DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD

LOST BOYS

TWO

THE CHANNEL

TWO DAYS LATER

Al stood at the bow, a salty north-eastern breeze blowing back his wheat-blonde cowlick, tugging at his feathery hair. The slim ship sliced through the waves like a knife, its sail full of a powerful wind that propelled it across the Channel. Al liked the feel of the sun beating down on his face. He reveled in the heat of late-August, which the rest of his family—sans Francis—was less fond of. (They burned too easily.) Fortunately for them, hot, sunny days on the isles were few and far between, which is why Al treasured the sunrays on his skin, reflected off the grey water.

Matt would have been there beside him, but he had gone expectedly into Heat a day before and was locked in the room below-deck, which Francis and Scott took turns guarding. Neither of them trusted the crew's blatant interest in the Omega's enticing scent. Arthur had initially protested Scott being so close, as well. Matt was a young and fertile unclaimed Omega whose soft cries called-out for an Alpha. Francis was immune to it. He was pair-bonded and Matt's Alpha-father. Nothing mattered more to him than his precious pups and their safety. Scott insisted that he, too, could resist nature and protect Matt ("Matt is my own blood, Art! Don't insult me!"), but Arthur worried about his impulsive Alpha-brother, and secretly Al did, too.

Two years ago, Al had witnessed something that had, then, made him question the family head's self-control. Scott was home alone with the two thirteen-year-olds when Matt had unexpectedly gone into Heat. It was sooner than it should have been, and it was still a new experience for the family; Matt had only had two Heats before then. Scott had tried to take care of his nephew. He had scooped Matt into his arms, intending to take him to the storehouse like he used to do for Arthur, and Al, curious and concerned, had followed. Scott's pace had started out fast, but halfway there he slowed to a walk, then stopped. He stood in the field, holding Matt as the Omega-pup whined and wriggled in the Alpha's arms. Instinctively, he pressed himself closer to Scott, pawing at the Alpha insistently, and Al was shocked to see that his uncle was shaking. The look in Scott's eyes worried Al—his pupils were dilated, swallowing the green—but not as much as Scott's intent when he bowed his head to Matt's neck and tasted the Omega-pup's skin.

"Hey!" Al had shouted, afraid of what he saw. "Scottie, stop it!" Bravely, he kicked Scott's shin. Scott growled in reflex and bared his teeth at the blue-eyed Omega-pup, who cowered in fear. But Al repeated: "Uncle Scottie, please stop it! Let go of Mattie!"

His high-pitched plea seemed to reach Scott. Suddenly, the Alpha gasped and almost dropped Matt. "Fuck!" he cursed, looking scared for the first time in Al's life. The Omega-pup soon found his twin dropped indelicately into his arms as Scott backed away. "Lock Matt in the storehouse, Al!" he ordered, covering his nose and mouth. Then he turned around and ran. Al heard his frustrated voice shouting: "FUCK!" in the distance. Baffled, Al tugged Matt onto his back and carried him quickly to the storehouse, afraid to risk the attention of other Alphas.

That had been the first time Al had seen an Alpha react to an Omega. It was surprising, and it stirred mixed feelings within him: fear, but also intrigue. Alphas were supposed to mate Omegas. It was the natural order of things. But Al had never seen an Alpha look so helpless before, which peaked his curiosity. It was frightening to think that—based on his uncle's reaction—any Alpha could be effected by an Omega's Heat, blood-relative or not, but it also gave Al a feeling of empowerment. Do I have that power too? he had wondered. Could I drive an Alpha wild with lust?

When his parents had returned that night, asking after Matt, Al had reported that he had taken Matt into the storehouse alone. He was praised for taking care of his twin ("What a wonderful brother you are, Alfred!"), which he happily accepted, basking in his parents' proud smiles. He never confronted Scott about the incident, and Scott never acknowledged what had almost happened. Even now, two years later, he and Al had an unvoiced agreement to keep it a secret. But the Omega-pup had learnt something important that day, something that he would never forget: Omegas were not as weak as society wanted them to be.

"Alfred, love?" Arthur's voice called, interrupting Al's thoughts. When he spotted his isolated pup, he joined him at the ship's bow. "It's chilly today," he noted by way of greeting. In defense of the breeze, he crossed his arms. Al grunted in acknowledgement. He could feel his Omega-father's eyes studying his profile, but pretended not to notice. A minute passed, then two. Finally, Arthur said: "Come inside and have supper, love."

"I'm not hungry—"

"Alfred, please."

Al was taken aback by the concern in Arthur's tone. Tentatively, he touched Al's shoulder.

Al swallowed. He was hungry—starving. In fact, the up-and-down bobbing of the ship was making him feel dizzy. He had been nursing a terrible headache since yesterday and was now afraid that he would get sick. At least I can blame it on seasickness, he thought. In preparation for the journey, Al had cut back on his food intake even more and, as a result, hadn't eaten anything for nearly forty-eight hours. It made him feel weak, which he hated, which he tried to fight, but he was rewarded by his reflection in the looking-glass. His face, at least, looked thinner, even if his midsection did not. All I have to do is hide the dark circles under my eyes, he had thought as he subtly applied a pasty cosmetic, which he had stolen from the pack's apothecary. As long as no one studied him too closely—like Arthur was now—no one would know that he had faked his healthy complexion.

He attempted a half-hearted smile for Arthur's benefit, willing his stomach not to growl. "Dad," he insisted, "I'm fine."

Arthur was unconvinced.

"No," he said sternly, "you're not. Alfred, love," he forced an amiable smile, "you haven't eaten anything for nearly two days. Don't think I haven't noticed. I'm worried about you."

In example, he reached for Al's face, but Al knocked his hand aside in annoyance.

"I'm fine, really," he repeated. "I'm just not... I'm just a little nervous, that's all," he lied.

As expected, Arthur's reaction was instantaneous. It was no secret that he was still angry with Scott, and to a lesser extent Francis, and he blamed them for any distress the Omega twins had felt within the last forty-eight hours. Since learning of their intent for Al and Matt, Arthur had been visibly stressed, concerned about his young pups and overly attentive to each of their needs. Perhaps it was unfair, but Al found his Omega-father's concern desirable. Even if it was for selfish reasons, he still loved the attention. It was so easy to exploit Arthur's compassion, which is what he did now. All he had to do was cast a sheepish glance at Arthur and Arthur ate Al's lie without question, too focused on blaming the Alphas to notice Al's subtle manipulation.

"Oh, love, I'm so sorry," he said, suspicion melting into sympathy.

Al faked a brave-face. "It's okay," he said softly, smiling in a martyr-like fashion, which was equal parts fear and courage.

"Come here." Arthur drew Al into a one-armed hug. Al instantly felt guilty for deceiving his Omega-father, who seemed to feel his pups' trepidation as if it were his own, but he felt equally as grateful for the physical affection. He so rarely got to cuddle with anyone, since they considered him less in need of it than Matt. Al rested his cheek on Arthur's shoulder, feeling peaceful (forgetting his hunger for once) as Arthur's weight rested gently atop his head. "It's going to be okay, love," he said, holding his pup. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise."

Al closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, comforted by his Omega-father's mild scent.

