#141 pack

Socks.

It’s the kind of gift every kid dreads getting during the holidays. At one point in my life, I felt the exact same way.

The first Christmas I spent with Uncle Dave and his wife, I didn’t know what to expect. I sat cross-legged on the rug with a paper plate of half-burnt cookies in my lap when they handed me my one and only present. I remember my mind spinning with possibilities of what it could be.

I tore it open, and there they were. 

Socks.

I tried to smile, but I could feel the disappointment burning behind my teeth. It wasn’t like I’d ever had a huge pile of gifts under a tree before, but somehow that made it worse. My one present… and it was socks? My chest went tight. I almost lost it right there.

That was until Rosco leaned over, that famous grin of his cutting through my pity party.

“Check again,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. I looked up at him, fighting off tears, confused as hell. He grabbed the socks, still held together by the little plastic piece in the middle, and opened it wide enough for me to see the real gift hidden inside.

I don’t even remember what it was that first year. More often than not, it was a gift card, but sometimes it had money or an IOU scribbled in Dave’s messy handwriting for something I could cash in later, like a morning off from chores or free equipment mending. Regardless, socks soon became my favorite gift.

Every year after that, they changed a little. They went from those fuzzy gas station ones to the sturdy ones with wool linings. Then, once I started to work longer hours, they turned into the really nice compression socks. 

Dave also started getting creative with his delivery. What began as a lumpy, badly wrapped present under the tree turned into a yearly scavenger hunt. I’d find them tucked into my work boots, hidden in the fridge, or stuffed beside the ledger with the day’s chores. 

Sure, I still got little trinkets and candy in my stocking with the rest of the farm family, but those socks were really what I was looking forward to when it came to my pack’s holiday festivities.

So, when I opened the box from Johnny’s parents and saw socks folded neatly inside, my throat immediately tightened.

They were a soft, simple, pale gray pair, with little flecks of white. The label said they were made from Scottish sheep wool, and I could see the fibers fluffing up the socks a little. My fingers brushed the fabric, and suddenly I was ten years old again, sitting in front of the tree, pretending I wasn’t about to cry over a pair of socks.

The feeling hit me hard and fast. I blinked a few times, swallowed down the lump in my throat, and gave them the best smile I could muster in that moment. 

I know they had no idea, had no way of knowing. To them, this was just a cozy, practical gift for their son’s new packmate. But to me, it felt like fulfilling a tradition I didn’t even realize I had.

I laughed to myself, wiping at my eyes before anyone besides Simon could notice. Still, I held onto them the whole night, because they were something precious to me now. New socks for my new life.

Johnny’s family had been nothing short of wonderful from the moment we arrived.

The second we’d stepped through the front door, his mum wrapped us in hugs that could rival my weighted blanket. 

Her smile was wide and genuine, the kind that made her whole face crinkle at the corners. She scolded the boys for not visiting more often, swatting Johnny’s arm before turning to Bee and me, declaring she’d been “blessed with more daughters this year”.

The house itself smelled like roast, pine cleaner, and warm drinks. Every room buzzed with movement. Kids shrieked with laughter, someone shouted over a whistling kettle, holiday music battling for dominance with the noise of family.

Johnny’s sisters welcomed us with the same enthusiasm their mom did.

Maggie, the oldest, swept us into warm hugs the second we met her. She introduced us to her four lively kids like the proud, alpha mom she was before introducing us to her quiet mate, Archie.

Archie had that quiet authority about him that only experienced omega parents had. It was the kind that kept the kids from getting too rowdy with nothing more than a raised brow and a smirk.

Clare, the middle sister, was a sharp-edged beta with pressed slacks, perfect posture, and a quick wit that matched Simon’s dry humor almost too well. 

It was clear that they had years of gentle understanding between them, sharing subtle, amused glances from opposite sides of the room when chaos escalated around them. It was like watching two cats ignore the dog park around them.

And then there was Isla, the youngest of the trio. But, as she liked to remind everyone, not the youngest of the siblings, that title belonged to Johnny. She was a whirlwind of energy, showing off her new alpha husband, Fraser.

They gushed over wedding photos from the ceremony Johnny had missed. Isla spoke with the kind of bright, unshakable enthusiasm only a newlywed could manage, describing every hiccup of the day with glittering eyes. She said that ever since she’d presented as a beta, she’d been determined to have the most “fairytale wedding” imaginable, and by the photos, it looked like she had done just that.

It was all very charming in a loud, slightly overwhelming way.

Bee fit right in almost instantly. Her easy laugh and open warmth seemed to mesh seamlessly with the chaos. She jumped into helping in the kitchen, got roped into board games with the kids, and chatted with the sisters as if she’d known them for years. 

Watching her shine like that, especially after she’d spent the car ride worrying herself sick about first impressions and not knowing what gifts to get, made something warm settle in my chest.

Every time our eyes met across the room, she looked genuinely happy. And that made me happy.

The kids were definitely a weakness for me. Maggie’s kids had the cutest accents that had my heart absolutely destroyed. I often found myself cooing to myself or Simon when one of them would say something.

The only real hitch was the face mask I had on that first day.

My teeth were still healing from dropping during the attack, and the last thing I wanted was to scare the kids with them. The family was already used to Simon wearing masks, so I was thankful that wearing one didn’t get me more than just a curious glance.

What I didn’t expect was Archie cornering me in the kitchen that evening while everyone else fussed over hanging ornaments on the tree.

He didn’t do it in a threatening way, that’s not his style. Rather, he had that air about him that just made you want to spill your entire life story just because of how safe he made the room feel.

He stepped beside me while I was drying dishes, lowered his voice and asked gently, “Lass, why’re you wearing that mask?”

I told him the truth. About the attack. About the number of attacks I had been in. How, ultimately, I just didn’t want to accidentally frighten the little ones.

Archie listened without interrupting, arms folded loosely over his chest, expression softening with every sentence. Then he surprised me. 

“Take it off,” he said. Not unkind. Not demanding. Just… certain.

Before I could even form an argument, he continued, “We’re raisin’ the kids to know not every omega looks the same. People survive things, it changes them, that’s life. Your teeth aren’t somethin’ to hide, they’re proof you fought for yourself and won.”

I blinked at him, in complete shock, before my eyes started to burn. Archie didn’t hesitate, pulling me into a tight hug that only amplified the many years he’d been doing this to his own kids. 

By the time I calmed down enough to function properly, I nodded and took the mask off. 

Simon noticed instantly, joining me across the room when I had snuck my way back in after doing the dishes. He removed his own, only having worn it in solidarity for me.

Eventually, there were some questions from the kids, but nothing was laced with fear or disgust like I thought it’d be. If anything, they accepted the fact and seemed to move on rather quickly.

All of Johnny’s family seemed far more interested in proudly showing off their favorite Christmas traditions to me and Bee. It was oddly comforting, like being absorbed into a current instead of being examined under a spotlight.

On our second night there, we bundled up and headed into town for the Christmas market. Strings of lights crisscrossed over the cobblestone streets, casting the little town in a warm golden haze.

Every shopfront glowed, every window was frosted at the edges, and the chatter of the crowd rolled through the square like music.

The sisters absolutely insisted that I try mulled wine. I hesitated at first, bracing myself for something too sickly sweet, but it was… good. Smooth, not too sweet, and just the right amount of spices to make it taste festive.

I ended up mostly using the cup to thaw my fingers, but I’d occasionally sip it to feel like I was participating in the tradition enough.

From there, everything turned into a whirl of color and motion. The girls tugged me from stall to stall, wrapping knitted scarves around my neck or plopping fuzzy hats onto my head. 

Samples were constantly being shoved into my mouth, whether it was fudge, roasted nuts, or little pastries dusted with sugar.

Honestly, Bee was made for this environment, practically vibrating the whole time. She sparkled under the lights and seemed to be an expert at bobbing and weaving through the crowd to look at something shiny she had found. 

Behind us, Simon and Johnny followed at their own pace, both wearing smiles too wide to be legal. Every time Bee hauled me toward another booth, I’d glance over my shoulder and catch them staring at us like we were the highlight reel of their entire holiday.

And then Archie joined us.

If the energy had been high before, Arche managed to double it effortlessly. One second, he was wrangling the kids with Maggie, and the next, he was beside us with something soft to touch or something delicious to smell, always knowing exactly what would make an omega light up.

