DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD

LOST BOYS


TEN

WESTERN EMPIRE

WILDERNESS

Oh, no—I-I—I can't! Oh, Alfred!" Ivan howled, throwing his silver-blonde head back in distress.

Alfred clenched his teeth as he tried with all of his might to force the Alpha's hand down against the grass, but to no avail. He didn't have the needed strength. And Ivan's mockery wasn't helping. The pair were lying on their stomachs at the edge of a prickly thicket, facing each other in the grass, their right hands clasped tightly together in a back-and-forth battle for physical dominance. Well, less back-and-forth and more the Omega throwing all of his weight against the wall of Alpha, who merely laughed.

"Oh, Alfred! You're just too strong! I can't—I can't—Nope," Ivan said suddenly, and slammed Alfred's hand down without effort.

Alfred's whole body fell sideways. He looked up at Ivan, who was grinning down at him victoriously, his muscles flexed. "You're such a jerk," he said. Before Ivan could reply, Alfred grabbed the Alpha's hand with both of his and leapt at him, trying to take him by surprise and force him onto his back. Ivan played along and feigned wide-eyed surprise—badly—falling backward and dragging the Omega on top of him.

"That's cheating," said the Alpha, his voice a deep, reverberating purr. He threaded his thick fingers through Alfred's hair, toying with the Omega's feather-soft locks, and drawing their noses together.

Alfred's bright blue eyes glared down at him. How infuriating! he thought. What he said was a reluctant:"I want you so much right now."

Ivan's lips curled into an arrogant grin, which he pressed to Alfred's yielding lips. "Patience, little one," he said in a husky whisper. It sent a shiver of arousal down Alfred's spine.

"Don't do that," Alfred said, pressing himself closer, nosing Ivan's neck.

"Do what?"

"Don't tease me," the Omega said seductively, kissing the Alpha's jaw; his neck; his chest.

Ivan chuckled, a little breathless. Alfred felt it in the Alpha's throat. "I'm not the one doing the teasing," he said.

Later, Alfred found himself wrapped in a fur blanket, cuddled beneath the comfortable weight of Ivan's arm, his head resting on the Alpha's chest. He had always been able to fall asleep easily, anywhere, but with Ivan beside him it was entirely effortless. He simply closed his eyes, feeling peaceful and safe, and awoke hours later. He knew this because the moon's position in the sky had changed, the sky crowded with paling stars. Alfred yawned in waking, resurfacing from the depths of a foggy dream.

"Ivan?" he murmured, meeting the Alpha's reflective gaze. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Not long enough," said the Alpha indulgently. "Go back to sleep, Al. It's not yet dawn."

Alfred fought selfishness, and said: "No, I'm fine. You should sleep for a little while, too. I'll keep watch."

"Al—"

"Sleep," Alfred ordered, struggling into a sitting position, his blanketed back braced against a tree trunk. "I can keep watch just as well as you can—better, in fact. I'll hear any threat a lot sooner than you. I'll wake you if I do," he added in appeasement. Then he tipped his head and patted his lap invitingly. "You're not invincible, honey," he said; half-mocking, half-serious. "You need sleep, too."

Heaving a sigh, Ivan complied. Maybe he was tired, or maybe the pillow of Alfred's lap was too tempting; either way, he laid down in the soft grass, resting his head on the Omega's thigh. Alfred knew how much Ivan disliked relinquishing control and wouldn't put it past the Alpha to merely fake being asleep for Alfred's benefit. It was exactly the sort of thing Ivan would do: pretend to sleep, while actually staying alert for danger. It irked Alfred. It's been days, he needs to rest. So as soon as the Alpha settled down, Alfred began stroking his head in the gentle, soothing way that Arthur did when he was trying to coax his Alpha-mate or pups to sleep. It had never failed to work before, the recipient always falling victim to the Omega's sly tactic, and Alfred was pleased to see that not even big, strong, tough-fibred Ivan could resist. The Alpha's body relaxed and minutes later he was breathing rhythmically, fast-asleep.

