DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD

LOST BOYS


FIFTEEN

WESTERN EMPIRE

THE BLACK FOREST

Wait." Matthew stopped beneath a large fir tree, his lips pursed.

"Schatzi?" Gilbert asked in concern. "Are you okay?"

Matthew didn't reply. His eyes were unblinking and his face was glossy white. He pressed a hand to his mouth, fighting the urge to—

Suddenly, he bent forward and vomited.

Gilbert flinched, then moved to assist his Omega-mate. It's just a symptom of pregnancy, he knew, because Matthew had told him; because he may have overreacted the first time he had witnessed it, thinking that something was wrong. It'll pass in a minute, it always does. But he still hovered anxiously. He pulled Matthew's satchel off and dropped it aside, then held back the Omega's long hair as he gagged. He could feel Matthew's body shudder with each purge, sapping itself of strength. He held the Omega's shoulders in support, and then drew him back against his chest when the gagging stopped. "Done?" he asked as Matthew's body sagged in exhaustion.

"Yes," Matthew croaked, leaning against him. He wiped his face. "Sorry."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Apologize one more time for carrying my pup and I'll gag you," he teased in mock-threat. Matthew smiled coyly up at him, his head pillowed on the Alpha's pectoral. It softened Gilbert's jest. "It's okay, schatzi," he said, kissing Matthew's forehead. "This is my fault, right?"

Matthew laughed softly. "Yes, love." He rested a hand on his abdomen. "All your fault.

"But I'm the one slowing us down," he added.

"It's okay, we're not in any hurry."

Matthew cupped Gilbert's cheek and stroked it affectionately. "Liar," he whispered.

Gilbert merely grinned.

The truth was, the sooner they reached the Low Countries, the safer they would be. Gilbert was still a wanted fugitive, and though the Black Guards would report them both dead to the Great House, word of his heroism would take time to spread. Every day that he remained in the Western Empire he risked being recognized and arrested. He wore his hood to hide his memorable looks, and he tried to steer away from settlements along their route, but their slow pace still made him anxious. Matthew—bless him—was not accustomed to long, Spartan journeys. On the Isles, they only traveled once a year to the Standing Stones, and that was a trek considerate to Omegas, pups, and elders. It was not the swift, tireless march of a honed soldier. "I'm sorry, love," Matthew had apologised often enough to annoy Gilbert, even though they both knew the Omega was the one slowing them down.

Gilbert hefted Matthew to his feet, then took the weight of both satchels. "It is what it is," he shrugged. Then, noting Matthew's dismay, added: "I'm hardly going to leave you behind, schatzi."

By sunset, they had made little progress. Matthew was seven weeks pregnant and his body was struggling to acclimatize to the change. Or, that was Gilbert's understanding of it. (He hadn't really understood the technical terms the Omega had used.) It was messy and inconvenient and it made the Alpha pity his poor, exhausted Omega-mate. They had had to stop often, because Matthew couldn't keep any food down and walking on an empty stomach made him slow and lightheaded. Gilbert tried to set a considerate pace, but every time he thought they were making good time, he would look sideways and find Matthew pale and panting and quietly suffering as he tried to keep up. He had to remind himself to slow down, otherwise he increased their speed without thinking and Matthew, of course, didn't complain. He followed Gilbert's lead, begging a halt only when he felt sick enough to vomit. Finally, Gilbert decided to stop for the evening, because even though he had hours left of walking in him, Matthew certainly did not.

"I'm sorry, love," Matthew said, wobbling on his feet. Gilbert took his arm and helped him down onto a pelt. "I'm really not feeling well today."

Gilbert crouched in front of him. "You sure you're not actually sick?"

"Yes, it'll pass," Matthew dismissed, looking worn.

"You should eat," Gilbert advised, and began rummaging in a satchel pocket. He produced a parcel of dry, salted venison, which he unwrapped. "Here."

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead creased. "No, thanks."

"Come on, schatzi, you need to eat," Gilbert urged, worried for his weakened Omega-mate.

"Gil, darling," Matthew replied in the same patronizing tone, "if you don't get that away from my face, I'm going to vomit on you."

Gilbert lowered the parcel.

"You're sure you're okay?"

Matthew nodded. "I'm just tired," he said. "I haven't slept much since your arrest."

"Me, neither," Gilbert admitted. He stuffed the food parcel back into the satchel, then hunkered down beside the Omega, his back braced against rough-hewn tree bark. "Come here," he said. Matthew obeyed and shifted into the circle of Gilbert's arms. "Cold?" he asked, even as he wrapped his heavy cloak around Matthew. Matthew didn't reply, already half-asleep. In fact, Gilbert thought he was asleep until Matthew's soft, breathy voice said:

"Wake me in a couple of hours."

"Just rest, schatzi. I can—"

"Wake me," Matthew insisted. "You need sleep, too, love." A longer pause than the first was interrupted by a coy inquiry. "Gil—?" His voice was soft and sleepy. "Are you ever going to tell me what schatzi means?"

Gilbert chuckled and nuzzled the top of Matthew's head. "No, sweetheart, my treasure, I'm not."


The next morning, Matthew attempted the Herculean task of eating dry, salted meat, but failed as nausea licked the back of his throat.

"I'm sorry, I—I can't eat this," he said, shoving it aside. "It'll just be a waste."

Gilbert dug deeper into the satchel. "Biscuits, then? Think you could stomach a—Okay, okay," he retreated when Matthew vehemently shook his head, the back of his hand pressed firmly to his mouth. "Well, damn, Matt," he said in apology, raking a hand through his hair, "that's all we've got. Come on, can't you just try to eat some? It can't be that bad—"

Matthew glared at him.

Gilbert sighed.

"I think I could stomach fish," Matthew offered. "It's not as... fragrant."

"We don't have any salted fish."

"Not salted fish, fresh fish. You could, maybe, go fishing—?" he asked, turning the suggestion into a question, a hopeful plea in his voice.

"Fish? That's really what you want? I don't know..." Gilbert hesitated. "I'd have to go back to the river, and I don't want to leave you alone."

"I'll be okay," Matthew promised. "It's not far. You'll hear me scream if anything happens," he joked. Gilbert didn't laugh. He looked uneasily at the Omega, genuinely afraid to let him out of sight. In appeasement, Matthew took the Alpha's hand and kissed it. "I'll stay right here, okay? I won't move from this spot, I promise. It won't be for long. I'm sure you're an amazing fisherman, darling," he flattered, his soft, red lips still pressed to Gilbert's skin, long lashes fluttering artfully over his big violet eyes. Gilbert's smile revealed lazy amusement rather than enchantment. Matthew laughed at the failed attempt and bowed his head in surrender. When he lifted it again his expression was sincere. "Please, Gil—?" he asked, throwing himself upon the mercy of his Alpha-mate. "I'm so hungry."

"Fine," Gilbert grudgingly agreed. He leant forward and pecked Matthew's lips. "I'll be right back. Stay here."

"I love you!" Matthew chorused guiltily after him.

Gilbert merely grunted, waving a hand over-the-shoulder. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered.