"Do you know," said Arthur, after a minute. Absently, he rubbed his thumb back-and-forth over Al's forearm. "I was scared half-crazy the day you and Matthew were born. I felt so lost, so weak. I was all alone and, then, I thought that I would always be alone. It was terrifying." He spoke slowly, as if reliving the faraway experience with every word. Yet despite Arthur's bleak confession, his tone was nostalgic. It was an odd mix, in Al's thinking. Eventually, the older Omega continued. "But that's not going to be you," he said seriously. "I won't let that happen to you, Alfred. I won't let you or Matthew feel lost and alone. It's such a terrible feeling. And Omegas..." He paused, reconsidered, and then said the words anyway: "Omegas are not meant to be alone."

(Lone Alphas—Lone Wolves, they were called—were not that uncommon, but Omegas were never left alone. It was simple evolution: social evolution, perhaps. It was widely believed that Omegas could not survive alone.)

"I know," Al repeated. He felt conflicted, though he couldn't tell why.

"But you won't be alone," Arthur amended, so as not to frighten his pup. He sounded chipper. "You have me and your Papa and Scott. And maybe soon an Alpha-mate."

Al removed himself from his Omega-father's grasp, sighing deeply. "He's going to choose Matt, Dad. Just like everyone else. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm here."

"Alfred—"

"Never-mind," Al interrupted. He forced a smile and a change-of-topic. "I'm feeling better. Let's go eat."

THE LOW COUNTRIES

Hold on, pup." Scott grabbed the back of Al's coat, preventing him from leaping to shore.

The ship was tethered to a weathered quay, bobbing on the waves that congealed in the inlet. The wind blew fiercely here, unhindered by cliffs or forests. Al spied the long, flat landscape through a curtain of cold rainfall. It was very different from the rocky highlands and rolling hills of the Isles. The sinking land here looked ready to surrender to the North Sea with little provocation. Al had heard a Low-Lander sailor call it an alluvial plain, which Al translated to swamp. "The village is located on the high-ground, up over there," said the sailor, pointing. That's the high-ground, seriously? Skeptically, Al spied the big buildings set upon a shallow rise. Granted, the dwellings were grander than the average Islander's home, but they sat on a hilltop barely above sea-level. As he and his family (sans Francis and Matt) were escorted from the ship—Al was offered a hand, which he ignored—he wondered how the Low-Landers managed to fend off the sea's constant barrage.

"Do not be afraid," said the sailor. He spoke English with a thick accent, like every Low-Lander Al had met. "Do you see those deep stone trenches? Those are the canals. We use them to guide the waters by means of dams and floodgates, diverting the waters away from the village. We use them also for irrigation. The North Sea," he gestured in example, "flows into the canals and meets with the Rhine further inland, which carries the waters into the West where several smaller rivers connect. Do not worry, Alfred Kirkland. The walls are strong. It can rain and rain, but the village is perfectly safe."

Al frowned. "I'm not afraid—"

He stopped when he felt Scott's hand on his shoulder, squeezing discretely. He glanced from Scott's hooded, yet stern expression to Arthur, who offered a half-smile in appeasement.

Please behave, Alfred, said the Omega's green eyes.

Just then, a party of five Low-Lander Alphas arrived to receive them. The tallest—and the most attractive, Al thought—was undeniably the Clan Leader's pup.

"Welcome to the Low Countries," he said in practised English. His accent was thick and his voice was deep. It seemed to rumble within his broad chest. It sent a shiver down Al's spine; he liked deep voices. "My name is Lars van den Berg, Alpha-pup and heir of the Clan Leader. My Vader sent me ahead to meet you," he said, inclining his head to Scott. His attendants did likewise. "Please," he gestured to the high-ground, "allow me to escort you inside."

Suddenly, Al found himself presented with Lars' hand. The Low-Lander kept his head slightly bowed so as not to intimidate the young Omega.

"Thank-you," said Scott, letting the Alphas escort his Omega family-members up a cobbled path. They held umbrellas to protect their Omega guests from the rain (disregarding the fact that they were already soaked, coats or not. This is a very wet place, Al thought—and this coming from an Islander!). They all walked quickly in a desire to escape the rainfall. Al found his hand folded into the inviting warmth of Lars' arm, who pulled him along. Though he wouldn't admit it, Al was surprised to find himself struggling to keep pace with Lars' long-legged strides. The Low-Lander was so very tall. (Taller than me, Al smiled, pleased.) When they reached the Great House, the Alpha guards opened the doors to a friendly welcome. The Clan Leader strode forward and clasped hands with Scott, each Alpha inclining his head in acknowledgement of the other's status. He re-introduced his Alpha-pup and heir, Lars. Then it was Scott's turn:

"May I present my brother, Arthur," he said, gesturing fleetingly to Arthur. The Low-Lander Alphas bowed their heads in respect, to which Arthur nodded. "And this is his Omega-pup, my nephew, Alfred." Scott lingered on Al's introduction, letting the Low-Landers take a good long look at him.

As practised, Al bowed his head slowly, keeping his gaze plastered to the flagstone floor until told otherwise. It was a long time before anyone did. The longer it took, the hotter Al's face grew as the Alphas appraised him. Despite his love of attention, he realized very quickly that he did not like being the centre-of-attention when his audience was gauging his worth. They're trying to decide if I'm worth the price of a trade contract, he knew. Suddenly, he wished that he had been given time to freshen-up, or at least towel-off before meeting his potential betrothed. He was soaked and shivering, which were not the best conditions for showing-off his features. And the rain had washed the cosmetic off of his face, revealing the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

Finally, the Clan Leader said: "Such a lovely Omega. So very, uh... tall. Lars."

Lars stepped forward and took Al's hand in a proper greeting. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said. Al straightened and squeezed Lars' proffered hand. The Low-Lander flinched at the pressure, but quickly turned it into an awkward chuckle in recovery. "That's quite a strong grip you have, Alfred," he said.

Al blushed in embarrassment.

As he retreated to his Omega-father's side, Scott made Francis' apologies. "He begs your forgiveness, but his Omega-pup, Matthew, my other nephew, went into Heat on the crossing and Francis elected to stay with him," for his protection, his eyes subtly added. "I hope you understand."

"Of course! Do not fret, it cannot be helped," said the Clan Leader in accommodation. His tone was friendly, but Al didn't miss the hint in his eyes, which revealed that he was very pleased by Matt's condition. It bode well for Lars that the Omegas were fertile, and being in Heat was a good indication of that. "We will meet them later. For now, let's eat!" said the Clan Leader. "Lars, you will escort Alfred Kirkland tonight."

Lars' face was reticent. He said: "Yes, Vader."

Do you think he likes me?" Al asked.

The Islanders had been led to a guesthouse—a longhouse with an arched ceiling—which was partitioned into three separate rooms for privacy: Scott in one; Francis and Arthur in another; and Al and Matt in another. The twins would share a room until one of them was pair-bonded with Lars. Al didn't mind, though; he had been sharing a room with his brother his whole life. Just then, he was standing in front of a looking-glass, scrutinizing his refreshed image. It was five minutes before supper; five minutes before Lars would arrive to escort Al back to the main house. Feeling nervous, he finger-combed his wheat-blonde fringe, wishing that he could reapply the cosmetic to his face. But he couldn't do it in Arthur's presence. Arthur sat opposite him on the bed, trying and failing to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. Unlike his brother and mate, he had only had forty-eight hours to prepare for the journey to the Mainland, and, too focused on his pups' needs, Arthur had neglected his own wardrobe. He had never been a particularly fashionable Omega, but the rich styles sported by the Low-Landers made him look even less so.

