand sitting still at the dinner table any longer. He can tell Rosie and Alastor looked at him before he left, but— frankly, he doesn’t have the strength to deal with that right now. All he wants— all he wants is—
Vox doesn’t know. He wants to be with Rosie and Alastor for as long as they’ll keep them. He wants to laugh and smile and joke with them and go and pick flowers with Rosie from the garden and show Alastor the newest idea he’d come up with and go on boat rides in the pond with them.
But he knew that they couldn’t stay forever. It had always been— a sort of countdown in the back of his head, a kind of timer that simply couldn’t be reset, and Vox had just ignored it and pushed it away to the back of his head so that he didn’t have to deal with the reality that eventually, Alastor and Rosie would have to leave. Would have to go home— a home that didn’t include Vox, not really, even if he’d felt like it from just a few conversations with the two alphas.
He makes it all the way to the staircase before he has to take a break, sitting down on one of the couches and trying to will himself not to cry, bunching up the fabric of his skirt in his hands as he hides his face in his gloved hands.
It’s stupid.
He’s stupid. Why is he even crying out here, all alone, when he should instead be celebrating their last day here with them?
It’s simple, really. Vox doesn’t want either Rosie or Alastor to leave, and it’s something much easier dealt with if he just pretends it’s not happening and shuts it out without dealing with it.
“Vox?” His head snaps up at the familiar voice, turning around to see Alastor, who stands above him with an unreadable expression. “Vox, are you—?”
“Don’t talk to me,” he hisses. It’s— it’s stupid, he knows. It’s dumb. But he’d rather have Alastor just leave him alone in this time of discomfort and vulnerability than try and comfort him, because if the Duke sits down next to him and starts trying to reassure him then Vox is really sure to lose control over all his tears and run away sobbing.
Alastor’s face grows more severe. It’s almost difficult to tell, but over the weeks they’d spent together, he’d learnt to read the man’s face rather well. No amount of time spent together could prepare him next for the vitriol that came from Alastor’s mouth, though. “You’re so immature, Vox.”
“ What? ”
His head snaps up once more, staring disbelievingly at the man he thought he’d knew. Alastor’s face is scrunched up and tense, his lips pressed together in a shaky but dim smile. Vox almost isn’t sure he’s heard it right, but then, Alastor opens his mouth and repeats it: “You’re immature. You’re immature and childish and spoilt, and I can’t help but think that Rosie and I would have been better off without meeting you.”
“Alastor—”
“You talk far too much, and your inventions are far-fetched and tacky. It’s no wonder they haven’t yet released a patent for your machines— at first I thought it was simply a lack of confidence, but then I realized it was just because you couldn’t get it to work! Hah! Imagine that! I suppose now that I also have to add incompetence to the list, yes? And that’s not to mention the pressure you place on your servants and cause for everyone else in your house. Why, I’d be surprised if there wasn’t someone who loathed you, deep down, for all the problems you caused. And—”
Vox doesn’t realize he’s walked forward and slapped Alastor across the face until he’s about halfway up the stairs, with his right hand stinging from the force of the slap and tears burning in his eyes, face flushed red with embarrassment and outrage and most of all, betrayal and humiliation .
(If he’d turned around on the stairs to look back at Alastor when he left him, he would have seen Val’s face. A bit apologetic, fully resentful, but most of all, dully satisfied. And Rosie, beside him, looking between his brother and Alastor with a face of barely hidden murderous outrage for the treatment of their omega . )
Vox cries himself to sleep that night, belongings strewn about the room in his misery. The trinkets that Rosie and Alastor had bought him lie on the floor, scattered all around and smashed to bits, and yet, Vox doesn’t feel the least bit better.
“The water’s ready for you, Master,” Travis calls from inside the bathroom. “Shall I go and ready your clothes outside?”
“Yes, and see to it that you have someone check on my cielito as well,” Val calls. Travis nods and exits the room, closing the door with a click and shut behind him.
Contrary to what the newspapers believe, Val isn’t heartless. He’d lost his father at a young age— his mother had been long out of the picture, having died after birthing Val, and when his stepmother had come along, Val had finally thought that there was a chance of him having a normal life once more.
