DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD

WANDERLUST


FOUR

NORTH SEA

SIX WEEKS AGO

An island! Dad, it's an island!"

Mikkel was submerged in a deep sleep, dreaming of hunting, when something touched his shoulder. A growl leapt readily from his lips even before his eyes were open, and he sat upright so fast that he nearly head-butted his eldest Alpha-pup. Andrias snatched his hand back in apology. All three of the pups knew how deeply their sire slept and how violently he awoke if not gently coaxed. But Andrias recovered fast, too excited about the discovery he had made.

"Dad, there's an island!" he pointed.

Mikkel yawned loudly and stretched. His whole body ached with stiff exhaustion, but the bright midday sun chased the sleep from his eyes. "An island, hmm? Where? Show me."

Andrias led Mikkel to the bow, where Berwald was standing. Mikkel glowered.

"I thought I told you to stay on your side," he said sulkily, ignoring the fact that Tino walked freely across the deck whenever he pleased.

Berwald ignored him. "South-west," he said, and pointed in the direction Andrias had.

Mikkel shielded his sight from the sun and squinted, but he could only see the endless horizon. "Where?" he repeated gruffly, grumpy from lack of sleep. "I don't see anything, Andri."

"It's there," Andrias said, nervous of his sire's salty mood, but eager for the chance to prove himself.

Mikkel looked again, leaning forward over the bow. "Can you see an island?" he asked Berwald.

Berwald's reply was delayed. "No," he admitted. Mikkel huffed irritably. "But I can see a change in the water colour"—from dark blue to a paler grey—"and I can see birds."

"Birds?" Mikkel glanced skyward. "Where?"

"Every so often I see one, or hear one," Berwald reported, "always flying south-west. Andrias is right, there's land in that direction."

Mikkel glared at Berwald, hating the way Andrias' face brightened at the North-Easterner's affirming words.

"Andri," said Bjørn, his voice cutting the tension, "describe the island for your sire. Mick, listen to him, he's always had good eyes."

Andrias complied, eager, for once, to be the centre-of-attention. He described the shape of the landmass and then estimated the distance based on calculations Mikkel had taught him. Then he stood at the bow shielding his keen eyes against the sun, and guided Bjørn's hand while he steered and Mikkel and Berwald rowed. Seabirds wheeled and squawked overhead and eventually Mikkel could see water breaking on rocks. It was a flat plain of barren ground and scraggly brush, with a few haggard trees leaning into the harsh wind. A handful of massive stones had been erected by unknown hands, but otherwise the island looked deserted.

"Stay here," Mikkel said to Bjørn. He took an axe and then leapt overboard to scout for danger.

Berwald followed, and together they waded to shore.

"You go that way," Mikkel gestured, "I'll go this way. Howl if you find anything."

Mikkel didn't trust the gift of a deserted island in the middle of the North Sea. A chance to stretch sore limbs, scavenge for food and supplies, and rest in a campsite on solid-ground; it seemed too good to be true. But the father he stalked, the more his suspicions lessened. His nose smelled salt and rocks and earth and birds, but no predators; no hostile natives or travellers. Inland, he smelled mud and sulfur and followed the offensive scent and blow of heat to a pool of steaming water. There, he met Berwald, who had successfully circumnavigated the isle.

"A hot spring—?" Mikkel stared in disbelief.

Berwald nodded and experimentally kicked the surface. A splash of hot water licked Mikkel's face—Mikkel growled—but nothing else stirred.

"It's safe," said the North-Easterner.

Mikkel wiped his chin and finally let a smile onto his face. "Bjørn's going to be really happy about this."


A hot-spring?" Bjørn's cryptic violet eyes widened a fraction, unable to hide his excitement. "You mean, a real bath?"

"Yep!" Mikkel announced, grinning.

Bjørn glanced over at Tino, who was already preparing Peter for the shore excursion, then to his three pups, who were vibrating with impatience—Kujâk rolled on the balls of his feet; Emil stared longingly at the rising steam of the hot-spring; and Andrias, whose silence couldn't hide his smug smile—and then at Mikkel, whose expression was relaxed and cheerful like it hadn't been for weeks. It made the Omega smile, too.

"Yes," he said, permitting the venture, "going ashore sounds rather nice."


They left the knaar bobbing in the surf, weighted down by an anchor. The island may have been deserted, but it wasn't only native threats that would provoke a fast retreat if need be. If the weather turned ugly, as it so often did, the ship would be a safer place to take shelter than the wide-open plain. Besides, beaching it would mean a lot of pushing and pulling—and grunting and grumbling and growling—to secure it from the tide, and then more later to set sail again.

