DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya
THE CALL OF THE WILD
LOST BOYS
EIGHT
WESTERN EMPIRE
BLACK FOREST FORT
Matthew was asleep when he heard the sound of distant footsteps, the beating tap, tap, tap of soft leather on stone, which forced entry into his dreams. His eyelids fluttered open, but his sight was obstructed. The bedchamber was dark and quiet, and Matthew was pressed against Gilbert's back, drawn to his body-heat. It was Gilbert's naked skin that pillowed Matthew's cheek, and his tapered waist that the Omega hugged. It was the Alpha's bulk that blocked his view of the doorway. As he slowly regained awareness of his surroundings, Matthew realized that he had migrated to Gilbert's side of the bed sometime in the night. But he could be embarrassed about that later. Just then, the footsteps were getting closer.
"Gil," he said, shaking him. "Gil, wake up."
Gilbert grunted sleepily and forced his eyes open. "What?" he asked, turning. Matthew's proximity seemed to revive him. His red gaze focused and suddenly he was on-guard. "Schatzi, what's wrong?"
"Someone's there," Matthew reported, just as the footsteps reached the bedchamber's door. Then it opened.
Gilbert bolted upright in bed, drawing a dagger from under his pillow. Matthew shrank back behind Gilbert's outstretched arm, which shielded him. It was instinctive, a soldier's reflex. An Alpha-mate's reflex.
"Captain," said the intruder in German. He sounded surprised. "I expected to find you sleeping, sir."
"Then you should have knocked, Second-Lieutenant." Gilbert lowered the dagger, but didn't relax. "What do you want, Wolfe?"
Second-Lieutenant Wolfe stepped inside, a big, imposing silhouette in the corridor's meek light. He was not an Alpha with whom Matthew was well-acquainted. All he knew was what Grey had told him: that Wolfe had been a hunter before joining the army, and because of his skills he had climbed the ranks fast. He was twenty-nine, one of the oldest Alphas at the fort, and the only one Gilbert hadn't trained himself. Wolfe was not a stray, like so many others, but an officer who had been transferred from the West's capital by recommendation.
"The Kaiser thought it unwise to let one family rule the fort," said Grey, implying the Beilschmidt brothers, "so he sent Second-Lieutenant Wolfe to be a counterbalance. But between you and I, I really don't think the Second-Lieutenant wanted to be posted out here so far from the Great House. He's here because his orders are direct from the Kaiser, but I don't think he likes it."
No, Matthew agreed. I don't think he likes it at all.
Wolfe was a scout. His job was to take large parties of Alphas into the wilderness to secure the south-western border, and because of that he was often gone for weeks at a time. He had only recently returned to the fort, and been shocked by Matthew's presence. Despite his reticent face, Matthew didn't think Wolfe approved of Gilbert's decision to mate him, and he resented the Omega because of it.
He blames me, he knew, trying to avoid Wolfe's gaze. When it pierced him, he felt a shiver of unease.
"Wolfe—?" Gilbert prompted. He shifted, wrapping an arm around Matthew and drawing the Omega against his side. "It's late. Say what you need to and go."
"It's just a report, Captain. It's not urgent. I only meant to deliver it." Slowly, Wolfe walked to the table and set down a rolled piece of long parchment. It was meticulous; his cold eyes didn't stray from Matthew, as if keeping sight of a threat. When he turned, they reflected the corridor's light, flashing like a predator's.
"Next time, if it's not urgent," Gilbert said, annoyed, "I'd rather not be disturbed so late."
Wolfe's eyes narrowed at Matthew. He said: "No doubt." Pause. "Sir."
Then he left.
"He doesn't like me," Matthew said.
"No," Gilbert agreed. "But," he looked down at the Omega nestled beneath his arm and grinned, "he doesn't like me either. Wolfe is a lawful Alpha, but he doesn't like taking orders from someone younger than himself. He's reliable and he's really strong, but he sees in black-and-white. Maybe it makes him a good soldier, maybe it doesn't. It makes him stubborn though. It's not that he dislikes you, personally, schatzi, it's just that you're not supposed to be here. It's against the law. He's not a violent Alpha, but try to stay away from him, okay?"
"Out-of-sight, out-of-mind?" Matthew joked.
Gilbert gave Matthew an affectionate squeeze. "That's the spirit. But hey," he shifted toward the Omega. His tone was curious with a pinch of concern. "I thought you were sleeping?"
"I was."
"But you heard Wolfe in the corridor—?"
"Yes."
"While asleep—?"
"Yes."
Gilbert frowned, waiting for Matthew to elaborate. "Just how good is your hearing?"
Matthew thought of how best to answer. "My ears can see things that my eyes can't," he said. Gilbert cocked his head and blinked in interest, like a snowy owl. It was cute. Matthew bit back a charmed smile. "It's an evolutionary adaptation, like an Alpha's sense of smell. I read all about it. Omegas have heightened hearing so that we can care for and protect our pups. My hearing is more acute than most, I think. You see, everything in the world has a sound; everything vibrates when struck. Raindrops hitting leaves," he said in example. "Or paws on the forest floor, wings in the sky. The flow of water. A stitch being threaded. It all produces a sound, however faint."
"And you can hear it?" Gilbert asked in disbelief.
"If I concentrate, yes," Matthew confirmed. "I can hear better with my eyes closed, with less distractions. But it's really no different than how you can know things based on a scent. You can read scents, can't you, because they're so distinct? My hearing is the same. For example, what's your range?"
Gilbert shrugged. "A couple of miles, give or take. It depends on the wind, the weather, and how strong the scent is. Blood-scents are tricky to distinguish, but pungent scents like fire-smoke are easy. I can smell fire for miles."
"The distance of my hearing is the same, give or take," Matthew said.
"That's amazing," Gilbert complimented. It felt unexpectedly good. Matthew blushed. "So, if you close your eyes right now," said the Alpha playfully, "what can you hear?"
Matthew closed his eyes. He felt self-conscious knowing that Gilbert was watching him, but he tried to concentrate. He found it difficult to focus on anything besides Gilbert's breaths and his voice when the Alpha started asking rapid-fire questions and making suggestions. Finally, he pressed a finger to Gilbert's lips to silence him. "I can hear sentries on the walls, pacing back-and-forth; the sound of leather and metal on stone. I can hear the flags flapping in the breeze. I can hear the Alphas sleeping in the barracks; some sleep-talk, and some snore. I can hear the wind whistling in the rafters; I can hear it echoing back from inside the well, and from in the bell-tower. I can hear wings in the tower; large wings. Owls, I think. I can hear embers crackling in a brazier somewhere... in the kitchen. I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance."
Slowly, Matthew opened his eyes, awaiting Gilbert's verdict.
The Alpha's face was awestruck. "Amazing," he repeated. "That's a gift, Matt."
"Maybe," Matthew said, burying his face in embarrassment.
"No!" Gilbert smiled in encouragement. He bounced as he moved, looking down at Matthew. "Just think of how great it would be if we had a pup who inherited both of our gifts!"
"Oh, I-I—" he stuttered, taken aback by Gilbert's enthusiastic mention of offspring.
"Oh, no! I didn't mean that, I—I was just, uh..." Gilbert blushed scarlet. "Never-mind."
Matthew snuggled back down beneath the covers, but he didn't retreat. He stayed close to Gilbert's body, thinking on what the Alpha had unwittingly proposed. Pups, he thought, feeling the heavy weight of duty. He had always imagined himself as an Omega-father with pups, of course, but he had never considered the Alpha-father before. Silly, really, since he couldn't conceive pups on his own. It's just that when he had imagined his pups before, he could never see the face of their sire. But now—My pups will be Gil's pups. Coyly, he looked up at the handsome, blushing Alpha beside him. My pups will inherit his genes, his strength. He was surprised by how receptive he was to the idea, and of how willingly the family portrait appeared in his mind. He waited and waited for the familiar bite of fear or trepidation, but was disappointed by its absence. He felt defenceless, but—strangely—not afraid.