"Don't be impatient, Alfred," Arthur scolded. "It's a bit too soon to tell, I think. The Low-Landers are polite, but they haven't revealed much else. Though," his lips curled into a sneaking grin, "that Lars van den Berg is bloody attractive, don't you think?"

Al avoided his Omega-father's teasing gaze and feigned nonchalance. "Yeah, I guess so." If you like Alphas who are tall and handsome.

At precisely eight o'clock, Lars knocked on Al's door. He, too, had taken the opportunity to re-dress and now stood tall and handsome in imported clothes of fine quality. The embroidery complimented his sage-green eyes quite well. Al let the Low-Lander guide him back to the Great House, which had been transformed into a dining-hall by the appearance of three long, clothed tables. Al sat at the head table, which stood on a dais. He sat between Scott and Lars on a bench and was served the best cuts of everything, after Scott, of course. Lars was an affable if not talkative supper companion. However, the third course was being served before Al managed to finally draw a genuine smile out of him. Al was not used to dining in as grand a setting as this, and his mistakes produced a chuckle from Lars. "Just follow my lead," he whispered. His laidback demeanour eased Al's nerves, and soon Al was relaxed. He enjoyed the setting, the food—he ate just enough to be polite—and the musical entertainment, but it was Lars who captivated him. The Alpha was bloody attractive. And he seemed not to be judging Al as openly as the other Low-Landers. Al wanted to engage Lars in an intelligent or witty conversation, but it soon became apparent that neither of them cared much for small-talk, nor did they know much about the topics that polite society deemed appropriate for well-bred Omegas. Thus, in experiment, Al shifted the conversation to what he did know. He talked about Alpha sports, like fishing and hunting, which Lars seemed much more receptive to. Keenly, he asked:

"Do you hunt, Alfred?"

"Yes, I do. I've been hunting since I was a pup," Al bragged. "My Papa and uncles taught me."

"I've never met an Omega who hunts," said Lars, studying Al in intrigue.

"Well," Al cocked his head, letting the firelight dance in his bright blue eyes, letting it colour his feathery hair a gleaming gold, "now you have."

After that, the conversation flowed easily and eventually Al had Lars wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. He told several stories, which never failed to elicit a laugh or a gasp back home. His Alpha friends had always yielded to Al's storytelling skills when recalling the details of a hunt. Al had a talent for embellishment, and he was glad to see that it was not wasted on Lars. The Alpha smiled and regaled Al with many stories in reply, some funny, others daring feats of exceptional skill. If Lars was trying to impress Al, it was working. By midnight, Al was completely at-ease with the foreigner. Alphas, it seemed, were the same in every territory. You just had to know how to talk to them. Matt had always favoured flattery when speaking to Alphas; a true Omega trick. He was very good at it. He had always found it easier to focus on the talents of others rather than on himself, and most Alphas were very self-involved. Al, however, was the opposite. He was too competitive to flatter someone undeserving of it and way too honest to issue an outright lie. Al was straightforward, as was his sense of humour.

"You've got a very Alpha sense of humour," Lars said to him. Al took it as a compliment (though, later—with an exasperated sigh—Arthur told him that he shouldn't have).

At half-past midnight, Lars offered to walk Al back to his bedchamber and Al accepted. This time, they didn't touch. Al was too busy gesturing as he talked. In an example he whipped his arm out and accidentally smacked Lars in the face. "Oh, sorry!" he gasped. Privately he berated himself—stupid, stupid, stupid—as Lars rubbed his reddening cheek. Fortunately, the Alpha laughed it off.

"I don't think you know your own strength," he smiled. "I've never met an Omega like you before, Alfred."

At the bedchamber's door, Al stopped. He waited like a good Omega to be dismissed.

"There's a hunt tomorrow at dawn," Lars said, extending an invitation. "You would be very welcome to join us. In fact, I hope you do. I want to see for myself whether any of that big talk is true," he teased.

Al's heart leapt joyfully. "Oh, yes!" he replied, eager to showcase his skills. "I'd love to! I can't wait! You won't be disappointed," he promised.

Lars nodded. "Goodnight, Alfred Kirkland."

Mathieu, chéri, how are you feeling?"

Francis' soothing voice washed over Matt, who was lying curled-up in a pile of bedding below-deck. It wasn't a good nest and he felt unsettled in it, excruciating Heat notwithstanding. Matt disliked foreign spaces.

"Nn—Papa," he whispered softly.

He pressed his hot cheek to a pillow, inhaling the Alpha's heady scent. Francis was a mature, healthy Alpha, and his scent reflected that. The fog clung to Matt's brain, making him feel half-asleep; maybe he was half-asleep. He found it hard to differentiate between reality and dreams when he was in Heat, something that his Omega-father assured him was perfectly normal. As Francis neared the bedding, Matt felt instinctively drawn toward the heat of his body. Is this perfectly normal? he wondered, pawing insistently at Francis' shirt. His slender fingers were sweaty and trembling, and messy Heat-slick coated the bed of his nails. Francis knelt and patted Matt's curls in a soothing way, whispering reassurances. Matt fought the urge to whine, to plead, to beg for more of his sire's physical touch. He tried to ignore the knot of desire budding in his stomach, making him feel both aroused and revolted. Is it normal to want your own blood-relatives? Matt squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but tears slipped out, rolling down his cheeks. I hate this! he thought, feeling weak, helpless to stop himself. I hate being in Heat! It makes me want—

"P-Papa..."

"Hush-hush, Mathieu. It's okay. You're safe, chéri. Papa is here to protect you."

I'm so pathetic, Matt thought, burying his face against Francis' neck. He clung to his Alpha-father, desperate. "I-I—I'm s-so s-sorry, Papa," he gasped. "I-I—I'm s-sorry I-I—"

"No, sweetheart," Francis cooed. "There's nothing to apologize for, it's nature."

"I-I-I—" Matt took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for ruining Uncle Scottie's plan. It's a bad first-impression. This, me—I'm an inconvenience, aren't I?"

"No, of course not," Francis denied. He held Matt, rocking him gently. "Mathieu, chéri, you've done nothing wrong. You've done nothing but proven your worth to the Low-Landers. You've made a perfect first-impression, mon cher. Being susceptible to Heats is a telling sign of an Omega's fertility. It's a very desirable condition."

"Maybe from y-y-your p-p-perspective," Matt argued. "But when everyone knows that you—that y-y-you're—Ah hah! Nn—!" he gasped. "It's s-s-so embarrassing!"

Francis chuckled benignly. Matt felt it reverberate in his throat.

Don't laugh at me! he thought, feeling suddenly angry. You have no idea what this feels like! No Alpha ever will, all they do is reap the benefits!

That irrational anger manifested itself in a most undesirable, physical way. Helplessly, Matt clutched Francis and cried in frustration as a Heat-wave overwhelmed him, submerging all logic. "O-oh!"He whined and wriggled. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips to Francis' neck. "Papa, please~"

Francis' chest heaved in a sigh. Forcibly, he pried Matt's fingers off of himself and stood. "It's okay, chéri," he said in retreat. "It's all going to be okay, I promise. Just rest."

I don't want rest! I want you! I want an Alpha! Any Alpha! Please, just make it stop—!

"Attendez—! Nn, non—s'il vous plaît!" Matt begged, crying. "Come back! Papa, please don't leave me~"

"Bonne nuit, Mathieu."

