#like lizzy darling you are allowed to do any research at all

[fictionadventurer]

Who says writers need to do medical research? Just write like the greats and use

Classic Writer Medical Tropes

including such useful plot devices as

Having Too Many Emotions gave her a nebulous physical illness that nearly killed her

She had an actual physical illness or disability, but the Power of Love cured her

She had an illness, but I gave her a medicine (no further details needed)

[clairecrive]

Heyy:) can you write Nikolai x tidemaker reader, while Nikolai is still Sturmhond and the reader is part of the crew. Nikolai fell in love at first sight but the reader is a little introvert, but she snaps one day and confesses her love to him.

Sorry English isn’t my first language:)

Stars in the night

a/n: Hi hun sorry for the long wait. it's a bit shitty but I hope you're still around and like this x

warnings: none, fluff

word count: 2.8K

tags: @jupiterandbutterflies, @agentsofsheilds , @for-bebbanburg , @randomoutsiders , @pansysgirlfriend, @hannaxmaria , @vintagebitc , @story-scribbler , @crowssixof , @odetostep , @lizzie-he4rts, @korol-lantsov, @subjecta13-thefangirl,@gallysonegoodlung, @a-c-lee, @mriddlemethis, @carnationworld, @thanossexual, @luvxginger, @sanna2020, @partiesandblurrypolaroids, @edithsvoice, @wafflesandschemingfaces, @snugleo, @sugarmelonwater (tag list form)

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

Nights were usually y/n’s favourite time of the day. Chaos and shouts left place to eerie silence and the comforting quietness of the stars. Being on a ship meant always having people around whether they were shouting or singing or playing or whatever.

Y/n didn’t mind their company per se, it’s just that sometimes, people’s presence can get too much. But whenever she felt overwhelmed, she knew she could count on the stars to anchor her and help her breathe.

After an exhausting day at sea, no one refused the possibility to sleep and recharge. So, more often than not, y/n didn’t have any trouble in taking the night shift. It actually made her even more popular with the rest of the crew.

The crew’s captain was another thing. Y/n hadn’t a precise idea on him simply because he was always up to something. Sitting still was not in his blood, even where there were no chores to attend to. If there wasn’t something to do, Sturmhond would create it.

He was such at antipodes with y/n’s personality that their interactions were limited to her assignments, her report after her shift or him updating her about his plans. Or rather- her role in them. Y/n wasn’t foolish enough to think that he really made her part of his plans. And to be fair, y/n never asked more than what directly concerned her. Maybe that was why Sturmhond was so interested in her.

There was nothing subtle about the man. From the way he walked like he owned the world, to his shiny red hair. So, when he unusually started to roam around her just because, y/n did notice. Hell, everyone on the ship noticed. It was hard not to in such a limited space.

However, y/n thought nothing of it. It was just him being his extravagant self. Nothing new, honestly. She did not mind it either. The man had a way of being there without being overbearing, which was more than y/n could say about any other men she had met. Well, all except Tolya, of course.

He had started by bidding her good morning and goodnight every day. Then he would come to find her throughout the day, to chitchat above all things. To y/n’s horror, the privateer didn’t desist. He kept coming and y/n honestly didn’t know how to react.

She had always found him quite handsome and charming, but there was something she was absolutely shit at: small talk. And the man wanted exactly that from her. Alas, it all ended up with Sturmond’s voice filling the awkward pauses and y/n barely answering his questions.

She knew in her heart that she was giving him the wrong impression and she feared that her awkwardness would be mistaken for coldness making him eventually desist. Despite her fears though, the man didn’t seem off-put by her behaviour. He kept coming and coming but that didn’t ease y/n in any capacity.

Then one night, he stopped beating around the bush. It didn’t exactly catch her by surprise, y/n knew him, it was only a matter of time before he came out with it. It wasn’t in his nature to be discreet. Or so she thought, based on what she saw.

“Why did you want to be part of my crew? You don’t seem to like me,” he wondered, his green eyes shining in the moonlight.

Despite the words that left his mouth, y/n knew what his question implied. What he was really asking. But however powerful she might be, y/n didn’t have the guts to be upfront with him. Not even with the comforting presence of the stars as their witnesses.

If only he knew.

She knew that this could potentially be a chance for her to test the waters, to see what his intentions were and to make her clear. But alas, she knew nothing about flirting. Deflecting it is, then.

“Tolya and Tamar trust you. I trust them with my life so,” she shrugged, tacitly implying that she somewhat trusted him too.

“I see. So not only do I owe them my life but also an incredible crew.”

“The big and mighty Sturmhond praising someone other than himself?”

“I only sing praise when they’re due.”

“And, of course, no one deserves it more than yourself.”

“Well, you said it darling.” He flashed her a dazzling smile that made the moonlight pale.

Y/n rolled her eyes a bit to convey her annoyance and a bit to avoid him seeing the blush rising on her cheeks.