"Gil," he asked softly, "do you want pups?"
"Oh, uh, I..." The Alpha blushed redder and scratched his head in embarrassment. Matthew waited. "I've never really thought about it," he answered, chuckling nervously. He looked over at Matthew, intending a smile, but the moment their eyes met he sobered. "No," he corrected thoughtfully, "that's not true. The truth is, I've never let myself think about it. I pledged myself to the military when I was thirteen-years-old. There was never any point in wishing for something I couldn't have. Like an Omega-mate." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were somewhere else.
"But now—?" Matthew prompted gently.
"Yes," Gilbert said honestly, "I want pups. I think I always have. But we don't always get what we want, do we?"
"No," Matthew agreed, lowering his gaze, "we don't.
"What was it like?" he asked after a minute. He adopted a lighthearted tone. "The army, I mean. Will you tell me about it?"
Gilbert sunk down beside Matthew. He shoved an arm under his pillow to prop it up and leant intimately forward so they were only inches apart. It reminded Matthew of the way he and Alfred used to lie in bed, giggling and storytelling late into the night. The Alpha's mouth curled, a little devil-may-care; Matthew liked it. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "What do you want to know, schatzi?"
"I want to know about you," Matthew replied shyly, "and your family. Tell me about your childhood."
"Well," Gilbert began, "my sire was a General, but he never took the vows I did. It was after his time that the Kaiser introduced vows of celibacy into the commander's oath. They thought it would be better if military leaders weren't distracted by mates and pups. I was born in a fort at the far-eastern border, which my sire commanded. It wasn't like it is here in the forest, though. The fort I was born into was a community with a village and farmland, but it was still an army life for my family. Ludwig and I have been bred to it, I think."
"And your dam?"
"My dam died shortly after Ludwig was born."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, it was a long time ago. I was five. I guess, looking back, I was five when I joined the army. Maybe I wouldn't have been so keen if my dam had been there to stop me. At first, I just liked to play in the barracks with the soldiers, you know? But soon I was getting underfoot and volunteering to run errands and begging my sire for combat lessons. I tried to imitate the soldiers whenever I could. I thought it would make my sire proud of me if I became the perfect soldier."
"Did it work?"
"I don't know. I think he was proud of us both, but not because we were perfect. The gods know I sure wasn't perfect. But despite what you might be thinking, it was a happy childhood. I'd drag Ludwig along with me—Gods! He was such a little whelp back then! But don't tell him I told you that," he added, grinning wickedly. "I pledged myself to the Western Army officially on my thirteenth birthday. I was finally issued a uniform and a proper job as a lookout. A bell-ringer, actually, which comes with more responsibility than a simple lookout. I was really proud of myself for it. The others teased me, but I took it very seriously. I think that's what I remember the most, the community of the fort. Growing up there, it was like having a hundred brothers and sisters."
"And I thought having one brother was a handful," Matthew joked.
Gilbert laughed. Then he asked: "What about you, Matt?"
Matthew tensed. "What about me?"
"Tell me something about yourself."
"There's really not much to know. I'm not very interesting."
"I doubt that." Gilbert waited. When Matthew failed to speak, he gently nudged the Omega's shoulder. "Come on, tell me something. Anything. Tell me something about yourself that nobody else knows," he challenged.
Matthew glanced helplessly at Gilbert, who smiled.
"Come on, schatzi. I'm an awesome secret-keeper," he promised.
"Okay..." He averted his eyes and spoke to the pillow between them. "Ever since I was eleven-years-old, on the night of the first frost, I wait until everyone else in the house is asleep and then I sneak outside. I go down to the river near our house, and I strip off all my clothes, and I jump into the water. It's freezing, but I love it. I float there on my back and watch the moon and the stars. It's so peaceful. I stay there until I'm completely numb, then I get out, get dressed, and go back to bed. And nobody knows," he laughed slyly, emboldened by the confession. "It's the only time I'm ever really alone," he admitted. "No family guarding me, or worrying about me, because they don't even know about it. It's my secret. I've never told anyone that before."
Coyly, he lifted his eyes and met Gilbert's. He didn't look scandalized, though, just pleased.
"Do you like being alone?" he asked.
Matthew thought for a minute, then said: "Yes, but it's got nothing to do with me."
Gilbert cocked his head, waited.
Matthew said: "Have you ever been in a crowd of people who are all staring at you, and yet somehow you feel completely ignored? Because that's basically my life. People look at me, but nobody actually sees me. Nobody talks to me, not really. They pay me compliments, but they don't really care what I have to say as long as I'm flattering them in return. I mean, do you know often I get cut-off mid-sentence?" he asked, letting a note of irritation flavour his voice. "My own family does it all the time. But it doesn't matter as long as I play my part and make them all look good. Al, he's the one people talk to; he's the one they want around. I'm the one they forget. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind," he said bitterly. "They stare at me like I'm a luxury on someone else's arm, unobtainable, just an accessory, just there to make that person look good. And as long as I stay there, quiet and smiling, they overlook me as if I'm not even there. So yes, I like to be alone.
"I'm sorry," he added, glancing sheepishly at Gilbert.
"For what, telling the truth?" Gilbert's raspy voice was gentle, but reprimanding. "Matt, I'm your Alpha-mate now. I don't ever want you to think that you can't tell me things. Don't just be whatever you think I want you to be. I don't like pretenders. Just be yourself, okay?"
Matthew smiled in reply, but it was sad. "I honestly don't even know who that is anymore.
"But that's enough about me," he said, forcing a change of topic. "I told you, I'm not very interesting. But I'm a good listener. It's your turn again, Gil. Tell me more about you."
Gilbert was roused early the next morning. Groggily he crawled out of bed, groaning as he did. He was a light-sleeper and an early-riser; he could usually operate on very little rest. He didn't usually need someone—i.e. Ludwig—to shake him back into consciousness. But he also didn't usually stay up until dawn talking, laughing, and sharing secrets with his mate. "Captain," said Ludwig impatiently in German. Matthew awoke at the noise, but when he recognized the Lieutenant he abandoned all propriety and burrowed back beneath the blankets. "Captain. Captain. Gilbert!" Ludwig biffed Gilbert over the head. The sleeping Alpha growled unhappily. "Yeah, yeah," he yawned. Half-asleep, he patted Matthew's head before he left.
The next time Matthew awoke, it was midday.
"Matthew—? Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you!" said Grey.
"No, it's okay," Matthew said, waving in dismissal. Yawning, he sat up, dragging the blanket with him. He wore it over his head like a cloak, preserving the warmth.
"Guess what?" Grey said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was smiling a big, excited smile.
Matthew leant closer in confidence. "What?"
"My leave was approved. I'm going home next week, and..." He blushed happily, and his smile grew as big as his whole face. "Jelle," he named his intended Omega-mate, "is going to be in Heat then, so... we're finally going to be pair-bonded!"
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Matthew smiled.
"Do you want to see a picture of him? I mean, it's just a sketch I did, but still... Look, see? That's my Jelle."
Matthew took the sketch. "He's really beautiful," he complimented. The young Alpha glowed with pride. "You're a very talented artist."
"Oh, thank-you. You can't really see it because it's just a charcoal sketch," he pointed, "but my Jelle has the most amazing blue eyes you've ever seen."
"I believe it," Matthew said, returning the sketch. "He's a very lucky Omega."
