This is the 13-plus version, with the juicy parts cut out. For the full M version, please visit me on AO3!

Evening watch ends at two a.m.

In an odd state of wearily wide awake, Dep. Hunter Winchester unlocks and then nudges open his front door. The emptiness of an apartment where no one is waiting greets him with a presence of its own. Muffling. Heavy. Stale. He shuts the door behind him quietly, mindful of his neighbors. Leaving the lights off, he passes unadorned white walls on the way to the master bedroom, discarding his shoes as he goes, half a ghost himself, to greet the ghosts that already live there.

Eight months. Eight months since Kelly turned from the kitchen sink, set her soapy ring in the dish with the sponge and told him, makeup smearing down her face and into her smile, that she couldn't pretend anymore. Eight months since she and her belongings disappeared from around the apartment.

She might have thought she was being kind when she left their joint property untouched. Every single piece of it ended up in the dumpster by his hands, because he is a useless man who thought he could be what a woman needs.

He reaches out in the moon-streaked dark and touches the dainty gold ring on his dresser, the modest diamond set on its curve. He wonders if the same eight months that could have introduced an occupant to the second bedroom would have felt as long.

He sags, deflating like a bounce house when the party's over, lightly rapping his forehead on the pressed wood of the dresser's top. Four ten-hour shifts per week on patrol keep him busy, but maybe not busy enough; friends who aren't on the force are scarce these days, considering so many of them were mutual between him and Kelly. With nothing to do besides work, he spends his days thinking far too much, taking his frustrations out in the gym or on junkers in the salvage yard. It's only times like this, upon first returning home to the reminder of how all the color leached out of his world, that he feels numb enough to find peace.

But not tonight.

Tonight was pink.

That was his first thought on seeing her. The prickly omega woman growling at him from the depths of her winter coat, her long hair and face mask the hue of fresh carnations, waking him from what felt like a long slumber.

A short laugh escapes him. He shouldn't still be thinking about someone he ran across during a long night of work who was, like so many others, stuck in a bad situation and didn't have a choice whether to be in his company or not. It was more fun teasing her than it should have been, though, which made him wonder. What if? While face masks can't block all pheromones, they do obscure a lot. He curiously removed his out there on that snowy street corner. Just to see if anything would happen.

Nothing. No ping of recognition, nothing out of the ordinary at all. Only . . . nice. She smelled nice. That was it. He tried to ignore her then, to return to being the faceless, robotic law enforcer that people expect. To let her have her peace without yet another alpha hopefully wagging his tail in her face. Tried to tell himself that he wasn't disappointed. That he is used to the fact that omega pheromones excite him about as much as the smell of engine grease, fish bait, or road tar.

That he is used to the fact that he's a half-baked alpha.

His routine rarely varies. His wallet, badge, and watch join the abandoned engagement ring on the otherwise barren top of the dresser. Briefly, he sees the glass panes over the framed photos that used to stand there shatter as they strike the blue metal sides of a dumpster. His phone and his sidearm, in its holster, come to rest on the nightstand by what is still his side of the bed, and the glass of water untouched since the night before.

Kelly probably doesn't know, being beta, just how deeply possessive alphas are. Their programming doesn't include a speed setting, just an on/off switch that, once flipped, likes to lock in place. She doesn't know how he thought of her as his, and his alone, beyond the words themselves. It devastated him, how easily she left him. How smoothly she cut him out of her life. Shut the door behind her. Never looked back. She went running straight to her friend Dagon, who never bothered to make a secret out of how much she despised a cop like him. Last he heard, they moved in together, to that old farmhouse out on Ellis Road.

Hunter stares down at his phone, its screen blank in the dark room, thinking about something his father once said: The alpha and the omega, the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, denote a beginning and an end that create a whole. Das was referring to God, of course, but also to humanity. Omegas are not inferior. Alphas are not superior. When brought together, they are perfection.