Tino passed Peter down into Berwald's waiting arms, then leapt overboard and landed in the surf. It hadn't looked so deep on the Alphas, but he sunk to his shoulders before his feet found purchase on the sand bottom. He felt like a pup as he half-swam to shore beside Andrias, who was only nine-years-old and already nearly Tino's height.

"At least the wind will dry our clothes quickly," he noted, shielding his face against a gust of fine pebbles. It was very windy on shore.

Together, the small company—Alpha-pups running ahead—walked inland until they reached the hot-spring, where they deposited their belongings and began removing layers of sodden clothes. Tino couldn't wait to sink himself in the inviting heat and soothing water of the natural hot spring, and to clean himself properly from head-to-toe with soap and oils. He couldn't wait to clean his clothes, too—I never thought I'd be excited to do laundry—and hang them in a wind unsaturated by salt and sea-spray, excited for them to actually be dry when he put them back on. And after the bathing and laundering was done, and provided there was wood to burn, sitting down by a real, roaring fire and eating a cooked meal that was not barley porridge, and then falling asleep on solid-ground. It sounded like a dream. A privilege they had not been allowed for weeks.

Thank-you, he prayed to the god of travellers, grateful for the small reprieve. Despite his Alpha-mate being a voyager, Tino had discovered quite early that he, himself, did not share Berwald's love of travel, and was glad to make a camp, even if only a temporary one.

He was untying Peter's little smock, fighting the newborn's squirming protests, when he heard Emil's voice:

"Papa?" he said quietly, almost shyly to Bjørn. "Are we all going in together?"

Tino followed the Omega-pup's line-of-sight and found Berwald, who had just pulled his shirt off overhead. Tino thought his Alpha-mate was rather handsome—a tall, broad-shouldered Alpha with a muscular torso baring lots of impressive old scars, and more than a little dark blonde hair—but no doubt the Omega-pup felt otherwise. The way Emil's eyes darted anxiously back-and-forth was proof enough that he didn't want to share a bath with an adult Alpha, especially not one as stern and stoic as Berwald, who's look, Tino admitted, didn't invoke comfort in strangers. His silence and stiff formality was great for scaring off unwanted guests, but not ideal for making friends.

Bjørn started to reply, but Mikkel's announcement interrupted:

"Your family on that side, mine on this side," he said, pointing to a rather large, jagged boulder that served as a barrier. It sat crookedly near the centre of the pool, too tall to see over once the occupants were submerged.

Emil looked doubtfully at his rowdy brothers and sighed.

"I have a better idea," Tino dared. "Alphas on that side, Omegas on this side."

"Problem solved," Bjørn agreed before Mikkel could protest. He strode by his disgruntled Alpha-mate with a smirk.

Mikkel and Berwald glared at their retreating backs, both feeling betrayed by his respective Omega, but Emil looked comforted, which Tino was glad for.

They left the remainder of their clothes on the rocks, then Bjørn and Emil eased themselves in with blissful sighs and a soft purr from the pup. Bjørn habitually reached up for Peter and held the newborn while Tino navigated the slippery rocks. Then Tino retrieved his Alpha-pup, sat back, and bobbed Peter up-and-down, his pudgy legs wind-milling over the surface as he giggled. The sight and sound made Tino's heart feel light, and even Emil laughed at the newborn's naive delight. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, relaxing, then began the rejuvenating process of cleaning oneself of weeks of soiled ship-life. It was certainly not a bath in rose water, but once his nose acclimatized to the offending sulfuric scent, Tino sent another prayer of gratitude skyward. Emil hugged his knees to his chest and sat obediently while Bjørn finger-combed soap through his locks, loosening the matted braids and tangles. Tino only then realized how long their hair was, since Mikkel's family kept their blonde—and jet-black; little Kujâk was an anomaly—hair pulled up most of the time. He wondered if it was a cultural custom and asked Bjørn.

"I suppose so," Bjørn replied, basing his logic on the fact that Berwald and Tino wore their hair short. "Do all North-Easterners keep their hair short, likes yours?"

"Most do, yes," Tino nodded.

Bjørn's long locks were beautiful, but also a lot of effort to maintain, and Tino couldn't help but imagine the repeated annoyance of washing, brushing, braiding, and treating for lice. When he said this, Bjørn laughed—actually, genuinely laughed. Tino just stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" Bjørn asked.

"Nothing, I just..." Tino grinned. "I didn't realize you had a sense of humour."

Bjørn splashed him in mock-offense, careful not to hit Peter. Emil giggled.

"Do you really think I've lived with Mick for twenty-five years without a sense of humour?" he countered.

Tino considered that, the big, exuberant pack-leader with the explosive emotions, good and bad, and ceded defeat. "Good point," he said.