Grey left soon afterward, sighing in mock-exhaustion. He was accompanying the Second-Lieutenant as part of an armed scouting mission. A sighting of Southerners had disturbed the fort's higher command (i.e. Gilbert had thrown a fit: "Le Roux, that fucking liar!" he snarled). Gilbert had ordered his scouts out to investigate, with orders to attack. Matthew tried to placate the captain's anger, but Gilbert was furious that Le Roux had broken their agreement so soon.
"He never intended to keep his word. He's after the fort. And you," he said to Matthew.
"Me? But I thought we were done with me! I thought that's why you and I..." Matthew quieted fast when he saw an indignant look on the Alpha's face.
"Never-mind." Gilbert shook his head and heaved a deep sigh. "I've got my rounds to do. I'll see you later."
He was halfway out the door when he stopped. "Hey, Matt?" he asked. "Do you... want to come with me?"
"Really?" Matthew asked eagerly. He set aside Gilbert's black tunic, half-mended.
"Sure," Gilbert shrugged, his nonchalance undermined by his giddy smile. "Let's put your German to the test."
Matthew leapt up and took Gilbert's arm in escort. It was a bright, sunny day. The Alphas were surprised to see Matthew accompanying the captain, but rather than frown in disapproval, their dreary, tired faces cheered. They saluted as Gilbert passed, then, when the captain issued an "at-ease" order, they inclined their heads to Matthew, respecting his position as the captain's Omega-mate. Some of them even smiled. After a month, they had all gotten used to Matthew being there and they trusted Gilbert, besides. "Know what's funny?" Gilbert whispered to Matthew as they strolled. "Technically, you outrank most of them now." Matthew did find that funny—and ironic. He stifled a laugh. Gilbert took him on a leisurely tour all around the fort, introduced him to the soldiers, and let them explain the logistics and operation of their various duties. A few of them hesitated at first, thinking military equipment an unsuitable topic for an Omega, but a pressing look from Gilbert encouraged them to obey, and soon they were talking animatedly, encouraged by the Omega's interest. Matthew smiled as they shared. He asked a lot of questions, paid a lot of compliments, and—once—even asked if he could be the one to pull the catapult's lever in practice. And they let him.
"That was fun," he said to Gilbert afterward.
"Matt," he said, lowering his voice for privacy. He cocked his head at his Alphas. "They love you. Seriously," he added, ignoring Matthew's snort of dismissal, "you just made their day."
"I didn't do anything. I just talked to them."
"Which is more attention than any of them has got in months," Gilbert admitted. "You talked to them. You asked them questions. You took an interest in them and their work. You remembered all of their names. Matt, you have no idea what a smile from a pretty Omega does for morale."
"Oh, I see," Matthew teased. He poked Gilbert's chest in accusation. "So, you had ulterior motives when you asked if I wanted a tour of the fort, is that it?"
"No!" Gilbert laughed. "It was a happy side-effect." Playfully, he ruffled the Omega's curls. Matthew tried to escape, but Gilbert pulled him back, holding him around the middle, and grabbed at his ribs. An embarrassingly high-pitched yelp left Matthew before he dissolved into a fit of laughter. "Ticklish, schatzi?" Gilbert grinned wickedly.
"No, don't! Gil, stop it!" Matthew shrieked in laughter.
"Uh, Captain?" Ludwig interrupted.
Gilbert—bent precariously over Matthew, whom he was holding in his arms, supporting the Omega as he play-fought for freedom—looked guiltily up at Ludwig, as if he had been caught doing something naughty.
"Yes, Lud?"
Ludwig switched to German, unaware of Matthew's private lessons. "Maybe don't flirt with your Omega-mate in the middle of the courtyard where everyone can see you? It's not very professional, Gil. Just a suggestion."
"Flirting, no. I wasn't flirting. I was just playing."
"Gil, we played a lot as pups," Ludwig reminded him, "and the last time you tickled me, I was six."
"Uh, yeah, but—"
"Take it inside, Gil." Finally, Ludwig broke into a teasing half-grin. "Your Alphas are all laughing at you."
Gilbert relaxed. "Oh, yeah? Well good," he nodded, drawing Matthew close against his side. "They should laugh whenever they can."
Pleased, he smiled down at the Omega. Matthew smiled back, feeling safe and relaxed. He fit comfortably beneath Gilbert's arm, just tall enough to rest his head against the Alpha's shoulder. He did so, and looked playfully up at Gilbert, who's vibrant gaze lingered on Matthew's lips. Before the Omega could interrupt or break eye-contact, Gilbert swooped down. Matthew panicked and turned his head and the kiss landed on his cheek. Like Lars, Gilbert straightened and stared down at him in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Matthew blurted:
"I'm sorry!" Hastily, he ducked beneath Gilbert's arm in escape.
Gilbert glanced at Ludwig, who politely pretended not to notice. "Matt," said the captain, nodding toward the keep.
Matthew followed him, feeling nervous. And today was going so well, he thought. Why did I just do that?
Gilbert stopped in the corridor, just out-of-sight.
"Why won't you let me kiss you?" he asked.
Habitually, Matthew bowed his head in shame. Gilbert didn't sound upset, just curious. But the Alpha was quite good at masking his feelings, and Matthew had just embarrassed him in front of the entire fort, shattering the illusion of them as a happily-mated couple. Guilt churned in his stomach.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, softer. I shouldn't have flinched. Now Gil looks like an Alpha who can't control his Omega-mate. It's a poor reputation for a Fort Commander. "I-I—I didn't mean to—"
"Matt?" Gilbert leant forward, peering into the Omega's downcast face. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"
Bravely and quickly, Matthew said: "I'm sorry, Gil. I'm sorry that I embarrassed you, but I don't want you to kiss me. It's unfair, I know. You're my Alpha-mate and my body belongs to you, but I... I don't want to kiss someone I'm not in love with."
An awkward silence stretched for a minute too long, then the Alpha shrugged.
"Oh, is that all?" he asked, tipping his head to look at Matthew. He hooked a finger around a pale curl and pulled it aside, revealing the Omega's blushing face.
"Is that... okay?" Matthew asked cautiously.
Gilbert's smile was kind. "Yes, that's okay. Come here." He pulled Matthew into a friendly hug. "I thought I had done something wrong, so I'm glad. I want you to tell me these things, remember? I won't get angry. Not if you tell me the truth. But," he said a minute later, "can I make a request, too?"
"Of course," Matthew replied in surprise.
Gilbert pulled back, his hands resting lightly on Matthew's back. "Please," he said earnestly, "don't ever be afraid of me. I know that I'm not a choice Alpha. I know this isn't exactly the mated-life you had planned, but I swear I'll never hurt you. I want you to trust me, okay? Look at me, schatzi." Gently, he cupped Matthew's face. "I promise I'll always take care of you, no matter what, okay?"
Matthew looked up into Gilbert's red eyes and was nodding even before he spoke. "Okay," he said honestly. It was a small thing, but he suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted. He had never said the following words to anyone but his family:
"I trust you."
Gilbert leant down, and this time the Omega didn't flinch. He fought the flight instinct that had plagued him his whole life, and stayed put—
—and Gilbert kissed his forehead.
LATER
Captain, sir," reported a sentry.
Gilbert was browsing the armoury—sans Matthew—and trying not to replay the Omega's confession over-and-over in his head: "I don't want to kiss someone I'm not in love with." The fact that Matthew had practically ran to escape the Alpha's kiss was proof enough that he was not in love with Gilbert. But that was fine. The circumstances of his and Matthew's pair-bonding hadn't exactly been romantic. And it's not like Gilbert was in love with him, either. No. The hollow feeling in his stomach was because he had skipped supper. It was hunger; maybe the beginnings of a stomach flu. It had nothing to do with his Omega-mate's rejection.
Gilbert looked up at the Alpha's knock. "Yes?" He waved at him, permitting he enter the circular chamber.
"The scouting party has returned, sir."