Alfred hadn't thought of his parents for a long time. It was a painful thought, but he revisited it now in the quiet of breaking dawn. He thought of Arthur and Francis and his four uncles, and how heartbroken they would all be thinking him dead. He thought of Matthew, too. He missed his brother desperately. He hadn't been much of a brother in the days leading up to the flood and he regretted it now. Neither he nor Ivan had found any trace of Matthew on their journey, and though Ivan was kind, Alfred knew the Alpha was only searching for his benefit. He didn't truly believe that Alfred's timid brother could be alive. He had all but admitted it when he had warned Alfred about the Western Empire, crawling with merciless soldiers. "I've never seen soldiers kill with such cold efficiency," he had said, trying to impress upon Alfred the importance of staying hidden. The Eastern Empire favoured brute force, whereas the Western Empire was calculating. If the Eastern Army hadn't been the larger force, the West's strategy would have won their engagements. "I wouldn't trust a Westerner half as far as I could throw him," Ivan had growled. "I'm sorry," he added when he noted Alfred's silence, but the unspoken confession hung between them: If the Westerners found your brother, he's probably dead. And if he's not, he'd be better off that way. Alfred tried not to think about it, just like he tried not to think about his heartbroken parents. The only thing that kept his tears at bay was knowing that soon he would be home—if they could survive the Western Empire, that is.

They hadn't encountered anyone yet, but the evidence of the Westerners' presence was unmistakable. Once or twice, they had stumbled upon an abandoned watchtower and Ivan had grabbed Alfred by the back of his shirt and thrust him protectively behind him before realizing the absence of any threat. For all of the Alpha's sober self-control, he was becoming more anxious—jumpy—the farther west they travelled.

The Eastern Army really fucked him up, Alfred thought in sympathy. Ivan would never admit it, but Alfred knew that the Western Army terrified him.

Please, he prayed, for Ivan's benefit, don't let us meet any Western soldiers. He didn't think the Alpha would be as merciful with any Westerners as he had been with his former Eastern comrades. He didn't want Ivan to have to suffer anymore. It was, honestly, why he was so eager to leave the Mainland.

You'll be safe on the Isles, he promised, petting the Alpha's silver-blonde head. My family will protect you. You won't be alone anymore, Ivan. You'll never have to be alone again.


At sunrise, Ivan stirred. Alfred tried to convince him to sleep longer, but the Alpha insisted that he had slept for too long already. "I'm fine," he said, even as he rubbed his sore muscles.

He's still weak, Alfred knew. The injuries and abuse Ivan had sustained had left his health considerably depleted. He might have been strong enough to wrestle a skinny Omega, but Alfred worried how he would fare against real danger. It's why he hovered and insisted on doing the menial tasks, like cooking breakfast.

"I'll do it, you just relax," he said to Ivan, smiling offhandedly.

Ivan, however, disliked the note of unintended condescension he heard in Alfred's upbeat tone. He snatched an armful of firewood from the Omega, and snapped: "I can take care of myself, Alfred, I'm not a swaddling pup."

"Neither am I," Alfred argued, trying to grab back the firewood. "Just let me do it, okay?"

"I don't need you to take care of me."

"Maybe I want to! Did you ever think of that, you stupid, thick-headed Alpha? Maybe I want to take care of my intended mate!"

They both froze. Ivan's body was twisted away, hugging an armful of firewood to his chest like precious cargo with one hand, while he tried to repel Alfred with the other; Alfred reaching around his bulk, swatting indignantly at him. For a minute they merely blinked at each other. The Omega's resolve crumbled first. He tried so hard not to laugh that he snorted loudly, which made Ivan burst out laughing. Then they were both laughing, the domestic spat forgotten.

"Is this what our mated-life is going to be like together?" Ivan teased, chucking the firewood into a discarded pile. "Are we going to fight over everything, little one?"

"Probably," Alfred confessed, beaming up at his intended. "I can't wait."

After a quick fried breakfast, Alfred treated and re-dressed Ivan's injuries—his chest was healing, albeit slowly—and Ivan inspected Alfred's leg. It had become so routine for both of them that neither even flinched, trusting his partner's skill. Alfred took extra care with Ivan. He had never been entrusted with delicate medical applications before, leaving it to Arthur and Matthew, who were more practised, but Ivan's confidence in him made him feel good about his own abilities.

They were packing-up their temporary campsite when Ivan suddenly stiffened. Deliberately, he stood and raised his nose to the sky.

"It's time to go," he announced soberly.

Alfred followed his line-of-sight and, squinting, saw a thin spiral of smoke in the distance rising above the trees. The Easterners.