He had an uncanny sense for it. Watching him work… that’s when what he’d told me in the kitchen really sank in.

Archie wasn’t the stereotypical omega. Besides the fact that he was a male, an already rare commodity in the omega world, he had a kind of confident softness to him that I found myself envying.

He chased scents and textures with the enthusiasm of someone who loved beauty for beauty’s sake, but also was able to command his horde of children with a single raised brow. He was gentle and fierce in the same breath.

It was fascinating to watch. I had been living in a world where it seemed I could only be one of those things and was forced to be the opposite. Seeing it meld together in perfect harmony had me reflecting on myself, rethinking how I might be able to function like this. 

Maggie seemed the perfect partner to be with him, too. She was the perfect amplification to his fierce side, ready to stand firm by his side at any moment, while giving him the reins to be himself at the same time. 

At one point, she leaned over to us, whispering to both Bee and I, “Love Archie, I swear I do, but he’s worse than the weans at these markets. Always sneakin’ off to buy somethin’ for the nest or the house. “

She was proven hilariously right when Archie had to be physically pulled from a scent-infused pillow booth… only to reappear three stalls later with a suspiciously stuffed bag tucked under his arm. 

Something inside of me shifted, watching him be so unapologetically himself. His words from the kitchen replayed in my head as I set new goals for myself to try and be more like Archie.

By far, the best part of the entire visit with Johnny’s family was the final meal we all shared together. Johnny’s mom put her heart and soul into preparing a full, traditional, Scottish Christmas dinner. 

The pride in her eyes when she ushered us toward the table made it clear she’d been planning this for quite some time.

It felt strange not being allowed to help cook. I offered, more than once, and each time she shooed me out of the kitchen with the same firm hand she used on Johnny when he’d try to sneak food.

Eventually, I managed to weasel my way into helping set the table with the kids. They took this job very seriously and I did my best to follow their instructions so I didn’t get kicked out of something else.

Once everything was arranged, Johnny’s mom came around with brightly colored paper tubes and set one on every plate. Her face lit up as she explained that she’d gone out of her way to find the “good Christmas crackers” this year. I’d never seen anything like this before, but everyone else reacted like this was an essential part of the celebration.

Before we ate, everyone took their seats and crossed their arms, each of us grabbing one end of a cracked belonging to the person beside us. Maggie gave a countdown, and on “three!” the room exploded into a chorus of sharp pops.

I jumped hard enough to rattle the cutlery, earning immediate giggles from the kids and a few snorts from the adults. I laughed along with them, cheeks hot but warm in the best way.

When the noise settled, Simon reached across the table and slid my cracked toward me with a soft nudge, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Inside was a flimsy golden paper crown, a truly cringe-worthy joke, and the tiniest wind-up toy I had ever seen. My prize was a penguin that waddled in crooked little circles across the table.

Simon’s cracker contained a miniature ring-toss set, and within about three throws, he’s already lost one of the rings to a crack in the table. 

We were told, very sternly by Maggie’s eldest, that there were no exceptions to the crowl rule, so every one of us wore our crowls through the whole meal. I didn’t mind, especially not when Simon adjusted his own crown with a quiet, sheepish smile… one that made him seem almost younger and softer.

Once I ended up getting a taste of the food, it was game over for me. The smell alone was enough to make my eyes water with joy. Platters of roasted meats, buttery potatoes in all sorts of different forms, gravy that you could practically drink, and something called haggis that I was told was vegetarian, but I had my doubts because of how savory it ended up being. 

There were parsnips and sprouts, homemade cranberry sauce, and even more potatoes because, apparently, “you can never have too many,” according to Johnny’s mom, and after everything we ate, I completely agree with her.

I lost count of how many times I filled my plate. And somehow, every dish tasted better than the last.

The whole dining room buzzed with conversation and laughter. Plates scraped, glasses clinked, children argued over who had the better cracker prize, and the warmth of the kitchen seeped into my bones. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that content. Full in every sense of the word.

At one point, I looked toward Simon.

He was sitting quietly, watching the chaos unfold with that small, private smile he usually saved just for me. When our eyes met, the noise of the room softened, fading into a warm, blurred hum behind us.

For a heartbeat, it felt like we were the only people at that table. The feeling lingered as we were dismissed for presents and eventually as I lay my head against his shoulder, clutching a pair of socks to my chest.

Saying goodbye to Johnny’s family was a bit sad, but being able to see Simon’s hometown made up for it. He had booked an Airbnb for us that was small, but surprisingly comfortable. It had brick walls with ivy that crept up the side and something about it just screamed “British family home”.

The street we were on was also lined with homes just like it, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and puffing thin trails of smoke from their chimneys.

The neighborhood bled into the textile factories and little local shops that the town was known for. There were bakeries, cute cafes, hardware stores that looked older than the both of us combined, and a river that ran through everything.

There was a strange charm to it all. Cozy, yes, but there was something hollow under the surface. Like the town had long since settled into the ache of remembering better days.

In some ways, it reminded me of Simon himself. Steady and weathered, but in a beautiful sort of way. I couldn’t help thinking that the place suited who he was now, but I couldn’t imagine him being a child living here. It felt too still for that, too careful.

This evening, Simon was determined to give me a glimpse into what he called “proper British living”. He offered to pick up a few things from the grocery store so we could make dinner together in the tiny kitchen while I got settled in. The idea of cooking with him, just the two of us, had made my chest warm, and I eagerly agreed.

I put my things away quickly and jumped at the opportunity to finally give Mo a call. I’d been putting off this call ever since I got out of the infirmary.

Mo no doubt knows something is up because I haven’t even opened her messages for about a week, and the guilt of that coils up my stomach as well.

But… I just couldn’t. Every time I thought about opening them, my stomach twisted up even more. I’d seen glimpses from the message previews. Holiday plans, little updates about Henry, and part of me ached to devour every word. But another part knew that to do that, I’d have to answer back.

I sat at the small dining table, the gray sky shining through the window, and pressed call, holding my breath.

“What. The. Fuck,” she answers, her voice sharp enough to make me wince.

I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “Hi, Mo,” I say softly.

“Don’t ‘Hi, Mo,’ me! Where the fuck have you been?”

“It’s… a long story.”

“Well, I got time,” she fires back, that old spitfire in her tone that makes something spark in my chest. It sinks in how much I miss her. 

With a heavy sigh, I tell her as much as I can. Simon and I talked about it on the drive over, about what I could and couldn’t share with her. It’s hard, keeping parts of my life secret from her. But until everything is finally settled, I get it. We have to be careful.

I tell her that some omegas attacked me, that I ended up in the infirmary for a few days to recover.

I don’t tell her that I was slowly being poisoned the entire time.

I do tell her about Johnny’s family, about how they welcomed me in and showed me what a UK Christmas feels like. 

I don’t tell her how, every time we went anywhere, I kept one eye on the crowd, and the other on the exits, old instincts flaring to life now that I know someone could be watching us at any time.

By the time I finish, she’s quieter. I can hear her breathing through the speaker, that tiny hitch she gets when she’s trying not to sound worried, like she knows there’s more to this.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Okay… I guess I can’t stay mad if you were in the hospital. But you still should’ve called, Boo. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I wanted to call sooner, but I got wrapped up in Johnny’s family, and I just wanted to make sure I had time to talk to you.”

She sighs, long and tired. “You’re lucky I love you, you pain in the ass.”

That earns a small laugh out of me. “Think that’ll be the one thing that never changes about me,” I tease.

She gives a sound of agreement before filling me in on what I’ve missed. She sends photos and videos of Henry’s first holiday performance. He’s in a paper snowflake outfit, standing dead center on stage, singing his little heart out with the rest of his class. My chest aches in the best and worst way.

Then she starts venting about the holiday drama. Her family, Lucas’ family, the endless tug-of-war about where they’re spending Christmas Eve versus Day. 

“I swear,” she mutters, “if one more person tells me I’m being too emotional about it, I’m throwing a whole damn Christmas tree at them.”

I grin, imagining her pacing her big, too-perfect kitchen, gesturing wildly with one hand while holding the phone with the other.

“You’d probably win that fight,” I tease.