Though she hadn’t been much older than him, treating him more like a little brother than a son, the son she’d bore had been his light and joy through his early adulthood years, and he’d leaned on Vox just as much as the pup had leaned on him when their parents had died from cholera.
His decision to break Vox’s heart the day before had come with heavy deliberation, but he’d ultimately come to the realization that it would be better for everyone involved if Vox hadn’t gotten the idea in his head to re-follow the Duke and his retainer back to England. Even disregarding the political ramifications of having the unmarried and unmated omega heir of House Vesper follow a ruined alpha Duke back to his homeland, there were dangers that his Voxxy could find himself entrapped in if he did decide to elope with the Duke or even his aide.
For that reason, though it’d broken his heart too, Val had to make Vox give up on his meaningless pursuit one way or another.
He sighs as he finishes shaving his face. Perhaps, though, he’d been too hasty with the manner of which it’d happened… well, work wouldn’t take too long to finish, so if he hurried it up with his morning schedule and hightailed it to his office, chances were good that he would finish his work by nine and have time to spend with his little brother again, just like old times.
But just as he’s freshening up, Val hears footsteps from inside the bathroom. He turns to look at the door, and—
“It’s you? What are you doing here instead of—”
“I don’t think you should be the one asking me questions right now. Instead of that cliched speech, perhaps you should be thinking of ways to beg me for mercy. ”
There’s a crack as Val is shoved onto his knees and violently pushed into the edge of the sink, his eyes growing wide as the person above him takes him by the face with a gentle hold— before taking his head and bashing it into the side of the sink, over and over. The tap water keeps running, overflowing even as Valentino’s breathing eventually stops, his limp corpse falling to the floor with a splash.
Rosie surveys her work with a grim expression.
Her gloves have gotten coated over with viscous blood, but that’s no worry when she can just run them under the sink quickly. More pressingly, her heels will get waterlogged if she stays here any longer. Still… she can’t resist pulling the corpse of the alpha who had stood in her and Alastor’s way one time too many forward and giving it a triumphant smirk, teeth bared in a grin wide enough to show her gums.
“Stay away from Vox? What a joke. We’re taking him back, whether you like it or not.”
“Young Master Vox?” Elliot knocks on Vox’s bedroom door cautiously, pushing it open when he receives no response.
The omega is laid limp facedown in his bed, dressed in only an undergown, and Elliot yelps as he almost drops the tray of foods and the letter addressed to Vox before placing it down on the young master’s bedside and quickly hightailing it out of Vox’s bedroom.
It’s ten minutes later that Vox actually wakes, rubbing at his reddened and puffy eyes and sniffling to try and clear the blockage from last night before he turns to his bedside table and grabs a hold of the iced orange juice that Elliot had prepared for him. He’s about to take the plate of breakfast off the tray and throw everything else away when he notices a slip of paper on the tray addressed to him.
“My dear Vox…?” He frowns as he picks up the paper. Curiosity takes ahold of him and he unfolds it tenderly, eyes growing wide as he reads what it says.
His breakfast and drink are left forgotten as Vox bolts for his closet, not even bothering to put on a petticoat first before he’s flying out the door, skirt hoisted around his ankles to let him move faster. He’s in a race against time, after all, and he doesn’t intend on losing it.
My dear Vox,
I’m so sorry for the cruel words I said to you last night. I know that none of it can— or should— be forgiven, but I feel that I need to clear some things up, or else I will leave America knowing that I let the best thing in my life slip right through my hands.
“Excuse me, sorry, ah, did you have a Duke Hartfelt and Baronet Levi staying here, by chance?” Vox asks as he bursts in through a hotel lobby, out of breath and out of time to care.
“Ah, yes, but— wait, no, Sir, hold on, Sir, come back—!”
Last night was fully my fault. That, I will not try to deny, especially for the harm I’m sure those words must have caused you. I have been running them over and over in my head this morning, and I promise you that if I had the chance to do it all again, I would never hurt you like that once more.
“I’m sorry, but do you know where Room 1132 is located?” Vox gasps, panting for breath as he stumbles across a maid, who silently points him in the right direction. “Thank you!”