"Come on," Ivan said, setting off. "We've got to stay ahead of them and we've already lingered here too long," he added grumpily, angry at his body for needing sleep. If Alfred had allowed it, the injured Ivan would have thrown all of their supplies and Alfred over his shoulders and then walked day and night until they reached the distant Low Countries.

Idiot, Alfred thought, frustrated by Ivan's stubbornness. He'll kill himself if I don't do something.

"Give me that," he said, stealing a heavy satchel as Ivan reached for it.

Ivan frowned. "It's too heavy for you, Al. Give it to me."

"You've got enough," Alfred declared, slinging the satchel across his shoulders. His knees nearly buckled, but he refused to let it show. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying my share. Now, let's go," he said, and marched off before Ivan could argue.

The Alpha hid a smile. "Yes, dear."


Three days later, the Eastern Army was slowly gaining in its pursuit of the deserter and his young Omega companion. Ivan tried to hurry their pace, but it turned out to be counterproductive. Alfred's leg was healed enough for him to walk, but he still needed time to rest or risk further injury. (Ivan did, too, though he wouldn't admit it.) The Eastern soldiers had the benefit of being healthy and strong, with officers who threatened punishment for anyone who slowed the company's marching pace. Unlike Ivan and Alfred, the soldiers had no need to hide their presence and cover their tracks as they crashed through the dense Black Forest. If the Western Army were alerted to their presence in the forest, all the better. It would save the Easterners from having to hunt them down to engage them in battle. Ivan and Alfred were trying to outrun a war. No matter what they did, the fact remained that they were trapped between the Western and Eastern Armies, protected only by the no-man's-land of the forest. But that wouldn't last forever. Sooner or later, they were going to be discovered by one side or the other, and Alfred knew—when that happened—Ivan didn't have a plan.

"Al," Ivan said one day, walking a few paces ahead of the tired Omega. "If we're discovered by the West or the East, I want you to run."

Alfred scoffed. "And leave you? Not fucking likely—"

"I'm not asking, Al."

Ivan's tone took Alfred by surprise. It was inarguable, as was the look on the Alpha's stony face. His violet eyes glinted like precious stone, cold and hard. Meekly, Alfred nodded in agreement.

Yet, they needn't have worried about the West or East, because it was not the Western Army or the Eastern Army who eventually found them.

It was the South.


Well, look what we've found," said a silky, foreign voice, making Alfred jump in surprise.

He had wandered off in search of firewood, refusing Ivan's offer. "No, no, you unpack the sleeping-rolls," he had said, determined to let the Alpha rest. They had been walking for a long time and night was already creeping over the treetops, casting the forest in shadows. Alfred promised to hurry and not search too far. "If you're not back in fifteen minutes, I'm coming to get you," Ivan warned. Alfred had rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah," he said, disappearing like a spectre, the silence of his light-footedness masking his presence. Ivan had already done a perimeter check and his nose had declared the vicinity safe. Alfred trusted Ivan's nose, but the Alpha was exhausted and the Omega had absently wandered too far. He hadn't realized it until he met a wide river, but by then it was too late. The earthy water had served to cover the Southerners' scent.

"What a pretty little Western bitch you are," they said, emerging like faeries from the water. They stepped out of hiding behind thick-rooted trees and dense, slimy water foliage.

It was rather ingenious of them, Alfred thought, his heart racing in panic. Unlike the Eastern Army, whose blunt advance was loud and forceful and left nothing hidden, the Southerners—too used to dodging Western patrols—were using the forest itself to disguise their presence so they could advance into enemy territory undetected. Alfred's defensive Omega senses hadn't even noticed them, and even now he couldn't tell how many Alphas there were. Their reflective eyes glinted in the dying sunlight, like hidden beasts in a fairytale.

"Come here, darling, let's have a good look at you," said an Alpha, grabbing for Alfred. He was soaking-wet, but didn't seem to care.

Alfred leapt back. He dropped everything he had collected except for a long stick, which he brandished like a thin sword, despite it being too weak to serve any real damage. Still, he whipped it back-and-forth and growled. "Stay back!" he warned, baring his teeth.

"That's not German," said one of the soldiers.

"No, it's English," said another, and then spat to show his dislike.

Alfred recognized that the soldiers were speaking in French, but he couldn't understand it. He cursed himself for ignoring all of Francis' lessons.