Emil agreed by saying: "Dad's just an overgrown Alpha-pup. Most of the time," he added, quieter.

"You love him, don't you?" It was less a question and more an observation on Tino's part. "Both of you do."

Emil hesitated, then nodded bashfully. Bjørn said: "Very much."

"I thought so. It's not hard to see. It's nice." Tino smiled. "Too many Omegas are afraid of their Alphas."

"Too many Omegas have good reason to be."

Tino's smile fell into pensiveness. He held Peter against his chest, letting the newborn nose his neck, tasting the cloudy water with his little pink tongue. "Yes," he said softly, taking a long enough pause to draw Bjørn's curiosity.

"It's not Berwald you're thinking of, is it?" he guessed. Emil stayed obediently quiet, pretending not to listen. "You love Berwald," Bjørn said when Tino didn't. "You admire him, you care for him. He's not the Alpha who puts that scared look on your face."

"Scared?" Tino glanced up. Only then did he realize he had been looking down. "I don't know what you're..."

Bjørn's facial muscles didn't appear to change, but his expression did. Maybe it was his eyes, which suddenly seemed to say: Just what do you take me for?

"I don't know what happened to you, Tino," he said. "I don't know why you think you need to hide behind a submissive smile when you're with anyone but Berwald, and I won't ask you," he promised. "It's your secret to keep. But if you do want to tell," he paused, eyeing Tino with sincerity, "Emil and I are excellent secret-keepers."

Tino nodded, but didn't speak. Bjørn dressed Emil's hair in a dozen twisted braids, tying it all into a crown at the nape of his neck, while Tino sat lost in thought, absently rubbing Peter's back. The wind blew, carrying the sounds of waves and gulls but not conversation. Every so often Tino would hear a howl or bark from yonder, where the Alpha-pups played, Kujâk talking in the garbled tongue of an excited four-year-0ld: "Look, Dad! Look at what I can do!" but otherwise it was quiet, neither adult Alpha speaking to the other. It was funny, Tino thought, that the Omegas could hear the Alphas speaking, but the Alphas couldn't hear the Omegas, even in such close proximity.

What an awful weakness to have, he thought, knowing that he would feel defenceless without his ears. They had saved him too many times before.

"I was born in the Eastern Empire," he blurted.

The words were out before he could reconsider. He had never spoken them aloud before, never told his life-story to anyone, not even Berwald. And isn't that sad? he thought, feeling loneliness in his heart. To think that no one, not even his loving Alpha-mate, knew the truth about who he was made him feel very alone. Shyly he lifted his eyes to Bjørn's and saw the Omega staring back, tentative but patient, just waiting for Tino to continue. It was then that Tino knew if he didn't tell Bjørn now, then he would never tell anyone, and he wanted to tell. He wanted someone to know.

Someone should know the truth, he decided, and started again:

"I was born in a village on the far-eastern boarders of the North-East, a satellite state of the Eastern Empire. The Tsar's army had taken it during my grandparents' lifetime, before my dam was born. It was a small fishing village, and my grandparents chose each other to pair-bond, but by the time my dam was of-age the Eastern Empire's mating-laws had been established and her Alpha-mate was chosen by the State. He was an Alpha from the East. My sire," he said, swallowing the unfamiliar word, "though I never met him. He was a soldier like all the rest, and he died not long after he and my dam were pair-bonded. A few months later, I was born, and a few months after that Mama ran away. She was only fifteen, still young enough to be given again, likely to a widower much older than she. She never talked of my sire, but I got the feeling he had a lot to do with her not wanting to ever be mated again.

"Mama lived with a gypsy caravan for a while, then she found a family in need of a wet-nurse and decided to stay in their village. We lived there until I was eight—your age, Emil. We weren't wealthy and winters were hard. I had to beg for food more often than not, because we had no Alpha to provide for us. No Alpha to protect us," he stressed. "Mama taught me submission. We had no status in the village, so we had to be useful. We had to endear ourselves to the pack's Alphas, enough for them to pity us, to show us charity, but not enough to draw attention from them or their Omega-mates. It was lonely," he admitted. "No one spoke to us, no one bothered with us. We begged work and were then forgotten once the job was done. Sometimes I wonder if I could've had friends if it wasn't for Mama constantly reminding me how sub-human we were, no better than slaves to our betters. I wish..." Tino sighed. "I wish she'd had more courage, but then I feel guilty for blaming our situation on her. She'd had the courage to run away from the East, and that's more than most people have."

"What happened?" Bjørn asked. "Is that village where you met Berwald?"