Gilbert set down his ledger, mating problems temporarily forgotten. He didn't trust the sentry's tone. It sounded heavily burdened. "And—?"
Regretfully, the sentry shook his head.
Gilbert's stomach clenched. He hated losing his soldiers. Every death was a devastating blow.
"Who?" he asked, steeling himself.
The sentry hesitated, then said: "Your squire, sir. It's Grey."
Gilbert entered the infirmary with purpose and was led to the young Alpha's bedside. The surgeon had tried to save his life—his torso cauterized and bandaged—but it was useless. Blood saturated the linens. So much blood. He had already lost too much blood. When Gilbert asked the surgeon for a diagnosis, the Alpha simply shook his head sadly in apology. There was nothing to be done except wait for Grey to die.
The news had hit Gilbert hard. Shock and fear had twisted his insides, but now all he felt was grief. As he knelt at Grey's bedside, he felt an intense stab of guilt. The youth was weak and deathly-pale. Gilbert took his hand.
"Captain—?" he croaked softly.
"Yeah, I'm here. You did well, Soldier." He squeezed the cold hand. "You served your country. You made the Empire proud."
Slowly, Grey turned his head. Gilbert had never noticed before how blue his eyes were. "And you? Sir, are you..."
"The proudest of all," Gilbert confirmed. He smiled. It hurt.
"I-I—I'm scared."
"Don't be. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Captain..." With effort, Grey pulled at something tucked carefully into his breast-pocket. It was a piece of paper; a corner was wet with blood. Gilbert took the liberty of removing it for him. He tried to place it in the cold hand, but Grey refused it. "Take it back... to him," he said, choking. Only then did Gilbert realize that he was holding a sketch. "Tell him... I love... him..."
"I will," Gilbert promised. He squeezed Grey's hand, but the youth didn't flinch. He couldn't even feel it.
"I-I—I can't see. I'm scared," he repeated, soft, breathy.
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"But I-I—I am."
Gilbert didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He held the dying Alpha's hand tight against his chest.
"Captain."
"Yes? Yes—? I'm here," said Gilbert, but he received no reply. Grey was dead.
Gently, Gilbert reached down and closed the fifteen-year-old's blue eyes. He whispered a prayer, kissed the dead soldier's forehead, and then left.
The instant Gilbert closed the bedchamber door, Matthew knew that something was wrong. The Alpha tugged off his coat, let it fall to the floor, and then kicked off his boots. He spotted Matthew, but quickly looked away.
"Oh, Matt," he said quietly, a catch in his voice. "I thought you'd be asleep."
Matthew didn't miss the insinuation: Gilbert had hoped he would be asleep.
"Oh, I was," Matthew said, watching Gilbert's lethargic movements. It was dark, but he didn't light a candle. "I heard the bell."
"Oh." Gilbert walked to the window and looked out. He stood in only his loose shirtsleeves and trousers, without any armour. His posture was tense. Matthew could see his wiry shoulders arched, his head bowed low, as if gazing upon the courtyard below. Stoically, he said: "The scouting party returned. Grey's dead."
The report felt like a sudden, blunt punch. Matthew clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle a whine.
It was silent for a long time. Gilbert didn't move an inch. He stayed at the window, hands laying flat against the stone. Matthew sat on the bed and tried not to cry. Grey is dead? It was sad. The Alpha was only fifteen-years-old, just a squire. He had had such a lot of energy and so many future plans. He had been kind to Matthew. And he adored Gilbert. The fact that he was dead—so fast, no warning—cut Matthew. He had just been talking to him that morning! But he had only known the squire for a month; Gilbert had known him for years. Oh, Gil. He looked at the tense Alpha, standing alone at the window. It was dark, but starlight illuminated Gilbert's silvery figure. He reminded Matthew of the forlorn heroes from Alfred's favourite stories. Quietly, he slipped out of the bed and approached him. When Gilbert didn't move, Matthew gently placed his hand on the Alpha's back. It was cold. For once, Matthew was the warmer of the two, still bathed in conserved body-heat from the bed. He wrapped his arms around Gilbert from behind and hugged him, and Gilbert let him. Like stone, he didn't move a muscle, but he let Matthew hold him and rest his curly head on his back.
"It's my fault," Gilbert said quietly.
"No," Matthew denied, but the Alpha ignored him.
"He was only fifteen. I found him when he was twelve. Found him, like a stray. His family had been killed in a border-raid, so I took him. I made him my squire. I shouldn't have. I should've sent him to the Great House to work as a farmer or a craftsman. He should've been someone's apprentice, an artist maybe. He was a good artist. I shouldn't have let him come here. But he wanted to be a soldier, my squire; said he owed me. And I said yes." Gilbert's voice broke; his body shuddered. He took a deep breath. "He never had the heart of a soldier. I knew that, but I brought him here anyway. I trained him as a soldier, and I gave him a soldier's duties, and a soldier's pride. And now he's dead because of it, and it's all my fault. If I had been there today..."
"Gil," Matthew soothed softly, "you can't know what would have happened. If not Grey, it might have been you."
"It should have been me."
"No—"
"He was going home next week," Gilbert interrupted. Matthew saw his fists clench. "He has—had—an Omega waiting for him."
"I know. He showed me a picture."
Gilbert pulled the blood-stained sketch from his pocket. It was creased. Wordlessly, he gave it to Matthew.
"He was my responsibility," Gilbert said dejectedly, "and I failed him."
His unspoken question—his fear—hung between them: What if I fail others, too?
Matthew rubbed Gilbert's back as he spoke. "I see it now," he said after a minute.
"What?"
"Something that Ludwig said," Matthew repeated: "Gil has a weakness for strays."
Gilbert snorted derisively. "Weakness is right. My whole company is made of strays and misfits, ordered out here to fight a losing battle. Half of them shouldn't even be here. Half of them are going to die."
Matthew shook his head. He looked up at Gilbert, but the Alpha's gaze was downcast. "Ludwig is wrong. And so are you, Gil. It's not a weakness. Compassion and kindness are not weaknesses. I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."
"And Grey would be alive."
"Gil." Brazenly, Matthew reached up and cupped Gilbert's cheek, turning the Alpha's head so they faced each other. His red eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're only one Alpha, you can't save everyone."
One tear fell; then another. Gilbert turned and hugged Matthew, burying his face in the Omega's shoulder. Matthew held him and rubbed his back and stroked his hair, whispering soothing words that Gilbert didn't hear. He squeezed Matthew tightly in his arms, bracing his weight against his Omega-mate. Gilbert was heavy, but Matthew didn't mind. He was happy to be there to support him, even if his own heart ached. He tried to stay strong. He didn't buckle beneath the weight of his own emotions. He held back his tears, because for the first time Gilbert needed him.
"Matt."
Gilbert's lips spoke against Matthew's neck, wet and hot. He kissed Matthew's neck, once, twice, nuzzling the Omega with his nose. Matthew felt the Alpha's teeth graze his skin, but he didn't bite. He kissed Matthew's throat and collarbone. At a loss, Matthew stood there and let him. He could feel Gilbert's heart beating fast, and the wetness of tears on his skin. The Alpha felt weak; that was obvious. A comrade had died and he was feeling the sting of the loss—a loss of control, which the Fort Commander hated.
He needs to feel strong again, Matthew knew, letting Gilbert paw at him. He needs an outlet for his grief.