Too focused on the soldiers in front of him, Alfred reacted too late when the stick was suddenly ripped from his hands from behind. "Wait, I know you," growled a middle-aged blue-eyed Alpha, tossing the stick aside. "You're Bonnefoi's whelp! What happened, darling?" he sneered, grabbing Alfred's biceps; fighting the Omega's protests. "Doesn't the Western captain want you anymore? What'd he do, mate you and then throw you back out? Or did you run away from that sadistic, red-eyed bastard? Did you miss us that much, sweetheart?"

The Southerners laughed. One wolf-howled.

"Get away from me! Don't fucking touch me!" Alfred snarled. Without warning, he thrust his knee viciously into the soldier's stomach, then punched him hard in the jaw before he could recover. He stumbled back as the blue-eyed Alpha buckled, gasping.

"Think you're tough, do you?" said his comrade, cutting off Alfred's escape. Angrily, he grabbed the Omega's hair and yanked it hard. Alfred bit back a cry as stinging tears filled his eyes.

"Wait," said the blue-eyed Alpha again. He grunted as he climbed back to his feet. His brow was furrowed in puzzlement, before his eyes narrowed in realization. "You're not the same Islander bitch we found before. But"—he leant close to Alfred, sniffing him—"you've got the same scent, Bonnefoi's scent. You're definitely his Omega-pup. You smell just as sweet as your brother," he added, pupils dilating in hungry arousal. He chuckled, and addressed his comrades: "Bonnefoi's bitch has been busy." They laughed. "Just how many brothers do you have, darling? Do they all smell as delicious as you?"

The Southerner pressed his nose to Alfred's neck and inhaled deeply, groaning in want. Alfred wriggled and glared. He didn't know what the Alphas were saying, but he knew by the soldier's tone that it was not complimentary.

"Fetch Captain Le Roux," he ordered, straightening. "I think he'll be very interested in our new little friend. I certainly am. I like an Omega with some spirit," he added, licking his lips.

In reply, Alfred spat on him and was promptly backhanded across the face. "Bitch!" the Alpha growled. The blow knocked the Omega down and left him dizzy.

"Hurry!" the Alpha snapped at his comrades, one of whom hastily departed in pursuit of Captain Le Roux. In a show of animal dominance, he planted a heavy foot on either side of Alfred's horizontal figure, legs straddling him as he stared down, like a hunter eyeing his prey. "You're going to be sorry you did that," he threatened. "I'll admit, you've got more fight in you than your brother, and I like that. But hasn't anyone ever taught you how Omegas are supposed to act? Maybe I'll be the one to teach you. Would you like that? I'll teach you to be a proper, submissive Omega-bitch. I'll make you howl for me, sweetheart. Maybe you'll even like it, huh? Tell me," he asked rhetorically, nudging Alfred with the toe of his boot, "how old are you? Are you older than your pretty brother? Gods," he purred, leaning down, "your brother was so fucking delicious. Inferior breeding-stockfilthy Islanderbut good enough to mate. You're good enough too, darling, even with that scowl. No," he mused tauntingly, "it's because of that scowl. I lost my chance to mate your brother," he said in a deep, foreboding whisper, "but I'm not going to lose my chance to mate you. I'll taste a fucking Islander if it's the last thing I do."

He grabbed Alfred's collar and yanked him forward into a rough kiss. Alfred whimpered in surprise and pursed his lips, but he couldn't turn his head; he couldn't dodge the Alpha's dry lips, which tasted like bitter wine and sweat. He tried to punch the Alpha, but the blue-eyed soldier caught his wrist and squeezed, bruising it. His comrades laughed in cruel delight. Alfred felt his face heat in fear and embarrassment. Don't cry! he commanded himself, even as tears filled his blue eyes. He desperately wanted to yell for Ivan, but he didn't want to alert the Southerners to the Easterner's presence. So instead he stayed fixed there, half-sitting and half-lying in simmering silence as he suffered the Alpha's unwanted jeers and advances, all the while scanning the forest for a feasible escape-route.

The soldier wet his lips slowly as he released Alfred, savouring the taste. "Mm, delicious," he hummed.

It was a good thing he thought so, for his sake, because—as it so happened—kissing Alfred was the last thing the blue-eyed Southerner ever did.

