DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD

LOST BOYS


SEVEN

THE LOW COUNTRIES

Arthur, chéri."

Arthur felt Francis' long, warm hands gently pet his head. He knew his Alpha-mate's touch, even half-asleep. Groggily, he opened his eyes. His head ached. He was lying on a daybed in front of a roaring fire in the tower-house. Francis was kneeling in front of him, looking pale and haggard. His beautiful blue eyes were ringed with dark circles of fatigue.

"I fell asleep," Arthur said softly.

"Yes, you did, chéri. I'm glad." Francis' smile was kind, but thin. It was weary, like his voice, which was raw, as if he had used it to capacity calling-out for his pups. His cheek was rough at Arthur's touch, unshaved. Francis was beautiful. He rarely looked sloppy or underdressed; he rarely slouched or dragged his feet; his smile and his eyes were rarely bereft of sparkle. But in the fire's unapologetic glow, Francis finally looked his age. He looked old and tired, and Arthur bet that he looked the same. Over the Alpha's shoulder, he could see the Low-Landers, like refugees. Alphas had claimed plots of floor and wide ledges for their families to sleep on. The Clan Leader's guards had issued everyone a bed-roll, and now the expanse of floor looked like the pelt of a great slumbering beast. There was only one large rose window too high up to reach, letting in choked sunlight near the roof. Arthur guessed at the time, but he had lost track of the days. How long had he been trapped here, forced to wait and wonder and worry while the Alphas searched the Low Countries for his lost pups? How long had he sat there on the daybed—reserved for he alone, a guest—staring hatefully into the communal fire's flames?

"I want to go with you! Please, take me with you!" he had begged Francis. How could he do nothing while his pups remained lost? More than anything—anyone—he wanted to search for them. But Francis refused.

"No, Arthur. It's not safe. You'll only slow us down. I can't search for our pups if I'm worried about you."

Arthur knew that Francis was right. He knew that he was too slow, too frail. He didn't have an Alpha's sense of smell, and he couldn't track. He would only be a burden to the search party. But he still resented Francis for leaving him behind day after day, until the Alpha returned at night, long after sundown, filthy and forlorn and empty-handed. He and Scott would have stayed out even longer, but the Low-Landers wisely corralled them back to the tower-house each night, insisting that they needed food and rest if they were going to go farther the next day.

"It's too dangerous to be out after sunset," they said. But all Arthur heard in their wisdom was cowardice.

If it's too dangerous for full-grown Alphas, then how much more dangerous is it for my Omega-pups?

He growled and grimaced at the Low-Landers' kindness. He was sinister and ungrateful, and he wished more than anything that they would snarl back, but they didn't. They were sympathetic, blaming his foul mood on the awful tragedy that had befallen he and his family. The other Omegas pestered him to eat and rest, trying to take care of him. They spoke softly and respectfully, even when Arthur snapped. He wanted a fight. If his brothers had been there, they would have fought with him. Owen and Liam and Patrick would not have passively pat his head and said there-there; they would have barked and growled and told him to wipe the tears and snot from his face, to show some dignity, and to not give up hope. That's what Arthur wanted. That's what Arthur needed: strength. Not the soft-spoken and half-hearted words of comfort that the Low-Landers' proffered. They said things like:

"It hasn't been too long yet, don't fret."

"Lars' hunters are the best trackers in the clan, they'll find your pups."

"It's okay to cry, you know. We all understand."

Arthur hated them all. He hated them, because how dare they pretend to understand how he felt! No Low-Lander had lost his pups. Their pups were all safe and sound in their arms. They got to hold and hug and kiss their pups. They got to protect them. But Arthur's arms were empty. And the worst part was—

It's my fault. I didn't stop it. I let it happen. I brought them here.

"Arthur," said Francis soberly.

Arthur blinked the tears from his eyes. He was so tired of crying.

"I'm leaving now."

Arthur nodded, comprehending. He pushed himself forward and kissed Francis for safety and good-luck. He didn't know why, but he did it every time Francis left his side. It had become a routine that he was afraid to break, too hereditarily superstitious to risk teasing fate. Too afraid of losing Francis, too. He kissed his Alpha-mate, his love, for a long time, pressing his lips chastely to Francis' and holding him. He didn't want to let him go, but reluctantly he did. He pulled back and felt the immediate weight of emptiness when they parted. Then he repeated the same tired order:

"Find our pups, Francis. Don't come back without them."

Francis kissed Arthur's cold hand, and said: "I promise."


WESTERN EMPIRE

BLACK FOREST FORT

Gilbert saw Ludwig and hastily ducked down an ally in retreat, hoping that his younger brother hadn't spotted him.

"Gilbert!"

The captain cursed his bad-luck.

Ludwig's long, strong legs hurried deliberately toward Gilbert. It was a subconscious march, so well-trained that stiff formality—and intimidation—had become a part of his perfect posture. "Captain," he said, barely bowing his head in respect. The moment Gilbert nodded in acknowledgement the soldier was gone and the concerned younger brother was back; a little confused, a little upset. "Can we please talk about that speech you made yesterday?" he said.

Gilbert had been actively avoiding Ludwig since returning to the fort. He resumed it now. "I'd really rather not."

"Gilbert!" Ludwig growled. His fair cheeks reddened in frustration. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Not now, Luddy," Gilbert said affectionately, checking to ensure they were alone. He smiled in reassurance. "I've got things to do. We'll talk later—"

"No." Ludwig's big, meaty hand seized Gilbert's bicep as he tried to leave. He glared at his older brother. Gilbert had always envied Ludwig his blue eyes. They looked like the cerulean sky, but today the sky was cloudy. "As Lieutenant, I have no business questioning you," Ludwig conceded, "but as your brother, I want to know what the fuck is going on. Tell me now, before you do something really—" he paused, his nostrils flaring, "—stupid." He sighed in defeat and released Gilbert, knowing he was too late. "You mated that Omega." It wasn't a question.

Gilbert said: "Yes."

Ludwig shook his white-blonde head, like he was trying to erase the discovery. "That's illegal!" he snapped. "When the Great House finds out you've taken a mate, you'll be Court Martialed! You just threw away your future!"

Gilbert groaned internally. He already had enough to worry about without Ludwig's snappish reminder:

The fort. His Alphas. Le Roux. The West, the South. The war. And now Matthew.

He thought that he would feel better than this, having mated. Alphas bragged about it. They craved it, talked about how good it felt. But Gilbert felt hollow. Maybe there's something wrong with me? Maybe I did it wrong? It hadn't felt wrong. It had felt really, really good while doing it. Matthew's body was so warm inside. But as soon as he had finished, he had began to doubt himself. Are Omegas supposed to bleed so much? He felt sick with guilt. Matthew seemed so frail; his skin bruised so easily. Gilbert wondered if all Island Omegas were fragile, like Matthew. Maybe that's why they never left their isolated homeland, protected by the Channel. Maybe Islanders were supposed to mate Islanders, and Westerners were supposed to mate Westerners. Maybe I was too big for him?

Or, maybe I'm just really lousy at mating.

Really, Gil? berated his Conscience. You've got a generations-old war coming to a breaking-point on your doorstep, and all you can think of is your mating performance?