Matthew walked backwards, gently pulling Gilbert with him until he felt the wall at his back. Gilbert lifted his head, and when he did Matthew looked at him very deliberately and dropped a hand to Gilbert's belt. The Alpha tensed. He didn't move as Matthew unbuckled the belt and tossed it heedlessly to the floor, all the while staring up at the Alpha with carnal intent in his eyes. He cupped Gilbert's cock through his trousers and felt it twitch in response. Gilbert inhaled. Only then did he lean in, pressing their bodies together. He placed a knee between Matthew's splayed legs, snug up against the Omega's groin. Matthew moved his hips slowly in reply, grinding against him. Gilbert made a growling noise deep in his throat. The tears were gone from his eyes now. He opened Matthew's shirt, careless of the buttons, and bowed his head to the soft skin; kissing and licking and nipping; indulging in what had been off-limits to him before. His tongue was slick and warm and good. It made Matthew shiver in desire. He honestly didn't know if it was something he would have wanted from anyone, or just from Gilbert, but just then he didn't care. He let the Alpha tug his trousers down until they hit the floor and then gracelessly stepped out of them. He wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck as the Alpha half-lifted him up. A strong hand grasped him under the thigh; he wrapped his leg around Gilbert's hips, using the wall for support. It was a bit clumsy and a bit messy. The Alpha's engorged cock pushed at the Omega's entrance. Both of them were breathing hard in anticipation now; excited, and a little nervous. Nose-to-nose, Gilbert looked directly into Matthew's eyes, and said:
"Are you sure?"
Matthew locked his arms around Gilbert, fingers digging into the Alpha's ghost-white skin. He said: "Yes."
Hours later, Matthew was lying on his back in bed with Gilbert beside him, sleeping. The Alpha's head was pillowed on his chest, his arms wrapped around Matthew's middle. Matthew stroked the Alpha's hair and listened to his deep, quiet breaths; he felt his chest rise-and-fall rhythmically; his heart beating peacefully. Gilbert had fallen asleep fast, but Matthew was wide awake. He had never imaged being mated up against a wall. It was reckless. It was—kind of exciting, he admitted in private. It had hurt, of course, but it felt much less intrusive than the first time they had mated. At times it had felt something akin to good, giving him a taste of what it could be. What it should be. He had cried-out and squeezed Gilbert, like before—Gilbert's back was scored with scratches—but this time Matthew hadn't been afraid. Maybe it was grief, maybe not. Maybe it was a sign of growing affection for his Alpha-mate. Whatever it was, one thing was certain. This time, Matthew had wanted Gilbert to mate him. And he wanted to do it again.
A knock sounded at the door. Gilbert was dead-asleep. Matthew called: "Yes—?"
Ludwig entered, holding a lantern that illuminated the couple in bed. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said by way of apology. "The Captain—Gil," he corrected, realizing that he was talking to his brother-by-mating-law and not another soldier, "should inspect the troops before they leave the fort again."
Matthew pursed his lips. "Could you do it instead?" he asked coyly, afraid of overstepping his position.
Ludwig's blue eyes surveyed his brother's languid figure. In reflex, Matthew hugged Gilbert protectively. "Yes," said the lieutenant after a short hesitance. He met Matthew's eyes and a silent understanding passed between them. "I think that's a good idea."
He bowed his head and retreated, but stopped at the door. Before leaving, he said:
"Matthew?"
"Yes?"
"Take care of my brother."
Matthew smiled. "Yes, sir."
WESTERN EMPIRE
WILDERNESS
Alfred tested his injured leg by squeezing it gently between his fingers, feeling the broken fibula bone as Ivan always did. It was tender, and his skin was pale and bruised an ugly yellow, but it hurt much less than it had. It was healing well. Alfred was lucky. Pups healed a lot faster than adults, according to Ivan, who ignored the Omega's indignant protest: "I'm fifteen, I'm not a pup!" Meticulously, he bandaged his shin, tying it tight, and then rewrapped it in heavy clean linen. He had seen Ivan do it countless times. Then, exhaling slowly in apprehension, he placed both feet on the floor and stood. His left leg throbbed in protest, but the bone held his weight. "Oh, thank the gods," he said aloud. He took a few experimental steps back-and-forth, bearing the pain and testing his strength. After a month of nothing but bed-rest, his leg was weakened. It felt shaky, but no longer in danger of breaking. He grabbed the stout walking-stick that Ivan had procured for him and left the cave.
"I'm going to go to the river to bathe." That's what Ivan had said before he left, so that's where Alfred began his search.
He hobbled up to the rocky shore, letting his keen eyes rake the long grass and lazily flowing water. It wasn't deep; Alfred could see the riverbed as clearly as he could see the sky. He skulked along the edge for several yards, then stopped and retreated. Back-and-forth he went. He tried to find Ivan's scent, but his nose wasn't sensitive enough and the river distorted all smells, washing them away. He listened intently to the forest, but all he heard was babbling water, birdsongs, and dry leaves rustling in the breeze. If only I had Mattie's hearing, he thought, straining his ears. If Ivan was nearby, injured or trapped, Matthew would have been able to hear him.
But what if he's not injured or trapped? said Doubt in Alfred's head. What if he changed his mind, decided that he didn't want you after all, and left?
Alfred's fists clenched. He felt angry and sad. Ivan's I love you played over-and-over in his mind, taunting him. A cruel jest? No, Ivan wouldn't do that. He wouldn't have lied to me.
But he might have changed his mind, said Doubt. He wouldn't be the first to give you false hope.
No, Ivan's not like that. He would have told me to my face. He's not a coward.
He's a deserter. Maybe he deserted you, too.
Alfred shook his head.
Resting his leg, he leant heavily on the walking-stick. To his left, the reeds tickled his skin; to his right, they were crushed, lying flat in the soil. Alfred frowned. The riverbank dipped subtly, but instead of sinking into the water, the earth was smooth, as if something had been dragged out. He followed the trail of flattened reeds with his eyes and saw a sinewy tree branch that was hanging limply. When he was close enough, he could see that it hadn't been cut down, but broken, as if a heavy weight had crashed into it. He followed the trail further, hunting for other signs of a struggle, and finally found a patch of grass covered in dry blood. Alfred didn't need an Alpha's sense of smell to know it was Ivan's. What he couldn't determine was what had attacked the unsuspecting Alpha. If, indeed, he had been attacked and had not simply ran off to escape his commitment to Alfred. Alfred tried to ignore the humiliating thought as he searched for signs of wildlife, but found none. If Ivan had been attacked by an animal, then the thing would have left evidence—a corpse, or bones, or shredded cloth, but there was nothing, which only left one option. If it wasn't something that had found Ivan, then it had to be someone.
"Oh, Ivan," Alfred whispered, scanning the dense woods in fear, "what happened to you?"
Alfred returned to the cave with a plan. He took Ivan's leather belt and secured it around his waist, then stuck the hunting-knife into it. He packed an oil-skin with water and tied it to the belt. Then he took the Alpha's coat and boots, which were too big. And his sword. He dug in the box for the sword's belt and then secured the sheathed weapon over his shoulder, wearing it on his back. It wasn't as heavy like that. Finally, he fetched the dried bear-skin and threw it over himself like a cloak. It was heavy and coarse, but its density cut the wind. It would keep the underweight Omega warm and hide his mild scent. The bear was the largest, most dangerous predator in the forest, and no beast would risk attacking it, no matter how hungry it was.
I'm glad there's no looking-glass, he thought briefly. I must look like a barbarian.
But for the first time in a long time, Alfred didn't give a damn what he looked like. The only thing he cared about was finding Ivan.
"Just hold on, Ivan," he said in determination. "I'm coming, I'll find you."
He took the walking-stick and left the cave.
Ivan leant back against the tree he was tethered to, trying—and failing—to find a comfortable spot free of knots and rocks. His whole body was stiff. It ached. And the three-tined wounds on his chest throbbed, torn open in the struggle. It had been two days since he had stood and stretched; three days since he had consumed anything except water; and four days since he had seen Alfred.
Alfred.