Ivan crept through the forest with purpose. He wasn't quiet or light-footed, but he was an affable hunter nonetheless. "I'll get the food," he had said to Alfred, having won a game-of-chance for the honour, "you get the firewood." Alfred had been irked at the result, but had yielded to his less glorified task with nothing louder than a deep, resigned sigh and a sulky "cheater" as he shuffled off. Ivan had laughed. The truth was, he didn't mind doing menial housekeeping tasks, which were no less important. (No firewood equaled no fire equaled no hot food.) But every now and then, he had to admit, it felt good to play a more dominant Alpha-role. It felt good to be needed, and he took pride in hunting to provide for his Omega like a real Alpha-mate.

Soon, he thought as he dodged a tall fir, winding through a labyrinth of trees. Soon we'll be mated for real.

A fortnight, Alfred calculated. As long as he was healthy by then, in a fortnight he would once again succumb to a Heat—one Ivan fully intended to be present for this time. He already felt cheated for having missed the last two, each one a fleeting chance to legally claim the Omega he was desperately in love with. If Fate kept them apart again, Ivan truly thought he might die of yearning. Just picturing Alfred's Heat was enough to excite him: his long, golden body spread languidly, naked skin stretched taut over subtle slopes of muscle; his whole figure flushed from cheeks to navel, and wet with slick from navel to knees; his blue eyes sparkling, hazy with lust; his lips swollen and parted and whining softly for Ivan's touch. And the scent of him. Oh, gods! Ivan vividly recalled the tangy-sweet scent of Alfred's body in Heat, so naturally alluring and—

Ivan's nose twitched. He tipped his head up and breathed in deeply, trying to read a scent that was intimately familiar and yet not. It was an Omega's scent. It was Alfred's scent—almost.

Alfred—? he pondered, because who else could it be? The young scent was more alike Alfred's than anyone else's. Though, as he drew closer, guided by his nose, he realized that it was saturated in a much riper Alpha scent. A strong, healthy Alpha. A Westerner. The evidence of it slapped Ivan in the face and pulled a low, menacing growl from his throat. Why does my Alfred—but not my Alfredsmell like another Alpha? Why does he smell mated? It didn't make sense. Ivan knew it didn't make sense, and yet he couldn't help the way his body reacted. He felt defensive of the Omega, confused by the subtle difference, but possessive of him nonetheless. The scent was too familiar to ignore, and soon Ivan was tearing through the forest in search of the Omega who was Alfred but not Alfred. He leapt a ditch and landed with his teeth bared, expecting the Westerner to be nearby. There were flecks of spittle on his chin, and lines creasing his forehead, and anger in his pale eyes, and the entire image of the huge Eastern ex-soldier with his teeth bared scared a young Omega who was not Alfred, but rather—

"Matthew!" Ivan gasped.

He had to be. He couldn't be anyone else. He looked too much alike a smaller, softer, paler version of Alfred not to be the Omega's twin brother. He smelled like Alfred—sans the Alpha scent—and he looked exactly as described. He even sounded like Alfred's description: quiet and timid, though his anxiety might be blamed on the savage Alpha gaping at him. Matthew's lips were parted, ready to scream, but the unexpected sound of his given-name stopped him.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying and failing to sound brave. He clutched at a dagger emblazoned with a black cross, which he brandished shakily in one hand, shoulders arched and legs pulled to his chest. His other arm wrapped around his middle, like an Omega protecting an unborn pup—

Oh, no, Ivan thought, recognizing the faint scent of pregnancy. He shouldn't be surprised: Matthew had been imprisoned in the fort for as long as Alfred had been safe with him. Of course he hadn't been left untouched. He only hoped that the scared little thing had been claimed as one Alpha's property, and one Alpha's only. If Le Roux's gossip proved true and Matthew had become the fort whore...

Alfred's going to be devastated when he finds out, he thought, eyes going regretfully to the Omega's middle.

"How do you know my name?" Matthew demanded.

"Matthew," Ivan repeated, struck dumb in disbelief. He had been so certain of the Omega's fate that he had never actually expected to meet him. But here he was, not entirely unharmed, but at least he was alive.

Alfred's going to be so relieved.

He started forward, intending to collect Matthew and deliver him to Alfred, but a growl made him pause.

"Get away from me!" Matthew warned, leaping hurriedly to his feet. His growl—more of an aggressive purr, Ivan thought—did little to intimidate the Alpha, but he stopped nonetheless.

"Oh, I've scared you," he acknowledged. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not going to hurt you, Matthew," he said, reaching out. "My name is Ivan. Your brother is my—"

Ivan didn't get to finish. He was struck from behind so violently that he stumbled and fell, blinking red spots from his vision. He shook his head and pushed himself to his knees, but was forced down again by the blow of a boot-heel. Ivan growled and, before the third attack landed—a strike to the head—he grabbed the Alpha's leg and yanked his feet out from under him. The Westerner flailed, but caught his balance fast. Ivan rounded on him, ready to defend Matthew from the danger—for this was the Alpha whose scent Matthew carried, not just on him but in him—until he saw the Alpha's eyes, as red as his reputation foretold. The blood left the Easterner's face and his eyes narrowed, and, suddenly, all he could think of was protecting Matthew from the wicked Western captain who had abducted him. He bared his teeth and roared at the Westerner, rising to his full towering height and drawing his sword.

I will not let you lay another hand on this Omega! he thought self-righteously. You will not hurt my Alfred or his family every again!

"Get away from my Omega-mate," growled the Westerner, drawing a long sword, "before I fucking gut you."

"He's not yours," Ivan denied. He swung his sword in threat. The Westerner's red eyes—it's true, blood red—lit like fire when he recognized an Eastern blade. Ivan advanced. "You will not touch him again!"

Metal clashed shrilly as the two ex-soldiers came together in a vicious battle. Ivan was much broader, but the Westerner was faster. He dodged Ivan's attacks and then peppered him with ceaseless blows intended to push him backwards, away from the cowering Omega. Vaguely, Ivan could hear the Omega's voice—screaming? begging?—but his brain was foggy with battle-lust and his focus remained on the villain in front of him. He leapt forward and served blows that chased the Westerner back-and-forth until they hit, then knocked him momentarily senseless. Both Alphas snapped their teeth, both trying to sink his canines into the other when their grappling drew them together. They spit and snarled at each other, each yelling insults in a language the other didn't speak; insults that needed no translation. Both were seething in hot anger, steeped in a bred hatred that went a lot deeper than a single Omega's honour.

Ivan fought as if his life depended on it, because it very likely did. In all of his years as a soldier, he had never faced such a skilled opponent. Unlike Ivan, who had been forced into the army as a reluctant foot-soldier, the Western captain actually liked fighting. Ivan could feel the practice and precision and skill; the wolfish ferocity of him in every blow. For the first time since Ivan was a pup training in the Capital, he was clutched by a blinding fear:

Could I actually—lose?

No. I must protect Matthew. I must protect Alfred

"MATTIE?"

Ivan tore his gaze from the Westerner and turned in the direction of the baffled shout.

And there, of course, was Alfred.