No sooner had the words left the Southerner's lips, than the blade of a hunting-knife embedded itself deep between his shoulder-blades at the base of his neck and he fell face-first to the ground, dead. Alfred's eyes went wide as the soldiers all howled in outrage. No—! he thought, his gaze swiveling in the direction of the knife's projection. As expected, he spotted Ivan, already engaged in battle with several Southerners. The blue-cloaked soldiers of the South fell upon him like a wolf pack attacking a much larger predator, spitting and snarling. Blades struck and lashed, tearing Ivan's clothes; his skin. Ivan growled and slashed his sword one-handed in retaliation, using his powerful free fist to beat back the onslaught of enemies, but it wasn't enough. The Southerners were too many and too well-trained, and Ivan was fighting at half-strength.

"Ivan, no!" Alfred cried in distress. "Run!" he begged futilely. He felt angry and frightened as he screamed. And helpless—so horribly helpless. But even as he spoke, Alfred watched Ivan get struck down. "No! No, please! Don't hurt him!" he screamed, charging thoughtlessly forward. He clawed at the Southerners, trying to pull them away from the felled Alpha, but they merely shoved him back into the restraining arms of another soldier. "Please, let him go! Please, I'll do anything you want, I swear!"

"Anything—?" asked a gravelly voice in accented English. A moment later, an iron-knuckled hand landed on Alfred's shoulder. It was strong and twisted, like the gnarled root of an old tree.

Alfred froze. He saw the hem of a royal-blue traveling cloak, bearing a black fleur-de-lis; then an armoured body; then the hilt of a long, sheathed sword; and then finally the weathered face of a grey-eyed Alpha: Captain Le Roux.

"Bring forth the Easterner," he snapped his fingers, never taking his steely gaze off of Alfred.

Ivan was forced to his knees and dragged before the Southern Army's cryptic captain, his arms restrained by two soldiers as a third pulled back his head. Ivan's blazing glare made Alfred nervous. He was afraid that the stubborn Alpha would try to fight, or do something as equally reckless and get himself killed.

Stay down, Alfred silently begged. He tried to convey the message in his anxious expression: Please, if you love me at all, Ivan, you'll stay down!

Ivan's jaw clenched unhappily, but he didn't move. Le Roux merely cocked an eyebrow at him in disinterest, and then returned his gaze to Alfred.

"Bonnefoi certainly found himself a productive Omega-mate, didn't he?" he said, recycling the observation of his now dead officer. "I've already had the pleasure of meeting your lovely brother, dear, albeit briefly. He smelled just like you; though, that was before the Fort Commander mated him. After it, he smelled like that damned Westerner. I expect he still does—what a waste. If he's even still alive, that is. I've heard that Western Alphas sometimes beat their mates to within inches of their lives to teach them obedience; as often as not, the poor, sweet Omegas don't survive. Barbaric, isn't it?"

Alfred's face paled. "What in hell are you talking about?"

"Your brother, my dear. He has—had?—the most beautiful violet eyes. And such soft skin. It's a shame he's a Western whore, now."

"My brother is nobody's whore!" Alfred snarled fiercely in denial.

"Yes, he is," Le Roux shrugged fluidly. "Or, haven't you heard? Bonnefoi's pretty Omega-pup was captured by the Fort Commander of the Black Forest Fort. That's the Westerners' stronghold, dear." He pointed in an ambiguous direction, presumably toward said fort. "He's a cruel Alpha. It's said that his eyes have turned permanently red from bloodlust. I've seen it, it's true," he teased. "What, you don't believe me? Well, you'll see soon enough," he added in a malicious tone. "I almost pity your poor brother. Being such a degenerate Alpha's mate is a fate worse than death, and if you think he's the only one who's had a taste of your pretty brother, then think again. It's a fort, after all. How many Alphas in there haven't touched an Omega in months? Killing him now would be a mercy—"

"Stop it!" Alfred shouted, his teeth bared, fists clenched. "Just stop it! I don't believe you! You're a liar!"

Le Roux heaved a sigh of mock-pity. "And if I'm not? If I'm telling you the truth? Do you really want to risk it, little—Hm, actually," he mused in ridicule, leering at Alfred from head-to-toe, "you're not that little, are you? How tall are you, anyway? I don't think I've ever seen an Omega quite so—sturdy."

The soldiers snickered, making Alfred redden and Ivan growl.

"I know where your poor brother is," Le Roux continued flippantly. "And I'll help you rescue him, if he's still alive, of course. I'll help you if you help me."