He couldn't even think the name without feeling a stab of guilt and regret. I hope you're alright. Ivan didn't know the details of Omega Heats, but he knew that it was unpleasant if left unmated. (He had heard a rumour, once, that an Omega's Heats got worse every year he was left unmated. Alfred was only fifteen, but it didn't quiet Ivan's fears.) He hoped that Alfred had suffered through it alone. He hated to consider the alternative: that the Alphas, the Easterners, who had found and captured him for a deserter had also found Alfred. Ivan's Alfred: alone, injured, helpless in Heat. The mental image of them touching the Omega, kissing him, violating his beautiful body, stealing his virginity; stealing him away from Ivan—! Ivan squeezed his eyes shut and growled, trying to rid himself of the thought. Every time he imagined it, he felt fury consume him. If not for the ropes restraining him, he would have lunged at the soldiers and ripped into them. Even now, his hands shook as he tried to suppress his rage.
No, he told himself sternly. If they had found Alfred, they would've said something about it by now. They would want me to know about it, to taunt me. My Alfred is safe. He had to believe that, or go mad worrying.
The rage abated and slowly he opened his eyes. He glared maliciously at the other Eastern Alphas, who were sitting around a merrily crackling fire. Ivan was too far to benefit from the fire's heat, but close enough for his captors to guard him. There were five of them, a small scouting-party. For one blissful moment Ivan imagined choking the life out of the lot of them with his bare hands, but he knew he was too weak to fight all of them. A couple, yes; but five—? He would be dead before he could squeeze the life from even one. He hated it. He hated feeling weak and helpless, at the mercy of others. He was a capable, independent Alpha. He had been taking care of himself for a long time. He had been free for a long time. He hated feeling trapped.
Absently, he let his eyes scan the forest. It was dark now, another day fading into night. The foliage around the campsite was dense. He stared at a bramble bush a few feet away—and realized with a sudden start that the bush was staring back.
Alfred's big blue eyes stared deliberately at Ivan. He would know those spirited eyes anywhere.
Ivan's eyes bulged in reply, in disbelief, in fear. Fervently, he nodded in a directionless way, trying to tell Alfred to leave.
What the fuck are you doing? Get away from here! Leave me be, it's too dangerous!
He would never forgive himself if Alfred got captured. Angrily, he glared at the stubborn Omega. Alfred, please—for once—obey me and run!
But he didn't. Rather, the ballsy Omega looked right at Ivan, lifted a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and then winked. Ivan could have strangled him. Alfred's crafty smile did not fill Ivan with confidence. Instead, he worried for the Omega's safety—and sanity. Are you fucking insane, Alfred? Before he could give a wordless reply, however, Alfred's pretty face disappeared into the bushes, leaving Ivan to wonder where he had gone. He tried to follow Alfred's trek, but it was too dark. He couldn't see or hear the Omega; Alfred moved as silent as a specter. Ivan waited—and waited, and waited for any sign.
Finally, one of the soldier's lifted his head and sniffed curiously at the air, his nose twitching. Befuddled, he turned to his comrades, and said: "Do you smell that?" He glanced nervously from face-to-face. "It's smells like—"
"Bear," said another, catching his comrade's fear.
Together, four of the five soldiers collected their swords and jogged off into the forest toward the scent, ready for a fight. One stayed behind to guard Ivan, the prisoner. He paced anxiously around the fire, his hand hovering over the pommel of his sword. He glanced back at Ivan, who cocked an eyebrow, pretending to be bored, before turning in the direction of the apparent threat. That's when it happened. As soon as his back was unguarded, Alfred pounced out of the bushes like a wildcat, grabbed the Alpha, and pressed Ivan's hunting-knife to his jugular.
"Don't move," he warned, drawing the soldier's sword from the scabbard. He tossed it aside, where it landed uselessly in a pile of dry leaves. "Don't speak. If you make a single sound, I'll cut your fucking throat," said the Omega mercilessly.
The Alpha snarled, but stopped when Ivan translated Alfred's threat into Russian.
"Walk slowly, hands up," Alfred said, letting Ivan parrot the orders. He held the knife at the Alpha's throat as he led him backwards to Ivan's tree. "Sit," he ordered, then took a rope from his belt and bound the Alpha's hands and feet. Then he took the belt, itself, and used it to gag the irate Alpha. "Cozy?" grinned the cheeky Omega, patting the soldier's head. He glared and grunted.
"Alfred," said Ivan in disbelief. As soon as Alfred knelt in front of him, Ivan leant forward and seized the Omega's soft lips. He kissed him roughly. He couldn't hold back. It was fast and hard and inconsiderate—and felt so good. It was everything that he had been craving ever since he had smelled Alfred's delicious Heat, the culmination of fear and anger and latent desire. Then he pulled back, his temper flaring.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snapped.
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Rescuing you, of course."
Quickly, he cut the ropes imprisoning Ivan.
Ivan pulled Alfred against his beaten body. "You fool!" he said, squeezing Alfred; kissing him. "You stupid, stubborn, reckless Omega! You shouldn't have come here, it's too dangerous!"
"Dangerous?" Alfred pulled back, gaping at him. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? You left and then didn't come back, Ivan! I waited for three fucking days, but you never came back! I thought you decided to... I thought something horrible had happened to you, and I was right!"
"You knew, and yet you placed yourself in deliberate danger?" Ivan challenged. "You shouldn't have come!"
"Stop!" Alfred snapped, fisting handfuls of Ivan's soiled shirt. "Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do! I love you, you stupid Alpha! I wasn't about to leave you! Would you—" his voice broke, betraying his fear, "—have left me?"
Ivan stared at him, speechless. "No," he said finally, fervently. "Of course not. I love you, Alfred."
"And I love you, too," Alfred said in relief. He stood and offered Ivan his hand. "Now, let's get the fuck out of here."
Can you stand?" Alfred asked, helping Ivan to his feet. The Alpha looked horrible, bruised and beaten. His pale skin was sallow. Dark shadows of fatigue encircled his eyes, his lips were parched, and his breathing was uneven. The wounds on his chest had reopened and bloodied his shirt, sapping his strength. He was in a lot of pain, but he tried to hide it.
"It's worse than it looks," he said shortly, dismissing Alfred's proffered hand.
Alfred pouted. "Stop saying that," he replied unhappily. "It's entirely as bad as it looks. You're just a big, stupid, selfish Alpha, who—"
"Alfred!" Ivan silenced him. "Can we please not do this now?"
Alfred considered the situation. Fleetingly, he glanced at the Eastern soldier, who glared sullenly at the reunited couple. Oh, gods, he realized the gravity of the situation, I've got to get Ivan out of here before—
He stopped.
"Ivan, wait. Be quiet," he ordered, holding up a hand to deny the Alpha's protest. The forest was alive with subtle sounds, but it was the pace of footsteps that drew his attention. "They're coming back," he reported. His decoy, the bear skin, had not distracted the soldiers for as long as he had wanted. "We've got to go now."
But now wasn't soon enough.
Four large Eastern Alphas crashed into the campsite, angry at having been deceived. Alfred clutched the knife in his white-knuckled fist, even as Ivan drew his sword from the sheath on Alfred's back. He held it out one-handed, his body poised for attack. Where he found the strength, Alfred didn't know. The big, irate Alpha stepped protectively in front of him, and he shrank back in fear. He felt like a coward for doing so, but it was a reflex. Alfred might have been a strong-willed Omega, but he was physically weak compared to their enemies. A single blow from one of those fists could be deadly, never-mind the huge swords. He knew that he couldn't face a fully grown Alpha—a trained soldier—and win, so he hugged the trees in a defensive way.
Fuck! What do I do? His eyes scanned the dense forest from left-to-right, searching for an escape—
The Alphas lunged.
"Run!" Ivan snarled at Alfred, meeting the attack head-on.