MATTIE!" Alfred repeated in reckless abandon.

He charged through the forest, his feet tripping as he ran, and flung himself full-bodily upon his lost brother.

"Oh, thank the gods!" he gasped, winding his arms around Matthew's neck. "You're alive! I can't believe it! You're actually alive!"

"A-A-Alfred—?" Matthew said in disbelief. Alfred's weight forced Matthew to his knees and he sat frozen for a moment, then seemed to thaw in a rush of emotion.

"Oh, gods! Alfred!"

Alfred felt Matthew's shaking hands all over him as his brother returned the tight hug. He felt Matthew's lips on his face, kissing his cheeks, and then Matthew's forehead pressed against his. "I can't believe it," he whispered, sharing Alfred's giddy excitement. When Alfred pulled back to examine Matthew's face, there were tears in his violet eyes. Matthew, too, searched Alfred's face for distress and pawed at his body like a concerned parent checking a pup for injury. It felt so familiar to Alfred that he had to blink happy tears from his eyes, too.

"I-I-I—I thought you were dead," Matthew confessed, and then he was crying, tears of relief and happiness rolling down his cheeks.

Alfred chortled and wiped Matthew's face. "I thought you were dead," he admitted. "I thought"—he yanked Matthew into another crushing hug—"I would never see you again. I've missed you so much, Mattie."

Matthew clutched Alfred. "I missed you, too. I've felt so lost without you, Al."

CLANG!

"It's okay, Mattie," Alfred said, listening to the metal-on-metal clang of swords, confident of Ivan's victory. He held Matthew protectively. "I won't let him hurt you anymore."

To his utter shock, Matthew pushed him off.

"Who? Gil?" he said in shock, swivelling toward the fight. "Oh, no! Al, you're mistaken, he's my Alpha-mate!"

Alfred scrambled to his feet to follow Matthew, who was running recklessly toward the battling Alphas.

"Gil!" he shouted. "Gil, stop! It's okay, they're—Ah!"

"Stay back, Matt!" growled the red-eyed Alpha, shoving Matthew with his body. He took a defensive position in front of the Omega, who tugged urgently on his tunic.

"Gil!" he tried, but the Westerner wasn't listening.

Nor was Ivan, whose muscular body curled itself into an attacking posture. He leapt forward, only to stumble clumsily when Alfred's piercing voice yelled:

"STOP, YOU STUPID ALPHAS!"

Only then did Gilbert take notice of Alfred, the unmistakable scent of Matthew's blood-relative freezing him in place. "Matt?" he asked in confusion.

Matthew's fingers clenched in Gilbert's tunic, ready to yank him back if he tried to attack. "Gil, love," he said, making eye-contact with the volatile Westerner. He extended a hand between Gilbert and Alfred, as if making polite introductions in a dining-hall. "This is my brother, Alfred Kirkland. Al, this is my Alpha-mate, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

His voice seemed to have a soothing effect on both Alphas, because Ivan lowered his sword. "Alpha-mate?" he questioned suspiciously.

Alfred picked-up on Ivan's thread. "But, Mattie, isn't he the one who—who took you? Isn't he the Westerner who, uh..." He bit his lip.

"Oh, good," said Gilbert glibly. "My reputation precedes me."

Matthew gave the Alpha's arm a consoling pat. "Gilbert rescued me, Al. He's the only reason I'm alive."

"But you're pregnant," Ivan blurted.

Alfred's eyes went wide. "Pregnant?" He gaped from Matthew to Gilbert. "You pup-of-a-fucking-bitch!" he spat at the latter.

Gilbert growled and clenched the handle of his sword. Matthew placed his hand on Gilbert's wrist, trying to lower it, but the Alpha fought the restraint.

"I think," said Matthew benevolently, "that we should all sit down and have a longer conversation about this. A lot has happened since last we saw each other, Al. I'm mated and pregnant, now—happily mated and pregnant." He smiled in reassurance. "And perhaps you would like to tell us who this is?" he implied Ivan.

"He's an Eastern deserter," Gilbert spat.

Ivan growled.

Alfred said: "Oh, right. This is Ivan. He's going to be my Alpha-mate soon."

He looked from Ivan to Matthew to Gilbert, then sighed.

"Uh, maybe we should all sit down and talk about this." Exuberantly, he clapped his hands. "Who's hungry?"


Ivan handed Matthew a steaming bowl of plain potato porridge. The Omega sniffed at it, then took a small, tentative bite.

"Oh," he smiled in pleasant surprise, "this is wonderful. Thank-you, Ivan. This is exactly what I need. Thank-you so much," he repeated, spooning a larger mouthful.

Ivan nodded in silent you're welcome, then retreated. Beside Matthew, his arm wrapped protectively around the Omega, Gilbert glared suspiciously—and sulkily—at the Easterner. His red eyes followed Ivan's movements as he tidied the cooking, jealous that the Easterner seemed to do a better job taking care of his Omega-mate than he did. He knew Matthew could hear him growl, could probably feel it, too, but he was too preoccupied sating hunger to sooth the Alpha's pride. Besides, Matthew was too polite to speak with food in his mouth—not that his twin brother abided by that courtesy.

"This is surreal!" Alfred said, chewing enthusiastically. "I can't believe we've been so close to each other this whole time, Mattie!"

Alfred Kirkland was alike Matthew and yet as unalike Matthew as any Omega could be, Gilbert thought. He was bigger, bolder, and brighter than snow-white Matthew—quite pretty, really—but there was arrogance in him that Gilbert didn't trust. The more he observed the flamboyant Omega, the more he recognized the self-satisfied armour of someone who wasn't entirely happy with himself. Someone who hid behind his smiles and jokes to counteract how uncomfortable he felt, how completely displaced. Someone who was always an outsider, even when he was the centre-of attention. Gilbert knew this about Alfred without asking, because it was how he had always felt, too.

He hadn't lied to Matthew about his childhood: it had been happy. It just hadn't always been inclusive. Being the General's Alpha-pup had been difficult enough, carrying the weight of everyone's expectations—be this, be that, you're an example, Gilbert—and Gilbert's abnormal appearance hadn't helped. Like Alfred, he had learnt to wear his insecurities like armour to protect himself, but the uncensored opinions of pups were always harsher than the dodged stares of adults, and Gilbert's childhood had been riddled with bullying flavoured friendship. In retrospect, it was why he had tried so hard to distinguish himself, to be better at everything than everyone. But the harder he had worked, the more he succeeded, the more he distanced himself from everyone else, and soon young Gilbert Beilschmidt had become an outlier of his own invention. He had kept working and training and studying, learning how to be the best, pushing himself tirelessly through each promotion until he had become the youngest Fort Commander in history. He had done it for his sire (if he could see me now, would he be proud of me?), and for the Empire (protect the Empire!). But pride and admiration was not the same as a feeling of belonging, and despite his comrades' respect and devotion, Gilbert knew they were not his equals. They would never be his equals. And he would never be theirs. The distance he had felt in childhood merely transformed into the loneliness of leadership—until he had met Matthew. Matthew had bridged the gap Gilbert had always felt but couldn't understand, because he was the only person allowed to see Gilbert without the titles and honours and responsibilities. The only one allowed to see Gilbert rage and cry and lust and fear. The only one allowed to see an ordinary Alpha, all of his glories and mistakes aside. Not Captain Beilschmidt, not the Fort Commander, not a traitor or hero—just Gilbert. Matthew's mere presence had healed Gilbert of a loneliness he hadn't been consciously aware of and replaced it with a love he hadn't known was possible.