The door closed and the deadbolt locked, leaving Matt alone in the silent darkness.

Dejected, he buried his face in a pillow and screamed.

THE NEXT DAY

Al was jittery with excitement. He had slept well, despite a very hard mattress, woken early, and was now bathed and dressed by the time his family stirred. Arthur was surprised to find Al awake and bright-eyed by the breakfast hour.

Like Francis, Al valued sleep and slept deeply, often needing someone to wake him in the mornings; though, Francis was worse. He religiously overslept and frustrated Arthur, who was responsible for waking him up. ("Francis, love, it's time to get up. Francis—? Gah! Bloody-hell! Francis, get off of me! Wake up you bloody git—!")

Al walked uphill to the Great House with Arthur and Scott, eager for the hunt. Arthur left them at the doors, wishing Al good-luck and conveying a parent's concern:

"Please be careful, Alfred." Hunting in familiar territory was dangerous enough, but the Low Countries were completely unknown to Al. "This is no time to be showing-off, do you understand? Alfred—? Scott!" he urged, eyeing his Alpha-brother insistently. "Watch him, please! Don't let him out of your sight!"

Scott dismissed Arthur's concern. "Don't fuss, Art. Al's a good hunter, he learnt from the best. He'll be fine." Proudly, he ruffled Al's blonde hair.

Al smiled and fixed it, trying to look like he wasn't fixing it.

They entered the Great House and were immersed in a throng of ready Alphas. Lars spotted Al and smiled at him in greeting. Al cocked his chin in reply. He was given a choice of tool. He selected a wicked-looking axe and let the sheathed head rest casually on his shoulder, and then took his place beside Scott in the procession. Initially, the Low-Lander Alphas were confused by the Omega's presence. Several of them looked concerned for his well-being, feeling responsible for keeping him safe, perhaps. But their collective attitude changed the instant the hunt began. Al took off like an arrow, easily keeping pace with Scott as the two raced over the wetlands, showcasing their skills. The rain had not stopped, but as a born-and-bred Islander Al was hardly a stranger to hunting in poor weather conditions. He only slipped once, but caught his balance before anyone could offer help. Cheerfully, he raced ahead, clutching the axe like he was born to it. By midmorning, he succeeded in catching Lars, who was leading the pack. The Alpha's face revealed pleasant surprise when he saw Al. His sage-coloured eyes issued a challenge, which Al arrogantly accepted, and soon they were racing each other through the wet fields and sparse forests in search of prey. At high-noon, they stopped for dinner. Al wanted to refuse, but he was famished and feeling dizzy; he couldn't afford to faint. He picked at his meal and talked more than he ate, encouraging a competitive spirit amongst his fellows. The Alphas quickly realized that they need not guard their tongues with Al, who fenced vile-mouthed slander just as well as they did. He engaged the Alphas in conversation, swapping hunting tales and bawdy jokes, and, like Lars the previous night, the young Omega soon had them all howling in laughter.

"I like this one!" said a grisly Low-Lander, clapping Al's shoulder in comradeship. He eyed Lars indiscreetly, which made the whole party laugh.

"Are all Island Omegas like you, Alfred?"

"Of course not!" said Scott. "Alfred is one-of-a-kind." And he, too, eyed Lars suggestively.

When the hunt resumed at half-one, Lars asked Al to be his hunting-partner. It gave Al the chance to exhibit his talents in tracking.

"I'm impressed, Alfred. Omegas don't have the sense of smell that Alphas do, but you don't seem to need it. You're a very practiced hunter," Lars praised.

Al was pleased to accept the compliment, but despite the Alpha's enjoyment, there was something lacking in Lars' tone and gaze. Al was afraid that he had seen that look too many times before on the faces of his Alpha friends, who had simply laughed when he asked them: "Why not me? I am an Omega."

You're our friend, Al.

bite of self-doubt hit Al, but he shook it off and focused on the hunt.

By sunset, the wagons were full of the hunt's spoils. It was a great success, and Al was proud to claim a large portion of the kills.

(In the clans, a hunting party worked as a team—hence, hunting-partners—and in the Low Countries every position in the procession was equally valued; every hunter's job was considered equally important. As Lars' partner, Al had taken the role of spotter, whose job it was to find and chase the prey into a place it couldn't escape from. It was the hardest job for an Omega because of their lacking sense of smell, but Al's sharp ears compensated. As a result, he had spotted and chased more prey than anyone else, which rewarded him a large cut of the spoils.)

That night, the banquet hall was filled with the succulent scent of roasting meat as large-game rolled on spits in the Great House. Al received praise from the Clan Leader, who said: "What a curious Omega you are, Alfred! You're just full of surprises, aren't you? Lars, you will escort Alfred Kirkland tonight."

Lars nodded amicably. "Yes, Vader."

Like the previous night, Al sat beside Lars for the duration of supper, though this time the conversation was more directed. Everyone wanted to talk about the hunt: Alphas shared and compared stories, while Omegas feigned polite interest and issued praise. The whole hall was loud and lively. Music played in celebration until the small hours of morning, and Al was invited to dance more times that night then he had ever been asked before. He declined many offers before Scott forced him to his feet.

"If I have to dance"—as was customary of visiting envoys—"than you sure as hell have to, pup," he said.

"We can't all three of us refuse to dance," whispered Arthur, who was even less fond of dancing than Al and Scott. "If only Francis and Matthew were here." (Francis was a good dancer, and Matt was asked often enough to be very practised.)

To this, Scott and Al could only agree.

Al followed his partner's footsteps, but he ended up apologizing and laughing more than not. It was his good-luck that the Alphas found Al's clumsiness charming rather than insulting.

Drunkenly, the Clan Leader boomed: "Lars! Dance with Alfred Kirkland!"

Lars said: "Yes, Vader," and extended his hand to Al.

Al liked the feel of Lars' big, strong body under his hands as the Alpha led him through the steps of a foreign dance (though neither of them was a particularly gifted dancer). It wasn't complex, but Al was happy to let Lars take the lead. I don't mind being led if it's by him, he thought , he let himself lean in toward the Alpha. Maybe it was the hunt's high, or the excessive beer he had drank (emphasis on that second one), but in that moment Al wanted Lars' attention more than he had ever wanted another Alpha's; even more than Alec Frasier's. By the end of the night, Al found himself hoping that Lars would kiss him. He thought he was being discrete about it as he eyed the Alpha's soft-looking lips, but Scott elbowed him in the ribs.

"Down, pup," he whispered, chuckling. Al's cheeks heated (though, that could have also been the beer).

"Can I walk you back to your bedchamber?" Lars asked Al.

Al nodded and eagerly took the Alpha's arm. Lars, too, had had a lot to drink, but he kept his balance as they left the Great House.

"It's raining," Al noted, tipping his head. He smiled as raindrops pelted his face, sliding over his rosy cheeks.

They walked arm-in-arm down a cobbled path, dodging puddles, to the guesthouse. At the door to Al's room, they stopped. Lars looked down at Al, misty-eyed. He said:

"I had a lot of fun with you today, Alfred."

Al's heartbeat skipped in anticipation. "I, uh... yeah, me too. With you." He lifted his chin and met Lars' gaze, letting his eyes linger on the Alpha's lips. Kiss me. Please kiss me.

"Alfred."

Al swallowed. "Yes—?"

Lars brushed back Al's fringe and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight."