But I would like you to know that never once was anything I said genuine. All of that was said in an attempt to ‘break your heart’, as your brother put it. He does not like me or Rosie, that much is obvious, but I hadn’t thought that he would resort to tactics such as this to get us to leave. He told me that I had to break your heart and leave for England the first thing next morning, or else, he would make me regret it. I had no choice but to comply, for I was a coward who cared only for my own safety instead of what it meant for you.
“Haah… thirty-one, thirty… no, wrong way, that’s… oh, thirty-two!” Vox pulls the handle on the door and runs into the suite, only to be met with—
“Sorry, are you looking for His Grace?” One of the maids sweeping the floor gives him an apologetic smile, her face filled with a soft compassion. “He and the Baronet departed for the train twenty minutes ago. Perhaps if you make it to the train station before the next train leaves—?”
I’m sorry, Vox. Know this, that I never meant to hurt you— and that I love you. If you share the same feelings—
“Let me through, please! Why is it so crowded here, could you let me through, I’ve got somewhere to be—!”
Then please come and meet me before Rosie and I are set to depart today by train. I’m so sorry once more for the harm I’ve caused you, and even more trouble for the annoyances I’ll have caused you as well. I never meant to hurt you. I hope that if you believe nothing else I say, that you believe this, at least . Last night, I had wanted to propose to you before your brother had pulled me and Rosie aside. I know that I have no funds and that I am a disgraced Duke, but if you will have me—
“Please, oh, God, please, don’t let me be too late—” Vox frantically runs into the station, looking around for any sign of either Rosie or Alastor, hoping, pleading, to whatever God might exist—
The speaker dings with an announcement. ‘The train to Edinburgh has now set off. Passengers who have missed the earlier train, please wait for the next…”
He collapses into a seat, hands held over his face. Vox is covered in sweat and tears, and he knows he probably looks as much a mess as he feels. He takes the now crumpled note in hand and smooths it out, shaky tears falling from his eyes as he reads the last sentences.
You will make me the happiest man to have ever lived. I love you, Vox. And I’m so, so sorry.
Yours sincerely—
“Alastor,” Vox breathes as a hand gently takes the note from his hand, tears beading up in his eyes as he lays eyes on the man he thought he’d never see again.
“Hello, my dear,” Alastor says softly, taking Vox’s hand into his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I missed the first train. Rosie took it, but I was in the bathroom when the signal went off, and, well…”
“Thank God you did,” Vox says, and he finds himself pulling the other into a warm embrace. He’s never done this before with anyone besides Velvette or Val, and he’s a bit angry thinking about Val right about now so he decides that that can be pushed out of his brain for later. “I don’t know what I would do if— if you—”
“I know,” Alastor says quietly. “I know, darling. I know. If I had left you here… I…”
“You’re never leaving me again,” Vox says. “Please. Promise me.”
“I won’t,” Alastor confirms. “I won’t ever leave again.”
Vox takes another moment to shove himself into the alpha’s chest, trying to see if there’s a way for the both of them to simply fuse together. There isn’t, obviously, but not for lack of trying, for the record. “I love you, Alastor. I love you and Rosie and I didn’t— I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving either of you behind because I’ve never had this sort of connection with anyone, and when you— last night, when you—”
“Yes, last night. I… I hurt you dearly, then. But I promise,” and at this, Alastor takes Vox’s hand into his and kisses it, before sliding on a glittering golden ring with a red gemstone secured in the centre right onto his hand, “I promise that I will never make you feel that way again, for as long as I live.”
Vox half-sobs, half-laughs into Alastor’s chest. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Please do,” Alastor smiles. He's crying too, Vox realizes, though it's really more just a tear or two compared to the full-bodied sobs wracking Vox’s frame. “I really can’t imagine what I’d do if I made you go through that again.”
They stayed in that embrace for what felt like hours, and honestly, Vox wouldn't have complained if it had gone on for longer. But it didn't take long for his idyllic reality to shatter as two police sergeants came marching into the station, before they spotted Vox.
“Young Master Vesper, could you please come with us?”
“Don't look, Vox,” is the first thing that Velvette tells him when he and Alastor finally arrive at the coroner's office. “I can do it.”
“We don't need you to do it though, is the thing, Miss Velvette,” the officer says, sounding defeated. “If we did then this whole thing could have been resolved sooner.”