“You bet your ass I would,” she fires back, and for a moment, it’s like no time has passed between us at all. Just an omega and her beta, trying to find light in the middle of the mess, laughing like a couple of school girls.

Mo’s still laughing when I hear the front door open. The sounds of boots scraping the mat and the rustle of grocery bags reach me before Simon calls out. “Boo? You here?”

“Yeah, in the dining room,” I call out, as Mo’s laughter fades through the speaker.

“That your Brit?” she asks, amusement thick in her voice.

“Yeah,” I smile as he peeks his head in, like he needed to physically see me before moving into the kitchen. “He’s home.”

“Well, tell him I said thanks for keeping your feral ass alive,” she says. “And call me again soon. I mean it this time, Boo. Don’t make me hunt you down, because I will.”

I laugh softly, blinking back the tears that start to grow at the corners of my eyes. “I know you will. I’ll reach out more, I promise.”

We hang up, and for a long moment, I just sit there at the table, phone still in hand. The flat is quiet again, minus the sound of Simon unpacking in the kitchen. 

When I finally make my way in there, Simon’s tossing out the last bag. He looks up at me, his hair mussed from the wind outside. 

“You get to chat with Mo?” he asks, his tone easy, but his eyes searching.

“Yeah,” I say softly, leaning against the counter. “She was… pissed. But she’s okay now. It was nice, hearing her voice again.”

He hums, setting the last tin aside before standing. “Good,” he says, brushing his hands off on his jeans before he looks me over. “You needed that.”

“I guess I did,” I admit. My voice comes out smaller than I mean for it to. “It made everything feel a bit more normal for a minute.”

He steps closer, the distance between us shrinking until I can smell the cold air still clinging to his coat. 

“You’ve had enough crazy to last a lifetime,” he murmurs.

I manage a small smile. “I really have, haven’t I?”

He studies me for a beat, something soft flickering in his eyes before his hand rises to the back of my head. His fingers thread gently through my hair, and he leans in until his lips brush mine.

The kiss starts tender, but the moment his tongue slips past my lips, it quickly gets heated. His nose is cold against my cheek, a shock against the warmth that quickly builds between us.

My hands slide up around his neck, pulling him closer. His arms fold around my waist, pressing me against him until it feels like there’s no space left to breathe, and really, there’s no reason to.

It’s dizzying, how easy it is to lose myself in him. For a few heartbeats, everything else falls away. 

It’s just me and Simon.

Then my stomach growls, loud and rude enough to make us both pause.

He pulls back just slightly, lips still close enough that I can feel the ghost of his breath when he huffs a quiet laugh. 

“I take it that wasn’t a purr,” he says, amusement tugging at the edge of his voice. “You hungry, love?”

“Yes,” I admit between shallow breaths, “but I can wait.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps back reluctantly. “Don’t think I can risk not feeding you. You bite,” he teases, eyes glinting.

I give him an exaggerated pout and turn toward the counter. “Fine,” I sigh dramatically. “Show me this proper British dinner, then.”

He smirks, tugging off his coat and tossing it on a nearby chair. “All right, love. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. We’re simple folk, it’s not going to be anything fancy.”

“Think I can handle it,” I shoot back, already rolling up my sleeves.

His laugh is quiet and gravelly, a low rumble that lives somewhere deep in his chest, almost damn near a purr.

We fall into rhythm easily. Simon chops vegetables with steady hands, while I stir things on the stove, the air filling with the hiss of butter and roasted herbs. Every now and then, we brush up against each other, and each time feels more and more deliberate, like we need each other’s touch.

A couple of dishes go into the oven, and before long, we’re shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter, working in tandem. It feels… nice. Easy. 

There’s something about seeing him like this, sleeves all rolled up and brows furrowed in focus, that makes my chest ache in the best way.

When everything’s finally done, the kitchen is a bit of a mess, but the meal itself looks incredible. 

Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, because apparently there’s gotta be more than one kinda potato, roasted vegetables, and a cut of meat sit on the plates in front of us.

“Not bad for ‘simple’,” I say, eyeing the spread.

He snorts softly as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Told you, nothin’ fancy. Just good food, done proper.”

“Proper, huh?” I tease. “But we’re about to smother everything in gravy, no?”

He grins, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching up. “Aye. That’s the British way.”

I can’t help but laugh as he starts ladling gravy over everything like it’s holy water. 

Halfway through the meal, Simon looks up from his plate. There’s a glint in his eye, the kind that usually means he’s going to try and throw me off balance.

“Were you still interested in getting a tattoo?” he asks, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

I blink, effectively caught off guard. “Yeah,” I say after swallowing my bite. I grab a nearby napkin to dab at my mouth. “Why?”

“My artist’s got a spot open the day after next.” He says it so simply, like he hadn’t just sent a bolt of excitement through me. “If you want, I could—”

“Yes!” I blurt out before he can even finish, the word tumbling out faster than I mean it to. His low chuckle rumbles across the table, and I feel my face heat up. “Uh… yes, please,” I add a little quieter.

“Alright,” he murmurs, still smiling as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll let ‘em know yer interested.”

I pick up a bit of potato, trying to play it cool. “You know what you want?” he asks without looking up.

“Kinda,” I admit, twisting my fork between my fingers. “I just… don’t know if it’d look good.”

That gets his attention. He looks up from his phone, giving me that patient, steady look that always pulls more words out of me than I intend.

I bite my lower lip. “I also… kinda want it to be a surprise. Is that… okay?”

He shrugs one shoulder, easy. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Not leavin’ you there by yourself, though.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” I say with a small smile. “Don’t think I’d want to be alone there without you.”

He nods, thumb tapping across his screen. “I’ll send you their contact info. Just shoot ‘em a message, and they’ll take care of you.”

“Perfect,” I beam, feeling a little giddy. I don’t know why this hits me so hard. Maybe it’s the normalcy of it all. After being turned down so many times, I finally get the chance to do this.

Simon finishes the message, sets his phone down, and glances back up at me. “We’ve also got time in the week to go to a salon, if you’d like.”

I blink again, running a hand through my hair instinctually. It’s long, the longest it’s been in years. That was something that was expected to be back on the farm. Used to hate how heavy it felt. 

But now, I’m used to the weight. Plus, I like the way Simon runs his fingers through it when it’s down, how it feels when one of the girls braids it. Still… the ends are rough. It’s been an incredibly long time since I’ve had anyone touch it with the proper equipment.

“Yeah,” I say softly after a beat, nodding. “I think I could use a trim. Thank you.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying me like he always does.

“What about you?” I ask. “Gonna get your hair cut at a sah-lawn,” I drawl, exaggerating the way he says the word just to mess with him.

He gives me that deadpan stare that never quite hides the amusement in his eyes. “Nah. I usually just do it myself or have one of the lads help. Might let one of ‘em give it a trim at the cabin.”

I raise a brow, smirking. “Really? You don’t wanna go to a proper barber or anything? Aren’t you worried Johnny’s gonna make you have matching mohawks or something?”

That gets a quiet huff of laughter out of him. “Tried it once. Made sure he wouldn’t do something like that again.”

I snort, picturing Simon with a mohawk. “Sad I missed that.”

He leans back in his chair, lips twitching. “Don’t be.” Then, after a moment, “If you’re up for it, there’s a Christmas market in Manchester tonight. Could get the rest of the shopping out of the way there.”

I perk up a little. “Yeah?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. It’s decent. Bit crowded, but it’s better than running around last minute.”

I nod, smiling at the thought. “Alright. After we finish?”

He grunts back in acknowledgment.

That’s how we end up in the middle of Manchester an hour later.

Just like Johnny’s hometown market, the town looks like it’s been swallowed by Christmas. Lights drape from building to building, tangled in strings of gold and red that shimmer against the stone facades.

The only difference is that the market here is easily five times the size of the one Johnny took us to. It sprawls across the square and spills into side streets, each lined with vendors selling everything from carved ornaments to steaming pies. The shop windows behind the stalls are packed with ribbons and glitter, beckoning shoppers inside.

Only a block in, Simon and I already have our arms full of bags. 

My breath puffs in the chill as I laugh. “You weren’t kidding. I think we just need something for Kyle and we’re all set.”