Gilbert clenched his teeth. It wasn't like him to linger.

Ludwig was still lecturing, voicing things that Gilbert already knew.

"Gil, you broke a vow!" he said heatedly.

"I also took a vow to protect people!" Gilbert growled abruptly, taking Ludwig off-guard. His eyes narrowed defensively, but Ludwig recovered fast.

"Protect him? By what, mating him?" Ludwig's tone was saturated with disdain.

"I did it to save his life—"

"Oh, don't even, Gil," Ludwig warned. Gilbert hated it. He hated the disappointment in his younger brother's sky-blue eyes, as if he thought Gilbert weak-willed; just another deprived soldier who had leapt at the chance to defile an Omega. The look on Ludwig's face was worse than the threat of Court Martial. It was worse than anything. "Don't dig yourself a deeper hole," he said sternly. "I want to know why you really did it. Why him?"

Gilbert opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. He stared at the ground. "I don't know," he admitted.

Ludwig sighed. After a tense minute of silence, he asked: "What did he say?"

"Who?"

"Your little Omega-mate. After you saved his life," Ludwig mocked, "what did he say about it? You did talk to him, didn't you?" he added, suspicious when Gilbert failed to reply.

"Uh, no—? I left."

"You left?"

Gilbert flinched at the volume, the disbelief that burst from Ludwig.

"So, what then? You just left him alone in your bedchamber? He's just in there feeling abandoned? Probably scared, in pain, crying—?"

"What? No!" Gilbert's stomach dropped. "I just... He doesn't want me in there, Lud, trust me. If you had seen the way he looked at me, you'd know. He doesn't want me."

Ludwig's flushed face had gone from disappointed to horrified in a split-second. Now he was staring at Gilbert as if studying a new species. (And not a very intelligent one.) He was wide-eyed, his brow creased, his mouth slack. After a minute, he seemed to process Gilbert's words.

"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically. "You're his Alpha-mate now, Gil. It's not something to just brush aside. Gods, you're the best strategist I know! How could you think that walking away was a good idea? The poor thing's just been mated for the first time, not while in Heat. Do you know how painful that's supposed to be? And he's young. And he's a foreigner; he doesn't even speak our language. You found him lost and alone in the forest, didn't you? He must be terrified. And you didn't say anything? You don't think he wanted to be comforted, or held? You just mated him and then left? I might not know a lot about Omegas, but I do know that you're not supposed to leave them, not after promising to protect them. You're a fucking coward, Gil."

Gilbert flinched. That one hurt, because he knew it was true.

"You're his Alpha-mate," Ludwig repeated angrily. "It's your job to make him feel safe, not abandoned!"

"I didn't know, okay?" Gilbert argued. He was panicking now. "I—I don't know what to do with Omegas!"

"That's because you were never supposed to take one!"

"Oh, fuck." Gilbert stumbled back and banged his head against the wall dejectedly. "Do you think he hates me?"

"If he didn't before, he does now," Ludwig guessed. Gilbert made a strangled sound and continued to bang his head in self-punishment. Ludwig sighed again, anger abating. He shook his head as he watched his older brother, and said: "Great start to mated life, Gil."

Gilbert turned toward Ludwig, a gritty red spot on his forehead. "Should I go back in?" he asked.

"It's a bit late for that now."

"Then what do I do?" he begged. He felt helpless, clueless, for the first time in a long time, and he hated it.

"I don't know," Ludwig said, bankrupt of advice. "Just... try not to burn anymore bridges."

Just then, a bell tolled. It was a dull bong, bong, bong, but Gilbert felt it reverberate in his head. Needlessly, he said:

"Le Roux is here."


Matthew was submerged in a reel of twisted dreams. He was running. He was always running. A torrent of water chased him, licking his heels. Its frothing roar became a chorus of battle-cries. It transformed into a tide of soldiers, a host of Alphas in mixes of blue and black-and-white. And red. Spots of red flashed before his vision. They ran him down and pierced his body with sharp weapons. They mated him, not with their cocks, but with long, cold swords; in-and-out, in-and-out. Each cruel thrust stabbed him, tearing his body from the inside-out. And the blood! There was so much blood. Matthew was drowning in blood.

"Matthew, wake up."

He was pulled abruptly from the nightmare. He didn't even remember falling asleep; he just remembered crying. As he awoke, the stabbing pain of sword-thrusts became a throbbing ache in his backside. His legs were curled against his chest and his arms were crossed, holding his middle, trying to protect himself.

"Matthew," Gilbert repeated, shaking the Omega's blanketed shoulder, "wake up. Le Roux is here. It's time."

It's time. Those words filled Matthew with dread. Slowly, he forced himself up. His whole body ached, feeling like he had been beaten. He was tender and bruised and he had no strength left in his muscles. He couldn't remember ever being so tired. He tried to stand, but his legs collapsed under him. Gilbert caught him with whip-fast reflexes and held him braced against his chest. Matthew clung to him weakly, trying not to cry; trying not to make a sound.

"Can you walk?"

"No." His voice was a pitiful whisper. "I don't think so."

Gilbert lifted him, cradling him in his arms like a newly pair-bonded couple—which, technically, they were. Matthew felt the Alpha's warm, callused hands on his naked thighs. His fingers touched the mess of dried semen and blood, and Matthew felt suddenly ashamed.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert said. His face was austere. "I'll help you get cleaned up later, but right now there can't be any doubt that you've been mated. I want evidence to show Le Roux."

Gilbert's words were mechanic, but his tone was not. His hands were not.

He helped Matthew pull on his trousers, and lent the Omega a long coat that he hugged around himself, but otherwise his whole body was unchanged from the mating. He could feel the dried Alpha semen on his skin; he could smell it. Even his bed-rumbled shirt was perfumed with Gilbert's scent. Matthew tried to tame his curls. He tried to slap some colour into his face, but it was useless. He knew what his bedraggled appearance implied even without the aid of a looking-glass, and so did everyone else.

Gilbert left the bedchamber with Matthew aloft in his arms. The stone corridor was cold compared to the heat of the room, and Matthew pressed closer to Gilbert's body as the Alpha descended, carrying him down the stairs. At the keep's door, he stopped. He asked again: "Can you walk?" and Matthew knew that Gilbert was giving him the chance to preserve a shred of dignity.

This time, he said: "Yes."

His feet touched the floor and his legs trembled. He took Gilbert's arm and squeezed it, staying close.

The instant they left the keep, Matthew wanted to duck back inside. The courtyard was swarming with Alphas of the Black Forest Fort, who were guarding a small party of Southerners that included Captain Le Roux. The Southern Alpha's eyes landed on Matthew and his nose twitched, lips twisted. Matthew read impatience on his face, but he remained in place, conscious of the guards, and careful not to make any sudden movements. Matthew recalled what Gilbert had said about Le Roux being a cautious Alpha, but it wasn't due to fear. In French, he said:

"Let me see him."

"It's okay," Gilbert whispered to Matthew. He stopped Matthew a few feet from Le Roux and untangled their arms. "I'm right here, I promise." Then he did something that scared Matthew: he stepped back, leaving Matthew to face the Southerner's scrutiny—the dozens of unfriendly, judgemental eyes—alone.