Truth be told, Tolya and Tamar weren’t the only ones that persuaded her from becoming a part of his crew albeit they were a big part of it. She wasn’t lying when she told him that she trusted them with her life. If it wasn’t for them, y/n would probably be a soulless machine right now. Her body on the outside but really nothing that made her y/n on the inside. That’s what happened to Grisha in Shu Han.

She owed the twin everything but that wasn’t why she made the decision to join them on the Volkovny. They didn’t force her to follow them or anything. And y/n couldn’t deny that Sturmhond’s handsome face didn’t make her sway a little in her decision. That was, however, something slippery about the privateer. It didn’t make him untrustworthy per se, but it certainly made her wary about trusting him.

The biggest push that prompted her to the Volkovny and life on the sea was her experience in Shu Han. Being Grisha meant not having a safe place outside of Ravka and sometimes in Ravka as well. Her home country was war-torn and as much as y/n had been trained to be a soldier all her life, she didn’t feel ready to take part in a fight that she didn’t feel her own.

Despite his unorthodox methods, General Kirigan’s sole purpose had always been making Grisha safe. And seeing as she had seen first-hand how the world treated Grisha, y/n could really get behind his plot, not caring about how bloody it was.

Life on the sea meant no more persecutors. Outside of her crew, no one in the ports they sailed to knew she was Grisha. Not that she was ashamed of who she was, but it’d be like having a mark on her skin if people knew. A mark that made her unsafe. She craved a life where she didn’t have to constantly watch her back. And being on the Volkovny granted her wish.

Not that it was a safe lifestyle, of course. But y/n was a survivor. If she had come out of the keirgud alive, she could well out best every threat that she will eventually cross on the sea. Besides, she knew that the twins had her back. And, in a small percentage, so did Sturmhond.

She and the captain didn’t exactly have a relationship, not like the twins have. She wasn’t his confidante or anything and she preferred to spend her time on her own -as much as life on deck allowed her- but since she was such in close quarters with the twins, that definitely made her closer to him than the rest of the crew. Not to mention that now the captain had started spending his nights with her too.

Well, not all night and not every night but it was a substantial increase in his time spent with her. Sure, it was all parts of him doing his rounds at night and being his amiable self.

So why the hell did her breath hitch whenever she caught his silhouette approaching? She hated herself for feeling like this. And him. Only that she didn’t, not really. It wasn’t his fault, was it? It was just her being silly. It’ll pass, sooner or later.

Only that, of course, it didn’t. In fact, it got even worse. If before she could manage their interaction by playing aloof and uninterested, it has now come to the point where she almost blubbered. Her heart hated her, it’d beat frantically whenever he’d approach, and his intoxicating smell made it impossible to form a coherent thought.

So, y/n decided to just stay clear of him to prevent any embarrassing situation.

After that, things didn’t get weird per se. Seeing y/n alone and drifting away from most group gatherings wasn’t weird. What was though, was her absence during the night shifts.

Before she monopolized those shifts, now she took turns like everyone else.

That was the big spy that made everyone worry about her. Non though went to talk to her about it. It would have been too personal for most of the crew to ask, and those who didn’t think better of it.

The twins knew her very well, she’d come to them whenever she was ready.

The captain… well, he didn’t react at all, which made y/n think that he hadn’t noticed anything.

He very well did, though. And the sign that he did was that he hadn’t come to her anymore. He noticed her withdrawal and while he didn’t understand why he respected her decision.

That didn’t mean that he gave up on her entirely though. His research moved elsewhere; his tactic shifted from approach to observe.

It took him almost a week to be feed with this new tactic. Not only did it prove unsuccessful, but he had almost broken a limb or two in his spying attempts.

One night, the one when he knew that you had taken the shift, he shifted again to ”approach”.

“Lovely night, eh?” He grimaced as the words left his mouth. Lamest approach ever.

“Oh, captain,” y/n exclaimed, startled by his unexpected presence, “yes, indeed.” She agreed, turning back to rest her arms over the bannister.

Nikolai’s eyes shine with amusement and y/n grimaced, cloaked in the darkness of the night, she was torn between wanting to punch herself or him. Maybe both.

“Sorry for startling you. I was surprised to see you here.”

“I’m on the night shift today,” she explained even though it wasn’t needed but saints. If they had given her social skills, she would have been too powerful.

“I see. It does not happen as often,” his eyes roamed over to her face, he could only see the side facing him thanks to the moonlight.

Y/n knew what he was doing, the man was hardly subtle, but she appreciated his attempt of breaching the subject lightly.

“We all took turns; it wasn’t fair for me to hijack this time shift.”

“I’m far too smart for you to lie to my face,”

“Excuse me?”

“What I mean to say,” he sighed, regret showing on his face, “is that I worry that you might have changed your habits because of me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“It has not escaped my notice that you’ve trying to avoid me.”

“Avoiding someone on a ship is an impossible feat.”