Simon grunts, scanning a nearby stall. “We should get him a Man U jersey,” he mutters, voice just low enough for me to hear. The laugh that leaves me is an ugly bark, only aiding to make him laugh as well. We continue to weave through another row of stalls, the crowd seeming to press closer as the night deepens.

Chatter and music mix with the sharp scents around us, and I notice Simon start to get quieter. His hand brushes mine every few steps, little touches that seem more like habit than coincidence.

When we stop at a booth selling carved wooden ornaments, I look over to find him a little tighter than normal. His shoulders sit high up, his jaw clearly set. There’s a tension in him that doesn’t match the gentle vibes we had earlier.

I shift a little closer, pretending to study a carved reindeer before leaning toward him.

“Hey,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft so it’s just for him. “I think I’m starting to get a little tired. Do you mind if we head home?”

His gaze flicks down at me, as if he’s reassessing me. 

I give him a gentle smile, lifting up the bags. “Plus, I think if I add anything else, my arms might fall off.”

He reaches for a bag, and I pull it away with a roll of my eyes. “Not asking you to carry more, just think I’m done for the night.” 

He takes me in one more time before giving me a solid nod. 

With expert precision that feels reminiscent of the kidnapping drill, he guides us out of the row of vendors and down the sidewalk.

Once we’re clear of the crowd, I watch his shoulder slowly start to fall back into place. I exhale, feeling a bit better myself now that he’s more relaxed.

It’s not a long walk back to the car, but he still adjusts his bags to free up a hand and offers it up to me. I quickly follow, before giving in and passing him a bag so I can more comfortably hold his hand. 

By the time we get home, his jaw isn’t locked tight and his shoulders are far looser, but there’s still a lingering heaviness to him that I can’t quite place.

We drop off the bags in the center of the living room, and I’m halfway through slipping off my coat when Simon turns suddenly. I startle, not expecting such a quick movement from him. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he pulls me into a hug. 

I’m still a bit confused, but I easily push my cheek into his chest. His breath puffs warmly against my hair before he murmurs, “Do you know how cute you are?”

I tilt my head against him, not expecting that to be the thing he’d say. “...Cute?”

“Mmhmm.”

I huff a laugh. “No, can’t say I do.”

He leans back just enough to look at me, his eyes softer now.

“Looked so cute tonight, lookin’ at everything with those big eyes o’ yours,” he says quietly. “Wanted to buy up the whole market for ya, just to see how big I could make ‘em.”

I pull myself back up against his chest and snort, the sound a little muffled by his shirt. “Glad you didn’t. That woulda been silly.”

I look up to see a smile on his face, the real one that always makes my heart throb. His fingers slide up, cradling my cheek.

“Not if it meant I got to see you smile,” he murmurs.

The world feels smaller in that moment. Just us, soft lamplight, the faint smell of dampness clinging to our clothes. I find myself smiling again without meaning to, leaning into his hand before he can even pull away.

He’s quiet for a moment, gaze fixed on me. I watch something in it spark before he finally talks, voice low and rough. “‘M sorry, love. Don’t think I have it in me to hold back anymore.”

Before I say or do anything, he presses closer, hips finding mine. The sudden weight of him against me making my breath catch. 

That’s when it clicks. The tension that’s been there all along hasn’t been frustration or worry. It’s been… hunger.

“You’ve been drivin’ me mad,” he murmurs, words brushing the shell of my ear. “So sweet with Johnny’s family. So damn beautiful under those lights. Such a sweet girl, explorin’ my world.”

My pulse stutters. The air between us feels instantly heavier, humming with unspoken words. 

His hands slide down, settling at my hips, thumbs tracing small, possessive circles that make it hard to think.

“Been wantin’ you,” he admits softly. “Every time you smiled, every time you laughed. Just wanted to pull you close, show ‘em you were mine.”

His hand comes between us, and I can’t help spreading my legs for him, letting him rub me over my clothes however he wants.

“Yours,” I say as he successfully finds my clit over my clothes. I buck up into his hand.

“Atta girl. Get nice and wet for me. Wanna get you drippin’ so I can just slide in, ya?”

I nod against his chest, easily submitting to him. It’s insane just how far we’ve come in a few months. The man I thought hated me, now making me weak with such little effort. 

Simon removes his hand from me, making me let out a needy whine. With a quiet shush, he unbuttons my jeans just enough to slip his fingers inside my panties. 

My folds are already starting to get slick, making him groan against my ear, and I swear I can feel his cock throb between us.

“Fuck, just like that. So soaked already for me,” he growls, moving to rub my clit in tight circles.

I gasp, spreading my legs wider, giving him better access. Simon takes the opportunity to tug my jeans and panties down, exposing me to the cool air. 

His fingers are quickly back on me, teasing my folds. He can’t help but let out a low, approving growl at how needy I’m getting.

“Such a sweet girl, so eager for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

I whimper in response, arching into his touch as a finger finally slips inside me. He pumps it slowly, softly working me open before quickly adding another one. 

I’m a panting mess, breathing into his shirt, clutching onto it for dear life as his fingers settle right at the spot I need them to. He starts to curl them the way I like, and my body starts to tremble lightly. I lean more into his chest, needing him to help keep me up already. 

My walls clench down around his fingers, so desperate, not realizing just how much I needed this. 

My head tilts up to find him smirking down at me, lust heavy in his eyes. “There she is,” he coos at me. “Gonna come right here in the living room? Drip all over the floor?”

He pushes his scent out, making my mind go a little fuzzy. I don’t even realize I’ve nodded until after I’ve done it. 

“Please, Simon…” I whimper, my hips shamelessly bucking up into his hand. The cool air and the thrusts of his fingers have me shivering against him. 

“Don’t worry, love. I got you. Go ahead and be a good girl for me, and then we can take this to the bedroom, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” I whisper, desperate for more, for release. My body is on fire now, every nerve desperate and aching with need.

Simon smirks, a dark, hungry look in his eyes as he watches me come undone on his fingers. He pumps them faster, harder, his palm grinding against my clit with each thrust.

The obscene sound of my arousal fills the room, my scent mixing with it. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment and lust. 

“Fuck, just like that, baby. Gonna come all over my fingers?” he growls, voice low and rough with his own desire.

I whimper, too lost in sensation to do anything else. My body is his, I’m completely at his mercy as he works me towards my peak.

With a final hard thrust and press of his thumb against my clit, I’m coming undone. I cry out, back arching sharply as my walls clamp down like a vice around his fingers.

“Simon!” I nearly scream, slick gushing out to soak his hand and the floor beneath us. He works me through it, fingers gentling as I start to come down.

It’s only once I’ve slumped against his chest, feeling boneless, that he pulls his fingers out of me. I watch as he brings them up to his lips to lick them clean.

“Delicious,” he purrs before scooping me up into his big, strong arms. I let out an undignified squeak.

My pants are still wrapped around my ankles as he carries me toward the bedroom. “H-holy shit,” I breathe. “I… I don’t know why I never considered you’d be able to carry me.”

Simon chuckles darkly at my dazed comment. “What? You think these muscles are just for you to drool over?”

As we reach the bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind us. He sets me down gently on the bed, eyes hungry as they trace over my naked half. He stands up, moving to lock the door before moving to help undress the rest of me.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah? Need to see all of you.” 

I can only watch with hooded eyes, cheeks flushed as he reveals more and more of me. My shirt gets tossed on the floor, my bra quickly joining it until I’m in nothing but my socks.

I work on kicking them off as his hands come to cup my breasts. “Beautiful,” he breathes. He thumbs my nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they’re stiff peaks. I arch into his touch with a soft moan, craving more.

He leans down to capture one of my nipples in his mouth, suckling greedily as his hands roam my curves. I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him to me as he gives his attention to my nipple.

His other hand trails down my stomach, fingertips tracing the lines of my body until he reaches my dripping folds. He groans around my nipple as he feels how wet I still am for him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, releasing my nipple with a pop.

He brings his fingers up to show me, coated in my arousal. “All this from just a little fingering. You’re going to be the death of me, love.” 

My legs spread further on their own. “It’s all for you,” I breathe. “Only for you.”

He smirks at my words before he settles between my thighs, rubbing his hard, clothed cock along my slick folds. I whimper at the friction, hips rolling up to meet his. The outside of his pants are quickly covered in my slick, and the sight of it makes something in Simon snap.