TWO DAYS LATER

Matt climbed out of the washtub and toweled off. It felt good to be clean. He hated the feel of his skin when it was wet with sweat and Heat-slick. He would never understand why Alphas found it so desirable. What's so enticing about an Omega covered in his own—

"Mathieu," Francis called, "are you ready, chéri?"

As soon as his Heat had ended, Matt had asked for a bath. "Hot. Make it steaming hot," he requested. He had stepped into the wood washtub and scrubbed his pale skin until it was shiny red, determined to wash off the lingering Heat-scent. Finally, when the water was cool, he got out. He combed his curls and dressed in the clothes that Francis had chosen for him. Then he stood obediently while his Alpha-father inspected him. Francis had a keen eye for art. He looked Matt up-and-down, then pulled the Omega's hair back into a short ponytail and tied it with a ribbon.

"That's better," he said, satisfied. He smiled at his pup. "Now everyone can see your beautiful face, chéri.

"It's important that we"—you—"make a good impression on the Low-Landers, Mathieu," Francis continued, as he and Matt left the ship. One of the sailors on-board wolf-howled in Matt's direction, but stopped instantly when Francis sent him a scathing glare. They picked their way up the shallow incline to the hilltop where the Low-Landers' village perched, each holding an umbrella to protect himself from the constant rainfall. As they approached the high-roofed Great House, Francis leant toward Matt. "Let me do the talking," he said, as if Matt had ever considered the opposite.

(Omegas should be seen and not heard. Omegas should only speak to Alphas when spoken to. A good Omega should never open his mouth needlessly. Those were the three golden rules of social engagement, which every well-bred Omega-pup was taught since childhood. Al was the obvious exception.)

The Clan Leader received the Islanders in the main hall, which was empty except for a skinny musician and a few attendants. A hunt was in progress, the second in three days. The last had been a great success, they were told. As the guards ushered the Islanders inside, the Clan Leader stood to receive them. Before Francis could speak, however, the old Low-Lander gasped in pleasant surprise.

"My word! What a beautiful Omega!"

Matt smiled and bowed his head in polite acceptance.

"You must be Francis Kirkland," said the Clan Leader, extending his hand to Francis.

Francis didn't deny the mistake of his surname (which was technically Bonnefoi-Kirkland, since he had been adopted by the Kirkland family). He just smiled amiably, and said: "Yes, I am. Thank-you for your hospitality."

The Clan Leader frowned. "Your accent... is it an Island dialect? It sounds very familiar."

In his peripheral vision, Matt saw Francis tense. "It is a hybrid, yes," he replied in painstaking English, trying his best to mimic the Islanders' pronunciation as closely as possible to mask his true voice.

The French clans—Francis' birthplace—are part of the Southern Empire now, Matt knew. They had been for the past fifteen years. The Southern Empire is powerful and dangerous. It has a reputation for conquest. If the Low-Landers discover Papa's heritage, even though he left before the annexation of his clan to the Southern Empire, they might refuse to negotiate with him. With us. They might not trust us.

"May I present my Omega-pup?" Francis said, quickly changing the subject. "This is Mathieu—" He cleared his throat and tried again, very slowly: "Matthew."

Before the Clan Leader could further interrogate Francis', Matt deliberately stepped forward and bowed low, drawing the Alpha's attention.

"Matthew, yes, of course. Allistor has already named you in introduction, my dear. You are most welcome to the Low Countries." He smiled. Then an exhale of happy disbelief escaped him and he chuckled. "Gods! You are such a pretty little thing." He touched Matt's chin with a finger and lifted his head. Matt kept his eyes humbly downcast as the Alpha studied his pale face. "Lovely," he repeated, pleased. "Just lovely. I cannot wait for you to meet my pup, my Lars," he said, taking Matt's arm in escort. Francis walked on Matt's other side, speaking as little as possible. Matt, too, kept quiet as the Clan Leader talked. He didn't seem to care if the Islanders replied or not. He was someone who liked the sound of his own loud voice, Matt decided. He led them into a comfortable anteroom to await for the hunt's return, all the while praising Lars and spoiling Matt, paying the Omega compliments and ordering treats that he insisted Matt eat. In fact, his indulgence was typical of a doting Alpha-father-by-mating-law who had no Omega-pups of his own.

The rowdy hunting party returned at sunset.

Matt heard the Alphas long before he saw them. Heavy, careless footsteps advanced like a great host. Their leather boots made sucking sounds and raindrops clanged off metal weapons. The doors slammed open as the party spilled into the hall. Their loud, deep, growling voices echoed in the rafters, filling the large room. They all laughed and yelled and howled in celebration. Their big, masculine bodies smelled like sweat and adrenaline, caked with the damp-earth scent of mud and the warm salty scent of wild blood.

The Clan Leader stood. "The hunt has returned!" he said needlessly. "Come, Matthew. Come meet my Lars."

Matt swallowed a whine of protest as he was pulled to his feet. He cast a helpless look at Francis, who smiled in encouragement; though, Matt could see apprehension in his Alpha-father's blue eyes. The anteroom door opened, revealing the dozens of Alphas, old and young, amassing in the Great House's hall. They were all big and strong and filthy and feeling aggressive with the aftermath of adrenaline. Matt watched an Alpha tackle his hunting-partner in a playful attack, startling a pair of nearby Omegas. The din of their howls was deafening and, instinctively, Matt stepped back.

The Clan Leader looked puzzled. "Do not be afraid, my dear," he said, releasing Matt.

Matt feigned apology. Though, it was clear by the Alpha's smile that he approved of Matt's unease. Meekness was a desirable quality in Omegas. It promised obedience.

But the longer Matt stood on the dais, awaiting his introduction, the more he wanted to disobey and bolt. He had never met this many strangers all at once before; foreigners, too. And one of them—one of those big, wild, bloody bodies—would be his future mate. He could feel himself involuntarily starting to shake. No, don't panic. Calm down. The very last thing he wanted was to have a panic-attack in front of these strangers. Gods forbid! What if he fainted? He knew he needed to make a good impression. He had been told to make a good impression, but he was scared. He wanted his Papa, or his Dad. He wanted Al to shield him. He did not want any of those Alphas to touch him.

Slowly, the hall quieted as the Alphas noticed the dais' three occupants, and Matt found himself unwittingly the centre-of-attention. Again.

Al was bantering back-and-forth with Lars, grinning and laughing, when the hall's din suddenly softened. He wiped his wet, muddy cheeks with the back of his hand as he looked around, searching for the source of intrigue. He found it the instant his eyes landed on the dais, on Matt. Mattie! Al's first thought was for his twin's safety. Matt looked small and timid standing beside the big Clan Leader. An outsider might have accepted Matt's coy smile at face-value, but Al knew that frozen smile was false. He's scared, he thought in sympathy. It's okay, Mattie. It's not a bad place. They're not bad people. In fact, Al was rather starting to like the Low-Landers. In proof, he turned to Lars—

—but Lars was no longer beside him.