“I’m aware,” he smirked, and something told her that seeing her trying to do exactly that amused him to no end. Y/n turned back towards to sea and said nothing. Better silence than pointless words.

“So,” it was Sturmhond who broke the silence, “want to tell me what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, captain.”

“Again with lying,” he chided softly. Sturmond knew y/n like the back of his hand. Being on a ship will do that. He knew then that the best way to approach her wasn’t to put her under the spotlight or in a corner.

She sighed, knowing that lying to him would not get her out of this situation. Trying to muster her courage, she turned to him.

“Alright, you’re right,” she conceded and that alone was telling since Sturmonhd’s ego didn’t need any stroking. “You haven’t done anything wrong, though. It’s me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You should because it’s true. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by my emotions and I don’t know how to deal with them.”

“So, you just run from the situation?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it running,” she mumbled under her breath. His intense stare put her even more on edge.

“Isn’t that point of living, though?” he added softly, “Feeling?”

“Maybe.”

“Amazing,” he said with an edge to his voice.

“What?” Y/n’s eyes flickered to him and the expression on his face left her wondering if he was serious or making fun of her.

“I’ve seen you facing volcras and other enemies straight on with a courage that puts to shame many soldiers and yet this is what you’re afraid of?”

“Rejections is much scarier than combat.” Abandoning every attempt of pretence, y/n went with the truth. She was already in the game, now she had no choice but to play.

“Is it?” His brow raised and now there was no doubt that he was making fun of her.

“If something goes bad in a battle, I’m dead. And there’s nothing for me to worry about if that happens, right?”

“But putting myself out there and then getting rejected, means living with the shame and embarrassment of knowing that I’m not enough.”

“Well, that’s a rather tragic take on it.”

“Joke all you want. I don’t suppose you know what it feels like, giving your shining hair and dazzling smile.”

“While knowing you think that of me brings me immense joy, I would also like to point out that you’re wrong.”

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrow in wonder.

“Rejection takes a whole other shade of intensity when it comes from your family.” The words were said lightly but they made her breath get caught in her throat anyway.

“Is it because of your lifestyle?”

“It’s because of their opinion of me that I’ve chosen this lifestyle.”

“I’m sorry that your family is unable to see how much you shine.” “Maybe it’s because you’ve blinded them?” She tried to ease the tension and she was rewarded with a tease of a smile.

“Oh, don’t point it at me! I will lose my eyes and then you’ll throw me from this ship,” she shrieked and went to shield her eyes as if she was under the midday sun. This foolish stunt earned her the captain’s laugh. One so full and rich that left no doubt of its authenticity. It made y/n smile too and wish that he’d do that more often.

“I would never throw you from this ship.”

“What use could I have with no eyes?”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something else to do.”

“Like being the ship’s clown.”

“While you amuse me to no end, I was thinking about a far more private role.”

“Private as in?”

“Meant for my eyes only.”

“Selfish much?”

“When it comes to you? Shamelessly so.”

The privateer leaned down to her, agonizingly slow giving her all the time to pull away if she wanted to. A million things swirled through her mind in those few seconds. Every worry about what was going to happen, about all the ways this could go sour.

The wheels in her mind turned incredibly fast almost making her lightheaded. Before this could turn into a full session of overthinking though, y/n shook her head effectively stopping the thoughts from growing.

Despite her lacking in basic social skills in an incredibly sad way, conversation with him always flowed easily. She never worried about what she was supposed to do or say or whatever. She could just… be. Be y/n.

That was priceless if not rare. And right then and there she decided that she wasn’t willing to lose it. Not without fighting.

Borne from the spur of the moment the best decision she could ever make, she leaned into him as well. Closing her eyes, she was able to see the corner of his lips lifted a little before she felt his lips on him.

Saints.

Did she say that she was afraid of feeling? Fuck that. This feeling, the feel of the touch of his lips on her, his fingers lightly stroking her face, his breath inside her, him becoming a part of her? She was pretty sure was going to die if she went too long without it.

Angling his head to the side, she pressed her lips on his with renowned fervour. Her hands found their way in his strands. A moan left him as y/n swallowed the sound. Using the grip on his hair, y/n pulled him to her. Sturmond gladly followed her lead, returning the intensity of the kiss before his hands gripped the back of her knees, lifting her up.

He lightly used the bannister as leverage, his grip shifting to her hips holding her so tightly so that losing her was not an option. Not now, not ever.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

A Painter’s Embrace

Chapter One

Introduction (Read Me First)

Summary: Set in the Regency Period, this is my submission for @yourtropegirl ‘s Historical AU Challenge (and it’s been a bitch to write. I created a world for you, woman. There had better be cookies!) Please note this is an ABO fic, but it is not your regular ABO style of dynamic. For more information read the Introduction first. Also, this fic will be slower to update as the research takes longer. It will not update weekly!

