Knock.

Knock.

"Brother Cecil, breakfast is about to be served," Finely, one of the most trusted novitiates called out. "Also," he giggled, "there's a delightful stranger joining us."

"Uh—yes." He looked down at his soaked hand, and then back up at the door. "I will be there momentarily!"

He cleaned himself well, making sure to clear his wanton scent before joining the others.

"Cecil, you must see him. This man—he's an alpha. So dreamy, tall and handsome—" Finely said favorably, clasping his hands together.

Although Cecil could not agree more with the statement, he pretended to be disinterested. Finely was only a lad of mere sixteen years in age, he knew nothing of love nor lust—well, neither did Cecil but he vowed to treat any member of the church like his own , and as so he must set an example; he must protect Finely's purity.

Moreover, they were nuns in training. Their thoughts should be on prayers, biblical teachings—not this.

Cecil snapped his head towards him, his eyebrow arched. "We are married to God," he admonished. His voice was a little bit too loud, causing it to echo in the barren hallway.

The younger omega did his best not to scoff at the comment, and instead asked as politely as he could, "Do you not think there is more to life than religion?"

"No," he retorted. "You are a novitiate and I am a nun. It is our livelihood." Cecil made sure to accentuate every word. "Others perhaps, but not us."

A hand made its way to Finely's black veil, combing it as if it was his hair. He shook his head, slightly irritated and refused to look at Cecil. "I should have not told you such thoughts. I apologize brother. It was very crass of me," he replied softly, but they were not genuine words he uttered.

"Yes it was. Do not speak of such things again. Those quixotic ramblings were insulting. Father Marcelo—"

"I am famished." Peeved, Finley quickly changed the topic at hand to avoid more berating.

The large, wooden doors of the dining hall were pushed open, and they both entered. Cecil's eyes immediately landed on the alpha man. He sat on the long, wooden rectangular seat, eating what appeared to be oatmeal. Surrounding him, were dozens of the members of the omega convent; none of them were wearing their habits. They all were all bombarding him questions. It was evident that their questions belied something far more than curiosity.

"What is the outside world like?" Charlie, the youngest omega asked. He was about twelve years in age, with long straight black hair.

"Are you married?" Another piped in, batting his thick lashes.

"What brings you here?" A third inquired.

"How long will you be staying? Please tell us, you will be staying a while."

"Where are you from?"

"What do you do?"

"Do you have a family?"

"How old are you?"

Cecil felt something burn within the pits of his heart. He clenched his fist tightly, feigning deep a cough. Everyone's heads spun around regarding him.

It became deathly silent, and the children paled.

"Brother Cecil," Aspen breathed out. He was the second oldest of the group at seventeen years old. His unruly short ginger hair was sprawled out—though it was not un-pretty, he supposed, but nevertheless still against church rules. The boy seemed to notice, Cecil's deprecating stare, and attempted to mat it down hastily. He gave him a meek smile. "We were just welcoming our guest."

"Yes, I'm sure gawking while the man is trying to eat, is very welcoming and not rude at all," Cecil stated sarcastically, glaring at them.

Truthfully, he could not blame them for wanting the alpha's attention. Cecil wanted the alpha's attention—but he could not reveal this. He was respected in the religious environment, and could not permit flaws in his omegan nature to be shown.

I must pious.

"Furthermore, where are all of your habits? Do you not know of the reason we wear them in the first place?" His voice slowly rose. He wasn't angry per say, but he needed to be stern in order to enforce discipline. "I want all of you to go back, and change. If you do not do so in the next ten seconds, I will tell Father Marcelo of this, and he will have you flogged."

"Yes, Brother Cecil," they replied in unison, the vacillating in their voice indicating that they were both irritated and fearful.

They scurried away—for the exception of Finely, who he had forgotten was by his side—their ponderous footsteps becoming fainter as they exited the hall.

The younger omega sat on the farthest opposite end of the table, his head position down as he clasped his hands in a silent prayer before digging into the meal he had gotten from the counter.

Cecil went to join him, but unexpectedly the man spoke, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Dark, blue eyes followed him, and inwardly, Cecil felt himself affected by them, but ignored those sensations.

He scowled at the man, and raised his head. It was a pompous gesture on his part, but he did it as to appear nonchalant by his presence.

"They are merely children. Flogging is quite an extreme punishment, is it not?" Cecil hated that deep, velvet timber that came from the man's lips. The alpha's expression was callous as his gaze met with Cecil's own.