He quickly stands up, undoing his belt and shoving his pants down in a matter of seconds. His shirt and boxers are quick to follow, cock slapping against his stomach as he approaches me on the bed again in nothing but his dog tags.

“God, Simon,” I breathe. “I need you.”

“I know, love,” he reassures me as he starts lining himself up with my entrance. The broad head of his cock nudges against my opening, and it's at that moment that I remember just how much I have to stretch for him.

I tense slightly, a bit nervous for some reason, but he’s right there to reassure me.

“Breathe for me, love. Take a deep breath and relax. You’ve taken me before, you’ll be able to do it again.” 

He starts pushing forward slowly, his thick cock spreading my walls obscenely.

I gasp, feeling so incredibly full already, and just the first few inches of him are in. It’s a lot easier this time than last time, like my body knows it’s him and easily opens up. 

I listen to him, taking a deep breath, and even more of him easily slides in.

“That's it, love. Just like that. Fuck, you’re so goddman tight,” he grits out. I can feel every throb of his cock as he settles for a moment, stretching me out. After a few short moments, he starts pushing again, and it’s just enough to have him settle flush against my hips.

I take a moment to adjust to his size, feeling so full, but in the best way possible. After a few deep breaths, I’m able to relax my walls around him.

“O-okay,” I breathe out, my voice a little shaky. “I’m good.”

I look up at him with hooded eyes, noting how it looks like he’s holding himself back again. 

“Please,” I whine. “Need you to move, wanna feel more of you.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a slight growl, he starts to move, hips snapping forward as he thrusts himself inside me. I cry out, back arching off the bed as he bottoms out.

The bed creaks beneath us with each powerful thrust of his hips.

I can only hang on, nails reaching up to dig into his back as he takes me. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body, walls clenching down around him again. 

“Yes. Yes, fuck! Just like that!” I scream, too lost in the feeling of him inside me, stretching me, claiming me. 

He leans down to capture my lips in a bruising kiss, tongue delving into my mouth. I return it just as fierce, all teeth and tongue, as we lose ourselves in each other.

He hooks my legs over his shoulders, nearly bending me in half as he pounds into me. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, hitting that special spot inside of me with every thrust.

“Ah, yes!” I cry out. “There, please, right there, fuck.” My head falls back as he keeps ruthlessly pounding into me.

“Shit,” he hisses. “I can feel you getting tighter.”

His dog tags dangle between us, and with a quick motion, he tosses them over his shoulder and onto his back, keeping them out of the way. We both chuckle for half a second before he hits that spot inside of me that just turns me to mush.

I start to get really close, my body tensing and trembling beneath him. In a moment of desperation, I move my head to the side and start nibbling along his tattooed arm, my teeth just lightly grazing his skin. 

“Fuck, baby. You like that?” he growls, his thrusts become slightly harder and a bit more erratic.

I’m too focused on the feeling of him inside me, the way my body is stretched taut around his thick cock to respond. 

I’m so unbearably close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. My pussy clenches down on him like a vice, trying to hold him inside me.

“Please, please, please…” I babble incoherently, drool starting to leak from the corner of my mouth as it stays latched around his arm. The taste of his skin, the overwhelming presence of his scent, the way he feels inside of me, it’s all too much.

My mind goes blank as I chase my high, my eyes glazing over as I take in his muscular form above me. His muscles ripple and flex as he pounds into me. My eyes trail over his stomach and chest before following the trail of his tattoos down his arm.

My teeth lightly dig in more as my orgasm suddenly bursts through me. My pussy clamps down around his cock like a vice, walls fluttering and pulsing around him.

“Fuck, yes! That’s it, love. Come on my cock,” he growls, not slowing his thrusts at all. 

I’m shaking and trembling beneath him, body overloaded with pleasure. My teeth and nails dig into him as I ride through the waves of pleasure. 

He leans down, kissing my temple and panting into my hair.

“Fuck, takin' me so well,” he murmurs, pulling up to stare at where my mouth connects to his arm. “Guess they really are for droolin’ over, huh?”

As my orgasm subsides, I go limp and pull my mouth away from his arm, completely spent. 

We both share a small laugh as he picks up his thrusts, his knot now starting to catch at my entrance. My hips jerk slightly, a bit overstimulated from my recent orgasm.

“‘S ok, love. Just relax again, and I’ll get us all tied up,” he tells me.

I whimper softly as I feel his knot going a bit deeper, stretching me even more. I take a deep breath and do my best to listen to relax.

“Good girl,” he praises, turning me into jello once again. 

His thrusts turn a bit more shallow as he thrusts his knot back and forth against my entrance. “Just like that, love. Gonna fill up this sweet cunt right up.”

With a final, hard thrust, his knot locks into place. I gasp as I feel his hot seed start to pump into me, coating my insides. 

He moans above me as he works through his orgasm. His body shakes for a moment until he lowers himself down gently, like he’s worried about crushing me. His breath is still uneven when he buries his face into my neck.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, almost slurred like he’s drunk. “Love you. Love bein’ tied to you like this.”

For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. The words sink in and make my stomach flip.

“You… you love me?” The question slips out before I can stop it, too fragile to sound real.

He goes still for a moment, then lifts his head. His eyes are heavy, but clear as that small smile greets me. 

“‘Course I do,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

For once, I can’t find the words to respond. I just stare at him, brain short-circuiting as I try to put a singular thought together,

He tilts his head, reading whatever’s flickering across my face. “You don’t have to say it back,” he murmurs. “Not if you’re not ready.”

I shake my head, blinking fast. “It’s not that,” I say, voice cracking a little. “I’ve felt the same for some time now, I just… I didn’t expect to hear it from you so soon.”

He raises a brow, something like amusement flickering behind his eyes. I take a shaky breath, trying to laugh but only managing a soft huff.

“Thought I was just bein’ a lovesick pup,” I admit. “Didn’t think you felt the same.”

His smile widens just a little. “You think I’d be standin’ guard in the infirmary for two days if I didn’t?”

A wild grin splits across my face now. “Guess not,” I whisper.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine, his voice a low rumble against my skin. “You’ve had me from the start, love. Sorry I had you thinkin’ otherwise.”

Something in my chest tugs, and I swear I can feel the last bits of doubt I had about us melting away. I wrap my arms around him, breathing him in, letting the moment anchor me. 

We end up drifting asleep like that, tangled up in one another as the day's events tug us under. His knot stays inside me, but by the time I wake, it’s deflated. The warmth and scent of our lovemaking lingers in the air as I stir awake.

We shifted in our sleep, both turned onto our sides, but our legs and arms are still a mess of limbs and blankets. He’s got me curled up into his chest, protective even when he sleeps.

I blink slowly, letting my eyes adjust to the pale morning light that filters through the curtains. My gaze drifts up to his face, admiring how peaceful he looks, relaxed in a way I rarely get to see. The shadows beneath his eyes are softer here, his mouth slack and gentle instead of tight and locked with his jaw.

For a long time, I just watch him breathe, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Last night drifts back through my mind in flashes. The warmth of his hands, the way he said he loved me, the groan he let out when his knot finally settled inside me.

I can’t help the little shift of my hips, the faint squirm as I think about the memories. The sheets tug slightly, and the motion is enough to stir him.

Simon’s brow furrows faintly before his eyes crack open, bleary and heavy with sleep. He blinks once, takes me in, then lets his eyes fall shut again with a low, content groan.

His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer, and he buries his face into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp.

A soft, sleepy growl hums in his chest before he mumbles, voice rough and low. “Up early, love?”

I blush, caught red-handed. “Couldn’t help it,” I admit, squirming slightly as his arm tightens around me. “Started thinking about last night and just… couldn’t get back to sleep.”

He hums again, the sound low and indulgent as he noses into my neck, breathing in my scent. “Mmmm. I can smell that,” he rumbles, voice dipping deliciously darker. “Gettin’ all hot and bothered again for me, love?”

I nod, biting my lip as heat rushes to my cheeks.

“Fuck, you smell good,” he growls. The vibration of his voice sends shivers down my spine, and I feel a fresh wave of slick gather between my thighs.

He senses it immediately, because of course he does.

His hands wander lazily down my body before finding their place over my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, drawing a soft sound from me.