"And why the hell would I do that?" Alfred spat.

"Because if you don't," said Le Roux simply, "then I'll disembowel your unlucky Alpha friend here and now."

Before Alfred could protest, Le Roux drew his sword and stalked purposefully toward Ivan's kneeling figure. The blade had already nicked the Easterner's snow-white neck, producing a trickle of blood, before Alfred tactlessly hollered:

"No, stop!"

Le Roux turned slowly, his head cocked. "Oh? You did say you'd do anything to save this Alpha, didn't you?"

Alfred fell silent. He felt sick.

Le Roux chuckled and lowered his sword. "You've made the right choice," he praised, reading Alfred's face like a book. Promptly, he retreated to the Omega's side and belittled him further by ruffling his hair. "Think of it this way," he said diplomatically. "By aiding me in my noble crusade, you... Oh, I'm sorry, what was your name, my dear?"

"Alfred," choked Alfred.

"Alfred," Le Roux repeated, grinning. "By aiding me, you have a chance to save your beloved brother from a fate worse than death, as well as the life of this Easterner, whom I assume is your intended Alpha-mate—? Yes," he said, stroking Alfred's cheek in a mock-paternal way that made the Omega's skin crawl. "And the price for both of their safety is just one little fort that you owe no loyalty to, and a few villainous Alphas whom you don't even know. Once I've gotten what I want, I'll let you, your brother, and your surly intended go. I promise. Come now, I'm being more than generous, Alfred. It's much more than what a blood-traitor's spawn deserve."

Alfred swallowed a mouthful of bile and squeezed his fists tight, fighting to keep his voice even. "What exactly is it you think I can do?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing, chéri."

Alfred flinched. Don't, he thought, infuriated. Don't you dare use my Papa's endearments, you bastard!

"All you have to do is show your pretty face," said Le Roux. He slapped Alfred's cheek. "That's all. You're nothing but my leverage. See, in some devilish way I think that Beilschmidt really does care for your brother. It may be love; it may be greed. I saw the look on his face. Either way, I'm willing to gamble his fort against your safety—the safety of his brother-by-mating-law.

"You, Alfred Bonnefoi," said Le Roux, smiling darkly, "are my ticket to destroying the Black Forest Fort and everyone in it."


Le Roux's Alphas bullied Ivan into rope bonds that chafed his wrists and ankles and restricted his movements, forcing him onto his stomach in the grass like a serpent. His face was black-and-blue and swollen where the Southerners' fists had struck; his nose was bloody. Alfred begged to be allowed to go to him and was permitted by Captain Le Roux, who—rightly—believed that Ivan's bondage was enough to hold Alfred as well without needing ropes. He wasn't going to escape without the Easterner and Le Roux knew it. He was a cautious, conniving leader, not unlike the Westerners that Ivan had warned Alfred about; the Westerners Le Roux claimed to hate.

These Mainlanders all rely on tricks, he thought spitefully.

In the isolated northern clans of the world—the Isles, the North, the Eastern Empire—physical strength was valued above all else. Omegas were expected to breed big, strong, healthy Alpha-pups; Alphas whose worth was based on his own talents. A hunting-party operated together as a pack, but each member was expected to contribute his own individual strength. Hunters had little patience—or respect—for the physically weak. It was why the Islanders, and the Northerners, Alfred remembered, chose leaders by trial-by-combat. Only the strongest were expected to survive in life, and few packs wasted time nurturing Alpha-pups who couldn't contribute to society. Omegas, too, were expected to be strong—in an Omega-like way. Omegas needed to be able to give birth to as many pups as possible. A productive Omega was praised for his contribution to the pack. The fact that Francis and Arthur only had two Omega-pups was enough to invite ridicule (in secret, of course; nobody dared insult Scott Kirkland's family to the short-tempered pack-leader's face). Neither Scott nor Francis had an Alpha heir, and it was Arthur who was blamed for it. "He should have died when he caught the cold-death as a pup," Alfred had heard the pack-members say. "The medicine-man refused to doctor him, knowing him too weak. It's only by the will of the gods that he's alive today." Alfred, however, disagreed. Arthur might have looked small and frail, but looks were often deceiving and Alfred's Omega-father was, truly, one of the toughest clan-members he knew. The fact that Arthur hadn't conceived more pups was not something that Alfred cared about. Why should an Omega dedicate his life to birthing pups for his Alpha-mate? Why did they do it? Could it be for society's praise, or did Omega's genuinely desire it? Was it hardwired into them? If so, Alfred was missing that particular gene.