He wondered, now, if Alfred felt the same way about the Easterner. The Omega was so dreamy-eyed over the Alpha, it didn't take a scholar to read love and admiration in his eyes. Or hunger. Gilbert saw in Alfred Kirkland the same reckless thirst to prove himself that he had felt in himself until recently. Matthew had told Gilbert a lot about Alfred in the past months—he loved his brother very much—enough for Gilbert to know that Alfred had never really belonged in his life either. Matthew hadn't said it, of course. But then, Matthew probably didn't understand the depth of Alfred's loneliness, especially if Alfred faked a smile for Matthew's benefit, like Gilbert always had for Ludwig. Even before meeting Alfred, Gilbert had a picture of the Omega in his mind; one not so very different from the truth. Or rather, the lie. Alfred's was an untrustworthy act, and looking across the small cook-fire to where he sat now, Gilbert didn't trust his friendly smile and casual conversation. What he did trust was the nervous relief in Alfred's voice, the weary tension in his posture, the constant, self-conscious shifting of his hands, and the determination in his blue eyes.

Alfred Kirkland, he thought in approval, feeling a kinship with the Omega like he had never felt with anyone before. My new little brother.

Alfred swallowed the last of his meal, then shuffled over to sit beside Matthew. Matthew shifted his weight beneath Gilbert's arm, moving closer to his brother until their sides touched, their body's angled toward each other. Alfred's hand rested on Matthew's back—ignorantly brushing Gilbert's—and Matthew bowed his head to Alfred's as they talked, the soft, happy sounds of their voices pleasing to the Alpha's ears. Though Matthew's body was pressed between Alfred's and his, Gilbert felt rather invisible as the two Omegas regaled each other with stories, recalling each of their independent adventures. They gasped and sighed and smiled and laughed, and Gilbert found himself feeling uncharacteristically indulgent, unbothered by the proximity as the brothers sat curled together like kittens. Omegas, it seemed, liked to cuddle together. A comfort and safety precaution, he guessed. (An Omega's sphere was domestic and most spent more time with each other than any did with an Alpha-mate. Though, domestic wasn't a word Gilbert would have used to describe Alfred.) The un-mated Captain Beilschmidt would have found the Omegas' chatter and whimpers and giggles annoying, but Matthew's softened Alpha-mate felt quite relaxed as night descended. He felt the pleasant calm of domesticity settle over him like a big heavy blanket, and he realized that he liked having the Omegas close. He had been living with Alphas for so long that he was surprised by how much he liked the peace and quiet of the softer sex.

He did not, however, like Ivan.

"I don't trust him," he told Matthew later, as they settled down to sleep. He had lost a game of chance for the first watch shift. (He was certain Ivan had cheated, and Alfred was quick to agree.) "He's a deserter."

"Gil," Matthew said as gently as possible, "so are you. And just like you, I'm sure that he has a good reason. It doesn't make him a villain."

Gilbert scoffed.

"Al trusts him," Matthew said, matter-of-fact, "so I do, too. And you trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. It's him I don't trust."

"Let go of all the prejudice," Matthew advised, rubbing Gilbert's shoulders. "Ivan's a good Alpha. Al wouldn't love him if he wasn't."

"I think you put too much faith in your brother."

"Wouldn't you put faith in yours?"

Gilbert opened his mouth to argue, then closed it into tight-lipped surrender. "Touché," he grinned ruefully. "But I think you're a lot more alike Ludwig than Alfred is."

"And you're a lot more like Al than I am," Matthew parried, settling down beneath the comforting weight of Gilbert's arm.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I expect I'm just jealous of him then, the Easterner," he said, squeezing Matthew in example.

"I don't mind," Matthew admitted, smiling coyly. "Papa used to say that envy is like salt: A little bit enhances the flavour, but too much spoils the meal."

Gilbert snorted. "Francis Bonnefoi sounds like a cad. And, you know, the more you tell me about him, the more I want to meet him. Do you think he'll hate me very much?"

"Oh, yes," Matthew teased. "You're the mean old Alpha who deflowered his pup."

Gilbert scowled. "Old?"

"Well," Matthew shrugged in mock-innocence; he patted Gilbert's chest, "you are twenty-years-old."

"Twenty-one."

That took Matthew off-guard. He had been slumped lazily against Gilbert, but now he sat up to better see the Alpha's face. "You were twenty when we met."

"Mm hmm," Gilbert nodded. "And now I'm twenty-one. My birthday was last month."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Matthew worried. "I would've done something special for you."

"Oh, you did." Gilbert grinned. He couldn't help it, Matthew's innocent confusion was adorable. "You were in Heat."

The Omega's violet eyes widened, then his brow furrowed. "Not... the first day..."

"No," Gilbert hurried, putting that unhappy incident out-of-mind. "It was the day after."

"The day after," Matthew repeated, remembering it. Gilbert watched his expression melt into disbelief. "So, we spent your entire twenty-first birthday mating and you didn't even tell me?"

Gilbert chuckled. "For the record, best birthday ever."

Matthew lightly punched his chest, laughing as well. "I think you're the cad, Gil. You should've told me."

"Why? I already had everything I wanted," he said, pulling Matthew down and wrapping both arms around him.

After a moment of silent pondering, he asked: "Do you think our pup was conceived on my birthday?"

"I don't know, maybe. It was one of those five days. Though," Matthew heaved a dramatic sigh, "I suppose it would be terribly poetic if it was."

Again, Gilbert snorted. "Maybe it'll be born on your birthday."

Matthew shrugged, and repeated: "Maybe."

Curiously, Gilbert spread his fingers over Matthew's flat abdomen. "What do you think it is? An Alpha or an Omega?"

He felt Matthew shiver in silent laughter.

"It's only been seven weeks, love."

"Oh, come on," Gilbert teased, nuzzling Matthew's curls, "Omega's intuition, right?"

"Mm, yes, that's right." Sighing sleepily, Matthew rested his head on Gilbert's chest. "What do you want it to be?" he asked after a pause. "An Alpha or an Omega?"

Gilbert heard quiet apprehension in Matthew's voice, though he tried to hide it. The unjustified worry that he might deliver the opposite of what his Alpha-mate desired. Reassuringly, he kissed the Omega's head.

"Both."

"Oh? Well, twins do run in my family."

Before Gilbert could reply, Alfred reappeared. "What are you talking about?" he asked, sitting down.

"Nothing," Matthew said, yawning.

Uninvited, Alfred propped a balled blanket against Gilbert's elbow as a pillow and then, unabashedly, curled-up beside Matthew, like two pups in a nursery. Gilbert shifted, and only then noticed how warm Alfred felt—warmer than he should have been, yet he shivered. Matthew noticed it, too.