Al's stomach suddenly dropped as he watched Lars advance to the dais like a sleepwalker, drawn to Matt like a moth to a flame. Al stood there, sopping-wet and filthy, feeling empty as the adrenalin left him, and watched as the handsome Alpha stopped in front of Matt and inclined his head. Matt blushed prettily like a fairytale maiden. Al knew that it was Matt's anxiety, not bashfulness, but that's not what the Low-Landers would see. It's not what Lars saw. The whole hall was silent, everyone entranced by the lovely new-arrival. Al listened absently as the Clan Leader introduced Matt, specifically to Lars. Then he watched Lars gently take Matt's pale, trembling hand and press a kiss to the back of it. It was slow and deliberate and when Lars lifted his head, smiling in infatuation, Al knew it was over. Scott might as well present the free-trade treaty right then, because the negotiations were as good as completed. Francis' sly grin was a telling sign, pleased by the Low-Lander's enamoured reaction to his beautiful Omega-pup.

Al clenched his fists. He heard Arthur's whispered voice say: "Alfred—?" but Al ignored him.

His gaze was plastered to Lars, who hadn't let go of Matt's hand. Without waiting for the Clan Leader's order, he said:

"May I escort you this evening, Matthew Kirkland?" His voice was softer than Al had ever heard it.

Matt smiled shyly, and said: "Yes."

It might as well have been a proposal, Al thought. As he scanned the hall from left-to-right, he could see the happy, bright-eyed smiles of the Low-Landers, the hunters, who only moments ago had been fierce. A low hum arose as they whispered to each other, appraising Matt, nodding in approval. Al pursed his lips. It was clear to everyone that Lars van den Berg had made his choice. And it wasn't Al.

"Alfred," Arthur repeated.

Al dodged his Omega-father's touch, mumbling: "I'll be right back."

He retreated from the Great House into the pouring rain, speed-walking past the guards. He stopped a few buildings away beneath an overhang, trying to swallow his feelings as he paced back-and-forth.

"It's not Matt's fault. It's not Matt's fault," he repeated. His mud-caked fingernails dug into his palms. "Lars chose Matt. It's nothing that I wasn't expecting. Everyone chooses Matt because Matt's the perfect Omega. I should be glad. I'm not surprised. I'm not. Fuck!" he snapped suddenly. "Why am I even here? Why did they bother bringing me?" Then he pressed a hand to his mouth and shook his head. No, no. Don't get mad. It's not anyone's fault. I'm just not a good Omega. I never have been, it's fine. Lars chose Matt instead of me, that's fine. I don't care. I barely even know him. "It's fine."

"Is it—?"

Al whipped around and found Arthur, who had slipped out and followed him. Al hated the sympathy he saw in his Omega-father's green eyes. It made him feel unjustifiably angry, wanting to hit something; someone. Maybe his brother—No. Not Mattie. It's not his fault.Al's anger simmered quickly. He tried to force self-control, like a good Omega, but the instant he opened his mouth it crumbled. His voice broke.

"I just wanted him to like me," he admitted to Arthur. "I just wanted someone to choose me."

"I know you did, love. And he does like you a lot. You've made a wonderful impression on the Low-Landers, Alfred. You've been invaluable to Scott these past few days."

Al shook his head. "I tried so hard, Dad. I've spent the last four days trying to be his friend, but Alphas don't mate their friends, do they? All Mattie had to do was stand there, and—" Al snapped his fingers "—love at first sight."

"That's not love, Alfred. That's lust. Alphas don't fall in love on-sight," Arthur said wisely. "Your Papa didn't mate me because he loved me. He saw me and he wanted me and he took me. That's how Alphas operate. Love has nothing to do with it. They see something they want and they take it. Alphas are fighters; Omegas are not. Not most, anyway." He smiled at his blue-eyed pup. Then his tone changed. He said: "Don't envy your brother, Alfred. This isn't his choice. It's not something that he wants, and, knowing you, it's not something that you would want either. It's not what I wanted for either of you, but," he shrugged helplessly, "we're Omegas. We don't have a choice. There are worse Alphas out there than Lars van den Berg, though. At least I know Matthew will be taken care of. Truthfully, I'm glad Lars chose Matthew and not you," he confessed. "This domestic life"—he gestured to the village—"would just kill you, Alfred. I think you would be perfectly miserable if you had to stay here and be Lars' Omega-mate."

Al sighed deeply. He wanted to deny Arthur's words, but they were true. "You're right." His eyes filled with tears, but they didn't fall. "I know what it is the Low-Landers want and it's not me. That's not who I am."

"I'm sorry that Lars chose Matthew," Arthur soothed, "but I'm not sorry that I get to take you home, Alfred."

"I want to go home, Dad."

Arthur nodded. "We will, love. As soon as the treaty is signed."

"But Mattie will stay here."

"Yes. Matthew will stay."

A moment of silence stretched between them as reality hit. Arthur would lose his pup and Al would lose his twin brother, his best-friend. Suddenly, he felt selfish. He felt the bite of pending loneliness. He instantly regretted all of the awful, irrational things he had ever thought about Matt. He would apologize on his hands-and-knees if it meant he could reverse time; if they could take Matt home. But Arthur was right (again): There were worse Alphas than Lars.

Bravely, Al took Arthur's cold hand and squeezed it, lending his Omega-father comfort. "Dad? You're right. I think it's going to be okay." He forced a hopeful smile. "I think Lars will take really good care of Mattie. Matt's exactly what he wants. It's why he never would've been happy with me," he realized. "Eventually, he would've resented me. Matt and I are just too different." He lifted his chin proudly. "I won't change myself. Not for anyone."

"Alfred, love, that's what makes you and Matthew different. It's not your attitude or appearance, it's the way you see yourselves. Someday an Alpha is going to choose you," Arthur promised. "Not with his dick, with his heart." Al snorted. Arthur squeezed his hand, smiling. "And when he does, he's going to be the luckiest Alpha alive."

"I really want that," Al admitted. A genuine smile tugged at his lips. "I just want someone to love me for me."

"If you find the right person, he will."

That night, Matt found himself seated uncomfortably close to Lars, nearly thigh-to-thigh. Matt didn't think the Alpha even realized that he was doing it, leaning so close. It would take so little effort for him to completely envelope Matt if he had wanted to, though he didn't initially strike Matt as someone who was usually so physically affectionate. Maybe it's me, Matt wondered. Maybe I'm encouraging him in some way—? Alphas and Omegas instinctively reacted to the other's pheromones. It was natural and often unintentional, especially depending on where an Omega was in his Heat cycle. In response to Lars' closeness, Matt felt himself leaning sideways toward Scott, who sat on his right. However, the further Matt slid to the right, the further Lars followed him, and soon Matt found himself sandwiched between the two Alphas.

Matt wished he was sitting next to Al, but Al was seated on the Clan Leader's opposite side with Francis and Arthur. He hadn't spoken to his twin-brother since they had left the Isles and he desperately wanted to. Al had a way of making Matt feel better, regardless of the situation. If nothing else, he had a talent for making Matt laugh. He was often the only person who could. Besides, Al had been living among the Low-Landers for four days; perhaps he could offer advice. Matt kept trying to catch Al's eye, but his brother was always looking elsewhere.

"Oh, my! You really are a beauty!"

Matt's eyes snapped back to the Alpha in front of him. He recognized his face, but he had been introduced to so many people since arriving that he had forgotten the Alpha's name. In reply, he smiled meekly, and uttered a soft: "Thank-you." Then he issued a generic compliment in return. Alphas were easily flattered, more so than Omegas. The Alpha strode off, grinning. But not before another had taken his place. Then another. And another.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. A pleasure!"

"You're very beautiful."

"Beautiful? Gorgeous! You've got the most gorgeous eyes, my dear."