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x OFC  | Word Count: 5276 Warnings: None

Lady Elizabeth Heartright, the darling of the Ton - the high society set of stuffy and rather tedious people she socialized with - was standing in the ballroom of Iron Court, doing her best to ward off the unwanted advances of many a suitor. She had only just managed to escape out from under the attention of Lord Davenport, the overbearing alpha who seemed unable - or more likely unwilling - to take no for an answer, and she was desperately thirsty.

Just because she was an omega did not mean she would roll over for the first male who snarled at her, and this male had been snarling for quite some time. However, having been raised by an alpha father and a beta mother, and being the Omega Queen she was, she had far more backbone than most women of her type.

It was off-putting to some, but, all in all, she had decided if the males who came calling could not handle a little bite in their omega, she did not want them for an alpha. As she was also the heir to the Heartright fortune, every male with even a modicum of pedigree was hanging off her primaries. Weeding out a few of the less desirable set, those who could not tolerate her… quirks made her life easier.

She shook her wings to free the tension in her shoulders. They’d been held in a defensive position for so long Lizzy was certain she would have a headache to contend with the next day thanks to her tight back muscles.

“Lady Heartright, you are most fortunate to have caught the eye of Lord Davenport. He is a fine alpha,” Martha Winthrop said, swooning slightly at Lizzy’s side.

She tried very hard not to roll her eyes. “I would rather have caught the eye of a mallard,” she muttered, tugging her glove up her elbow and taking the cup of punch offered her by the servant at the refreshment table. Martin’s eyes twinkled merrily, apparently enjoying her pronouncement, but she did not hold it against him. The landed servants of this house all knew they could trust her to keep her mouth shut when it came to their amusements and entertainments.

“Lady Heartright!” Martha gasped, her blue eyes wide in shock and dowdy grey wings fluttering in distress. “Hush yourself. Whatever would your mother say?”

“She would say Lizzy had every right to choose her mate, Miss Winthrop. Now, go away and let Lizzy be.”

Lizzy smiled past the rim of her cup at the approaching woman in sky blue silk. The high waist of her gown was patterned with loops of pearls and heavy embroidery, mimicked on the short, puffy sleeve. Wings of black and grey swept out behind her, a startling contrast to Constance’s bright red hair. Had it been anyone else to speak so to Martha there would have been hell to pay, but, as it was Constance Stark, daughter and heir to Lord Stark the Earl of Iron and host for the evening, Martha bobbed a curtsey and hurried off, her wings folded tightly to her spine.

“Thank you, Constance,” Lizzy said, linking her arm through the proffered one after returning her cup to the servant.

She smiled and led Lizzy away from the refreshments to take a slow turn around the room. “I was actually coming to save you from the advances of Lord Davenport when father waylaid me.” An omega herself, she lifted her wings high and wrapped one around the back of Lizzy, indicating their desire for privacy when the males looked to advance upon them.

Lizzy and Constance had been friends from birth, the Starks and the Heartrights close in both age and distance, so when at the tender age of ten both of Lizzy’s parents were killed in a carriage accident, it had been to the Starks she had gone.

Her father’s will had made it quite clear Lizzy was to be allowed to choose her own path in life and love, as her parents had before her, and Lord Stark had been most accommodating. Yes, it was an oddity in this age, a woman, an Omega Queen at that, being allowed to rule her own life, but Anthony Edward Stark was an eccentric man himself.

An inventor, he had created many a unique trinket. Some of which had gone to help the war effort against Napoleon and his army. Lord Stark was an oddity, but then his wife, Lady Pepper was no better. An alpha and an omega who fit so perfectly their love was blinding, but Lord help anyone who tried to intimidate Lady Pepper.

The woman was as fiery as her hair and wings implied. A vibrant red, Lizzy had heard her take many an overbearing alpha or beta to task with the sharpness of her tongue. Was it any wonder the Ton knew both Lizzy and Constance as spirited women?

Stubborn was the word used by polite company. Pigheaded was the one used behind closed doors. Unseemly most likely as well.

Such was the reason that at twenty and one summer’s Lizzy was still unmated and unwed. She had yet to find a mate to suit her. One for whom she could love and be loved without the restrictions of society. One who could tolerate her strong-headed ways, silly quirks, and stubborn qualities. She would not be meek. She would not simper and cower and walk two steps behind her alpha. She would be his partner in life. Not just a body he could breed his offspring on.

“Take a breath, Lizzy. Your irritation is spiking,” Constance murmured, curling her wing tighter around them.

“My apologies. I was woolgathering again,” she sighed softly.

“You worry you will never find an alpha worthy of you. I understand, Lizzy. I have the same fear.”

It was too dower a subject for such a splendid fête, and Lizzy pushed the distressing thoughts to the side. “Tell me what your father wanted?”

“It appears his honoured guests have arrived. He was going to greet them personally before bringing them into the ball and was stepping away for a moment.”

“This is the Earl of Denton and his friend? The ones from the war effort?” Lizzy asked curiously.