This time, Alfred obeyed. He dodged to the left, but one of the Alphas blocked his path. In fast retreat, he crashed into the tall tree Ivan had been tethered to. To the right, Ivan was engaged in a swordfight. To the left, the stray Alpha was charging at Alfred, intending to kill. Alfred looked to his only route and climbed. He pulled himself easily up into the tree branches like a squirrel, moving swiftly. The Alpha followed him, growling and spitting up insults, but Alfred out-paced him. He had been climbing trees since he was a pup. Unafraid, he climbed higher-and-higher onto thinner boughs. Eventually, he had to discard the heavy cloak, dropping them in an attempt to quicken his pace and lighten his weight. Naked except for the thin clothes on his back, Alfred felt the wind's bite as it blew through the topmost boughs, threatening to knock him off. Finally, he could go no further.
It's okay, he thought logically. I'm much too high. He can't follow me here, he's too heavy.
The Eastern soldier was not a climber. His body was big and heavy, he was dressed in thick armour, and he refused to let go of his sword for better balance. He clenched it as he slipped, and cursed as he crashed up through the branches, slashing at leaves.
He'll stop soon. He'll have to.
But the Alpha was determined. Alfred could see the white's of his eyes, eyes that glared up stubbornly. His teeth were clenched, his canines bared as he pulled himself upward, heedless of the danger.
"Stop!" Alfred yelled at him, hugging his perch. He could feel the boughs waving and bending precariously beneath him, jostled by the Alpha's ascent. "Please, stop! You're going to fall!" Alfred warned.
A rotten branch beneath the Alpha cracked, but he didn't stop and he didn't slow. He ignored the Omega's warning, misunderstanding it. He didn't speak English. Suddenly, the branch broke altogether.
"Drop the fucking sword!" Alfred yelled, but too late.
The Alpha fell, crashing down through the branches at an alarming speed. He landed hard on the ground, his bones breaking on impact, still clutching the sword in his dead fist.
Alfred!" gasped Ivan, jogging to the Omega.
Alfred leapt carefully to the ground, trying to avoid the Eastern soldier's broken corpse.
"Are you okay?"
Meekly, Alfred nodded. He surveyed the campsite and saw three Alphas lying face-down on the ground. "Did you kill them?" he asked, eyes going to Ivan's sword. It was clean.
"No, I just knocked them out," he replied, as if it was nothing; as if he wasn't injured and starved and sleep-deprived.
Alfred looked up at the violet-eyed Alpha, who was only a little out of breath, and said very seriously: "You're incredible."
Ivan smiled. "So are you, little one. I'd still be a prisoner if it wasn't for you." He pulled Alfred into a one-armed hug and nuzzled him affectionately.
"What about him?" Alfred indicated the bound-and-gagged soldier, who had resigned himself to spectator.
"Leave him," Ivan said. "He's not going anywhere until the others wake, which won't take long," he added, a note of urgency in his tone. "We have to go," he said, and Alfred knew he wasn't talking about returning to the cave.
"Go where?" he asked, feeling suddenly cold. All he wanted to do was return to the cave, which had become as much his home as it was Ivan's. It was safe and warm and belonged only to them, but that brief interlude of his life was over. They couldn't go back there, not to stay. It wouldn't be long before the Eastern soldiers returned, not just a scouting-party, but a whole company of invaders set to kill both of them, the runaways. There would be no hesitance next time, no capture, only death.
"Ivan?" Alfred repeated, as they started off. "Where are we going to go?"
Ivan's pace was slow. He leant heavily on Alfred for support, but there was strength in him yet. He paused for a moment and looked down at Alfred. "Home," he said simply. "We're going home."
Alfred frowned. Then his eyes widened in understanding. "You mean—to the Isles?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yes," Ivan smiled. "Your leg has healed well, Alfred. You're strong enough to travel, so I'm taking you home. It'll be dangerous. The way west takes us through the heart of the Western Empire, and we'll have the Easterners on our scent, but," he squeezed Alfred's shoulder, "I think we've both proved we're tougher than we look. I think we can do it."
"Home," Alfred repeated, letting himself smile. He felt overwhelmed.
"Yes."
"But Mattie..." he remembered.
"We'll search for your brother, I promise. But know that you're my priority, Alfred. I won't sacrifice you for him," Ivan said honestly. He stopped then and his face was grave. "When those soldiers took me, I thought I was done for. I was going to be executed for desertion. I didn't think I would ever see you again." Gently, he stroked Alfred's cheek. Alfred kissed his fingers. "I'm not going to lose you again, little one. I'll get you home safely, I promise."
Alfred didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He smiled, pulled Ivan close, and kissed the brave Alpha. The handsome Alpha. The Alpha whom he was desperately, helplessly in love with. He kissed Ivan like it was the first time all over again: shy and sweet and chaste and perfect. He felt Ivan's lips curl against his and his heart fluttered. He was ready to go home, he realized; ready to take Ivan home with him.
This, he thought hopefully, is just the beginning.
It was daybreak by the time they reached the cave. Morning sunlight filtered in, bright yet crisp. The days were getting shorter and chillier as summer faded into autumn, and without a fire the cave was cold and moist. It didn't feel like a home anymore, which was for the better. Alfred and Ivan shared a meaningful look and then wordlessly started to pack what they needed for the journey. Alfred wandered to the nest that he had built for his Heat, remembering how it had felt to lie there alone and afraid, helpless to the Heat-waves that consumed him. He knelt and absently ran his fingers over the soft, squishy pelts, which were saturated in his lingering scent.
I was so ready to be mated, he thought regretfully. He had never wanted anything like he had wanted Ivan.
"Alfred?" said the Alpha.
Alfred looked back at him: pale, bruised, and bloody, and yet—so beautiful. Ivan had discarded his tattered shirt, and his scars gleaned in the sunlight. Alfred loved all of them. To him, they were not symbols of shame and disobedience, but of the Alpha's strength and resilience, proof that he was a survivor no matter the cost. He was a protector; a provider. He was someone who was unafraid of life. Every cut, scratch, and lash had forged Ivan into the Alpha he was.
Impulsively, Alfred opened his arms, and said: "Come here."
Ivan frowned, but obeyed. "What is it—"
Alfred pulled him into a deep kiss. It was eager. The dragging friction of wet heat between them tasted like desperation. I want him, all of him, Alfred thought, pulling the Alpha down by the neck. He wanted Ivan's weight on top of him, but Ivan planted a hand on the bedding to brace himself, careful not to crush Alfred. Alfred produced a small whine in protest. "Alfred, what are you—" Ivan started in confusion, but Alfred's lips silenced him. His lithe hands spread across the Alpha's broad back, rubbing the planes of taut muscle beneath his fingertips. "Alfred," Ivan tried again, pulling back. He stared down at the Omega, whose blue eyes were bright with lust. Carefully, he brushed back a flyaway strand of wheat-blonde hair, and asked: "What's wrong?"
Alfred blinked, taken aback. "I... I don't know," he said, surprising himself.
Until Ivan had voiced it, he hadn't even realized that something was wrong. But now—now he could feel it. It was mistrust, despite Ivan's promises. The last time he and Ivan had shared the nest Alfred had ended up alone.
"Ivan," he said, feeling nervous, "you're coming back with me, right?"
"To the Isles? Yes, I'm taking you home."
"And when we get there, you're going to stay, right? You're not going to leave me?"
Alfred saw Ivan's face soften in understanding. He bowed his head to the Omega's forehead, and answered the question Alfred had been too afraid to ask:
"I'm sorry I left you alone, little one. I promise I'll never do so again. I meant what I said before, I never want to lose you. And if that means going to the Isles, then that's what I'll do. You're my priority now, Alfred. I won't leave you. Alfred—?" he asked, noting the Omega's silent doubt. "You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. I mean... I want to," Alfred admitted, feeling ashamed. "It's just... I think I'm scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Of losing you. Of you leaving me," he said, putting into words the feeling that had plagued him always, even before he had met Ivan. He feared the fate of unrequited love. He had felt it's bite too many times before and couldn't bear the thought of losing Ivan to it now. "That's what I'm truly afraid of."