"No," Tino shook his head. "But it is where I met the Oxenstierna clan—or, a raiding-party of them, at least. They came to the village one day demanding a protection tax, and when the pack-leader refused to pay, they attacked. A lot of people were killed, my dam included. When the pack-leader finally yielded, it was too late. The leader of the Oxenstierna pack took everything they had, including all of the pack's young Omegas, which included me. I was taken to live with the Oxenstierna clan, but aside from not having my dam my life didn't really change. I still worked and I still served, like I always had, and no one paid attention to me.

"No one... until Jens Oxenstierna."

"Papa," said Emil, standing abruptly. His words came out fast. "I'm too hot, I'm getting out now."

Bjørn nodded in understanding.

Tino felt bad for scaring the poor Omega-pup with Jens' name—the Alpha who had attacked his family. He felt guilty for ripping into an unhealed wound, but he wanted Bjørn to know. He and Berwald had been travelling with the North-Westerners for a fortnight, keeping to themselves, or helping with menial tasks, and never causing a fuss unless it was for Peter's sake, but Mikkel's temper had not simmered. He still snapped at Berwald, still growled at him unprovoked. He was still weary of his intentions, blatant as they were, and kept his pups at a distance. He was affable toward Tino, but he didn't trust Berwald, and that hurt Tino a lot. He hated that Mikkel associated Berwald with Jens, blood-relation or not. Berwald was nothing alike Jens, and Tino was determined to prove it.

"When we met," said Bjørn once Emil had dressed and left, "you said we have no love for Jens Oxenstierna."

Tino nodded, remembering it.

"Why?" Bjørn asked.

The doe-eyed Omega pursed his lips; hugged his newborn. I want them to know. I need them to know that we're not like him.

"Because," he said, staring at the cloudy water, "what Jens tried to do to you... he succeeded in doing to me.

"I was young and scared when I was taken to the Oxenstierna capital. I think I was always scared back then, whether I knew it or not. I didn't know how not to be scared, how not to be a slave. So, when the Clan Leader's Alpha-pup took a liking to me, I was flattered. He wasn't kind, exactly. Jens had never been kind. But he noticed me. He paid attention to me. He spoke to me, sometimes touched me. It was..." Tino cringed, pained by the memory and disgusted by the description he was about to use: "...nice. To have someone as strong as he acknowledge my existence was like a dream. By the time I was fourteen I was madly in love with him," he said, his cheeks heating in shame. "I knew that I couldn't compete for him. The Clan Leader's heir would never choose a half-Eastern slave. I wasn't foolish enough to think I would ever be his Omega-mate, but the way he treated me confused me. Not kindly—never kind," he repeated, "but his words and touches and attention was more validation than I had ever had in my life, so when he said sweet things to me, I believed him. When he made promises to me, I wanted to believe him so badly that I... I..."

It had been nine years since that awful, frightful night, but Tino's eyes still filled with tears when he spoke of it now, maybe because he had never spoken of it before. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to picture the night his virginity was forcibly taken, but it was useless. He would never forget that horror as long as he lived.

He didn't realize he was whimpering until a calm, cool voice said: "Hush."

Tino opened his eyes to find Bjørn sitting beside him. He didn't offer Tino a soothing word or an embrace; no invasive questions, or awkward touching. Instead he let Tino come to him. Like an Omega-father, he was simply there when needed, letting Tino inch close enough to rest his head carefully on Bjørn's shoulder. Peter stirred and began to lick water-beads from Bjørn's skin in exploration, but the North-Westerner didn't appear to mind. He tilted his head so that it was braced against Tino's, like two pups in a nest. It wasn't the enveloping protection of an Alpha-mate, but it was just as effective in a softer, quieter, more companionable way. The weight was soothing.

Tino's tears continued to fall, but so did his words:

"I let myself believe that Jens wanted to claim me, but I was wrong. He just wanted to mate me. It took me a long time to realize it, but when I finally did, when I tried to stop him, I couldn't. He was too strong, already sixteen-years-old, and I had always been small for my age. I cried and begged him to stop, but he didn't. He mated me and then told everyone about it afterward. They called me a lot of things—nobody would believe it was rape. Everyone had seen me fawning over him for years. The Alphas just laughed, and the Omegas criticized me for trying to seduce their Clan Leader's heir. They thought I had spread my legs for him and was now angry he had rejected me. I had had a few prospects before Jens—never high-status Alphas, but older, widowed Alphas who had voiced an interest in having me for his second Omega-mate—but after that night, no one wanted me. I was only fourteen, but already I had no hope of finding an Alpha-mate in the clan. Jens had ruined me, and I almost destroyed myself because of it," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I tried to drown myself. I jumped off a cliff into the water, but a pack of fishermen pulled me out. They took me back to the Clan Leader and made me stand there in front of everyone, dripping and shivering and crying. I was sure I would be exiled, and I might have been, if not for Berwald.