The Earl was spoken of frequently and with great admiration by Lord Stark. He had been a staunch supporter of Tony’s weapons and gadgets, using many of them himself on the front lines of the battle.

“Indeed,” Constance giggled softly, her excitement clear in her scent. “Father is most pleased to meet them after corresponding with them for so long. Tis a shame it is injury which has returned them to us from France, but good fortune the Earl lives only a short flight away.”

Lizzy wondered if some of Constance’s excitement was due to how both males were unknown to them. Perhaps one would make a fitting mate for her friend. For Lizzy herself, she simply hoped neither would chase after her like a hawk after a sparrow. She was tired of the constant barrage of suitors, almost ready to place herself squarely off the market simply to have a break from the incessant banter.

She knew as all omegas did, she was a highly desirable commodity. She was also not blind to the image of herself in the mirror. Her hair had been likened to a raven’s feathers so many times; she often wished she could change it if only to hear a different remark. Her wings, a swans crowning glory dipped in the moon’s shining beams was enough to make her gag. Her eyes like storm-swept skies… Please! She’d read better prose in the trashy novels smuggled in by the landed servants.

“How nice for them,” she commented absently.

“Lizzy, darling, are you feeling alright?” Constance asked, giving the air a surreptitious sniff.

“Stop it, Constance. You know you and I… do that at the same time.” She blushed, refusing to speak about heats in public.

“You appeared so sad, Lizzy. I was worried about you,” Constance murmured, coming to a stop in a slightly secluded corner of the ballroom.

Lizzy sighed and leaned her head against Constance’s shoulder, her best friend’s wings now hiding them fully from view. “I have grown weary of the pretense. At times I think I should simply become the maiden aunt to your offspring and spend father’s fortune on frivolous things. Perhaps I should become an eccentric cat collector.”

“Perish the thought!” Constance scoffed, not a cat person herself. “But I know, love.” She smiled gently, cupping Lizzy’s cheeks. “Do not give up hope just yet. I truly believe something good is about to happen.”

“If you say so.” Lizzy wiped the lone tear from her cheek. “I will forever be grateful to your father for never once pushing me to choose.”

“Mother would pluck his feathers if he tried,” she giggled, returning them to their leisurely strolling.

“Uncle Stark is most vain about his feathers.” The man had large wings of black and red and gold. They were quite stunning and most intimidating when he was in a mood. “At times I think he spends more time preening than even you, dear Const…” Her voice trailed off when the hullabaloo erupted near the entrance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Stark called out, his wings lifted high as he stood atop the stairs. “It is my great honour and privilege to present to you, Colonel Rogers, the Earl of Denton, and Lieutenant Colonel Barnes, Lord of Winterborne.”

The alpha’s wings swept down, and Lizzy’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh… my,” she whispered, unable to pull her eyes from the blond man in the red military uniform with ropes of gold braiding and lapels of navy. He stood tall and regal at the top of the stairs in breeches of white silk and high boots. Though impeccably dressed, he was outfitted so differently from the rest of the men in the room he quite stood out from the others.

His short cropped hair curled ever so slightly at his ears and over his forehead, while eyes of crystalline blue could be seen even at a distance. When he stepped forward and bowed to the room, she felt a blossom of heat curl in her core for he had the most beautiful golden wings she’d ever seen.

They lifted up, high and wide, spreading out behind him magnificently. Lizzy had never seen so many shades of gold. Everything from deep, rich antique to bright and shiny as a newly minted coin. It wasn’t until his primaries fanned out she noted the shocking touch of bronze along the tips.

Her heart fairly pounded, and she lifted a hand to her throat to contain the flutter. “Constance…” she whispered.

“Oh… my,” her friend sighed.

Lizzy felt a moment of panic. Certainly, Constance couldn’t be as entranced by the alpha - and an alpha he must be with those wings - as she was. When she darted a glance her way, Lizzy nearly sobbed in relief for Constance’s gaze was not on the golden one, but rather the rougher looking dark male at his side.

Lord Barnes appeared the quintessential rake in his red uniform and breeches of black highlighting his thick muscles. He was dressed as the Earl in high boots though his hair was a touch too long to be fashionable. When his wings lifted, brushing along the edge of the Earl’s in a move born of familiarity, Constance sighed at their grandeur. They were the deepest, purest black Lizzy had ever seen. They appeared to absorb the light around him until he was wreathed in shadow and proclaimed him an alpha as well.

In truth, he scared Lizzy a little. There was a hardness to him she was disinclined to be acquainted with. But Constance, her much more adventurous friend, appeared wholly enamoured of the dark soldier.

It was not until the two men made to descend the stairs that Lizzy became aware of the injuries which had seen them returning home. The Colonel leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, his limp pronounced, while a sling tied across his body hindered the Lieutenant's left arm.  

“Come, Lizzy dear. We should make our presence known to them before they are encumbered by any number of fawning females.”

She eyed Constance with amusement. “Are you not simply adding yourself the mix of fawning females?”