Le Roux stepped closer and sniffed at Matthew. Matthew knew he was noticeably trembling, but he couldn't stop. He kept his fists balled and his head bowed, trying to hide behind his mussed curls as the Southerner inspected him. He was grateful for Gilbert's long coat, until Le Roux said:

"Take it off, it's not your garment. It stinks of Beilschmidt's scent. I won't be fooled," he warned. But when Matthew hesitated, Le Roux grew impatient. "I said take it off," he snapped, yanking it down. Matthew felt the bite of the wind as the coat fell away. He heard Gilbert growl, but the Lieutenant grabbed his shoulder, stopping his advance. Le Roux ignored them. He stepped closer, too close. Matthew could feel his hot breath. The Alpha sniffed at his hair and neck, then shook his head. "I want proof," he said.

Before Matthew could react, Le Roux reached down and spread the Omega's legs. Matthew couldn't help the cry of pain that burst from him, a yelp that echoed in the silent courtyard.

"If that's not proof, I don't know what is," someone whispered.

A soft, scared whine left Matthew as Le Roux knelt. He dragged his hands over Matthew's tender backside, groping it, and grasped his legs. Then he pressed his nose to the inside of the Omega's upper-thigh and breathed in deeply. Matthew trembled. It was humiliating, having an Alpha between his legs in public. He tried not to think about everyone who was witnessing it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as he waited for Le Roux to be done. It felt like a long time, though. Much too long. Even his Omega nose could smell Gilbert's scent on himself. He was saturated in it. An Alpha would have no trouble discerning it. There was no need for such an extensive examination. No need for such a blatant show of disrespect to a rival's Omega-mate, but the Southern captain lingered.

"Le Roux, enough."

It was Gilbert's raspy voice, heavy and angry. When the Southerner finally stood and stepped back, Matthew turned and saw that several of Gilbert's Alphas had their hands on him, holding their commander back. Gilbert was seething. His red eyes looked like hellfire as he glared murderously at Le Roux, his pupils slit like a beast's. He knew he couldn't attack, though. He let his Alphas hold him back, grateful for it in the depths of his mind, but his calculated self-control was breaking by the second. For how much longer could they restrain their irate commander? The blue-eyed Lieutenant kept a hand on Gilbert, squeezing him hard. Louder, Gilbert growled:

"Get away. You got your proof, now get away from my mate."

Le Roux looked dissatisfied, but he retreated.

The moment he did, Matthew ran straight into Gilbert's arms, instinctively seeking his protection. He felt the Alpha's arms wrap tightly around him, and he no longer cared who was watching. He hoped everyone was watching, seeing him claimed by the most powerful Alpha in the fort; hoping that Gilbert's—his Alpha-mate's—reputation would be enough to guard him. Just then, he wanted the Alpha to stay with him. He wanted Gilbert to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay. He hugged the Western captain's tapered middle and pressed his forehead to his chest and breathed in his sharp scent, wishing that everything else would disappear. Gilbert's heart was beating wildly.

Don't let go! Matthew begged in fright. Please don't let me go!

Le Roux clucked his tongue in contempt. "Congratulations on your pair-bonding, Beilschmidt-pup," he said darkly. "I look forward to the Court Martial."


WESTERN EMPIRE

WILDERNESS

Alfred smiled as he watched Ivan's hands, submerged in a basin of water. It reddened as he washed off the bear's blood. The carcass had been skinned and was hanging on a drying-wrack outside of the cave's entrance. Alfred was feeding the fire nearby, letting the smoke seep into the flaccid hide. It had taken a long time to flesh and skin the beast, and they were only half-finished. It was a long, tedious process. It would be several days before the hide could be treated and tanned, but the vastness of its coat, its thick brown fur, was too valuable to waste. It would make a good rug. Besides that, it was prestigious; not that there was anyone to admire their handiwork. Few Alphas could brag that they had killed a bear, and even fewer Omegas. Alfred couldn't believe the ghastly size of the beast. Did I really kill that thing? It still felt surreal. He had never seen such a monstrous creature before.

Ivan saw Alfred staring and bit back a grin. "What?" he asked, feigning annoyance.

"Nothing," Alfred shrugged, cheeky. "Just enjoying the view."

Ivan snorted. He stood too fast and grimaced, his hand going to his wounded chest.

"Are you okay?" Alfred, too, stood too fast and clumsily hit his left leg on the woodpile. He yelped, hopping.

Ivan threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. He held his stomach. Alfred loved the sound of Ivan's laugh. "We're quite a fearsome pair, aren't we?" he joked.

"The very fiercest," Alfred smiled.

He cocked his index-finger, requesting that Ivan come closer. The Alpha obliged and, when he was within arm's reach, Alfred grabbed his shirt and pulled him down into a hungry kiss. It was indulgent. Ivan's lips were warm and his tongue tasted like the mint leaves he liked to chew. His hand cupped Alfred's face gently before moving back to thread the Omega's feather-soft hair. Alfred sighed happily.

"I love how tall you are," he said when they parted.

"I'm not that tall, little one. You're just small," Ivan countered. He pecked Alfred's nose, then returned to work.

Alfred watched Ivan for a few minutes. Shirtless, Ivan's back muscles rippled as he bent and stretched, collecting tools. His biceps bulged as he effortlessly lifted heavy objects that Alfred would have strained to drag. The Omega felt a warm sensation stir inside of him. It was familiar, born deep in his belly and then migrated south. He shifted from foot-to-foot, his knees together. He listened to Ivan's heavy, measured breaths; saw the sweaty shine on his pearly skin. He bit his bottom lip, carefully considering his options. Finally, he plucked up the courage to say what he had wanted to for days.

"Ivan, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm? Go ahead."

"Could you please look at me?" Alfred asked, feeling himself blush. "It's important."

Alfred's tone took Ivan off-guard. It was serious, yet it harboured a pinch of doubt. The Alpha stood, wiping his hands on his trouser-legs as he faced Alfred, rapt now. What could a bear-killer possibly be nervous to ask?

Alfred swallowed. "I don't know if you've noticed," he said methodically, "but I've been in pre-Heat for about five days now." It had been five days of Alfred clinging to Ivan, feeling bare without the Alpha's scent and touch. But Alfred was an affectionate being by nature; perhaps Ivan didn't know what it meant. "It's very likely that I'll go into Heat tomorrow," he explained, "and I want you to stay with me when that happens."

Ivan's eyes widened, his eyebrows arched in surprise. His body tensed.

"I want you to mate me," Alfred clarified needlessly. "It's okay if you don't want to be my pair-bonded Alpha. I'm not a very traditional Omega, and I don't care about the law. I don't care if we're only together for a little while, even if it's just once. I just want you to stay with me. I want all of you, Ivan. Is that okay?"

Ivan stared at Alfred, stone-cold silent for the longest minute of the Omega's life. Then he said: "No."

Alfred's heart plummeted.