"He was the Clan Leader's nephew, Jens' cousin. He was sixteen, and had been away learning to voyage with his late-sire's crew. I had only seen him a few times before, on festival days, but I was frightened of him. Even as a pup he was big and stern and unfriendly. A lot of Omegas were timid of him—I laugh when I think of that now," he said, hiccupping a chuckle, "because Berwald is the kindest, sweetest, most selfless Alpha in the whole godsdamned world.

"He knew who I was—what I was—but he stepped out of the crowd. He didn't care what they thought of him, or what they would say. He didn't care how it would affect his status in the clan hierarchy. He looked his uncle right in the eye, and said: I'll take him.

"And that was it, just three words. At first I thought he meant to take me into the forest, escort me into exile. Then I realized the truth, that he had just promised himself to me; promised to be my Alpha-mate and protect me and provide for me and give me a place to belong. We were pair-bonded that night, though no one but the Clan Leader was there to witness it, and we were mated the following week when I was in Heat. And... we've been together ever since."

"Why did he do it?" Bjørn asked.

Tino delayed his reply, trying to hear judgement or scorn in Bjørn's tone. He sat up and wiped his face, trying to see disgust in the Omega's violet eyes, but he didn't, because it wasn't there. Bjørn merely stared at him, looking as he always did, almost bored if not for the tightness of his lips and the intense focus of his gaze.

"I asked myself that same question for a long, long time," he admitted, no longer touching but staying close to Bjørn. "Even after we were mated I still didn't believe that Berwald wanted me—that he could want me. I thought Jens had ruined me, and I felt guilty for ruining Berwald's life as well. He could've had any Omega he wanted, but he chose me, to save me. I tried to be grateful to him. I tried so hard to be a good, obedient Omega-mate, but I'm afraid I lost my temper more than once, and every time I did I feared he would revoke his vows and cast me out. He didn't, of course. Actually, he told me later that the first night I screamed at him was the moment he realized for certain that he loved me. He said he had never believed I was the meek little servant I pretended to be, that I had always had strength in me. It was the first time anyone had ever called me strong." He smiled. "But it still took me two years to accept that it was love between us and not pity or charity or obligation on his part."

"And your part—? You loved him, too," Bjørn guessed.

"Yes. He gave me a home and he wanted me for me. What more could anyone ask for? I think I was a fool not to realize it sooner."

"Sixteen isn't so old," said Bjørn sagely, leaning back.

Tino chuckled and readjusted Peter's sleeping weight—awake and lively one moment, dead-asleep the next. "How old were you," he asked, "when you realized you loved Mikkel?"

"Eight."

"Eight?"

This time, Bjørn laughed. "Yes, I was eight when I finally knew what to call it, but I've never not loved him."

"Twenty-five years is a long time," Tino acknowledged, feeling a little jealous. He and Berwald had only been together for nine.

"It is," Bjørn agreed, "but the number of years isn't what matters."

Tino waited for Bjørn to finish the thought, but he didn't. He just closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, as if nothing but the present mattered.

Tino smiled and followed his example, saying: "Yes, you're absolutely right."


Ouch!" Kujâk yipped. "Da-ad!"

"Well, if you'd just keep still," Mikkel argued, trying to comb through Kujâk's tangled locks, "it wouldn't hurt so much. Just sit—Oops."

Kujâk whined and arched his shoulders, his head bowed and bottom lip upturned in a pout. Mikkel rolled his eyes and tried to gather the pup's thick, unruly hair into a ponytail.

"Papa's better at braiding than you," Kujâk mumbled sulkily, then suddenly erupted into a fit of giggles when Mikkel began to tickle him.

"Oh, is that so? Is that what you think?" he teased, wrestling the squirming, sputtering pup. "Well, Papa's not here to save you, wee puffling. You're at my mercy!" He growled playfully as he lifted Kujâk up by the waist. Then he tossed him gently, provoking a gleeful shriek and a large splash, which drenched Berwald, who was sitting opposite.

The North-Easterner smiled privately, thinking of the day Peter would be old enough to teach and play-fight with, provoking yelps of concern from his over-protective dam. He could already hear Tino's scolding voice: Don't teach him that, it's dangerous! and he chuckled. He was eager for their sea journey to end so that they could establish a home and start raising their adopted Alpha-pup properly, without scrutiny and the threat of infanticide; without the looming danger of Jens.