Cecil couldn't bare it any longer than a cursory glance; he knew that if he stared any longer than he would have felt the effects of his omegan nature taking over. Until now, he never considered being omega was anything to be ashamed of, after all he was born this way, and yet he found himself at the moment wanting to be a beta.

The man looked no different than how he looked a day ago. His dark brown locks were gelled back, and his tanned skin somehow glowed brightly. The alpha, wore a traditional insignia on his chest, indicating his rank in the military. But there were no soldiers here in Artbrook—none of which Cecil knew of, though there was a brewing war in the North, and steadily progressing downwards. It wasn't unheard of, of soldiers being separated from the tides of belligerence.

The man, Cecil concluded, must had strayed from his own, and found the nearest place in which he temporarily stay.

"Most are novitiates, others postulants— but nevertheless, devotées to God, sir," he replied, his voice hoarse. He had tried to sound firm, but instead he sounded hesitant.

"That doesn't deny the fact that they're still children." The rebuttal was almost instant, and completely blunt.

"Children who are under my care, sir."

The man's gave a loud sigh, and then a mockery came from his lips; it wasn't caustic in anyway, a bit playful in fact. "A child taking care of children? How ironic."

Words were not needed for Finely to know that Brother Cecil wanted him to leave. The conversation was becoming heated, and knowing Cecil, it would exacerbate soon enough. So, as quietly as he could, he stood up stiffly, lips pursed and exited like the rest of the previous group.

"I am nineteen years of age. A fully fledged adult, sir. If I may ask, how old are you?" Cecil demanded cheekily.

The man couldn't be older than twenty-seven. He was clean–shaven, awfully immature, and—

A chuckle.

"I'm thirty-two."

There was a long, awkward, pause, and Cecil fumbled on his words when he spoke again. Undoubtedly, Cecil was shocked, and his mind could not comprehend what to say next.

"Well—then perhaps I may seem to be a child, in your view," he remarked awkwardly, the tension in his voice still there. He beamed at the ground trying to ignore the man's prying eyes.

"Yes, in fact, the same age as my obstinate sister. But at least—she even knows how to keep her pheromones in check."

"I–I, um, am not used to the company of an alpha—." It was excuse—not a lie—but something to cache his feelings. He almost regretted responding the the alpha's statement in the first place—almost.

"Neither are the others, but at least—they are honest, about their biology."

Painfully embarrassed how blatantly the man saw through his affectation, Cecil grabbed his garments tightly around his fist as his cheeks flooded pink. "If you excuse me, sir." He began walking straight, aiming to escape his flustered state, his hand made its way to the handle when unexpectedly, the man clasped his wrist.

It might have stupid to even think it, yet he had never felt so much warmth in his life. Living in such a religious environment hardly called for simple gestures, so he was not accustomed to the sudden touch.

Cecil flinched slightly, and then eased into the feeling, savoring it for the brief moment before the large, calloused hand released him.

"What's your name?" he asked, and for a second, Cecil almost forgot.

"Cecil, sir."

"Dmitri. And, just to inform you, you can drop the sir—I'm not that old yet."

"If that is your wish," he gulped, stilled by the man closely behind him.

Cecil's gaze never ceases from the ground, but he was certain the alpha could see how flustered he truly was, and took every opportunity to tease him. Dmitri's lips were at the cusp of the omega's ear.

The hairs on Cecil's neck, stood up.

"I find you interesting, Cecil. What if I told you, I wished to see you more often?"

Cecil opened his dry mouth to say something but before he could do some, one of the doors opened. The omega acted on instinct, and stumbled back a couple feet from Dmitri, pretending their conversation never occurred.

The pink flesh of his cheeks disappeared, and instead he fabricated the habitually smile he gave Father Marcelo.

"Ah, Brother Cecil. I was beginning to worry. I thought you were ill when you did not show up to morning mass at your usual time. I'm glad that is not the case."

"Yes, Father. Apologies." Cecil bowed slightly out of respect, and glanced up at the older man. "Sir Dmitri had some inquiries of our daily routine at the church, and I dutifully answered."

"Courteous as always, Brother Cecil."

"Thank you, Father."

Father Marcelo, then turned his sights on the alpha, and exchanged a few words with the younger man. Of course, Cecil took the opportunity to sneak away while the men were talking. He was thankful that the Father had inadvertently saved him, because honestly, he didn't know what he was going to say.

Once safely out, he felt himself collapse onto a wall, looking up as he let out a huff.

Oh, lord, what shall I do?