I want my life to mean something, he had always thought. I want to do something great. I want history to remember me, not my Alpha-pups.

But it seemed that the Southerners disagreed. Since Alfred had journeyed to the Mainland, he had surmised that Omegas were even less versatile here than on the Isles. They were expected to breed as many pups as possible, strong or weak. It didn't matter, because the Mainlanders didn't value physical strength as much as they valued bloodlines. As long as their leader was of a sovereign line—inbred, or otherwise—he was not required to be strong. He needn't be; he had the command of armies at his disposal. Unlike the Islanders and Northerners, who fought together as a pack, or the Easterners, who favoured brute force, the Westerners and Southerners used shadier tactics to achieve victory. They may have called it strategy, but Alfred called it trickery. It was manipulative and unfair; that's what his uncle Scott would have said:

"An Alpha should be strong and proud enough to take responsibility for his own actions, and the actions of his family. There's no honour in tricks and blackmail."

It's why Alfred had trained and practised so hard to strengthen his skills, so that his family and his Alpha friends would see him as more than just a weak Omega. He wanted more than anything to make his family proud, but—try as he may—he couldn't compete with the Alphas if he played by their rules. His biology was adapted to other talents. He couldn't hunt with his nose, so he hunted with his ears; that wasn't such a big deal. His hunting-partners had always been intrigued by it, like Lars had been. However, physical combat was different. Alfred had tried and tried to defeat his Alpha friends in fair hand-to-hand combat, but his body was not naturally built for combat and he always lost. (Alfred hated losing.) Sooner or later, he always fell back on his tricks—like a sneaky Mainlander. He felt guilty about it, of course. Scott hated Alfred's tricks (which had even managed to lay the fearsome pack-leader out on his back once or twice), but without relying on his tricks, Alfred was as useless a fighter as any other Omega. He might have been bigger and stronger than the average Omega, but it wasn't enough to defeat a big, healthy Alpha. Maybe that's why he felt so critical of the Mainlanders who used such sly tactics, because Alfred had always been so critical of himself.

"Trickery is not the Islander way," lectured Scott in Alfred's head. "Tricks are for cowards."

I think Captain Le Roux would disagree, Alfred thought. The Southern captain's cold logic seemed to be victory by any means necessary. He seemed almost anxious—excited—to attack the Black Forest Fort. Alfred got the impression that he had been waiting a long time for a tactical advantage over the Western captain, whom he clearly thought of as a rival. The Beilschmidt-pup, as Alfred had heard him described, must be a very formidable opponent for Le Roux to go to such lengths to achieve victory. Alfred thought it all seemed rather personal. He wondered what the Westerner had done to earn such a black reputation in Le Roux's opinion.

Captain Beilschmidt is the one who has Mattie. The thought twisted in Alfred's stomach, but he steeled his resolve.

Don't worry, Mattie, I'll find you. I'll rescue you from that place, I promise. I'll protect you from this awful war and we'll go home together. All of us. He looked down at Ivan. I swear, I'll get us out of here, even if I have to use tricks to do it.

Alfred ignored the snide looks that the Southerners gave him and sunk to his knees at Ivan's side. He cradled the Alpha's heavy head in his lap, and whispered: "It's going to be okay. I'm here, sweetheart." The gesture of soothing his intended mate calmed Alfred's nerves. He combed his fingers delicately through Ivan's hair and was rewarded by a gentle sigh. Ivan pressed his cheek against Alfred's thigh. His swollen, discoloured eyelids remained closed, even as he spoke.

"Al," he said quietly. His voice was sluggish. "You need to escape. At the first chance you get, you need to—"

"Shut it," Alfred interrupted.

"Al." Ivan's violet eyes peeled open, looking soft. "Please."

"Ivan," Alfred replied in a gently reprimanding tone, "no. I'm not leaving you here to die, sweetheart."

Ivan was about to reply, but stopped when a Southerner cleared his throat in an attention-seeking way. He was young, maybe twenty, and had eyes the same stormy-grey as Le Roux's, though this Alpha's look was much softer.

"I was told to... that is, my Alpha-father—I-I—I mean, Captain Le Roux," he corrected hastily, "permitted me to, uh... See, I'm the company's chief medical officer," he stuttered, blushing nervously. "I thought you might let me... That is, I thought I could help."