“My, my,” he murmurs, teasing. “Someone’s feeling needy this morning.” 

“Probably has something to do with falling asleep on your knot,” I shoot back, breathless but grinning.

He chuckles, a dark, pleased sound. “Mmm. Could be,” he purrs. 

Before I can say anything else, he shifts, rolling us over until I’m straddling him. I gasp, catching myself with my palms on his chest, heart pounding. He looks up at me through heavy lashes, expression hungry enough to steal the air right out of my lungs.

“Fuck,” he says as his eyes roam over me like I’m something sacred. “Look at you. So goddamn gorgeous, even first thing in the morning.”

I blush harder, not able to stop the triumphant smile that tugs at my lips. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” I tease, letting my hands brush along his chest.

He growls softly, one brow arched. “Not so bad, huh? Careful, love, flattery might get you into trouble.”

I giggle, shifting slightly to lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth where the scar crawls out of. “Hmm… think I can handle the consequences,” I murmur.

His hands slide to my hips, holding me steady as he tilts his head, lips brushing against mine in a slow, lazy kiss. 

There’s no rush or frantic urgency. It’s just the two of us, tangled up together in the early morning light.

That is, until my pussy decides she needs to run the show and starts practically dripping slick onto his hardening cock.

He smirks against my lips, hands squeezing my hips. “Gettin’ excited, love?” he teases.

I bury my face against his chest to try to hide my embarrassment. “Shut up,” I mumble, even as I grin down at him slightly.

He chuckles. “You weren’t kiddin’ about gettin’ all hot and bothered when you’re on top of a blonde.”

“You know, I can always punch you awake again next time,” I shoot back.

He grins up at me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mmm, I think I prefer this method much more, love. Definitely a better way to start the day.”

To emphasize his point, he rolls his hips up against mine, letting me feel his cock pressing against my slick folds. I gasp, back arching slightly at the sensation.

“Oh!” I breathe out. “Fuck, you’re already so hard.”

“Hard not to be when you’re rubbin’ up on me, love.”

He rolls his hips again, rubbing his thick length against my slit. I moan softly, head falling back as I start to grind down against him instinctively.

He groans, hands gripping my hips tightly as he meets my movements. “Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls. “Gonna slide right in, ain’t ya?”

A spark of determination blooms in my chest. I want to take him all at once. I bite my bottom lip and nod before lifting up slightly. 

Reaching down, I grip the base of his cock, lightly stroking it a few times before moving my hand up to steady him closer to the head.

I rub the head of his cock over my slit a few times, coating it before I try my best to sit down on it.

There’s a slight bit of resistance before his head slowly starts pushing in. With a slow breath, I feel myself stretching around him, pulling him in deeper. 

“Fuck,” I curse as my hips instinctively end up sliding down to meet with his own. I whimper as I feel his full length inside of me, completely filling me. There’s a slight bit of tension, making me lean forward to pull out the last bit of his cock where his knot would be.

I let out a whimper. “Fuck, you’re so deep,” I pant out, trying to adjust to his size. It doesn’t take long, just a few seconds, probably since we had just been at this a few hours ago.

Slowly, I’m able to start rocking up and down without much friction.

He curses under his breath, and I watch as he does his best not to thrust up into me, letting me take my time and use him as I need to.

“Fuck.” I swear. Damn, is that the only word I know right now?

“You feel so good,” I manage to get out as I settle on a slow, rocking rhythm. Pants and breathy moans leave me as Simon’s hands run up and down the outside of my thighs.

I can feel every inch of him throbbing inside of me, stretching me out so perfectly. It’s intense, slightly too much, but in the best way possible.

“God, I swear I can feel you in my throat,” I tease.

He chuckles breathlessly. “‘S ok, love. Take your time. Make yourself feel good.”

I nod, continuing to slowly rock against him. Suddenly, I feel a spark of pleasure shoot through me as his cock drags against a sensitive spot inside of me.

“Oh fuck!” I cry out, back arching and head getting thrown back as I grind harder against him.

He groans, hands gripping my hips tighter as I clench down around him. “That’s it, love. Found a sweet spot, didn’t ya?” he growls. 

I moan in response, giving him a pathetic nod. He rocks his hips up ever so slightly so that his cock presses harder against my insides. The next time I lift up, my head goes foggy from how good his cock feels rubbing up against that spot.

 I know that I’m only lifting up maybe an inch or two, but the way that he’s grinding against me has me almost drooling all over him again.

My breaths start to turn into frantic pants as I desperately try to keep the motion of rocking his cock against that spot.

My hips start to stutter, unable to move the way I need them to just because of how good it all feels. Simon seems to catch on when I let out a pathetic whimper.

“I got ya,” he tells me, grabbing my waist and helping lift me up and down. My eyes roll back with my head as he helps guide me slowly up and down his cock.

It’s not fast and feral like sex normally is for me, but maybe that’s what’s got my legs shaking so much. The feeling of him slowly rubbing over that same spot has me completely lost in myself. 

“Puh-please,” I whimper as he guides me up and down. “D-don’t stop. Please don’t stop. H-holy fuck.”

My voice is broken and raspy as I feel him tense below me. 

“Please, please, please,” I’m chanting mindlessly as he gets me closer and closer to the edge. My legs shake as my walls tighten around him. White hot bliss is right in front of my face, yet so far at the same time.

I grip and claw at his chest in front of me, just needing something, anything more, being so close to the edge. My whining fills the space between us, loud and raw. I don’t care that I’m being so loud, I need this.

It seems Simon on the other hand, does care.

Before I can even process what’s happening, something cold and smooth presses against my bottom lip. My eyes snap open, not realizing I had closed them. Looking down, I find Simon holding his dog tags to my mouth, watching me expectantly.

Instinctively, my tongue snakes out, tasting the cool metal and the saltiness of his fingers. I’m panting as I continue to roll my hips against him. The metallic tang is strange but electric, only heightened by the salt of his skin. 

He nudges the dog tag gently against my bottom teeth. “Bite,” he instructs, his eyes dark and commanding before adding, “gently.”

I lower my jaw carefully, holding the tag between my teeth, thankful for the rubber barrier that’s around them. My breaths come in ragged pants around them, muffling my moans just slightly. The hand that offered me the tag slides back to my waist, helping me rock against that spot that sends sparks straight to my core.

Drool mixes with the metal against my tongue as my eyes lock with his, both os us caught in the shared closeness. His gaze drives me, spurring me to keep grinding down, making every nerve in my body light up.

I let myself feel everything, so lost in the sensations that when my orgasm finally crashes over me, I lose all sense of control. My body trembles, spasming against him as I work through wave after wave. 

I come back to myself moments later, blinking at the world around me as the dog tag slips from my mouth, bouncing wetly against my chest before landing on his. 

“Atta girl,” he praises from below me. His husky tone is thick with approval and desire, letting me know he enjoyed that just as much as I did.

My hips come to a stop as I try to catch my breath, but the aftershocks in my pussy refuse to let me rest. I collapse slightly, coming to lie against him as I search for a steady breath.

“Fuck,” I murmur between ragged exhales. “That was… fuckin’ hot.”

His chuckle moves us up and down. He rubs my back before giving a light kiss to the side of my temple. 

“Glad you liked it,” he murmurs, voice tender but still edged with arousal. “Thought it might have been a bit… weird.”

“No,” I insist, breath catching. “No, fuck. That… that was just what I needed.”

He chuffs, lightly thrusting into me. I nuzzle the side of his head, pulling up just a little to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

“Seems like you liked it too,” I tease, letting my hips respond instinctively.

“Was hot,” he says with a breath. “Seein’ you with my tags…. might… might have you just wear ‘em.”

I cock my head, regaining enough composure to tease back, starting to rock my hips again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, with that lustful, longing look in his eyes again. “Wanna… wanna collar you with ‘em.”

My heart stutters and my hips follow.

“Yeah?” I whisper softly, voice slightly trembling, betraying the emotions stirring in my chest. So much is being said with so few words, and after his confession last night, my chest feels so full.

He studies me, eyes dark and intent, seemingly running through something in his head before his expression steels.

“Yeah,” he says finally, firm and sure.