"You may not be a traditional Omega and I may not be a typical Alpha," Ivan said, "but I left the East because I didn't want to pair-bond with an Omega I didn't love. I want to love my mate; I always have. It's not just an alliance, or a contest. Not to me. An Alpha should cherish his Omega-mate, he should love him—"

Alfred nodded. He felt stupid. He bowed his head, rejected.

"—like I'm in love with you, Alfred."

Alfred's head snapped up. Ivan—the bastard!—was smiling. He couldn't believe his ears.

"I love you, little one," Ivan repeated, closing the distance between them. He cupped Alfred's cheek; Alfred leant into the gentle touch. The Alpha's violet eyes were soft. "So, no. I won't stay with you tomorrow, not unless I can stay with you forever. I won't mate you once, Alfred Kirkland. Not if I can't be pair-bonded with you. I want to be your Alpha-mate. That is, if you want me."

"Yes! Yes, I do!" Alfred blurted. He clutched Ivan's shirt and pulled him closer. He felt the Alpha's body-heat, his beating heart. His own heart swelled in reply. Ivan's confession overwhelmed him. He was an Alpha of few words, but he chose every one carefully. He didn't say things he didn't mean. And these were so honest; so deliberate; so simple and straightforward. No lies, no secrets. It hit Alfred like a blow and he suddenly felt weak in the Alpha's arms.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? I don't have a home, or a family," Ivan reminded the impulsive Omega. He stroked Alfred's cheek. "I don't belong anywhere."

"You belong with me," Alfred said fiercely. "I've never really belonged, either. Not with the Omegas, and not with the Alphas. But I don't care, not anymore. Not when I'm with you. You and I... let's be outcasts together, okay? Please, Ivan,"—softly now—"I love you. I want you to stay with me forever."

"I will," Ivan promised, kissing Alfred. "As long as you want me, little one, I'll never leave your side."


WESTERN EMPIRE

BLACK FOREST FORT

The days passed slowly, wasting, and Matthew wasted with them. He lived in Gilbert's bedchamber, sleeping, not because he was tired or ill, but because there was nothing else to do. He slept to fend off boredom. He ate the food and bathed in the water the squire brought him. His name was Grey, and he was the same age as Matthew, a respectful, obedient Alpha whom Gilbert trusted. He visited twice a day, every day. Gilbert was usually gone by the time Matthew awoke in the morning and returned long after the Omega had gone to sleep at night. It was seldom that they spent time together. Matthew learnt that his new Alpha-mate worked very long hours. He learnt a lot about Gilbert second-hand from Grey, who spoke fluent French.

"Captain Beilschmidt works harder than anyone else," he said. "He's a good Fort Commander, a good Alpha."

There was admiration in Grey's voice and eyes. He respected Gilbert. They all did, Matthew discovered. They never said it, of course. The Western soldiers were less outwardly affectionate than anyone Matthew had ever met, but he could see it in the way they stopped to salute when Gilbert passed, their heads bowed; he could hear it in the proud timbre of their voices when they chorused: "Yes, sir!"; he knew it in the way they ceased whatever they were doing to accompany Gilbert, to aid him in a task, or to lend him support. Gilbert never had to ask twice. He never had to raise his voice. A simple hand signal from the captain could silence the entire fort.

They love him, Matthew realized, watching the courtyard from his narrow window.

Gilbert was overseeing a combat practise, studying his younger Alphas critically. Matthew spotted him easily because his silvery hair gleamed in the pale sunlight. He stood beside the Lieutenant, Ludwig, who was the officer in charge of training. Ludwig was one of the most gifted with a sword, and—if Grey could be believed—the fort's harshest disciplinarian.

"He works us to the bone, I swear!" he complained. "But he never makes us do it alone. He's not one of those sadistic officers who watches us suffer. I had to do extra laps once, and right as I was about to collapse the Lieutenant pushed me forward and ran alongside me. He stayed with me until I was done. He looks big and scary, but he's not heartless. I do believe he's inhuman, though," he added conspiratorially. "No mortal should be able to push himself that hard without vomiting. It's not natural." He shuddered; Matthew laughed.

He watched Ludwig now, as the Lieutenant barked orders in a deep base that dwarfed Gilbert's.

Ludwig was Gilbert's younger brother, and Gilbert loved him. Matthew knew it the instant he was introduced to Ludwig. In the privacy of his bedchamber, Gilbert's wolfish face had turned into an indulgent grin as he ruffled his brother's white-blonde hair. Dismissing formality, he had said:

"Matthew, this is my little brother, Luddy."

There was nothing little about Ludwig, though. He was a half-a-head taller than Gilbert, and broader, with wide shoulders, a barrel-chest, and thick, muscular limbs. He had large, blunt-fingered hands made for hard work, and a stern no-nonsense expression that would have been intimidating if he wasn't being treated to a head-tousle just then. Ludwig frowned at Gilbert's belittling introduction.

"Lieutenant Ludwig Beilschmidt," he corrected, inclining his head politely toward Matthew, his new brother-by-mating-law.

"If you ever need anything and I'm not around, you can trust Lud," Gilbert had said when Ludwig left. "He'll take care of you, I promise."

Matthew smiled absently as he spied on the brothers, Gilbert talking with Ludwig as he gestured. Ludwig nodded. He whistled, a loud, shrill sound that harassed Matthew's sensitive ears, and the Alphas fell into line. They spoke in German, but Matthew read the situation with his eyes. Gilbert and Ludwig took two wooden practise swords and began demonstrating what it was they intended the soldiers to learn. Every so often, one of them would pause and point out something of significance, like his partner's footwork, or proper attacking posture. Gilbert talked a lot and used Ludwig as a model. In return, the Alphas all listened intently, nodding in understanding. But neither were they afraid to ask questions. As the lesson continued, nearly every soldier stepped forward to ask a question, unafraid of being teased or reprimanded.

That's the mark of a good teacher, Matthew thought, resting his chin on his folded arms. Ludwig was stern, but not cruel. And Gilbert—Gilbert smiled as he talked, praising effort and cleverness. He likes to teach. And he's good at it. His Alphas aren't afraid of making mistakes, because they know he'll cover for them. He asks for everything they've got and then makes up the balance himself. He becomes what they lack, whatever they need. It's no wonder he's always exhausted. Matthew didn't know if that made Gilbert a good Fort Commander or not, but it did make him a good teacher, a good friend. He's like everyone's brother. And they absolutely adore him.

"It's not how you treat your equals or superiors, but how you treat your inferiors and those in your care that shows your true character," Scott had said once.

Watching Gilbert now, Matthew believed it.


Gilbert and Matthew didn't talk much. If they did, it was Gilbert asking Matthew if he needed anything. They slept on opposite sides of the bed, and Gilbert hadn't touched Matthew since the Omega had recovered from being mated. Gilbert awoke early, before sunrise, before the breakfast bell, and he returned late at night. He let Matthew have the bedchamber to himself, allowing him to do and have whatever he wanted, provided he stayed inside.

"It's not safe outside," he said vaguely.

He never elaborated, and Matthew never asked. Since Gilbert trusted his Alphas, he assumed it was due to the fort's deadly purpose. I'm too fragile to be out there amongst all of that dangerous Alpha work, he thought in resignation. It was nothing that he hadn't heard before.