“What? No!” she huffed. “As a Stark myself, and you as father’s ward, it is only correct we introduce ourselves.”

Lizzy detached her arm from Constance with a small smile. “You go on. I am going to take in the air on the terrace. It is far too stuffy in here for me.” And with everyone flocking to the newcomers, perhaps she could find a moments peace and a welcome touch of privacy.

“Are you certain you are alright?” Constance asked, torn between coming with her and inserting herself into the growing circle of simpering omegas.

“Go. I will be fine.” She smiled, patted Constance’s hand, and shooed her away.

Once her friend was off in a flutter of feathers, Lizzy turned to the exterior doors and made her way outside to stand in the shadows along the railing.

It was a soft night in the English countryside. The air was fresh and clean, the stars were bright, and she inhaled the satisfaction of it. But it was a short-lived peace for, when she lifted her wings high and wide behind her, letting them stretch after the tightness induced by Lord Davenport’s presence, a hand, big and rough and unwanted, landed on the bare flesh between them.

Her shriek of fear ripped through the night as she spun to face the intruder, snapping her wings around herself protectively to glare at the man for whom she held only contempt.

“Come now, darling. Is that any way to treat your alpha? When will you end this charade? We both know you will be mine eventually.” Davenport leered at her, his hand skimming the edge of her feathers.

“Do not touch me, sir!” Lizzy yelped, stepping back and finding herself trapped against the railing.

He stepped into her, murky brown wings coming up to hide them from view, the alpha doing his best to intimidate her into submitting. “Why should I not touch what is mine, little omega? You keep running from me, but you will give me what I want eventually.”

He gripped her by a wing and yanked her toward him, causing Lizzy to cry out and fear to explode in her scent. “No! Get away from me!”

He dragged her closer and pushed his nose into her neck, stroking it up to scent her and leaving his foul one behind when he licked at her skin. “You smell lush, Elizabeth.”

“Someone, help me!” she cried. Well aware the noise of the ball would likely muffle her plea, Lizzy brought her free wing up, smacking him in the jaw with the hard arc of bone, knocking his face away and his grip from her feathers.

“You will pay for that, omega!” he snarled, eyes tinting red.

She wanted to cower, wanted to back away from the rage, but she would not fall beneath the Will of this heinous male. “Stay away from me!” Lizzy snapped, sweeping her wings down to launch herself to the railing she was trapped against. “Your company is neither requested nor wanted. I reject you, Lord Davenport, and shall be informing Lord Stark of this blatant breach of good manners!”

He made to lunge for her, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“The lady has made her wishes known, sir. It is time for you to abandon your quest.”

“Who the hell do you think you are interfering in business between an alpha and his omega?” Davenport snarled as he spun around, wings raised high, seeking to intimidate Lizzy’s would be rescuer.

Lizzy gasped when the other male’s wings lifted and snapped outward. They fairly doubled that of Davenport’s and were shining shimmering gold. The omega in her whimpered, and Lizzy nearly did as well when she whispered, “Warlord Alpha.”

***

“I would be Colonel Steven Grant Rogers, Earl of Denton, and I would thank you, sir, to stop harassing that omega! She clearly is not yours nor does she wish to be.” Steve felt his alpha surge, the secondary biology which drove him to follow instincts old as time. It whipped out as a lash against the lesser alpha, slapping him with a wall of his Will not many could resist for long.

His instincts had led him here to the terrace when his ear had caught the first muffled scream. When he’d arrived at the door to find the woman needing assistance was the incredible dove he’d seen across the ballroom, his heart had clenched.

She was lovely with hair like ink, skin like cream, and eyes of slate grey, but it was her wings which had drawn his attention. Even across the expanse of the room he could see they were the purest of white, a shimmering alabaster, but stretched to their full extent as she made to escape her assailant he found they were even more remarkable for not only did they proclaimed her a Queen, but the underside gleamed like mother of pearl. A cascade of pastel colours, all soft and glorious, while the tip of her primaries appeared dipped in silver.

His artist’s heart thumped a hard cadence. What would it take to have her agreeing to sit for a portrait? Would he even be able to capture the magnificence of such wings?

Her impassioned snarl was so unlike an omega he’d had to take a moment to find his bearings before making his way out on the terrace to assist her; the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten.

“The Golden Devil…” Davenport whispered, the red leaving his eyes as his wings folded submissively behind him. “I beg pardon, my lord.”

“You should be begging the pardon of Lady…?” He looked up to the ethereal creature standing on the railing like an Egret about to take flight.

“Heartright, my lord.” She bobbed an effective curtsey for one so precariously perched.

“Lady Heartright as it is she you have distressed.” Steve glowered at Davenport until the man snapped a swift bow.

“Miss. I beg forgiveness for my forward actions. I shall inform your Uncle I will be withdrawing my suit. Good evening.”