An omega would know. An omega would not be able to leave as though he never mattered, not without some serious emotional scarring on both sides.

The thought scares the heck out of him. He doesn't want that. He scrubs his palms down his face. No matter what, he does not want to be the reason that someone can't make her own choices. He does not want to become so chemically entangled with another human that his mental and physical health are irrevocably chained to her. Not even if being with her would be the happiest, most meaningful experience of his life.

Just because his parents are mates doesn't mean that he, too, has a mate out there. Look at his brother. Always on the losing end of a string of meaningless relationships. Miraculously, Jimmy hasn't gotten himself mated to any of his boyfriends, and Hunter doubts he will.

If Hunter does have a mate, it isn't her. The woman with the long pink hair falling into her suspiciously narrowed eyes, doing her best to act tough around an officer of the law who outweighs her by at least seventy pounds.

All right, admit it already. She was cute.

Quickly, so as not to talk himself out of it, he picks up his phone and unlocks it, loosening his tie as he does. What was her name again? Right, Hayes. Rylie Hayes. He sinks onto the edge of his mattress while he taps out a minimal Google search. He expects nothing to come of it and won't dig any further. He'll leave it here, content with the momentary humor she stirred up.

He is therefore shocked at the number of hits that return. YouTube, Instagram, X, she and her pink-dyed hair are all over the place.

Apparently, Rylie Hayes is a musician and goes by the handle Angelpink. Really curious now, he chooses a TikTok video at random, scoots all the way onto the bed still dressed, and leans against the headboard to watch.

She's funny. In the first clip, she drops one of her drumsticks, an exaggerated toss clearly not meant to look like an accident. Her empty hand darts up to cover her mouth and her eyes fly innocently wide, but she doesn't miss a beat. She continues playing one-handed, flirting with the camera the whole time. In another, she pins her hair over her face with a pair of Lennon-style sunglasses, plops a derby hat onto her head, and proceeds to play along with a metal version of The Addams Family theme.

She's more than a little attractive. A clip, shot from somewhere near the floor so their faces aren't visible, showcases her and another young woman, both of them in sleepwear that highlights legs that go for days, sword fighting with the sticks until one of them trips backward over an electric drum kit and the camera goes sailing past a supremely indifferent Siamese cat; the clip cuts off to dual snorts of laughter.

She's also good at what she does. Scattered among the antics, she gives easy-to-follow tutorials or plays split-screen with musicians from across the globe. In every one of her videos, she is cheerful, personable, and inviting, well-spoken and informative. Her eyes are gray, almost clear, a trick of the reflected ring lighting shining around her pupils.

She's like spring chasing away the cold winter. Hunter, though he doesn't realize it, smiles as the light from his phone plays over his face.

xXx

Arthur Ketch leans an elbow against the archway leading down to the sitting room. Once upon a time, the sight of Lady Antonia Bevell furiously coming undone was enough to instantly turn him on.

Now . . .

Aw, the poor dear waited up for him, alone in the dark in her demure skirt suit, her hair coiffed, her makeup unsullied, as though she sat down only moments prior.

Nothing about her is an accident. This scene is all for show.

He can't focus properly through the whiskey-filled glasses that kept appearing at the bar, courtesy of Mick, but he's good at keeping up appearances too. Though he stumbles a little on the way down the three shallow steps to the sitting room, he doesn't spill the glass of water he carried in from the kitchen. He grins at his seething wife, the self-assured, sex-fueled grin that used to lure her in and which is now completely at odds with the cruel words he longs to say to her.

"Dearest. Don't go away angry." He lifts a hand as though to brush strands of blonde from a flushed cheek but giggles instead, pointing limply at her. "Just go away."

Toni clearly wasn't planning on going anywhere. In the kind of deathly quiet voice that makes him think of a thin sheet of ice stretched over black rapids, she says, "Though I can't detect pheromones, I can smell her all over you."