Berwald still remembered the sneer on his cousin's face when he brought Peter home, the same pitiful doubt he had received from his shipmates when he had taken the orphan Alpha-pup from the Islander pack. "Just leave him, he's an islander," they said discriminately, telling Berwald the pup's blood was weak and worthless; telling him Peter wouldn't survive the voyage back east, it was kinder to let him starve. But Berwald ignored them, even the ones whose advice was well-meaning. The moment he had heard the newborn's frightened cry, he had wanted to rescue him from the Reaper's scythe. The moment he had stepped into the hut and saw Peter's birth-parents slaughtered, the house ransacked, and the little bundle crying in the corner, he had wanted to soothe him, protect him. The moment he had looked upon the little round face, pink and wet with tears, his blue eyes shining big and bright, he had fallen in love and knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Call it fate or divine intervention or blind good-luck, Berwald didn't know and didn't care. He lifted the newborn into his arms and knew then that he was the undeniable answer to his and Tino's prayers; the answer to their nine barren years. He remembered how Peter had ceased wailing the moment Berwald lifted him to hold, his tiny nose twitching in curiosity. He remembered the feel of that nose pressed gently to his. His shipmates scoffed and made jokes—always out of Berwald's reach—but the new Alpha-father paid them no mind. He recruited the aid of a nursing Omega that his shipmate had gotten pregnant, but when Peter was not feeding Berwald was holding him and guarding him. It was a long, stormy voyage, but he would deliver his pup—their pup—safely to Tino if it was the last thing he did.

Tino's face was the other memory he would never forget. He had come down to the water to welcome back the voyagers, like everyone else, his round eyes frantically searching the crowd for his Alpha-mate, always afraid that, one day, he might not come home. His back was turned when Berwald approached, but the sound of his Alpha-mate's deep voice quickly drew his attention. He smiled and habitually reached out to embrace Berwald, but stopped short when he saw the newborn cradled in the Alpha's arms. His gaze darted from Peter to Berwald and back in disbelief, in distrust. "Berwald—?" he whispered, daring to hope. Berwald had smiled and placed Peter in Tino's shaking arms. "This is Peter," he had said, "our Alpha-pup." Tino had cried for a week following the sudden adoption, bursting into joyful tears whenever he looked at his beautiful little newborn, whenever he looked at his Alpha-mate. Berwald had never seen him smile so much.

"Thank-you," Tino had said, kissing Berwald over-and-over. "Thank-you so much!"

It had been perfect, for a time. Berwald had had everything he had ever wanted—a home, a mate, a family, a place where he finally felt he belonged.

I will again, he promised himself. We will, together. We'll find a new home, a home that's just ours. A home where my Omega-mate and pup don't have to be afraid.

"You're really starting to creep me out."

Berwald looked up. Mikkel was staring glibly at him, an eyebrow cocked.

"Do you and your Omega-mate even talk, or do you just sit there staring at each other all day?" he criticised.

Berwald frowned. "I didn't realize you wanted a conversation with me so badly. All the glaring and growling really threw me off."

On-cue, Mikkel's throat rumbled. "There is nothing I want from the likes of you!" he spat.

Berwald tolerated the annoyance of Mikkel and his verbal abuse, but he was genuinely hurt by the looks of distrust on Andrias and Kujâk's faces, provoked by their sire's prejudice as he pulled them away from Berwald, as if he might unexpectedly attack. He wanted to defend himself to the pups, if not Mikkel, and promise to never harm them; tell them that he, too, was an Alpha-father who dearly loved his family, but it was useless. His words would be wasted as long as they lived beneath the influence of Mikkel's fear and anger, as long as they remembered Jens. The distance they had crossed was not enough to soften their memory when they spent every day aboard living-proof of their exile. He thought of Andrias, who understood what had happened, and of little Kujâk who did not, both scared of what they did and didn't know. And Berwald couldn't blame them, or Mikkel. His blood-scent was the same as a rapist, and if his and Mikkel's positions had been switched—if it had been his Omega-mate ravished and his pup endangered—he would be angry, too.

The truth was, he was angry, and he always would be for what his greedy cousin had done to Tino. A part of him was jealous of Mikkel for murdering Jens, because it was something that he had failed to do for nine long years, and even now, looking at Mikkel's burning blue eyes, it wasn't dislike or distrust that permeated his thoughts. It was a regret: It should've been me. I should've been the one to tear him apart.

Perhaps it was that thought, that malignant look, that made Andrias and Kujâk so nervous.

Berwald sighed. He loved pups, but had never been good with them. They were always too afraid of him.

Wordlessly, he climbed out of the hot-spring.