"Al?" he said, lifting his head. Gently, he pressed a hand to Alfred's face. "You're feverish," he worried. "How long have you been feverish for?"

"I'm fine, Mattie. It comes and goes—Matt," he called when Matthew pushed himself up, leaving Gilbert and Alfred cuddled together.

"How long has my brother been ill?" Matthew asked Ivan, who was sitting opposite, deftly carving a piece of oak. He disliked being idle, Gilbert noticed. He was always quietly doing something.

Ivan sighed deeply, straining the fabric of his shirt.

(He looked stupid in Gilbert's shirt, Gilbert thought. Since the Alpha had been bare-chested when they had met, Matthew had quickly donated one of Gilbert's spare shirts to the Easterner. It was long enough in the sleeves but not wide enough across the chest and the dark fabric was now stretched taut over Ivan's muscular torso, making him look bigger than he was. He's even bigger than Lud, he thought in disdain. Nobody has any business being that big.)

"He's been sick for too long," said the Easterner regrettably, "but I don't know how to cure it."

"Al," Matthew faced his brother. With his arms crossed and a warning in his tone, he sounded uncannily like an unhappy parent. "What did you do?"

Alfred muttered and buried his face, using Gilbert as a shield.

"Alfred Kirkland, tell me right now."

"Gods, okay Dad," Alfred sulked. "I just... took a Heat-inhibiting potion."

Matthew cursed. Gilbert had never heard his Omega-mate curse before and found it delightfully funny—even when Matthew turned that reprimanding glare on him.

"It's not funny, Gil! My brother poisoned himself!"

"Mattie, I'm fine!" Alfred insisted, even as he shivered and sweated. Matthew ignored him and set to work brewing an antidote.

Gilbert pulled a blanket up over Alfred's gold head, like a cloak. "Better not to argue, little brother," he said.


Little brother.

Only that accepting term-of-endearment reassured Ivan that his intended Omega was not in danger from the other Alpha. That, and the devoted way the Westerner behaved with his own Omega-mate. Ivan didn't like Gilbert—self-entitled prick—and he really didn't like how shamelessly close Alfred was sitting to his brother-by-mating-law, but, begrudgingly, he trusted the situation for two reasons:

First, because Gilbert was not an adulterer or polygamist. Anyone could see that he was hopelessly in love with Matthew.

And second, because Ivan trusted Alfred more than anyone in his entire life. After everything they had been through together, how could he not? Ivan had known love and friendship before: the proof was in his sister and Sasha's self-sacrifices for him. But no one had ever stood by him the way Alfred did. Alfred's love was not a default of blood-relation or debt. What made Alfred different was that he had always had a free choice, and he chose Ivan. He trusted Ivan, which meant a lot to the self-invented hermit. The least Ivan could do was trust him in return. Trust that he had desperately missed his brother and now wanted to stay as close to him as possible, be there an Alpha in the middle or not. Besides, Alfred was no stranger to Alphas. He was not afraid of them. And he had always been a liberal hugger. He liked to cuddle more than anyone Ivan knew, and Ivan was hardly going to deny him of it now that he and Matthew had finally been reunited.

(That, and Gilbert's body-language was not aggressive just then; though Ivan kept a subtle eye on him in case it changed.)

Matthew, on the other hand, was quieter and a lot more cautious in his affections than Alfred. He was shy—like me, Ivan realized.

In the Capital, Ivan's silent intensity, deep voice, and formidable stature had been misleading. When such a large, strong Alpha—always big for his age—refused to make eye-contact, the officers called it rebelliousness and had done their utmost to correct it, never guessing that the real reason Ivan froze was nervousness. More than anything he had hated being called-out. He had hated being the centre-of-attention—he still did—and his face flushed with shame and anxiety, rarely anger. But who would believe that of such a promising warrior? The first pup of his year to kill an enemy? What Ivan hadn't told Alfred was that he had bawled that night. After the soldiers had rewarded him with hot food, a place by the fire, and an affectionate pat on the head, Ivan had crawled into his sleeping-roll and silently cried himself to sleep, a fist stuffed into his mouth so that no one would hear him. He had missed his family that night more than he had in two whole years and desperately wanted to go home. He had never wanted to be a soldier, even though he was good at it. He had never wanted to be what was expected of him.

Like Matthew, he thought, watching the Omega pound herbs into a paste. Alfred's stories of Matthew usually alluded to the Omega's domestic talents, and—to Ivan's ears—how often Matthew was taken for granted. It seemed that, like Ivan, Matthew had always played the role provided for him. He never sulked or complained; he just did what was asked of him over-and-over again until the gratitude of others faded into monotonous expectation. Ivan doubted that Alfred understood. If Mattie really hated it, then he wouldn't do it, he would say, because he couldn't understand why anyone would do anything they disliked. I wouldn't! said Alfred's voice in Ivan's head, prompting an indulgent smile. But not everyone was as headstrong as Alfred. Not everyone felt they had a choice, but did that make them less deserving of admiration?

"No, Ivan," his sister had told him once. She had been digging potatoes, her face filthy and fingernails clotted with crescents of dirt; digging quietly all day to ensure he and his younger sister had enough to eat. She had looked up at him from a crouch, straw-yellow hair golden in the sun, and said: "Courage doesn't always roar. Most of the time, courage is simply getting on and moving forward."

Forward, forward never back.

You've got the resilience of an Easterner, Matthew Kirkland.

As Ivan watched Matthew brew a restorative tea for Alfred, he noticed the subtle imperfections on the pretty Omega, whom Alfred described as flawless. But he wasn't. Matthew's pale hands were gentle and fine-boned, but his knuckles were chaffed and his fingertips were red, like Ivan's sister's had been—years of cooking and laundry taking its toll. Matthew didn't have the scars of adventure, but he did have small marks that betrayed a working life: a pin-prick here, a burn there. His fair skin camouflaged the imperfections, but it couldn't erase the evidence of someone who worked hard to take care of his family.

That's the kind of Alpha-mate I want to be, he thought contentedly.

Again, he took up his hunting-knife and the oak branch and continued the delicate work.

I don't care about glory or riches. I don't care if no one remembers my name once I'm gone. I just want to enjoy life with Alfred and take care of my new family. All of them, he decided, including Matthew and—grudgingly—Gilbert.

The breeze tugged Matthew's curls and carried the faint scent of pregnancy to the Alpha, who subtly smiled. He rather liked the thought of being Uncle Ivan someday.


You're staring at my brother," said Alfred softly, plopping down onto Ivan's lap with his tea. Exhausted, Matthew had returned to Gilbert's side and fallen asleep. Alfred guessed that Gilbert was only pretending to be asleep, because he twitched at every noise. Or perhaps he was just a light-sleeper, like Ivan. "I told you Mattie was pretty."

"He is," Ivan acknowledged, "but he's not like you described."

Alfred cocked his head. "No—?" He, too, glanced at his sleeping brother. Matthew did look rather wan at the moment. "He's pregnant, maybe that's why."