In a way, Gilbert reminded Matthew of his family, especially Francis. They looked nothing alike, and they acted nothing alike, but there was a familiarity in Gilbert's inherent protectiveness that made Matthew desperately miss his sire. But unlike Francis, when Matthew cried Gilbert left him alone. Matthew had begun to suspect that tears made the Western captain uncomfortable, because he never seemed to know what to do. He also suspected that the fort had never witnessed so many tears before Matthew's arrival. Alphas were tough, after all. Alphas did not cry.


One day, born of boredom and sanitary necessity, Matthew took a needle and a bobbin of thread and re-stitched the entire bed mattress, which was coming undone at the seams; it coughed-up feathers whenever he or Gilbert shifted in bed. Then he asked Grey to bring a washboard and a tub and scrubbed the bed linens until they were threadbare, but clean. He soaked and starched them, hating the feel of the dirty sheets. They hadn't been cleaned since Gilbert had mated him. If the Alpha noticed, however, he didn't voice it. He merely fell into bed that night exhausted as always. He stayed on his side and he didn't move an inch.

The next day, Matthew took liberties. Nothing in the bedchamber was off-limits to him—not that there was very much—so he dusted, scrubbed, and polished everything in sight. When he reached the dusty bookshelf, he tossed the contents onto the bed and began re-shelving the books according to size, but he stopped halfway. Gilbert's books were not fictions, like Arthur's; they were mostly instructional. There were a lot of illustrated manuals about warfare, and one outdated medical text, but Matthew was more interested in the language books he found. Shoved to the back of the bookshelf were a half-dozen French and English books, all of them stuffed with old worksheets graffitied with Gilbert's messy scrawl. For every practise phrase in French or English, there was a German accompaniment (and lots of angry scores and scribbles). Is this how he taught himself French and English? Matthew wondered. The practise sheets were wrinkled and full of mistakes, but they revealed the Alpha's dedication.

Intrigued, Matthew took the collection to the bed and spread them out.

Long after dark, Gilbert returned, surprised to find Matthew still awake. "What are you doing?" he asked, recognizing his old workbooks. Matthew thought he saw a blush colour the Alpha's cheeks, but it was hard to tell in the candlelight.

"I'm learning German," he replied, showing Gilbert.

"Why?"

"Because you speak German, and so does everyone else. I might as well, too. I am in the West, after all."

Gilbert cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Matthew sighed. "I'm bored."

Gilbert nodded at that, satisfied. He undressed and flopped gracelessly down onto the bed, but instead of going straight to sleep, he inched toward Matthew, spying on the Omega's neat notes. "That's wrong," he tapped the parchment. His fingernails were dirty. "It needs an accent, otherwise it's a different sound. And this"—he dragged his opalescent finger, nicked with scars—"you've written it backwards." Matthew corrected his mistakes under Gilbert's scrutiny, pleased to have a little guidance. German, he decided, was not as easy as French. "I think I have a French-German"—Gilbert yawned deeply, exposing his canines—"dictionary somewhere. I'll find it for you tomorrow..."

Then he was asleep: pale head resting on Matthew's pillow, his mouth hanging ajar, passed-out like a young pup.

Matthew pulled a blanket up over Gilbert's shoulders and continued to study.


From then, Gilbert began speaking to Matthew in German. "It's good practise," he argued. They started to exchange simple sentences, like greetings, before Gilbert promoted Matthew to questions. He started refusing to reply to any requests Matthew made in English, grinning playfully while he waited for Matthew to haltingly translate his request into German. Often, it took a while and frustrated Matthew. He would glare at the smug Alpha as he flipped rapidly through the dictionary Gilbert had given him. But constructing a comprehensible sentence was only half the battle won, because Gilbert Beilschmidt was something of a secret perfectionist. "You're pronouncing it wrong," he would say, grinning, making Matthew want to hurl the dictionary at him. Once, he actually did. His usually dormant temper awoke with a swift vengeance and he threw the heavy book at Gilbert without a thought. Gilbert ducked the projectile, and a cold fear immediately seized Matthew. His eyes went wide in regret. "I-I-I–I'm sorry!" he panicked, afraid of the Alpha's reaction. But Gilbert wasn't listening. He was clutching his stomach and wiping tears of laugher from his eyes. That's when Matthew discovered Gilbert's sense of humour.

"I was starting to worry about you, you know," he admitted, grinning at Matthew. "But I'm glad. My schatzi has a hidden temper."

"What does schatzi mean?" Matthew asked, for the umpteenth time.

But Gilbert only shrugged. "Look it up," he said, then walked off.

Matthew only asked because schatzi seemed to be a slang term, because it wasn't in the dictionary. And nobody—not Ludwig, or Grey—would tell him what it meant. So Matthew decided that it was likely a rude word, or an insult—Gilbert had a rather ripe vocabulary (not unlike Uncle Scottie)—that he was better off not knowing.


Gilbert was not a typical Alpha-mate, but he tried really hard to be. As Fort Commander he was always busy, the work never-ending, but he never failed to remember Matthew. "Are you hungry, sleepy, cold, bored? Are you feeling okay? Do you want me to stoke the fire? Do you want hot water?" he would ask (usually in rapid procession before Matthew had a chance to reply). It was a mental checklist that Gilbert went through every morning and evening. Sometimes it flattered Matthew; sometimes it annoyed him. If nothing else, Gilbert was very attentive to detail. It was proof of his profession, as was his lack of experience with Omegas. Every time he asked a question, he was asking for Matthew's guidance, trying to learn about the gentler sex; trying to make up for his ignorance and lack of preparation—or, maybe for something else.

Gilbert was not as easy to read as Alfred, but Matthew found himself thinking of his brother when he looked at his mate. They shared the same bawdy sense of humor. Gilbert liked to joke and tease and play. He was a rather physical being, like Alfred—though not as physically-affectionate—and he liked to tell stories with wild gestures. The kind of stories that made Matthew roll his eyes and try not to laugh (or be utterly impressed).

He was a positive person; not sunny, but durable. The Black Forest Fort was a cold and forlorn place, and his Alphas were tired and afraid, but Gilbert's pride, his strength, never faltered. When others said: "I can't do it!" Gilbert always said: "Yes, you can. I know it. I'll help you." He was the last glowing ember of a dying fire, constantly trying to rekindle the flame. But Matthew was afraid that all of his effort was useless. Gilbert was fighting a losing battle and he seemed to be the only one who didn't know it. Matthew knew. And Ludwig knew. They were the only two people who ever saw the captain's stress, his exhaustion, his worry, his fear.

He's trying to juggle too much,Matthew knew, feeling sympathy for his mate. But he's doing the best he can.

Matthew was ashamed that it had taken him so long to realize it. He was an observant being by nature, but he had been so focused on his own misery that he had neglected to recognize Gilbert's. So he resolved to do something for Gilbert that only he, in the whole fort, was capable of doing.

He was going to take care of him.


Matthew, schatzi, I know how much you like to be clean," said Gilbert tiredly, "but you've got to stop bothering my squire to bring you hot water every day. He has other duties besides trudging back-and-forth up the stairs playing serving-boy, okay? Besides, you already bathed this morning!"