He straightened, nodded to Steve, and returned inside, allowing Steve to appreciate the beauty before him fully. The shimmering lavender of her gown hugged her breasts. He could tell she would be trim of waist and round of hip even had she not been laced into a corset. The ribbon beneath her breasts was a darker variation of purple, strung with beads and jewels, a match for the bands of her sleeves and the collar of her pretty dress. Pins held up her curls, ones of flowers and butterflies, appearing to fly across the blanket of night her hair had become.

She was utterly disarming.

He had never been so enraptured by a woman at first glance before. Then, the breeze shifted, carrying her scent to his nose and he almost growled. Mine. The stunning dove was his.

His mate. His omega. His Queen. His.

And her fear scented the air.

The very thought of her being afraid of him snapped him out of his haze of scents and instincts. “You are safe,” he said softly, stepping closer, his limp going unnoticed in favour of enticing the little female to him. “Come down, pretty dove.” He held up his hand to assist her, lowering his wings to be less threatening, but leaving them spread out, a hard to resist temptation.

She looked at him suspiciously for a time, one hand repeatedly rubbing over the scent gland on her throat, driving him insane with the desire to do so himself. After what felt an eternity of time, she reached for his hand and took it gently to step with grace and a curl of her wings to the ground.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, unable to look away from her eyes. “A gentleman must assist a lady in distress.”

She blushed, the colour highlighting her cheeks. “What a special breed of gentleman you must be. Not many would have stood against Lord Davenport.”

“Aggravating sot,” Steve muttered, earning a surprised giggle. The musical sound made him smile. “Would you sit with me, Lady Heartright? I’m afraid my leg is still not quite healed.”

“Oh! How dreadful of me to keep you standing. Please.” She took his arm and led him slowly across the terrace to sit on a stone bench.

Steve stretched his leg out and rubbed at his thigh, well aware of the spike of interest which floated between them. Unlike him, who’d caught the delectable natural scent of her and knew without a doubt she was his, his high collar, cravat, and heavy waistcoat effectively masked his scent to the point where she had not yet caught his.

“Heartright… Heartright… would you be Elizabeth Heartright, the ward of Lord Stark?” he asked, tilting his head, studying the way the moonlight seemed to shimmer over her feathers.

“Yes. He is my uncle… of a sort,” Lizzy smiled.

“Of a sort sounds rather mysterious. Are you a mysterious sort of omega, Lady Heartright?”

She laughed, bringing her gloved fingers to her lips before rubbing, again, the spot on her throat. It lifted her scent into the air, one mixed with that of Davenport.

His audacity offended Steve greatly. To mark an unwilling omega in such a way was frowned upon. This was not the days of yore when omegas were seen as chattel, property to be owned and parcelled out. They were people, human beings, and should be cherished and pampered, not bullied and forced.

“I hate to be a disappointment, my lord, but I am a plain country girl.” She shook her head, her eyes alight with amusement.

Steve reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled forth a handkerchief scented with lavender. “For your neck, if you’ll permit me?” he asked, motioning to the spot which was bothering her.

Her eyes grew round, and he thought she would reject his offer before a shift came over her, a rise of her secondary nature. She may not have caught his scent, but her omega was not averse to his alpha.

“Would you?” she asked softly.

Perhaps it was forward, but Steve would not allow himself to think of the impropriety when his need to care for the beautiful omega was making his alpha snarl. Evidently, her omega was pushing her to let him in much the same fashion.

Without further thought, he leaned toward her, her scent intoxicating to his senses. It made his head swim, and he longed to tuck his nose in her throat and lick away the offending odour of the other male. Instead, he gently wiped the linen over her skin.

She tilted her head, the act a submissive one which saw Steve biting back another growl. When the scent of the other male no longer lingered on her skin, he pulled away, but not before grazing her jaw with his thumb.

“Thank you, my lord,” she sighed. “His advances were unwanted. His actions even more so.”

“I am glad I arrived before he could force your hand,” Steve agreed.   

“Would you explain something to me, my lord?” she asked softly, her fingers twisting together.

“If I can, I will do so.”

“What did Lord Davenport mean by The Golden Devil?” She looked up at him with curious eyes.

Steve chuckled softly and shook his head. “It was a name given me by my men. The French captured Lord Barnes and a contingent of my soldiers. I knew where they were, and knew how to get to them, but was told to stand down and wait for reinforcements. Lord Barnes, James who goes by Bucky, has been my best friend, my brother, since our nursery days and when my parents passed, his took me in. I could not, would not leave him to the French. I disobeyed orders, went in after the contingent alone and freed the soldiers. We fought our way out, taking down one of Napoleon’s strongholds in the process. Bucky had been… well, it is not for polite company.”

“Tortured?” she asked, concern in her voice. “And as for polite company, I find it dreadfully dull. Speak as you will, Colonel Rogers.”