"Our Lars is so lucky! I'm jealous! But I'll settle for a dance, darling—?"

"What a lovely, sweet thing he is!" said a middle-aged Omega to Lars. He pinched Lars' cheek. "Just think of how beautiful your pups will be!"

Matt felt overwhelmed by the attention. He didn't know who to look at; who to reply to. He didn't know who was joking and who was serious. In a single breath he accepted a compliment, laughed at a joke, feigned intrigue, and declined a dance. Alphas and Omegas alike vied for his attention, each wanting to charm the young Omega who would soon be their beloved heir's Omega-mate. The Alphas served flattery; the Omegas asked (intimate) questions. The sort of personal questions that Matt didn't want to answer. He didn't want to offend anyone, but his replies were becoming less and less. Not that the Low-Landers noticed. Several Alphas simply stared at him. Obviously they didn't care if he spoke or not. But the constant back-and-forth barrage was making Matt feel increasingly anxious. He was grateful when Lars finally interrupted it:

"That's enough," he said, shooing them off. "Go on. Don't crowd our guest. Are you okay?" he asked Matt.

Matt nodded. "They're all very friendly."

Lars snorted. "Yes, that's a word for it. You're shier than your brother," he noted.

"Oh, I'm sorry—"

"It's not an insult, Matthew."

Matt lifted his eyes to meet Lars' for the first time. The Alpha smiled. It was a nice, genuine smile; it touched his sage-green eyes. Timidly, Matt smiled back.

But it was short-lived. Lars took Matt's smile as progress and suddenly stood, offering Matt his hand.

"Come with me," he said.

Matt's heart-rate increased. He didn't want to go anywhere with an Alpha alone, but nor could he refuse the invitation without permission. He could feel eyes watching them closely; those of his family, in particular. Helplessly, he cast a quick sideways glance at Scott, who nodded subtly. His green eyes seemed to say: Go on, Matt. This is why we're here, remember? Go with the Low-Lander. Obediently, Matt took Lars' offered hand and was pulled to his feet. As they left the noisy hall, Matt finally caught Al's eye. The blue-eyed Omega looked momentarily crestfallen, but his lips morphed into an encouraging smile when he noticed Matt looking at him. Then he and Lars left the loud, crowded Great House, exiting the structure through a latticed backdoor. Lars grabbed an umbrella and opened it to cover Matt as they stepped out into the rain—

—and into a exquisite walled-garden filled with lush tulips.

"Oh, wow!" Matt exhaled in pleasant surprise. Whatever he had been expecting from Lars, it wasn't this. He felt his anxiety ease somewhat as the Alpha escorted him slowly through the rows.

"My Vader built this garden for my Moeder a year after they were pair-bonded," Lars explained. "She came here from a clan in the West specifically to be my Vader's Omega-mate. Vader says she was very lonely at first. I think she missed her family. She was a lot younger than my Vader, only sixteen-years-old; he was already thirty. He didn't want her to be sad, though, so he had this garden built and filled it with tulips—my Moeder's favourite. It was a place just for her, no Alphas allowed." Lars paused and smiled down at Matt. "I was the first Alpha to be allowed in. After I was born, Moeder would bring me here to her garden and let me play. I took a lot of my lessons here, right there." He nodded to a gazebo with an ornate wooden bench. "It's a safe place," he added, sage-green eyes lingering on Matt. "It's a place that you, uh—anyone," he corrected, blushing, "can come to, to get away from everything else."

"What happened to your Omega-mother?" Matt asked.

"She died a few years ago. Sickness took her. It was fast." Lars' voice harboured grief, but it was subtle. Matt almost missed it.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

His fingertips danced along the petals of a perfect blood-red tulip. He didn't realize how mesmerized he was until Lars suddenly plucked the tulip, breaking its long stem, and presented it to him like a suitor.

"Thank-you," Matt said, accepting it. He pressed the tulip gently to his lips and inhaled, savouring its sweet scent. "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful, Matthew."

"O-oh, thank-you." Matt bowed his head. A second later, he felt Lars' finger brushing back an errant curl that had escaped his ribbon. He flinched at the intimate touch.

Lars dropped his hand. "Sorry," he said.

"No, I'm sorry," Matt amended quickly. "I just... I'm just a little nervous," he said, which was not untrue.

"Don't be," Lars said. His voice was husky. "You can trust me, Matthew. I'm not going to hurt you. Not ever. I promise."

As Matt looked up into the Low-Lander's handsome face, he felt his fears ease. The truth in the Alpha's eyes hid no lies, proving the truth of his words.

No, you won't hurt me, Matt agreed.

Subtly, he studied the Alpha's broad shoulders, his wide chest; his strong, long limbs corded with muscle; his powerful, callused hands. He could feel Lars' body-heat. He could smell the salty musk of his skin, his scent. He was a big and tall and very good-looking Alpha, but Matt hesitated. He believed Lars' words, but the Alpha's healthy, virile body scared him. He knew that Lars wouldn't hurt him intentionally, but he was an Alpha, and—like all Alphas—Matt doubted that he understood the true meaning of that promise. Too many Alphas broke it, fuelled by their instincts to take; to possess. Eventually, every Alpha would hurt his Omega whether he knew it or not. That's what Matt believed.

Maybe it's not your fault, he allowed. Maybe it's just how things are supposed to be. But it doesn't change anything.

Aloud, he said: "Thank-you, Lars."

Oblivious, Lars relaxed. Like before, he took Matt's hand and pressed his lips gently to the Omega's knuckles.

It was late when Lars left Matt in the guesthouse. They hadn't returned to the hall all night, which had provoked half-a-dozen rumours that Matt would rather not know. He thanked Lars for the escort and then bid the Alpha goodnight. Grateful to be alone for the first time since leaving the Isles, he slipped into the dark bedchamber, only to come face-to-face with Al.

"Oh, Al, I thought you'd be asleep," he said in greeting.

"Yeah, it's pretty late, Matt."

Matt nodded, acknowledging the late-hour as he strode to his designated bed. It was huge compared to his bed at home—Home. Matt swallowed. That's not home anymore. He kept his back to Al, feeling intimidated by him. Al's tone reminded Matt of his brother's crestfallen blue eyes, even though Al tried to mask it. (Al was not the best at hiding his feelings.) As Matt undressed, Al leant back against his bed-frame and adopted a casual tone.

"So," he said, eyeing Matt, "how do you like the Low Countries so far?"

"It's nice," Matt replied. "It's, uh, very wet."

"Uh huh, it is. And, uh... Lars? Do you like him? Because he really seems to like you, Matt."

Ah, there it is. Matt recognized Al's resentment at once. Al was trying hard to hide it, but Matt had heard it too often before. And every time it felt like a physical blow. Carefully, he evaded the direct question, and said: "He's nice," as if re-describing the landscape.

"Yeah, he's a nice Alpha," Al agreed. "He's a real good hunter, you know. He's fast and strong, but he doesn't talk much. I bet you prefer that, don't you, Mattie?" he added, attempting a joke. Matt smiled demurely. "He's okay, I guess. I mean, he's good-looking, but he's not really my type."

Al's lie was palpable. Matt wanted to say something to reassure Al, to comfort him, but he didn't know what. He was afraid of provoking his brother's temper. (The infamous, irrational Kirkland temper.) Matt's heart went out to Al, like it so often did. He wanted to soothe him, to mother him, as Al put it. But he wouldn't insult Al by pitying him.