“So, what, I’ve spent the past some ten years of my life as a companion to Vox and his brother and you don’t think I’ll be able to identify Valentino? Don’t make Vox do it, for god’s sake, he’ll get faint again! You know he spent years in childhood recovering from illnesses and fainting spells? God, you’ve got no compassion whatsoever for the living relatives of the dead!”
“...What?” Vox asks quietly, a hand gripping Alastor’s arm tightly. “What did you…?”
The officer looks at him apologetically. “Young Master Vesper, I’m afraid that… unfortunately, this morning…”
“They still don’t ‘know’ if it’s actually Val or not, but,” Velvette rolls her eyes before turning to the police officer. It’s only now that Vox notices her eyes are slightly puffy, as if she had been crying only moments before they’d entered. “You know. It’s… more of a formality than anything. I… if you don’t want to—”
Vox steps forwards and lifts off the heavy tarp draped upon the body, and— stumbles back into Alastor near immediately, a hand flying to his mouth as he shakes, unable to reconcile the image of his brother— his older brother, who’d comforted him when their parents had died, who had held him the night after his early presentation and supported everything he and Velvette had done together without so much as a second glance, had been part of his pack, the only person he’d had left— with the dead, still body, lying on the medical tray.
“He— he— that’s— Val— ”
“We should perhaps consider taking a look at the other side of the body…” The coroner mumbles quietly, “Now that he’s been identified, there’s no need to worry about the particular aesthetics of this—”
“Don’t touch him!” Vox pushes away one of the assistants advancing on his brother’s body with a surgical tool, hands shaking as he reaches out to smooth down and readjust Val’s clothes. “He— he doesn’t like to look his age, you see, so— so— don’t— ”
“Vox…” Alastor reaches out to put a hand on the shaking omega’s shoulder, and when Vox doesn’t shake him off, the man wraps his arms around Vox’s body.
“He’s… he’s turning thirty-nine next week,” Vox whispers, “And he’s— he likes drinking the worst tasting alcohols of all time and then complaining about them, and he likes moths and he only ever sleeps in a well-lit room because he says he likes the warm atmosphere, even though he’s really just scared of the dark— and— and he’s—”
“He’s gone, Vox,” Velvette says quietly, approaching him from the other side. Her scent of green apples and vanillas is familiar and soothing, and when Vox feels like his legs are about to give out, he just shoves his face into her neck and breathes in the scent of his best friend. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
He feels more than sees Velvette turn to berate the officers— look what you’ve done now, are you happy now?
When he feels like he’s about to give up, strong arms pull him back into a sturdy chest— and Vox just turns and hides his face in Alastor’s chest, drinking in the alpha’s soothing scent, and prays that no one else will be taken from him.
Three weeks later…
The cool autumn air tousles Vox’s hair as he steps off the carriage, laughing brightly when Alastor extends an arm to help him and spins him around in the air, his dress ruffling as Alastor presses him against his chest and gives him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Oh, God, it’s gorgeous here.”
“The servants take care of the lands all-year round,” Alastor says. “It’s an old property, for sure, but they take care of it well. Having said that, that doesn’t mean that it’s not in a state of disrepair.”
“Oh?” Vox pushes away from Alastor’s embrace as he catches sight of a little dog, eyes widening as he rushes towards the emaciated looking pup. He picks the puppy up gently, being sure to comb through its fur thoroughly. He notices that there’s a collar on it, but no name. “Alastor, is there anyone living nearby who could’ve lost their dog, you think?”
“Not possible. The town’s about a kilometre and a half away by feet, and— what?” Alastor pauses for a second at Vox’s snicker.
“Sorry, I just— you said kilometre and suddenly I remembered that I’m— you know. Not in America anymore. I’m here now. And this is home now.” Vox smiles brightly, holding the puppy up in a secure embrace. “So, then… if this puppy doesn’t belong to anyone, could we…?”
Alastor shakes his head fondly, “Alright, fine. We can keep it.”
Vox grins widely at his husband and scritches the puppy underneath the chin before leaning in to give Alastor a kiss on his tiptoes. “Thank you, my dear!”
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Alastor says. “Now, come on. We wouldn’t want to keep Rosie waiting all by herself.”