He smiled at her, happy to have her drop the my lord stuffiness. He was too long in the military with men of a rough and tumble nature to hold with such formalities. “Yes, the Lieutenant had been tortured, his injuries great, but I refused to leave him behind. I fought my way through with Bucky on my shoulder. The men said watching me fight, wings high and sweeping, was like watching the devil. After, whenever we went into battle, it was said the sight of my wings alone was enough to send Napoleon’s forces fleeing. We were turning the tide of the war till this took me down.” He slapped his thigh with a sigh.

“And your friend? Was he also injured so?”

“In the same battle. Barnes is a crack marksman. A sniper, but when he saw me go down, he came to assist and took a bullet for his trouble.”

“Oh, how brave but how terrible,” she said, drawing her left wing closer. She winced when it moved, sending pain and distress into the air.

“Are you injured from your ordeal, Lady Heartright?”

“My wing is a trifle tender. I’m afraid Lord Davenport was rather insistent.”

Steve growled, low and deadly, but tenderly touched her sore wing. “Forgive my forwardness, but if anything is damaged…”

“No… I… I understand,” she blushed, extending it out to him.

As gently as possible, he manipulated the bones and tendons. When he finished, assured she was only bruised, Steve was unable to resist running his palm over the sleek feathers. “You have the most beautiful wings I have ever seen. I suppose one would say they were like a swan’s dipped in moonlight,” she stiffened, then sighed as if disappointed, “but I would not.”

“You wouldn’t?” Surprise had her lifting her head.

“No.” Steve shook his head, tenderly tracing a finger over the arch of her wing. “They are like a blanket of fresh snow upon the hills which sparkles beneath the glow of a full moon. A ribbon of a frozen river appears silver beneath the night sky to tip your primaries in its glory.”

She looked at him with eyes full of wonder before they darted down and away. “You… you honour me, Colonel,” she murmured.

A host of emotions rose from her to thrum against his alpha. Happy, surprised, pleased, embarrassed. They seemed to swirl in his nose and stroke his ego, urging him onward in his early pursuit of this sweet omega.

He gently manipulated her wing to touch the interior of her stunning feathers hesitantly. “But this, my lady, this took my breath away. It is as if someone inlaid your feathers in mother of pearl. I have never seen such wonders before.”

She blushed and gently pulling her wing from his grasp so they could sweep submissively down her back. Her lashes fluttered and more pleased, happy, awed appeared in her scent. “I must admit, yours are… quite fetching as well.”

“These?” he asked sliding one forward, so it opened and cut off the light from the ballroom.

“Magnificent,” she whispered. Her hand lifted, but she hesitated before reaching for the top of her glove. She peeled it down, exposing her smooth forearm, only to pause at her wrist. “Please, do not think less of me?”

“I could never,” he whispered and took her hand to pull away each finger of her glove, freeing her of the fabric.

Her hand returned to his wing and gentle fingers, warm and soft, stroked languidly down them.

Steve felt her touch all the way to his soul. His cock jumped when she pressed her palm against his secondaries and jumped again when she traced the edge of one of his bronze-tipped primaries.

“They are so beautiful.”

“Omega,” he rumbled softly.

She turned to him, hand buried still in his feathers. Shy was written all over her posture.

When he held out his hand, she gave hers over willingly. He brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on the bare flesh. “Lord Barnes and I will be in residence a few days to discuss… things of a military nature with Lord Stark. Would it be forward of me to ask to spend time with you while we are here? To… to call upon you, Lady Heartright? Perhaps take in the grounds?”

“Yes,” she whispered, taking her hand back with reluctance to return her glove to its proper place.

“Yes, it would be forward, or yes, you would take a walk with me? Albeit a short one,” he teased gently, patting his thigh.

“Oh, no… I mean yes, I mean…” she cleared her throat, “I would be most delighted to take even a short walk with you, my lord.”

“And here I thought we’d slipped past silly formalities.” He took her hand and got slowly to his feet to balance on his good leg while he tucked her hand in the bend of his elbow. “I would be most pleased for you to call me Colonel Rogers, my lady.”

“Colonel,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling with reflected stars.

“Allow me to escort you back to your Uncle.” He needed to stake a claim before another could, and speaking with her Uncle would expedite things.

“How did you manage to make it through all these people to assist me?” she asked, looking up at him curiously as they stepped back inside.

He smiled softly down at her. “Not many people can stand against me when I put my mind to something, fair lady.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed.” He bent a little closer, aware of the eyes on them. “I always get what I’m after. It’s part of my charm,” he said with a roguish smile.

She laughed in surprised delight. “I’m sure you are most charming… for a Golden Devil.”

Steve only smiled, pleased with her wit as her shyness waned, and lifted his wings to settle one behind hers before casting a glance around the room at the many disappointed faces both male and female. Clearly, they had all been hoping for more from both himself and the darling woman with him.

But it was of little consequence for this Golden Devil would have his sweet White Dove. Nothing and no one would stand in the way of a Warlord Alpha in pursuit of his Omega Queen.

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