"No," Ivan said, but didn't explain why. After a moment, he slipped a misshapen piece of oak into his pocket, too swiftly for Alfred to see what it was, and then he sat back with his hands resting comfortably on Alfred's hips. "I'm disappointed in your story-telling, Al. I was expecting an Omega of incomparable beauty—an angel," he exaggerated. "He would've had to be an angel to be more beautiful than you."

"Isn't he?"

"No."

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No.

"Stop pouting," Ivan said. "Your lips are already too enticing."

"Oh?" Alfred leant forward, playfully brushing his lips against Ivan's. "Want a taste?"

"Desperately," Ivan smiled, "but it's unwise to tempt me, little one. It's hard enough to resist your scent on the rainiest of days, and now we have a mated couple beside us, a pregnant Omega."

"Is Mattie's scent that enticing?" Alfred asked.

Alfred had never wanted to be pregnant—and he didn't now—but the way that Ivan regarded Matthew's state made him jealous of the attention. Alphas tended to be gentler and quieter with pregnant Omegas, especially young ones, as if pregnancy suddenly made the Omega more vulnerable. More precious. Most Alphas were indulgent, yet cautious of pregnancy. Pup mortality was common, after all. Most were indulgent of the Omega's needs, but cautious of his Alpha-mate. Maybe it was a change in an Omega's hormones that caused it, or maybe it was just Alpha instinct, but Alfred had seen a lot of Alpha-mates become very possessive of his Omega and refuse to let other Alphas near him while pregnant. Arthur teasingly called it post-Heat paranoia, because the scent of pregnancy was not unlike a Heat.

"It's all the same pheromones—all the same scents—but to different degrees," Arthur had explained. "That's why so many Alphas become possessive and suspicious when their Omega is pregnant, because he's afraid that others might try to hurt his unborn pup or claim his Omega like when he's in Heat. It's almost always unfounded, but it does sometimes happen," he admitted uneasily.

Alfred wondered if Gilbert would become that kind of mate, paranoid for Matthew's safety. He seemed the type. He was already very protective of Matthew and disliked when the Omega was out of reach, but Alfred supposed it was caution more than possessiveness in his case; the result of their current situation.

Mattie's only seven weeks pregnant, Alfred knew, only because Ivan told him. He, himself, couldn't smell a change. I wonder how enticing his scent really is?

"It's not enticing," Ivan corrected, thinking of how best to describe it. "It's not even that strong. Not yet. He smells too much like his Alpha-mate right now. It's more that they're mated and we're not," Ivan admitted, squeezing Alfred. "He's claimed Matthew as his Omega-mate," he said, jutting his chin gruffly at Gilbert. "They're pair-bonded, unlike you and I. I guess I'm just jealous of him."

"Don't be, sweetheart," Alfred said, kissing Ivan's cheek. "We'll be pair-bonded soon, I promise. Just because they're mated and we're not doesn't mean we don't love each other just as much, right?"

Ivan smiled. "That's right."

"Besides," Alfred shrugged, his smile becoming a smirk, "you're much more handsome than he is. Though"—he drew a finger across the cheek he had just kissed—"you could use a shave."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Drink your tea, little one."


Matthew woke long after sunrise, long after everyone else. No one had woken him earlier, and for that he was grateful. He had slept fitfully despite his fatigue, unable to get comfortable, and had been roused by every miniscule sound. He missed the safety and softness of Gilbert's bed in the fort—the bed that had become his nest. It's what he tried not to want now.

Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. His head had been pillowed on Gilbert's lap; Gilbert, who was glaring vehemently at Ivan. Matthew looked between his Alpha-mate and the quiet Easterner, who seemed to be minding his own business as he used a hunting-knife to shave his face.

"Look at him," Gilbert grumbled, crossing his arms. "Smug bastard."

Matthew stifled a giggle. Crawling to his knees, he whispered: "Is this because you can't grow a beard?"

"Shut up!" Gilbert barked in German. Matthew laughed and kissed his fair cheek.

Ivan glanced over. "Oh, did you want to get cleaned-up?" he asked, ironically offering Gilbert the hunting-knife.

"Fuck off," Gilbert deadpanned.

Ivan feigned shock, then sympathy. "Don't worry. I'm sure once puberty hits that fuzz will thicken into a very handsome silver beard."

Alfred choked on his breakfast and had to spit it back out.

Gilbert growled at the younger Alpha.

Matthew said: "Oh, don't listen to them. You're fair-skinned, love. And your hair is very fine. It's beautiful, so much softer than Alphas with big scratchy beards. Omegas would kill for it! It's a good thing. It's low-maintenance—"

"Matt," Gilbert interrupted, "stop helping."

"Sorry," Matthew said as Ivan chuckled and Alfred erupted into sputtering giggles.

As the Alphas proceeded to pack-up the campsite—Gilbert in sulky silence; Ivan in good-spirits—Matthew brewed Alfred a cuppa tea.

"You know, you and Ivan could both do with haircuts, Al."

"Why? You don't like my long flowing locks?" Alfred teased, coiling a tangle of hair around his index-finger.

"Your rat's nest? No, I'm afraid it doesn't suit you. Come here," Matthew said, handing Alfred the tea while making him sit. He took a straight-razor—which Ivan could've used instead of the hunting-knife (smug, indeed)—and began cutting the tangles out of Alfred's sunny hair. It took longer than he anticipated, and Ivan's took even longer. He looked like a brooding pup as he sat on a fallen log, arms crossed as the Omega washed and combed and cut, trying to be as delicate as possible, but Ivan's thick mane was even more knotted than Alfred's. Gilbert leant against a tree—his fine silvery hair blowing in the breeze—grinning smugly.

After their hair was cleaned and cut, Alfred and Ivan were told to go to the river to bathe.

"I'm surprised you're not infested with fleas," Matthew complained, shoving soap at them. "You look like you've been living in a cave for the past two months."

"Shocking," Alfred stage-whispered, much to his brother's chagrin.

Matthew began tidying the toiletries, but paused with the straight-razor in-hand. "Gil?" he asked, fingering a curl self-consciously.

"Hmm?"

"Do you like the way I look? Because I can change it if you don't," he offered.

He thought of Alfred and how much effort he had always secretly put into his appearance, trying to look his best for Alphas who never seemed to notice. In contrast, Matthew had never worried about his looks before, confident that they must be adequate to receive so much praise. In fact, Gilbert was the only Alpha Matthew knew who hadn't paid his looks any attention—not verbally, at least. Gilbert had never given Matthew any reason to suspect that he disliked his looks, but he had never confirmed that he liked them either. Matthew supposed it didn't matter; their affection was not so shallow. But knowing that his brother would come back from the river cleaned into a stunning figure of vibrant beauty, and knowing that he, himself, would only grow weary and fat as the months pressed on made Matthew feel suddenly self-conscious.

"When we get home," he said helpfully, "I can have Papa cut my hair, or I can start using cosmetics, or I can dress however you'd like me to—"

"What?" Gilbert's shock was blunt.