"Don't be," said Ivan plainly. "Don't doubt that I love you, Alfred, because I do."
Alfred felt tears of frustration prick his eyes, but blinked them away. "I'm sorry I keep making you say it," he said. "I'm awful, I know. It's just... I believe that you really want me. That this is really happening to me," he said in disbelief. "Sometimes, it feels like a dream."
"Alfred, listen to me." Deliberately, Ivan took Alfred's hands in his. His tone was stony, but his considerate touch was gentle—as always. "I know that you've been hurt before. I know that you've been cast aside by fools who can't see what I see, but you've got to believe me when I say I love you and I want you and that's not going to change. I'm going to mate you and make you my Omega-mate, Alfred Kirkland, and then I'm never going to leave your side of my own free will again."
"Yes, I want that. I want to be yours," Alfred said, an eager catch in his voice. "And I want you to be mine. I want us to belong only to each other. I want it now," he dared, lying back in invitation. He wanted Ivan, ready to prove their bond. He felt like he needed it. Once they were mated—pair-bonded—Ivan couldn't ever leave him, which is what the insecure Omega secretly yearned for. He wanted that security more than anything. "Mate me," he said huskily, pawing at the skeptical Alpha, relaying his need in the rhythm of his adolescent body. "Let's do it, Ivan, right here, right now."
"Alfred—"
"Come on!" Alfred urged, but the Alpha didn't move.
"Alfred," he said, letting a stern growl of authority enter his voice. He held the squirming Omega immobile. "If you don't believe my word now, then me mating you isn't going to change anything. It's not going to make you feel better. I won't mate you," he said decisively. "Not like this. Not here, not now. I won't mate you until you're in Heat. I don't want to hurt you, little one."
"I'll be fine—"
"Not like this," he growled. "Not in a rush. Not with hunters on our scent. I don't want to be distracted. When I mate you, I'm going to do it right. I want to do it right."
Alfred exhaled in reluctant surrender. "Me, too," he said truthfully. "It's just..." he bit his lip, "I've already waited for so long, Ivan. I waited for you for three days. I wanted you so bad then, I couldn't stand it. I just don't want to wait anymore, not when you're here with me now. You say that you love me, that you want to mate me and take care of me, but you're torturing me!" he whined. "I mean, don't you want me? Aren't I pretty enough—?"
"You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen," Ivan smiled, "but the answer is still no."
Alfred batted his gold eyelashes and pouted, sighing softly.
"Stop whining," Ivan deadpanned in resolve. "Don't you trust me, Alfred?"
"Yes, I do," Alfred said, but it sounded sulky even to his ears. "I trust you. I love you, that's why I want you to—"
"Alfred, enough." Ivan pressed a hand to Alfred's mouth, covering it. His other hand plunged beneath the waist of Alfred's trousers and coiled around the Omega's cock, producing a startled gasp. Alfred felt himself go scarlet in reply. He looked up at Ivan, whose wide lips were curled into a mischievous grin. "I know what it is you really want right now," he said, stroking the Omega from root to tip. Alfred shuddered. "It's a promise I've already made. This—" he squeezed the slick length; Alfred whimpered, "—doesn't change anything. It's not the hunger to mate you that keeps me by your side, you foolish little thing. It's you. Just you, my little one. Mating you," he said deeply, voice sending a shiver down Alfred's spine, "won't change how I feel about you. You've got to trust that. You've got to trust me, okay?
"Okay?" he repeated, mock-stern.
"O-oh—kay!" Alfred gasped.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes, yes—! I trust you."
"Do you love me?"
"I love you."
"Good," Ivan said, satisfied. He removed his hand and Alfred's racing heartbeat slowed; a little relieved, a little disappointed. However, the reprieve was short-lived. Ivan's hands skirted over Alfred's flat midriff and landed on his hips, fingers hooked into the waist of his trousers, toying before tugging them forcefully off. Alfred felt cold air attack his naked legs and shivered. He started to sit, but fell back when Ivan splayed his long legs, leaving Alfred's genitalia on full display. His face reddened even more so, but he didn't fight. He felt anxious. He was not a shy Omega, nude or not, but he had never had a lusty Alpha between his legs before.
"I-Ivan—?" he questioned, hating the quiver in his voice.
The Alpha's grin had become a seductive smirk. "Are you afraid now, Alfred Kirkland?" he teased.
Alfred swallowed. "No."
"Good," Ivan said. "You want proof that I love you, that I'm attracted to you? I'll give you proof."
Then he bowed his head.
Ah! I-I—Ivan, wha—?"
It was all Alfred could do not to make a sound as the wet walls of the Alpha's mouth closed around his cock. His hands fell to his sides in fists, idle, giving up as his hips found a slow, thrusting rhythm. It felt so good. Ivan's mouth was hot inside and the pressure he applied as he sucked made Alfred purr in pleasure. He threw his head back into the pillows and let his eyes momentarily roll back, seeing nothing but bright sunlight and the Alpha's shadow, reflecting his movements. It felt good to be given pleasure like a gift, without having to strive for it; without having to earn it, or compete for it.
"Mm, Ivan," he moaned.
The shape of Ivan's mouth changed and Alfred knew that he was smiling. He felt the Alpha's huge canines graze the sensitive skin of his cock, which sent a tremor throughout his lower-body. He felt Ivan's searching hands find firm purchase on his backside, his thumb knuckle pressing down hard enough to make Alfred whimper and squirm.
Oh, gods. What is happening to me? Alfred's whole body felt like jelly, except for his aching cock, which was slick and hard, erect with tension. He could feel an orgasm budding in his belly. It was a familiar feeling, and yet—Oh, fuck! He had never been touched by someone else before, not like this. He wanted it. He wanted more.
"Oh, fuck!" he cried breathlessly, squeezing his thighs against Ivan's shoulders. "Oh, gods, yes—there, there. Oh, that feels so good! Oh, I-Ivan, you're incredible!" he praised, half-mad as he rode the breaking wave of climax.
Ivan lifted his head, smacking his lips with his dripping tongue. Alfred lay in the nest, limp and panting.
"Wha—What the fuck?" he gasped, too stunned—and satisfied—to be embarrassed.
Ivan chuckled. Gently, he stroked Alfred's sensitive golden thighs. "Are you satisfied now, little one? My hungry little Omega. Do you believe me now? Do you want to know my secret?" he asked, leaning down playfully. He grinned wickedly, and whispered: "I've wanted to do that for a really long time."
Alfred stared, left momentarily speechless by the stoic Alpha's seductive confession.
He started to reply, to argue, but he couldn't think of anything clever to say. His mind was still submerged in the aftermath of stormy climax and in the sexy Alpha who had caused it. He merely stared up at Ivan, indulging in the handsome face; the heady scent; the deep, growling voice. It made the hungry Omega's mouth water all over again. That is, until he looked into the Alpha's eyes. Ivan's smile was caddish, but his violet eyes were tender. He was looking down upon the young, blushing Omega with nothing but love and respect and the stiff proof of heated arousal that silenced all of Alfred's doubts. Suddenly, he felt foolish about before. How could he have ever doubted Ivan, the Alpha who had rescued him; the Alpha whom he loved?
Finally, Alfred relaxed and looped his arms around Ivan's neck. "I think you owed me that," he said playfully.
"I think I did, too. I'm sorry it was late."
Alfred pulled Ivan down into a salty kiss.
"Better late than never," he smiled. "But sweetheart—? Don't ever be that late again."