Emil kicked a stone and watched a flock of gulls take flight in alarm. Then he pried a weathered stick from beneath a rock and dragged it behind him on the shore. It was sandier here than where the knaar was anchored. If it was a nicer day, and if he had not just bathed, he would have considered a swim. Instead he unlaced his boots, rolled his trouser-legs up, and waded into the cold water, ankle-deep, then knee-deep, then ankle-deep again until he stood on a shallow sandbar a dozen paces from the beach. A harsh wind tore through his clothes, but his wet braids bound his hair at his neck, preventing tangles. The wind and waves roared in his ears, deafening him, but he still had his eyes and nose and hands to explore the uncharted isle. Behind him, the steam of the hot-spring puffed skyward; in front of him, the sea stretched endlessly to the horizon. He wondered how much longer it would be before they reached the Isles, a place Emil knew by poet's tales only; a place even his voyaging sire had only visited once.

He sighed deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of salt and sand and seaweed, hoping that Mikkel would let them stay here for a little while. Bjørn was going to be in Heat soon, and Emil didn't want to be aboard the ship when it happened. (He doubted anyone did.) Besides, he liked the wide-open space of the rocky island. He liked having the freedom to run and stretch and escape his Alpha brothers—one loud, the other condescending. And it would be nice to have another bath again so soon.

Emil fished a stone from the sand, wiped it off, then whipped it into the water with a wish. It skipped twice. Then he turned around—

—and screamed.


Berwald was tying his trousers when he heard Emil's scream. It was faint beneath the roaring wind, crashing surf, and bubbling hot-spring, but it was distinctly an Omega-pup's terrified cry for help.

"Em!" Mikkel yelled in alarm, but he was submerged, naked, and crowded by his Alpha-pups. He started to stand, but slipped on the rocks.

Berwald was already running.

Barefoot, he tore through the rocky field and reeds that grew on the dunes. The wind was blowing off-shore, blinding his nose, but his eyes saw a longboat and a scouting pack of Alphas on the otherwise deserted beach. One was kneeling in the boat; one was holding a fishing-net and a knife; and the last was dragging Emil across the beach as the Omega-pup fought.

"Dad! Dad, help!" he screamed, twisting and pulling and digging his bare heels into the sand, but to no avail. He stumbled and fell, yelling: "No—no! Get off of me! Please let me go!

"Dad!" he cried, before his captor descended on him. He yanked off his bandana and shoved it in Emil's open mouth, tying it at the back of his head. It stopped his screams, but not his protests. The Alpha by the longboat tossed his companion a length of rope to bind Emil's flailing hands.

Berwald was close enough to smell the Alphas, now; and they to smell him. The fisherman with the knife saw him first and yelled a warning, then lunged at Berwald in attack. Berwald absorbed the blow and shoved forcibly back, grappling with the knife-bearer while the other hefted Emil over his shoulder. He reached the longboat and dumped Emil inside, then turned back with a spear in his hand. Berwald thrust his knee into the knife-bearer's belly, knocking him back. He grabbed the Alpha's wrist and jerked it violently, hearing a distinct crack followed by a howl of pain. The knife fell from his hand, but the spear pierced Berwald's side. He grimaced and lost his footing, staggering in the sand. But the longboat was leaving shore, the Alpha inside rowing frantically for the safety of a larger ship. It looked like a fishing vessel, but an old one; a crippled one. There was probably only one, maybe two others on-board, and not a real warrior amongst them: just a haggard crew of desperate fishermen lucky to find a young Omega all alone on an empty beach. Berwald didn't know if they planned to sell Emil, enslave him, or mate him, but it didn't matter because they would never get the chance. He wouldn't let them.

A beastly growl bellowed from his throat and he hit the spear-bearer so hard the Alpha's feet left the ground. He fell hard and didn't stir. The other, defenceless without his knife, raised his fists to fight, but Berwald dodged the meager attack and grabbed the Alpha's shirt-collar. He jerked him forward, growled loudly, and then raised his fist to serve a fatal blow, but hesitated when he saw regret in the other's starving eyes; eyes full of fear and desperation. He chose mercy and, instead of beating the Alpha to death, challenging his warrior's strength against a hungry fisherman, he used his greater weight to lift the other and hurl him across the sand. Then, staggering, absently pressing a hand to his bloody side, he charged into the surf.

"Here, take him—just fucking take him!" the rower yielded, but Berwald's advance didn't slow. The sight of Emil, bound and gagged, fuelled his anger.

I won't let him take you, little pup. I'll get you back to your family.

When Berwald grabbed the longboat's stern, the rower panicked and threw Emil overboard. Berwald cursed him and let go, diving to rescue the sinking pup.

"It's okay, I've got you," he said, breaking the surface, holding Emil against his chest. The pup was trembling violently, his eyes wide and tearful. He looped his arms over Berwald's head and pressed his face to the Alpha's throat as Berwald returned to shore.

"Em!"