Matthew bowed his head as he replaced the razor. "Well, it's just that you've never even mentioned my looks before, so I thought that maybe you didn't like them? Maybe I'm not to your preference? But I can change that, I don't mind—"

"Matt, stop," Gilbert waved his hands. "I—I'm such a fucking idiot," he said, covering his eyes. "I can't believe I've never paid you a compliment."

"Oh, you have, Gil, of course you have," Matthew assured him. "You said that my hearing ability is amazing, remember? And you praised my idea to use the catapults to break the dam," he said brightly.

Gilbert peaked at Matthew over his hands. "Oh, gods," he groaned. "Is that really all? I'm so sorry, schatzi."

"No, it's okay," Matthew said, closing the distance between them. He took Gilbert's hands and pulled them away from the Alpha's face. "I'm not fishing for compliments. I just want to know, genuinely, if there's anything about my looks you don't like? I don't mind. I've never cared how I look, so if you want me to change something, I will—"

"No," Gilbert interrupted, as if Matthew had spoken blasphemy.

"No, I don't want you to change. Not at all. I—Okay," Gilbert re-started cautiously, "see, I'm not very good at giving praise, especially to pretty Omegas. I get fidgety and nervous and my tongue stops working and my face gets red—like this," he indicated in embarrassment, "and it's very, very un-awesome. But just because I'm too thick to say it doesn't mean I don't think it, schatzi.

"The truth is," he said, holding Matthew's hands, "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Inside and out.

"I-I—I mean, inside like inside. Like, you've got a good heart. Not like inside like when we're mating—though that's pretty nice, too. But that's not what I meant—"

"Hush," Matthew laughed, covering Gilbert's mouth with a hand. "Gods, you are bad at this."

Gilbert nodded, his cheeks as red as strawberries.

"It's okay," Matthew reassured him, "you don't have to say anything."

Gilbert pulled Matthew's hand away and squeezed it. "No, I want to," he said, determined now. "Because it's my fault you don't know how much you mean to me. I don't deserve you, schatzi—"

"Gil—"

"—but I sure as hell am never letting you go. You're the sweetest, kindest, cleverest, most selfless person I know, and what amazes me is that you don't use any of that for yourself. I mean it," he said, lifting Matthew's head. The Omega was blushing now, too. "Everything you do is for someone else. You're so generous. And you're so much fun. You know what my favourite part of living at the fort together was? Lying in bed with you, talking and laughing. Seeing you smile was—is—my favourite part of the day. I don't think I can really express how grateful I am to have you in my life, schatzi. You're the bravest person I know. I'm so lucky to have you as my partner. I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you that," he said apologetically. "But I wouldn't dare change a thing about you. I love you, Matthew, and that's never going to change.

"So, you see," he smiled cheekily, "the fact that you're the most beautiful Omega in the whole fucking world is really just a bonus."

It took Matthew a moment to find his voice. "Apology accepted," he joked, smiling coyly. Thoughtfully, he added: "Do you really think I'm brave?"

"Yes."

The Omega shook his head. "I've been afraid my whole life."

"But it's never crippled you," Gilbert praised. "You don't run and hide, you find your courage and do what needs doing. I mean, look at us!" Without warning he spun Matthew around, holding him back-to-chest to show him the forest. "We're only here, free, because of you. You're a lot stronger than you think you are."

"No one's ever used the words brave and strong to describe me before."

"Then no one's ever really known you."

Matthew smiled and hugged Gilbert's arms around himself. "Thank-you, Gil. But I think you're wrong."

"Hmm?"

Matthew nodded, turning his head to look back at the bemused Alpha. "It's me who's lucky to have you. If I could choose anyone in the whole world to spend my life with, I would still choose you, Gilbert. No contest."

"Sure you wouldn't want someone better-looking? I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm seriously worried about our poor pup," he teased, patting Matthew's abdomen.

"Why?" Matthew asked, twisting himself to face the Alpha. He looped his arms around Gilbert's neck. "Afraid he'll have skin as white as snow, and red eyes like summer strawberries, and cheekbones that could cut glass? Afraid he'll be tall and strong with a figure chiselled from stone? Afraid he'll be just as charming as you? Just as clever and mischievous? Afraid he'll be a brave and loyal leader? Someone who loves his family more than anything in the world? Someone who would sacrifice everything he has to protect those he loves? Afraid he'll be even more incredible than you, my handsome Alpha-mate?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes.

Matthew pressed himself closer, emitting a seductive moan disguised as an exasperated sigh. "Don't tell me you really don't know how unbearably sexy you are?" he said, mimicking Gilbert's earlier tone.

The Alpha swallowed, a flush betraying his excitement. Matthew felt Gilbert's hands tighten as they pulled him closer, close enough for the Omega to grind his hips suggestively against the Alpha's stiff groin.

"You don't believe me?" he whispered, leaning up. He kissed Gilbert, then lingered, sucking on his lower lip. An aggressive growl rumbled in the Alpha's throat. Matthew's heart quickened in anticipation. He grabbed Gilbert's belt and jerked it open. "You really don't know how crazy you make me? How much I want you, Gilbert Beilschmidt?

"Then let me show you."


Ivan and Alfred were drying off on the riverbank when the former caught a scent on the breeze and the latter caught a sound. A desperate, mewling sound that gasped in breathless affirmation.

Is that my brother? Alfred thought, mortified. Quickly he glanced at Ivan, whose nostrils flared.

"I think, maybe, we shouldn't go back just yet," Alfred suggested.

Ivan nodded. His whole body was rigid, his movements jerky as he retreated into the water and swam to the opposite bank. After a moment Alfred followed, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his brother's mating moans as possible.

"Bastard Westerner," Ivan was muttering as Alfred sat down beside him. His eyes were fixed on the murky riverbed; he didn't even look up when Alfred shivered in the cold breeze. He only smiled ruefully and conspicuously implied his inadvertent arousal. "It's probably better if I don't touch you just yet," he said.

Blushing, Alfred nodded. He wanted to argue—he wanted Ivan to make him feel what Gilbert was making Matthew feel—but he and Ivan had discussed mating often enough to know that the Alpha wouldn't mate him until he went into Heat. It was very frustrating. He felt jealous of Matthew's pleasurable out-cries, odd as it seemed. He felt competitive, and instinctively wanted to feel just as desirable an Omega as his brother, and had to remind himself that soon he, too, would know the relief of an Alpha. He had to combat arousal with logic, because he didn't want to cause Ivan—or himself—any more anguish than necessary. So instead of throwing himself upon Ivan like he wanted to, he pulled his knees up to his chest and shivered, letting the cold numb the heat of desire, while wishing that his clothes weren't stranded on the opposite bank. He searched his brain for a sobering topic, and finally said:

"Those lashings were meant for Sasha, weren't they?"

In the pale sunlight, Alfred could see the jagged scars scoring Ivan's back.

"Yes."

Ivan's voice was reticent, but Alfred waited. He wouldn't prod. If Ivan wanted to tell him the story, he would.

And after a moment, he did.