Alfred considered the timid soldier, Le Roux's Alpha-pup. He was standing with his knees pressed together shyly and hugged a large burlap satchel to his chest like a bulky shield. His English was good, better than any other Southerner Alfred had yet heard, including Le Roux. He read a rare intelligence in the Alpha's self-conscious eyes.

"Please—?" he asked, reaching tentatively for Ivan.

Ivan growled, his lips pulled back from large canines. The Southerner snatched his hand back, as if bitten.

"Please, I can help," he repeated, addressing Alfred. His eyes were big and round; not so alike Le Roux's after all. "I have a poultice that will soothe the infectious spirits poisoning his body," he explained, pointing to Ivan's wounded chest. "He is very strong, but the disease will claim his life if he does not purge the poisoned blood. It will turn his skin black. He won't survive it. In a couple of days, he'll concoct a fever... and he won't recover from it. It's a miracle he's lived this long. Please," he begged Alfred, bowing his head. "So many soldiers will die when my Alpha-father—when Captain Le Roux lays siege to the Black Forest Fort, and I'll be powerless to help any of them. I'm not trying to trick you, Alfred Bonnefoi. I took an oath as a healer. Please, let me help you now before it's too late."

Silently, Ivan reached up and took Alfred's hand, squeezing it hard. Frightened. "No," he whispered.

Alfred held Ivan's hand and pet his head in comfort. "I'm here," he said. "I won't let him hurt you. Trust me, Ivan."

Ivan didn't speak, he only grunted as he buried his face against Alfred's middle. It was as much consent as he was going to give. Alfred nodded at the Southerner.

He looked relieved as he began laying out the tools of his trade. His fingers were long and exceptionally fine-boned for an Alpha. He worked nimbly, cleaning, treating, stitching, and bandaging Ivan's injuries. Alfred assisted where he could. He removed Ivan's tattered shirt with a medical-knife. (That was the last one, Alfred noted. Ivan was very hard on clothes.) Ivan clenched his teeth and fists and grimaced in discomfort, and buried his face in Alfred's shirt to muffle the noise of a pitiful whine. It reminded Alfred of his sulky uncles, especially Scott—who whimpered like a newborn when injured (he really hated needles)—and endeared the Easterner to him even more. But it wasn't only the pain that bothered Ivan. It was also the necessity of being tended to by another Alpha, especially an enemy. He hated feeling weaker than a rival. Alfred held him and stroked him and talked constantly, trying to distract him.

"Does the Black Forest Fort really have my brother?" Alfred finally asked.

He couldn't pretend that the horrible thought didn't bother him. He had to know for certain. He didn't trust Le Roux's word, but for some reason he did trust the captain's timid Alpha-pup. He looked afraid of lies, and fear was a powerful motivator. Fear and love.

The Southerner's head snapped up, shocked by Alfred's candidness. He swallowed, then nodded. "I'm sorry."

The medic re-packed his tools and quickly left, and Ivan emerged from the safety of Alfred's lap. Hissing in pain, he shifted into a lopsided sitting position; knees bent and wrists and ankles bound. Alfred wanted to scold him and tell him to lie back down to rest, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt suddenly hollow, bone-tired. And Ivan looked so pitiful. Yet, the Alpha's body-language was ever protective. It invited the Omega to come close and be comforted by the Alpha's touch, however restricted. Ivan's violet eyes said: Come here, little one. I'll keep you safe.

I love his eyes. They're so beautiful. Like Mattie's.

Obediently, Alfred crawled to Ivan's side. Ivan kissed his cheek and tasted tears. Alfred had started crying without realising it.

"It's okay, Al," he said in that deep, rumbling voice that Alfred loved, though it made the Omega feel small. (Small and precious, not weak.) "Tell me," Ivan said, nuzzling Alfred's temple. "Tell me how to make it better."

Alfred's lip trembled as tears flooded his eyes. He couldn't make them stop flowing. "You can hold me," he whispered. In surrender, he lifted Ivan's bound hands and ducked into the circle of his embrace, letting the Alpha's strong arms drape heavily over his shoulders. He felt the pressure of Ivan's hug as he laid his head down beneath the Alpha's neck, and felt the vibration in his throat when he quietly said:

"Yes, little one, I can do that."