Mikkel—half-dressed; skin flushed—crashed into the surf to meet Berwald, who pushed Emil into his arms. "Oh, sweetheart. Oh, my wee puffling, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he gasped, kissing Emil's head and cheeks. He set Emil down on the beach and ripped off the bandana. Emil gasped and choked, then whined sadly and started to sob. He clutched his sire for safety after Mikkel undid the ropes binding his little wrists. "It's okay," he soothed, rubbing Emil's back. "It's okay now, you're safe. Em, it's all okay."

Berwald stood watching for a moment, relieved the Omega-pup was safe.

Then he collapsed in the sand.


Tino rushed to the beach as fast as he could while toting a newborn and a toddler. He pulled poor little Kujâk along by the hand and insisted that Andrias "keep up!", afraid to let any of them out of his sight since Emil's scream. Bjørn had gone on ahead of them, racing off after tugging on his smock. Tino could hear his frantic voice in the distance, calling: "Emil! Mick!"

"What happened?" asked Kujâk, confused, tripping over his feet. "Is Em okay?"

"I don't know," Tino replied.

By the time Tino and the pups reached the beach, Bjørn was sitting in the sand with Emil in his arms, gently rocking the distraught pup back-and-forth. Mikkel was stooped a few paces away, covered in Berwald's blood.

"What are you doing?" Tino gasped, letting go of Kujâk. He ran clumsily to Berwald's side and, one-handed, shoved Mikkel away. "Get away from him!" he growled, showing his teeth.

"Tino—" Mikkel started, but Tino clawed at him.

"Get away!" He growled again, placing himself protectively in front of his Alpha-mate. Peter started to cry.

"Tino."

This time, the raspy voice came from behind him, and Berwald's hand closed around his leg. Tino froze. He looked from Mikkel to Bjørn to his bloodied Alpha-mate and felt so confused. What happened? Emil was soaked and sobbing; Berwald was injured; Mikkel's hands were coated in Berwald's blood. Then he saw the two strangers lying in the sand, both unconscious, and the fishing vessel bobbing off-shore, and he shook his head. He saw the broken spear shaft and looked closer at Berwald's side.

"A-A-Are you okay?" he gasped, falling to his knees. Berwald's side was red; his face was deathly-white. "You need stitches. I-I-I—I need to stitch you up."

Berwald nodded. He was breathing too heavily, too slowly to speak. His eyelids drooped, but he took Tino's hand and squeezed in wordless reassurance.

Tino let Andrias take Peter, the Alpha-pup bouncing the crying newborn in a way that proved he had soothed younger siblings before. Then Tino pressed himself to Berwald's side, pulling his arm over his shoulders, and tried to lift him, but buckled lopsidedly beneath the Alpha's weight.

"Here, let me," Mikkel intervened. He crouched, then waited for Berwald's hands to find purchase on his shoulders. He tucked his arms under the North-Easterner's legs and then carried him back to the hot-spring like two overgrown pups playing piggyback. Tino hurried at his heels, his heart bruising his ribcage in panic.

"Breathe, my love. Deep breaths," he coached, staying close by Berwald's side as Mikkel let him down into a makeshift bed of sheets and clothes, the laundry Tino had been so eager to do. Bjørn brought a sewing kit and Mikkel fetched their last barrel of beer to drench Berwald's wound, then Tino set to work stitching him, keeping up a soothing narrative as he did. His hands were steady as he sewed, but the moment he was done, cutting the thread with Bjørn's fish-knife, he began shaking. Bjørn hovered and handed Tino linen to bandage Berwald, but Mikkel kept his distance until Berwald was breathing regularly, if deeply. His brow was creased in bewilderment, but Mikkel's royal-blue eyes were stern and downcast, his posture rigid. He looked from his pups—Andrias holding Peter; he and Kujâk flanking Emil like guard-dogs—to Bjørn, who was removing sullied linens, and finally to Berwald, bypassing Tino altogether. It was a long, tense minute before he knelt, and said:

"Why?"

Berwald stared wearily at him. Tino wrapped an arm protectively around his Alpha-mate, distrusting Mikkel.

"Why did you do that?" the North-Westerner elaborated. He sounded confused. "Why endanger yourself for my family?"

"Because..." Berwald said, his voice laboured. With effort, he lifted his hand and held it out. "...I am not my blood, Mikkel. I am not your enemy."

Tino waited anxiously for Mikkel to reply, to accept the extended friendship. Bjørn, too, stopped to watch the exchange.

Mikkel took a long time to decide, unsympathetic to Berwald's struggle, but decide he did. He glanced over at his teary-eyed Omega-pup, who was scared, but safe and unmolested, and then firmly grasped Berwald's hand.

"Okay," he said gruffly through his teeth. He squeezed Berwald's hand hard. Then repeated, softer: "Okay."