"I don't even remember what he did to deserve them," Ivan narrated. "It feels like so long ago. I was twelve. I didn't know how much it would hurt—no one does. But somehow I knew that Sasha wouldn't survive it. You wouldn't have known it," he said, glancing sideways at Alfred, "but Sasha was a runt in the Capital. I don't think his family had had much to eat, because he was all skin-and-bones—gangly and freckled. The soldiers liked to bully him, but he was never timid. He had a big mouth. That's probably what earned him the lashings. But the day they dragged him to the courtyard he was quiet, too scared to even make a sound. He was crying, naked fear on his face. He knew he wouldn't survive it. Everyone did—but nobody moved. Nobody tried to stop it."

"You did," Alfred said, taking Ivan's hand.

"I did," he repeated solemnly, not looking at Alfred.

"That's why he thought he owed you, because you took the lashings for him," Alfred guessed. "You saved his life."

"I prolonged it," Ivan corrected. "I didn't save anyone. It happened again to others. Nothing changed. If I'd been braver, I would've fought it. I should've fought it. If enough of us did, we might've succeeded. I might have saved everyone then, not just one Alpha-pup. But I didn't, because I was scared. I kept quiet, and I took Sasha's punishment for him, and when I awoke in the barracks two days later I got up and went back to my work and I never said a fucking word."

"Do you regret it, taking the lashings?" Alfred asked after a minute.

Ivan's reply was fast:

"No."

And that was that. There was no complaining or groaning or feeling sorry for himself. There never was with Ivan, even when Alfred encouraged it. Even when Alfred told him that it was okay to whine and cry sometimes, Ivan merely cocked an eyebrow, smiled, and said: "You don't need to worry about me. I'm okay now, little one." Now. Alfred always wondered what Ivan meant by now, as if his well-being was a recent change, but the Alpha would ignore the question or change the topic if asked, so Alfred had decided to simply be happy for him. (And secretly watch him for signs of stress. Alfred knew what it was to feel helplessly lost and alone, and he never wanted Ivan to feel that way again.) If Ivan wanted to talk, he would. And he did, little by little. In the meantime, Alfred would talk enough for the both of them. He's still a big, silent lump, he thought affectionately. But that was Ivan. Just Ivan. An Alpha who no longer regretted the past; who had hope for the future. That was Alfred's Alpha-mate—the strongest, bravest, kindest Alpha he knew.

I'm so lucky to know him, he thought, feeling privileged. I can't believe he chose me. He could've had anyone if he stayed in the east, but instead he chose me.

A flood of pride flushed Alfred, and he shimmied sideways, wanting to be close to the Alpha. He laid his head on Ivan's shoulder and kissed the top of a jagged white scar, then traced it over his shoulder-blade and down his back. In a content tone, he simply said:

"I love you."

Ivan looked down at him, the sadness in his violet eyes melting into reluctant happiness. His eyes sparkled when he was happy. So beautiful, Alfred thought. He felt the Alpha wrap an arm around him, and then heard Ivan's deep, rumbling voice:

"I know, little one. I love you, too."


Later, after Alfred had thoroughly scolded Matthew's indiscretion—

"Oh, gods!" Matthew clapped a hand to his mouth, going scarlet. "You saw us?"

"Heard you," Alfred corrected. "Gods, Mattie, the whole forest heard you! Who knew you could be so loud?"

—he was still thinking about what Ivan had told him, and wondered if Gilbert had any deep, dark secrets that he was keeping from Matthew.

Alfred was determined to like Gilbert, his brother-by-mating-law, but he had to admit that the red-eyed ex-captain of the great Western Army was not at all what he had expected of Matthew's Alpha-mate.

"Do you love him?" he asked bluntly. He nodded subtly at Gilbert, who was walking a few paces ahead of he and Matthew. (Ivan was walking a few paces behind, because Gilbert and Ivan did not want to walk side-by-side.)

"Yes," Matthew replied earnestly, "I love him very much."

"He's not what I expected you to end up with," Alfred confessed.

Matthew chuckled. "Me neither, if I'm being honest. But it's a good thing," he added. "I was never excited about my prospects on the Isles. I never felt safe with anyone there."

"But you feel safe with him?" Again, Alfred jutted his chin at Gilbert's back. (The Alpha had a proud strut in his posture that made Alfred want to mimic him in jest.)

Matthew nodded. "Yes, he makes me feel very safe. Despite everything that's happened to us, I haven't had a proper panic-attack since I met him."

"Really?" Alfred asked, impressed.

Matthew was such a timid Omega that it wasn't uncommon for him to need frequent comfort from an Alpha. Arthur said that Matthew would grow out of it, like he had done, but Alfred worried that his brother was not as tough-fibred as their scrappy dam. He suspected that Matthew would need a patient, considerate Alpha-mate to always take care of him. An Alpha much like Francis, who's kind indulgence had always soothed the Omega-pup's shaky nerves. A soft, unintimidating Alpha—not someone like Gilbert. The softest thing about the Westerner was his leather tunic, Alfred thought. Everything else was hard and sharp and unpolished, and his blood-red eyes screamed intimidation.

Not like my Ivan. My Ivan's so sweet, he thought in superiority.

Therefore, he was very surprised when Matthew suddenly said:

"Ivan is a little... distant."

"Distant?" Alfred repeated, taking offense. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, he's just not very approachable, is he? He doesn't smile that much. But I'm sure he's lovely," Matthew amended. "He has a very kind heart. And it's obvious he loves you, Al. He's very protective of you. Maybe that's why he seems so reproachful."

"I don't t think he likes Gilbert," Alfred admitted.

Matthew snorted. "I know Gil doesn't like him. But they'll get used to each other. They're not that different, you know."

"Dear gods, don't tell them that," Alfred whispered, feigning fright. Matthew giggled.

Alfred smiled at his brother. "I'm glad you're happy, Mattie. You deserve to be happy."

Companionably, Matthew looped his arm through Alfred's. "So do you, Al. I'm glad you found someone who makes you happy."

"What are you two giggling about?" Gilbert asked, turning to walk backwards.

"Nothing, love!" Matthew smiled innocently.

"Mattie's just telling me how you are in bed!" Alfred called. "Why else would we be laughing?"

"Al! No, I'm not!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes and turned back around.

"Jerk," Matthew hissed, pushing Alfred.

Alfred snickered and pushed back.

"Careful," Ivan said, catching Matthew under the arms and righting him. "Your family might be a bit miffed if we deliver you home covered in bruises."

"I think we're risking a bit miffed either way," Alfred pointed out. "They probably think we're dead. I can't even imagine how they're going to react, especially when they see these two," he gestured between Ivan and Gilbert. "They're not going to be happy."

"You don't know that, Al. I'm sure they'll just be relieved we're not dead," Matthew prophesied, albeit weakly.

"Relieved that we're mated and you're pregnant?"

Matthew pursed his lips. "Well... Dad will understand. He's an Omega. And I'm sure Uncle Scott will accept Gil and Ivan into the pack once we've explained. And Papa, uh..."

"Papa's going to have a fucking heart-attack," Alfred finished. He looked pointedly at his brother's abdomen, daring Matthew to argue.

He didn't.