Gilbert tried to keep a gentle, diplomatic tone, but the Omega's obsession with hygiene was exhausting.

"Yes, I did," Matthew acknowledged, "but I didn't bother him today, honestly. I trudged back-and-forth up the stairs myself. And the bath isn't for me, it's for you."

Gilbert blinked, as if he had misheard. Skeptically, he eyed the big, brass washtub, which sat in the middle of the bedchamber, full of warm, scented water. Then he looked at Matthew, who looked anxious.

"Are you trying to imply something?" he joked, trying to ease the tension.

He stepped farther into the bedchamber, closing the door behind him. He stripped off his coat and grimaced; his whole body ached. Absently, he started to toss his coat onto the tabletop, but he stopped when he saw it set. That's when Gilbert noticed that the bedchamber's scent was different. It didn't smell like dust and musk, or his own stale sweat; it smelled clean. It was clean. And it was ordered. His spare clothes were washed and folded on the bed. The bed itself looked neater and less lopsided. His red gaze swivelled, sweeping the room, inspecting the territory that was no longer just his. He looked at the table again. He could smell the fat, juicy boiled sausages, and beside the meal sat a stein of beer. His mouth watered; his stomach growled. Finally, he looked at Matthew.

"What's all this?"

"An apology," said the Omega shyly. He, too, looked clean and well-groomed. He had brushed his angel curls for the first time since Gilbert had known him.

"A—what?"

Matthew inhaled, then spoke. His speech sounded preconceived, as if he had rehearsed it beforehand. He said:

"Gilbert, you saved my life—twice—and I never even thanked you for it. I'm sorry. You didn't have to rescue me. You could've walked away; it would've been simpler. I've caused you nothing but trouble, and yet you've been so kind. You've risked yourself to protect me and I've done nothing but cry and complain. I'm so sorry. I've been such a horrible Omega-mate to you, but that changes now. If you let me, I'll take care of you properly. I will. I want to repay your kindness. I'll be a better Omega-mate, I promise. So please, please forgive me."

It took Gilbert a minute to realize that he was staring at the Omega in slack-jawed disbelief. A minute before realizing he was expected to speak.

"Forgive you?" he repeated in recovery.

Matthew stared hopefully at him; violet eyes a little sad, a little scared.

"I think you're confused," he said. "It should be me apologizing to you."

Matthew shook his head dismissively. "Nothing that's happened to me is your fault, Gilbert."

"Really? Nothing?"

Matthew bowed his head, blonde curls tumbling. He blushed. "I don't resent you. I'm grateful for your—"

"Cock? Sorry," he added hurriedly, feeling stupid. He half-smiled in appeasement. "I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable."

Matthew laughed softly in reply. It was the sweetest sound Gilbert had ever heard.

"I don't resent you, either," he said seriously, in case the Omega doubted it. Matthew struck him as someone who was good at making excuses, more likely to blame himself than someone else.

"I'm glad," Matthew said, softer still. He peeked up at Gilbert through a veil of curls.

Gilbert's stomach flipped. He remembered what those pale locks felt like, like the finest silk. Silk and satin, that's what Matthew was: a luxury. It had only been a fortnight since Gilbert had mated Matthew, but already he found himself craving the Omega, and always at the most inappropriate times, too. Lust made it impossible to focus on his work. The mere memory of Matthew's body, it's internal heat, it's slick, welcoming wetness, was enough to make the Alpha hard. And it was torture knowing he couldn't quench it. Nothing he did to relieve himself came remotely close to the feel of being inside Matthew. I'm a fucking pervert, he thought. How many times had he had to leave the bedchamber before the Omega noticed his state? Thinking about him was one thing, but being so close to him and being unable to touch him was unjustly cruel. How many nights had he pretended to be asleep, lying with his eyes closed, perfectly immobile, and clenching his fists beneath the blankets every time Matthew shifted in bed? Some nights, it took all of his self-discipline not to roll on top of Matthew and take him again.

And yet, here they were. And Matthew was apologizing to him.

"Please," said the Omega gently, inoffensively. "You're tired and sore, Gilbert. I can tell by the way you keep rolling your shoulders. You've been working so hard, you should relax. Let me help you relax," he said, indicating the washtub. It did look inviting.

"Okay," he agreed. "If it'll make you happy—"

"It will." Matthew's face brightened. He looked relieved.

Matthew smiled as he waited for Gilbert to undress, collecting the discarded articles as the Alpha dropped them. He hovered like a dam supervising a pup. Gilbert found it a bit annoying—disconcerting to have someone's rapt attention whilst naked—but mostly he found it funny. He climbed into the washtub and let his body submerge in the water. It felt good. It smelled good. Gilbert didn't know what Matthew had scented the water with, but it was a subtle fragrance that pleased his sensitive nose. He sighed contentedly as he leant back as instructed. It had been a long time since he had had a bath that was more than a washcloth and a basin of cold water. What's the point of indulgence? he had thought. Soldiers were supposed to be hard and tough-fibred; that's what his Alpha-father had taught him. Self-indulgence was a waste. But as the tension eased from his muscles, Gilbert began to reconsider. When Matthew, his beautiful Omega-mate, smiled at him and batted those pretty long lashes, handing him a stein of beer, Gilbert grinned in self-satisfaction and completely surrendered to the luxury.

"This is the part of being an Omega I'm actually good at," Matthew joked self-consciously.

Oh, I can think of something better, Gilbert thought—then stopped. He was stark-naked, after all.

"It's not necessary, you know," he said instead. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time."

"Have you—?" Matthew's tone was teasing. He fingered Gilbert's old shirt in example, then tossed it into a basket.

"Hey, I need that!" Gilbert insisted. "If I go outside naked they'll all laugh at me." He pouted.

Matthew covered his mouth, giggling.

"They're filthy and full of holes, they're rags!" he criticized.

"They're fine—"

"My Alpha-mate," Matthew said with mock-seriousness; he cocked his head and his voluptuous hip, "is not going to go strutting about the fort in rags."

Gilbert feigned insult. "I do not strut!" he said, parrying Matthew's tone with mock-horror.

"Oh, yes you do," Matthew replied. He was laughing freely now; such a sweet sound. Brazenly, he mimicked Gilbert's walk, then covered his face with his hands.

"Oh, you're a cheeky little thing, aren't you? If I weren't confined to this tub, I'd—"

Matthew flinched; the laugh died abruptly.

"—tickle you."

Well, that's the dumbest thing I've ever said, Gilbert thought in embarrassment. Originally, he was going to say "smack you", but he was afraid that the Omega would take it literally. That's all he needed: for Ludwig to think that he was a horny pervert and physically abusive. It was truly incredible, though, how defensive Matthew's posture instinctively got when he thought he had done something wrong. It's a reflex, but I wonder why? He wondered if Matthew had been abused in the past. Briefly, he considered the Omega's family members as potential culprits, but then he remembered Matthew's heartfelt defense of Francis' innocence and he discarded the unhappy thought. Nobody who was hiding abuse looked the way Matthew had when talking about his sire. He's just timid, he decided, dissatisfied. He hasn't got much self-confidence. He doubts himself, and everyone else. He doesn't trust anyone.