And with that, he grabs the chain around his neck and slides it gently over my head. My chest tightens and my heart hammers as tears prick my eyes. The emotion of the gesture make my hips pick up again.

I rock back and forth on his cock, hoping that the motion portrays everything I’m feeling right now.

“Alpha,” I breathe, as the weight settles around my neck. His hand comes up to cradle the side of my face. I nuzzle into it before getting back to trying to make him cum. 

My hips bounce up and down freely now. His head falls back as he watches me with heavy eyes. The hand on his cheek slides down to grab the tags, pulling me just a bit closer, and I can’t help but close the distance between us.

The kiss we share is passionate and feels like we’re welding our two bodies together with how heated it is. 

All of a sudden, his hands fly to my hips, guiding me to move faster as he pulls away.

“Fuck,” he growls as he starts slamming me down against him. 

Small moans and mewls leave me as another orgasm comes creeping up on me again.

“S-Simon I’m…”

The way his knot catches against my entrance tells me all I need to know about how close he also is.

“Yes. Please,” I whine out. Not needing any further permission, he slams me down harder, before his knot pops into me. I come instantly, so caught up in the moment that I can’t find it in myself to be embarrassed by how quick that was.

He lets out a growly moan as I feel his cock jerking and throbbing inside of me. 

I let myself fully lower down on top of his chest, head turned to the side, as we both try to catch our breath. His hands wrap around me, keeping me from trying to move while he’s still knotted to me.

The soft rumble of his chest vibrates beneath me, and I blink, realizing with a startled little laugh that I’ve been purring and he’s responding to it.

“That was… nice,” I murmur softly a few minutes later.

He nods wordlessly, and I smile against his chest before lifting up slightly to get a better look at his face.

“Did you mean it?” I ask tentatively.

He looks back at me, brows connecting with one another, and I swallow hard. “You want this to be my collar?”

He glances away for a moment. “Doesn’t have to be. Can get you something nicer,” he says quietly.

“No,” I say quickly. “I like it. Just… wanted to make sure you meant it…”

His gaze softens as he turns back to me. “I did.”

Tears prick my eyes again, and I look down, biting my lower lip to stop it from trembling before looking back at him. Once again, he’s got me speechless, unable to form the words I want to.

So instead, I settle on a quiet, breathless whisper. “Thank you, alpha.”

It’s drizzling as we wander down the quiet streets of Simon’s hometown. Fog curls around the edges of buildings and parks, clinging to lampposts and the wrought-iron fence of a nearby playground.

Our bellies are still pleasantly full from the “proper English breakfast” at a tucked-away cafe that was near our house. Simon and I had playfully argued the whole meal about what qualified as breakfast, and more importantly, what qualified as pudding. Certainly, it wasn’t the hockey puck of meat I had been served.

Now, hands intertwined, we cross a small concrete bridge that goes over a narrow canal.

“Got in trouble here once,” Simon says, his tone strangely casual, almost too calm. 

I tilt my head to look up at him. “Oh?” I prompt, raising an eyebrow.

“Long story,” he says, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Let’s just say, it involved a lot of running and a very angry groundskeeper.”

I laugh. “I can only imagine the type of trouble you could get into here,” I remark.

He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “No doubt it was any less than what you got yourself into,” he shoots back.

I roll my eyes with a knowing smile. “You’re probably not wrong.”

We stroll a little further until we reach a florist that’s bursting at the seams with Christmas decorations and greenery. 

The scent of pine, cinnamon, and something sweet drifts onto the damp street, wrapping anyone who walks by in a festive hug. Simon pauses, tilts his head toward the door, and opens it for me with a flourish that makes me grin.

Stepping inside, I find the shop is even more magical than the exterior suggested. Wreaths hang next to each other along one wall, each decorated with ribbons, ornaments, and other sparkling bobbles. Miniature Christmas trees seem to cover every surface, equally as decorated as the wreaths.

“Hello— oh!” a warm voice calls from behind that counter. I glance up to see an older beta with a bright, welcoming smile. “Simon Riley. Is that you, love?”

Simon’s shoulders relax, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Aye, Aggie. ‘S me,” he grins.

I watch him, intrigued by the easy familiarity of his greeting. 

“It’s been ages!” Aggie exclaims as she hurries around the counter. She opens her arms wide and pulls Simon into a warm, motherly hug.

He leans down a little to meet her halfway, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest. “Still runnin’ this place single-handed?” he asks.

“Oh, you know it,” she jokes with a warm smile. “None of the boys wanted to take over somethin’ so ‘frilly’, they said.”

The two share a knowing laugh before Aggie shakes her head. “I swear, every time I see you, you’re getting taller. Or maybe I’m just shrinking.”

Simon huffs a small laugh, the sound genuine. “Bit of both, maybe.”

I can’t help but smile at the two. There’s something about the way she’s lightly fussing over him that warms my heart.

Aggie’s gaze slides toward me then, eyes bright with curiosity. “And who’s this lovely thing you’ve brought with you, hmm?”

Simon glances my way, a hint of shyness flickering across his eyes.

“Aggie, this is Boo,” he says. “Boo, this is Aggie. She’s been runnin’ this shop since before I could see over the counter.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say, extending my hand to her.

Aggie lets out a warm laugh and takes my hand between both of hers. “My, aren’t you a polite one,” she muses. “Can’t imagine how Simon got a hold of such a sweet omega such as yourself. I still remember when he’d come in her with his mom, trackin’ mud around the shop.”

Simon grumbles under his breath, but there’s amusement tucked in the sound. “Bloody hell, no need to tell her everything, Aggie.”

“Oh, but I do,” she says with a wink. “Who else is going to embarrass you and keep you humble?”

I bite back a grin, enjoying how flustered he looks. 

Aggie moves back behind the counter, walking over to a row of poinsettias. “Now then, you’re not just here to show off your new omega, are you? Pickin’ up flowers for you mum, I presume?”

The question is so casual, so kind, that it takes me a second to notice the shift in Simon’s expression.

“Aye,” he says a bit quieter. “For Mum.”

Aggie nods softly, her tone turning gentle in an instant. “Of course, love. Know just the thing.” 

She disappears toward the back of the shop, the faint hum of the cooler filling the air. When she returns, she’s holding a small poinsettia arrangement in a simple, tinsel-covered pot.

“She’ll love this,” Aggie says warmly, passing it over with both hands.

Simon’s expression softens, something almost wistful flickering behind his eyes. He slides a folded bundle of notes across the counter before taking the pot carefully from her.

“Oh, now you stop that,” Aggie protests, pushing the money toward him. “You know I won’t take that.”

“Aggie,” Simon says a bit firmly. “Please.”

They share a long look before Aggie sighs, sliding the bundle towards her and stuffing it in her apron. “Fine. You’ve always been a stubborn one. Just know that I’m only taking this because she’s here.”

He smiles faintly, leaning in towards her. “Believe it or not, she’s even more stubborn than I am,” he says, jerking his head towards me with a wink.

“Hey!” a shout in my defense, making the pair chuckle.

Simon hands me the poinsettia, giving Aggie one final hug before we start heading out.

Aggie calls out a cheerful, “Take care, loves,” as the bell over the door jingles behind us. The warmth of the shop fades away as the damp chill of the street settles back in.

We walk in silence for a while, boots scuffing against the wet pavement. My anxiety starts to creep in. I glance over at Simon, but I find his expression unreadable.

“So, um… we’re going to meet your mom?” I ask finally, my voice careful, a hint of worry threading through it.

He looks over at me, giving me a solid nod. “Yes,” he says quietly.

I let out a breath that fogs in the cold air around us. “Some warning would’ve been nice,” I mutter, pulling the flowers closer to my chest. “I would’ve brought her something, or… I don’t know. Certainly would’ve tried to look more presentable.”

He lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant, infuriatingly calm way. “Doesn’t matter.”

My jaw drops a little. This is absolutely ridiculous. “Maybe to you,” I shoot back, frowning up at him. “But first impressions are kind of important, Simon.”

That earns a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, a smirk that he’s trying to hide. His gaze flicks down to me, slow and deliberate, before returning to the street ahead of us. “Think you’ll do fine,” he says, voice turning a bit fond.

The drizzle picks up, but I’m too frustrated to have it bother me. 