"You have the advantage then." He'll dance on that ice until it cracks, just to watch her perfect features break too. Who says romance is dead? "She can detect them, but she'll never catch a whiff of you."

Toni's white hand flashes in the semidarkness. It whips past his nose.

Rather, it doesn't. How extraordinary. Sharp stinging heats up the left side of his face. The sound of the slap rings in his ears. He flicks his tongue at the corner of his mouth and tastes copper.

Toni lifts her chin, malice sparkling in her pale eyes. She looks so fragile, slender and delicate. She's everything but. He holds no illusions about this particular woman. She won't hesitate to eviscerate him if the opportunity presents itself. That used to be half the fun. "I've suffered through too many years of this farce of a marriage, Arthur Ketch, because it is still a marriage. My marriage. Next time, have the decency to lie."

"Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all. I have no desire to hide it." He flops onto the vacated sofa, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie askew, and takes a gulp of his water. "You beta ladies wouldn't understand what happens when a strong, healthy alpha such as myself discovers a feisty, young, delicious omega—"

He can't mask his glee toward the end. When she doesn't respond, not even to interrupt, he sneaks a peek at her. There's enough ambient light for him to make out her stricken expression.

For some reason, her naked pain kills his mood. He sighs, scrubbing at his hair, mussing it. "Toni—" her name comes out as a whine— "I'm not trying to hurt you. There's a real chance here—"

"For you to have a child." Her throat, working, straining, constricts her words. "I understand the mechanics of this particular situation."

"For us to have a child," he corrects her. This time, when he reaches out, he catches her hand. The one that struck him. He turns it over and plants a kiss on her palm. He murmurs into its pink warmth, knowing she feels the aftereffects of the slap, as he does. "For us to be parents. I have no intention of leaving you out in the cold. I'm suggesting a surrogate, not a replacement. This doesn't have to be antagonistic. You never know. You might like her as much as I do. The two of you might even be friends."

Toni bursts out laughing, a harpy's shriek of utter incredulity and disdain, and, irritated, he switches gears before she can put her contempt into words. "Think of it as an opportunity. A chance to realize our dream. Don't you want that? Don't you want a child to raise? You so loved our boy Archie—"

He stops cold as soon as the name passes his lips. Bloody hell. Bloody Mick and his bloody unkillable liver. That was a mistake.

"Of course," she says into the loaded silence, her voice high, thin, and tremulous. "Who wouldn't jump at the chance to pretend he never existed? To forget the shame I brought upon us when I lived through childbirth, yet I couldn't keep our infant son alive? To dismiss the agony of knowing that I am now barren? Do you hear yourself? Any child of yours will have no connection to me, or to Archie!" She steps back, her entire frame trembling, her nostrils flaring, her lips bloodless. "You can go straight to hell, you miserable selfish bastard."

Ripping her hand from his grasp, she hurries out of the room.

He slouches into the sofa cushions as the sound of her heels clicking on tile fades. He throws back his head and yells, "I've been there for years already!"

Then he frowns into the depths of his water glass, wishing it were something else. Toni's gone, as he wanted, but she left a growing headache behind.

Too bad he couldn't convince that vivacious omega to stay. He wouldn't have bothered coming home. Her scent was intoxicating. He closes his eyes and breathes deep and slow, attempting to recapture its essence.

The exercise works better than he expects. The memory of her slams into him, explodes outward, sends a jolt through his whole body.

CENSORED

It's ridiculous. This isn't his first go-around. He's not a boy, struggling through puberty and its initial onslaught of pheromones. There has to be a reason.

Dazed, he cleans himself up. The explanation isn't long in arriving.

His smile is slow. His victory is assured.

He is alpha. She is omega. Of course he was worked up.

Any alpha would be once he met his mate.

xXx

What was so special about tonight?

Joseph didn't notice anything different about Corbett. He was the same as always, toeing the line between ribbing and flirting, stepping into range and then infuriatingly out of reach again. He seemed unbothered by the whole scene at the Banshee, even while it was happening. See, Corbett always seems unbothered, while he, Joseph, is always a reactionary mess. Which is part of the problem. Another alpha touching Corbett, standing so close to him, breathing the same air as him, nearly drove Joseph through the roof.