Gilbert watched Matthew as the Omega puttered ceaselessly around the bedchamber, tidying and catering. Frankly, it made Gilbert dizzy. But Matthew looked significantly more at-ease when he was busy, focused on a menial task. He seemed to know what he was doing and took comfort in the repetition. He hung a towel close to the fireplace hearth, warming it for Gilbert; then refilled the Alpha's empty beer stein. He did it habitually, as if he had been bred to cater to someone else. Again, Gilbert wondered about Matthew's upbringing and what kind of Alphas he had lived with. Lucky ones, he thought, feeling indignant and jealous. I bet they've never had to lift a finger for themselves in their entire lives.

"Here, they're clean," said Matthew, offering Gilbert a shirt and dark trousers as the Alpha hauled himself out of the washtub.

"Thanks."

"Does this mean you forgive me?" Matthew asked after a minute.

Gilbert had bathed and drank and eaten and was tugging on the freshly-ironed clothes that Matthew had given him, but the Omega still looked worried, as if he thought it was all inadequate payment.

Gilbert hated that look.

"I told you," he said gruffly, "there's nothing to forgive—"

"Please?"

For the second time that night, Gilbert was taken aback by the Omega's tone. It was unexpectedly unyielding. Gilbert paused, only half-dressed. Matthew was staring at him intently; not challenging, but determined. He looked misleadingly timid, but a secret strength lived in those violet eyes, a fierce pride that Gilbert hadn't seen since he had rescued Matthew. That look, that hidden strength, is what had kept Matthew Bonnefoi alive. It was something that Gilbert recognized: the look of a survivor. Your body might be soft and fragile, but your will isn't, he thought, staring keenly at Matthew, and he felt something for the Omega then that was deeper than lust or obligation. He felt respect. Matthew looked helpless and, in truth, it was alluring. He was a treasure in need of guarding. My treasure, now. But the look in those violet eyes revealed something more, something feral that Gilbert liked. He's a survivor. And he's got the heart of a warrior. Slowly, the Alpha's lips curled into a smile.

"Okay," he said, tugging on a shirt. He looked Matthew directly in the eye, and said: "You win. I forgive you."

There was something satisfying, almost arrogant, in the Omega's receptive smile. "Thank-you," he said.

Gilbert inclined his head, like a gentleman accepting a lost duel. He turned, but Matthew wasn't done.

"Come here," he said, pointing to the bed.

For a fleeting second Gilbert dared to hope to mate Matthew again, but the Omega's eyes were not lustful or scared. He wasn't inviting Gilbert into bed, just onto it.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, but obeyed. He sat down and stretched his long figure, relaxing in a cloud of pillow, but jolted suddenly when he felt Matthew's soft hands on his neck. His eyes flew open—he hadn't realized that he had closed them—and tipped his head back to blink questioningly at the Omega beside him. Gently, Matthew repositioned Gilbert so his back was exposed. Then he applied pressure to Gilbert's muscles, rolling his fingers over the tense knots, and Gilbert involuntarily arched in reply. A groan escaped him, then he utterly melted. It felt so good.

"Where did you learn to do this?" he asked, eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

"My Dad taught me. My Alpha family members are all hunters; their bodies are their livelihood, so they need to be taken care of. That's what my Dad told me. Alphas need to relax. I used to practise on my poor uncles. I gave one of them a welt by accident once. But I think I've gotten better since then."

"Hmm? Oh, that's nice," Gilbert sighed. His brain was foggy and his body was limp in Matthew's arms. "This much pampering isn't good for my reputation, you know. They're going to think I've gone soft."

"Maybe," Matthew allowed. His fingers roamed over the Alpha's shoulders, which were corded with lean, athletic muscle; they rubbed the column of his strong neck, and the base of his spine; they grazed his collarbone, and pressed firmly down on his biceps and pectorals, exploring the defined planes of flat, rock-hard muscle. "Maybe," he repeated in a husky whisper, "but only on the inside."

Gilbert cracked open one red eye and grinned. "Maybe," he mimicked Matthew's tone, "I should make you apologize more often, Matthew."

For a moment Gilbert thought he had insulted the Omega, taking the joke too far. But this time Matthew just smiled, those feral eyes sparkling with laughter.

"You can call me Matt... if you want to," he said shyly; hopefully.

"Matt." Gilbert liked the taste of it. In reply, he reached up and took Matthew's hand. He shook it. "Nice to meet you, Matt. I'm Gil."


WESTERN EMPIRE

WILDERNESS

Alfred rearranged the lay of the blankets on the bed, folding and kneading the fabric and furs. He smoothed the surface in a methodical way, then frowned, cocked his head, and restarted. He stacked and un-stacked pillows, then lay them all flat and draped one of Ivan's shirts over top. That's better, he thought, wiping his sweaty brow. He was flushed with oncoming Heat. He could feel it budding and blossoming inside of him. It wouldn't be long now, which is why he felt compelled to nest. It was his most Omega-like quality, Arthur said. Alfred might've rejected typical Omega tasks and hobbies, but he was meticulous about his space, especially while in Heat.

"Are you okay?" Ivan asked, watching Alfred fan himself with a hand.

"Yes, it's just hot in here. Don't you find it too hot?"

"No."

Alfred caught Ivan's eye and knew that he knew. In proof, the Alpha said: "Relax, little one. It'll be okay—"

"No, no it won't." On his hands-and-knees, Alfred tugged at the bedding, rooting it from bottom to top. "It has to be right," he muttered, feeling frustrated.

"What does?"

"The nest!" Alfred said, harsher than he intended. He felt anxious, worried that it would not be ready in time. He was feeling more uncomfortable, more tense by the second. "It has to be right. It's important that it's cozy, uh... not a mess, you know? It has to feel safe," he babbled, futilely trying to explain. None of his Alpha relatives had ever understood it either. Arthur did; Matthew did. But Alphas were irritatingly clueless sometimes. "It won't be like other times, because it won't be just me. It needs to be big enough. It needs to be soft enough. It needs more... bounce."

"Bounce—?"

"Yes, exactly. Bounce."

Ivan blinked at Alfred as the Omega punched the bedding with both fists, gauging its 'bounce' factor. "It's not squishy enough," Alfred complained.

"Squishy," Ivan repeated. He frowned. "Well, if you insulate the bottom with a couple of hides—" He grabbed one from the floor, but Alfred snatched it.

"No, don't!" he yelled, panicking. He hugged the soft hide to his chest. "I just... I have to do it myself, okay?"

"Okay." In appeasement, Ivan retreated to the opposite cave wall and settled down. From there he watched Alfred fuss, giving a craftsman's advice in disguise. "Did you know that aquatic mammals have double-coated pelts? It's to protect them from the wet and cold, it's waterproof. It's thicker," he said conversationally. "In the East, we use the furs to line our winter coats and then cover it with a waterproof layer, usually a seal-skin. It's soft and supple. It's flexible," he hinted. "But sometimes it's not enough, so Omegas wrap their pups with blankets—usually wool. With all those layers on, it's very squishy."

Alfred followed Ivan's indirect instructions and completed the nest, and he felt much better for it. He sighed and sat down on the bouncy, squishy bedding, finally satisfied. When he looked over at Ivan, he saw the Alpha staring at him and smiling.