Al doesn't want my pity. He certainly wouldn't thank me for it.

Silently, Matt crawled into bed. The mattress was very hard, but the pillows and blanket were invitingly soft. Despite that, Matt wished for Al's body beside him. The Omega twins often slept together at home—that's not home, not anymore—for warmth and comfort. Matt always felt safer with Al beside him, hugging him. Matt may have lived in a family of five Alphas, but it was Al, his Omega-brother, who protected him most, from anything and everything. It was Al whom he talked to and laughed with and shared stories and secrets. It was Al who had been his constant companion, his champion since birth. Matt felt exposed without Al now. It didn't matter that Al's bed was barely ten feet away. It didn't matter, because Al's heart couldn't have been farther.

I'm sorry, Al. I really am. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it better, I wish I did. I don't want to stay here without you.

Matt's stomach twisted. He felt ill just thinking of it, of being left alone without Al. He was going to miss his family, his uncles and parents, of course, but the mere thought of losing Al was panic-inducing.

Please don't be angry with me, Al. You're my favourite person in the whole world. Please don't hate me.

Al rolled over, facing the opposite wall. Curtly, he said: "Goodnight, Matt."

Softly, Matt whispered: "Goodnight, Al."

I don't know how much longer the floodgates will hold."

Lars was on his way back to the Great House from the guesthouse, having bid Matt goodnight. He felt giddy, a completely foreign feeling. Tomorrow, as soon as possible, he would formally ask for Francis' permission to pair-bond with Matt. He was everything the Low-Lander wanted in an Omega-mate and he didn't want to waste any time. Thus, he was feeling lighthearted as he returned to the Great House, but before he reached the hall he passed by an anteroom and heard voices from within. He stopped. The clan's second-in-command spoke in a hushed tone:

"It's been raining for nearly a week. If the water level keeps rising, the floodgates won't hold. They're already weak, too old. Clan Leader, the waters are already dangerously high."

In a split-second, Lars' elation became fear. Without invitation, he pushed inside. "What's going on?"

"Oh, Lars. Don't worry, my pup, it's nothing. It's not your concern—"

"Is the village in danger?" Lars interrupted, glancing between his old, weathered Alpha-father and the bleak-eyed second-in-command. When both Alphas failed to reply, he gestured to the shuddered window, pointing west. "If the floodgates are as weak as you say, then we should evacuate the village and order everyone into the tower-house."

The tower-house was a large stone structure located on the edge of the forest. It was exactly what it sounded like: a multi-leveled tower with a sturdy base built to withstand a flood and big enough to house the entire village in the event of an emergency. The last time the village had been evacuated to the tower-house, Lars had gone with his Omega-mother. It was a safe place, a place of refuge. And it was what he pointed to now.

"Evacuate the village," he urged. "Don't wait until it's too late, Vader."

"Lars, please—"

"It's the responsibility of the Clan Leader to protect those in his care," Lars argued passionately. "It's our job to keep the clan safe. It's our job to keep our guests safe."

"No!" the Clan Leader suddenly snapped. It took Lars off-guard; the second-in-command flinched. "Under no circumstances are the Islanders to find out about this, is that clear? If they learn how weak our economy actually is, that all of this"—he tugged at his tunic, freshly dyed and stitched with fake gold thread—"is false, then they'll never sign a free-trade agreement with us. If they find out how susceptible our storehouses are to flooding, they'll take their business elsewhere. They won't risk their profits—or their kin," he added as an afterthought. "I won't risk it. We need this deal, Lars. That's why we agreed to their terms in the first place, remember? Why else would you be pair-bonding with that little Islander pup?"

Lars clenched his fists, feeling defensive on Matt's behalf. "I know, but—"

"Think of the clan, Lars," said the Clan Leader seriously.

"I am thinking of the clan!" Lars replied. "I'm thinking of their safety! You would risk the entire village for the sake of a trade agreement? There are more important things than profit! I will not risk the lives of my family, the life of my future Omega-mate, for your greed—"

The Clan Leader's fist flew out and punched his pup. Lars' head whipped to the side on impact and his cheek stung, reddening, but he didn't make a sound. Deliberately, he fought the instinctive urge to attack in retaliation, to assert his dominance as an Alpha. Instead, he faced his father. The Clan Leader's gaze smouldered and his voice was low. He said:

"Do not raise your voice to me, pup. I am the Clan Leader and I am your Sire. Someday you will inherit my position, but until that day I will not be disrespected or disobeyed. Is that clear?"

Impatiently, he grabbed Lars' scalp and jerked his head.

"Yes!" Lars gasped through clenched teeth.

"Good." Satisfied, the Clan Leader turned to the second-in command, who stood silently by. "Re-enforce the floodgates, and not a word to the Islanders about it. Not a word to anyone."

The second-in command nodded, his eyes downcast. "Yes, Clan Leader," he said, and then left.

After a moment of tense silence, Lars shook his head. "It's wrong," he said. He faced the window shudders, which rattled against the wind. "They're giving us their Omega-pup, Vader. They deserve to know what they're getting in return. They deserve to know that he'll be taken care of. I don't intend to lie to my mate—"

"That's exactly what you'll do," the Clan Leader interrupted. "For the future security of your clan, Lars."

Lars didn't reply. Instead, he pictured Matt in his mind's eye: the beautiful violet-eyed Omega, who looked so soft and frail; who looked so afraid. I made him a promise, he thought. A promise that he, as an Alpha-mate, intended to keep. I want him to feel safe. I want to protect him. I want to—

The Clan Leader chuckled then. "Oh, my," he said, drawing Lars' attention. "You're infatuated with that little Islander, aren't you? Oh, Lars." He shook his head. Lars glared. "I want you to pair-bond with Matthew Kirkland, too, but for the sake of the treaty, not this." The Clan Leader gestured to Lars, implying his pup's infatuation. "He's just an Omega, Lars. A very pretty one, but he's just as weak as all the others. They're all weak," he said, his voice suddenly, unintentionally hoarse.

He tried to hide it, but Lars heard the heartbroken undertone in his father's words. Immediately, he thought of his lovely Omega-mother, who had been too weak to fight the sickness that had taken her from them six years ago. He remembered how miserable his Alpha-father had been. Inconsolable. He remembered how much her death had hurt them all.

After a moment's pause, the Clan Leader cleared his throat. "Omegas are replaceable," he said stonily, "but a trade contract is not. No matter what, the clan is what must survive. That's the burden of being Clan Leader, Lars. Our bloodline," he emphasised sternly, "must survive at all costs. Mate Matthew Kirkland, and if he dies then mate Alfred Kirkland. It doesn't make a difference. One Omega can breed just as well as another. Your Moeder was my third mate; you know that. And if she had died before giving birth to you, my Alpha-pup, my heir, I would have taken a fourth. Do you understand why, Lars? Do you understand what Omegas are for?"

Lars swallowed, feeling suddenly hollow. His fight had fled in the face of cold, cruel reality and the memory of grief. He didn't want to think of Matt as nothing but breeding-stock, but his father was right. The world was a harsh place and it was his duty as future Clan Leader to protect his family. His whole family. If that meant mating an Omega for the sole purpose of breeding pups—

Quietly, he said: "I promised Matthew that I would never hurt him. I promised that he would be safe here."

The Clan Leader signed deeply and clapped his Alpha-pup's shoulder. "Maybe you shouldn't have."