Tonight took an unexpected turn, though, didn't it? He lies pinned, his back flattened to the floor, his jeans and his shorts shoved down and hobbling his ankles, but does he not care. He runs his hands up Corbett's heated skin, from his taut thighs to his sharp hips. He smooths them higher, fingers rubbing the trim waist, thumbs kneading the less-defined abs. In a few months, the wintry paleness of Corbett's skin will darken to a beautiful tan, but even pallid like this, knees and shoulders and ears contrastingly rosy, Joseph's never seen anything so enticing.

By this point, dawn can't be far off. He can't keep his voice steady. "Are you sure about this? I mean, it's okay, we can pretend this didn't happen, you don't have to—"

"Dude. You're thinking too much. Stop thinking."

CENSORED

He can't quite believe that they're here. He should never have tempted them, inviting Corbett over to finish the drinking they couldn't get to at the bar. Corbett should have told him no and gone home like he always does, instead of turning around and knocking on Joseph's door.

They're friends. This isn't what friends do.

For too many years, Corbett made it clear that this, right here, right now, was never going to happen. Yet he has Joseph stretched out between the sofa and the coffee table, a video game paused on the TV, the cold bones of chicken wings hidden amid the napkin wreckage on the table, most of their clothes flung to the arm of the sofa, the lamp in the corner, the floor. It's so damn late it's early. They're both drunk and stupid and horny. They're going to regret this. They're going to—

CENSORED

As amazing as this feels, however, Joseph isn't completely out of it. It's different, sleeping with a beta. His hypothalamus is swimming in its own pheromones, but there's no mating response from Corbett, no chemical reaction firing between them. That end of the line is dead, so to speak. Joseph's alpha instincts want to be confused, but he's too euphoric to care. This is Corbett, with whom he's been in love since they were fourteen years old. Maybe even before that. Summer and the blasted countryside belonged to them back then, free from familial expectations and scholastic responsibilities. Now that they're grown, things have changed, but not their friendship. Not until tonight.

He is never going to regret this.

CENSORED

Joseph doesn't know what to say, so he clears his throat and then says the first thing that comes to mind. "Wow."

Whole face red, Corbett bursts out laughing. Joseph thrills to the sound. He's so happy he can't handle it. There's something about sex with a man he cares about that makes it so much better than some one night stand. How long has he dreamed of this? How long has he suffered from the sidelines, hoping, yearning, for this? Now he has it, and he'd rather die than let it go.

Perhaps he's still too wasted, floating in his post-orgasmic high, as he encourages Corbett to shower first. Perhaps he's too grateful that it's Saturday and neither of them have to go to work that day. Perhaps he's too self-centered, focused on wrapping his arms around a lover who smells like his soap, pillowing his head on his chest to listen to his breathing and his heartbeat. Perhaps he really is a dumbass. That must be why he doesn't notice Corbett's subtly shifting mood.

He wakes up hours later, his vision fuzzy, his stomach rocky, and a headache pounding railroad spikes through his skull. Corbett's weight and warmth are long gone. As are his clothes, with nothing left to take their place. Though he clearly tidied Joseph's shabby living room before taking off, there's no note, no text, no missed call. Nothing to indicate that he'd ever been there, or ever plans to come back.

A familiar emptiness hollows out Joseph's insides and leaves him standing there in the quiet, his arms hanging bereft at his sides.

A/N: It's Friday, Yay! I know that doesn't mean the same thing to everyone, but I'm always happy to see another successful week in the books. Thanks go again to Beta Reader of the Century, St4r Hunter.

Anyhoo, took a bit more work to make this chapter palatable to a T rating, sorry about that, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far anyway!

Please leave a review before you go, okay? Luv ya!

~ Anne