"You think it's silly, don't you?" he said, feeling embarrassed. "But it's not, not to me. It's important. I'm not usually this weird about it, but this time is different, because this time I'm sharing it with you, so it has to be perfect. I want it to be perfect for you," he added softly. "It's all I can do, really. I'm not a very good Omega otherwise. I'm not soft, or gentle, or nurturing. I'm not quiet and submissive, I'm too loud. That's what Dad tells me. He wants me to be more like Mattie. But I'm not like Mattie." He shook his head. He didn't know why he was suddenly telling Ivan all of this, but he couldn't seem to stop. He blamed it on Heat hormones, which tended to toy with his emotions. And Ivan was a good audience for his monologue of self-pity. He was quiet and he didn't interrupt as Alfred named all of his faults, as if confessing the truth to Ivan before they mated. Before it was too late for the Alpha to change his mind. Secretly, Alfred feared that if Ivan really knew the real Alfred Kirkland, he wouldn't like him at all. But he loved Ivan more than he feared rejection.

He's asked me to be his Omega-mate, he deserves to know what he's getting.

"I can't sew, I don't cater, I'm not a good nurse, I hate cleaning things, I'm not patient, I'm not quiet, I don't like being cooped inside, and I can't read very well," he said periodically. "I can cook, I guess. But I'm really lazy about it; I know that without Dad nagging me. And I... I've honestly never given much thought to having pups." He shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not very domestic. I'm not even attractive. I'm just not a good Omega," he repeated in conclusion.

Alfred was feeling badly about himself, when Ivan suddenly said:

"And what is a good Omega, little one? Is it Matthew?"

Sadly, Alfred recalled his biggest fear: that Ivan would choose Matthew if Matthew were there. "Yes, Mattie's perfect."

"Perfect," said Ivan. He crossed the cave and sat down next to Alfred in the bouncy, squishy nest. "Then perfect must mean something very different in your world, because you, little one, are my perfect." Gently, he lifted Alfred's chin and kissed him. Alfred melted in Ivan's embrace. His heart pounded, pumping hormone-infused blood through his veins, urging him to take more. But when he tried to deepen the kiss, Ivan pulled back. "And I was staring at you, not because I think you're silly," he said seriously, "but because you're beautiful."

Alfred was speechless. He wanted to argue, but the truth in Ivan's violet gaze forbid it. It made him so happy he was afraid he would cry. "Ivan," he said huskily. He pressed his lips to the Alpha's and sucked. He touched Ivan's face, running his fingers over his broad cheekbones, his jaw, his neck, pawing at him insistently. His body reacted favourably to the intimate contact. The sultry taste of Ivan's lips, the feel of his strong, hot-blooded body, the musky scent mingled faintly with peppermint. It was all making Alfred desperate. He shivered, tingling in all the right places.

"No one's ever told me I'm beautiful," he admitted quietly.

Ivan's lips brushed Alfred's. "Get used to it."

"I love you," said Alfred, nose-to-nose with the Alpha.

"I love you, too."

"I want you."

"Yes, I want you—" Ivan's deep voice rumbled in his throat, his eyes dilated, "—my beautiful little Omega."

"Mm, there it is," Alfred smiled seductively. He placed both of his hands on Ivan's face and stared directly at him, unabashed. "There's the look I've been waiting for."

"And—?" Ivan's roaming hands slipped beneath Alfred's thighs and lifted him onto his lap. Alfred emitted a sudden, soft gasp in reply. Then he sunk into Ivan's touch, straddling him. His thighs squeezed the Alpha's legs on either side with erotic intent. Ivan kissed his neck, licking and nipping with the largest canines Alfred had ever seen. He felt a smile curl the Alpha's lips as he nosed Alfred's chin, teasing his jugular with his teeth. "Are you afraid?" said the Alpha with a deep-throated growl. It sent a shiver of pleasure down Alfred's spine. He felt it in his belly, his groin.

"No."

"Are you sure this is what you really want, Alfred?" Ivan kissed Alfred's jugular, feather-soft. "Me?"

"Yes," Alfred replied without hesitance. "Yes, Ivan. I want you, sweetheart." He drew Ivan's head up. "I want you with me forever."

Then he covered Ivan's mouth with his, silencing all doubt.


I'm going to go to the river to bathe," Ivan said, untangling Alfred. The Omega was hot and flushed pink, ready to be mated, but Ivan wanted to do it right, too. He didn't want to sully Alfred's painstakingly neat nest, and, truthfully, he needed some privacy to compose himself. He didn't want to lose control of his faculties and take Alfred like a rutting beast. He didn't want to hurt him, or scare him. And Alfred, too, looked as though he needed time to nest properly, to make a space for himself and to prepare himself mentally. He was nearly there, Ivan could see it. He could smell it.

He smells so good! I want to taste him. I want to bite him and mark him and make him mine. Only mine.

The Alpha wanted the Omega like he had never wanted anything in his entire life.

I won't last much longer, he knew.

"Don't be long," Alfred pleaded, squeezing Ivan's hand. He sounded a little scared. His Heat was oncoming fast. By the time Ivan returned, he would be ready. To hide his feelings, Alfred added: "Or, I'll start without you."

"Don't you dare," Ivan warned, kissing Alfred's hand. "I'll be right back."


Alfred waited. He felt a Heat-wave crash over him and he bit his lip, swallowing a cry. He shifted from left-to-right, trying to find a comfortable position, but his skin was so sensitive, everything felt like a caress. His body tingled where Ivan had pet him, remembering the Alpha's touch and craving more. He was red-faced and panting, but he tried hard to maintain some semblance of composure. He didn't want Ivan to return to find him writhing, covered in sweat and Heat-slick. It would be so embarrassing. But the longer the Alpha took, the more likely that picture became. Alfred waited, but eventually the tension was too much to bear and he took his cock in his hand, needing release. I'll start without you. It had been a joke then, but now it was terribly true. He imagined Ivan as he intimately touched himself, panting and whining and moaning. Where are you? Why aren't you here? Time was an abstract thing for an Omega in the throes of a Heat-wave. Alfred often forgot the time, but he was sure it had been more than the few minutes that Ivan had promised.

"I'll be right back," he had said. But how long ago was that?

Alfred waited, but he started to worry. As he tossed from side-to-side, consumed by desire, the conscious part of his brain began to doubt. Where is he? he thought, staring at the cave's entrance. It was dark. It looked so far away. Why hasn't he come back?

His brain fought an internal battle, like a tug-o-war rope being pulled back-and-forth between debilitating lust and mind-numbing fear.

He shivered. He cried. He made himself climax.

Did something bad happen to him? he panicked. He pushed his head back and moaned, loud and long. He called Ivan's name, absent of the fact.

Did he get hurt, or lost?

Did he change his mind?

Alfred's heart clenched and he cried. He sobbed. He hurt.

Ivan, I love you. Ivan, please come back to me. Please, don't leave me here alone. I need you. I love you.

Alfred waited and worried. Days passed—one, two, three—and then, finally, the worst Heat of his life abated.

But Ivan never returned.