“Still,” I mumble, mostly to myself. “Would’ve been nice to know.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and I catch the smallest shift in his expression. Whatever he’s thinking, he keeps to himself.

Silence stretches between us as we keep walking. “So…” I start carefully. “What’s she like? Your mom.”

His mouth twitches again. “Stubborn,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t take nonsense from me or my brother.”

My brows lift, surprised. “You have a brother, too? Is he going to be there?”

A shadow crosses his face, subtle but unmistakable. “Yeah,” he says quietly. Turning his gaze back to the street ahead of us.

Shit. Clearly that wasn’t the right question to ask. I bite down my next one about his tone, because something in his tone tells me he’s done answering questions.

“Well,” I say instead, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “At least we know where you get your stubbornness, then.”

That earns me a small, sidelong smile. “Guess so.”

We fall back into silence. My fingers tighten around the pot, the cold air turning them a bit red. The streets grow quieter as we move away from the town center, houses thinning into stone walls and patches of old oak trees.

When we turn the next corner, the landscape opens up into a gentle rise, and my breath catches.

An old graveyard peeks out through the fog. Its wrought-iron gates stand slightly ajar, coated in rain droplets. Beyond them, rows of weathered headstones stretch out over slopes and mounds. The drizzle around us seems to mute the world into a gentle sort of stillness.

For a moment, I can only just stare as the realization hits me. 

I look over at Simon, but his focus is elsewhere. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes distant in a way that makes me feel dull.

The poinsettia suddenly feels heavier in my hands. I shift it into the crook of my arm, reaching out for Simon with my free hand. His hand twitches at first, as if he wasn’t expecting the contact, before gently curling into mine.

He leads me through the gates and down a narrow gravel path. The fog seems to hang lower here, sitting comfortably on the different stones we pass.

Simon slows, and I can feel the subtle shift in him before his scent hits. It’s turned more acrid, letting me know just how upset he really is, despite wearing a decent poker face. 

As we come upon a pair of matching headstones, his hand slowly separates from mine. I stop beside him, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch, before readjusting the poinsettia so it’s cradled against my chest.

Simon clears his throat, gesturing to the headstone on the left. “Mum,” he says before gesturing to the other one. “Tommy.”

My heart tightens as my eyes trace over the names carved into the stone. Seeing that they share the same end-of-life dates hits me hard in the gut. I know better than to ask what happened, knowing this much is already enough.

The air feels heavier, Simon’s scent tangling with the damp earth and pine around us.

I lower myself onto the wet ground without thinking, the cold seeping into my knees as I brush away a few stray leaves clinging to the base of the headstones.

“It’s very nice to meet you both,” I say softly, setting the poinsettia in front of his mother’s grave. The red petals shine against the gray stone, almost giving it a bit more life. “He, uh… he picked these for you.”

The corners of my lips curl up in a small, sympathetic smile. “Or, well… I guess Aggie picked them out, but Simon thought it’d be good to bring you some.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to do with my hands. Simon stands behind me, silent as ever. I swallow, deciding to fill the silence in the only way I know how.

“You’ve got a good one here, Mrs. Riley,” I murmur to the stone. “Stubborn as hell, but I think you already knew that. Seems to be the word of the day, really.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “He took me to breakfast this morning at this cute little cafe. Not sure if this is a British thing, but he tried to convince me that the sausage I was eating was called pudding.”

Simon exhales softly behind me, a breath that’s almost a laugh.

“Think he’s tryin’ to pull one over on me, Mrs. Riley,” I tease, still keeping my voice low and steady.

There’s another small beat of silence as a bird starts chirping in a nearby tree. I smile, letting out a small hum. “Can’t complain too much, though. He’s been really good to me… Giving me a second chance at life when I’m not even sure I’ve deserved it. You’d be proud of him, I’m sure.”

My throat tightens a little, but I push through it.

“And Tommy,” I say softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you, but if you’re anything like your brother, no doubt the two of you together is just nothing but trouble.” 

The drizzle starts to pick up around us, the patter of it dropping onto the stone helping to fill the bits of silence.

I stand back up, wiping off my knees quickly as I stand next to Simon. He’s staring down at the graves with that faraway look again. Without thinking, I reach for his hand again and squeeze. He doesn’t squeeze back, but he doesn’t let go either. 

We stand there in silence for a long moment.

Then quietly, Simon exhales. “Used to come here every leave,” he murmurs. “Then things got a little crazy, and I couldn’t make it all the time.”

I glance up at him, not saying anything, only being there for when he does speak.

“Mum would have loved you,” he says after a moment. “Probably would’ve cooked you that breakfast herself.”

A small smile tugs at my lips, and I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes fixed on her name carved into the stone. The drizzle starts to cling to my lashes, and I do my best to blink them away.

Simon lets out a quiet huff. “And no doubt Tommy would’ve tried to take you from me. Never could have anything nice to myself.”

Despite myself, a laugh slips out. 

“Would’ve liked to see him try,” I tease lightly, the sound breaking through the gray quiet around us.

Simon glances down, a faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. For a heartbeat, the heaviness lifts, replaced by something small and tender that feels almost like sunlight behind the clouds.

He squeezes my hand once. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get outta the rain before you catch somethin’. Yer hands are freezin’.”

A bell jingles as Ghost pushes it open, holding it open for me like he always did. I step inside and instantly feel a mix of nerves and excitement swirl in my chest. The place smells faintly of antiseptic and cleaner, but there’s a cozy floral scent that lingers as well. It’s cozy and far less intimidating than I’d imagine for a place that Ghost gets tattooed at.

“Oi! You lot finally made it,” a thick Manchester accent calls out from a back room. A tall man with ink covering almost every bit of exposed skin steps out from the back, walking up quickly to the front of the shop.

“Ghosty! Mate. How the hell’ve you been? It’s been too long.” 

The two alphas clasp hands and pull into a quick side hug before the more tattooed man turns his sharp grin on me.

“And you must be Boo,” Dutch says, extending a hand my way.

I take it, returning a firm shake. “Yes, sir.”

“And she’s a bloody yank. Boy, you sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t you, mate?” Dutch elbows Ghost playfully.

Before anyone can respond, a softer voice cuts in. “Ignore him,” says a petite woman stepping out from behind Dutch. She’s covered in delicate ink from her neck down, and the smile she wears makes her eyes crinkle.

“I’m Lily,” she says, offering her hand to me.

I shake it easily, smiling back. That’s when I realize the cozy floral scent filling the shop is hers. It blends so perfectly with the space that I hadn’t even recognized it as another omega’s scent.

“Boo,” I introduce myself again.

“We’re mighty happy to have you, love,” she says kindly. “I’ll be here to turn down the alpha vibes and make sure you’re comfy while you get your ink done.”

“Thank you, miss,” I reply with a small nod.

Ghost tilts his head slightly toward here. “This is the omega I told you about,” he says quietly.

“Oh,” I murmur, the connection clicking into place. “Yeah, that makes sense now.”

Lily tilts her head in curiosity, so I continue, a little sheepish. “I’ve been turned away from a few shops for being an omega. They told me ink messes with your fertility and hormones and all that.” My cheeks warm slightly in embarrassment at the memory.

She hums in understanding, her smile patient. “Well, I think I’m proof that’s not the case, she says, gesturing to herself. “Got a six-month-old at home. He’s with my parents today. They came down from Sunderland for the holiday. Wanted to see pup’s first Christmas.”

A genuine smile creeps over my face. “That’s amazing. I’d love to see pictures when you get the chance.”

“Of course, love,” she beams.

“Right then,” Dutch cuts in, clapping his hands once. “Why don’t I show you the designs I worked up, and we’ll get the ball rolling?”

I nod and let him guide me toward his station.

After we had come home, I had a chance to reach out to Dutch and send him some reference photos and ideas for what I wanted. He also helped me figure out how we could have Ghost there in the shop without him seeing the tattoo I was getting. 

Since I was getting a design on my hip, we decided to put a divider in front of my lower half, that way Ghost could still see me without ruining the surprise.

I was thankful he was being a good sport about this, even waiting on the other side of the parlor while we finalized the design and got the stencil on, so he didn’t see or hear anything.

Once everything is settled, Lily helps me get on the table, strategically wrapping a blanket around my legs and any other exposed skin she could, so I didn’t get too cold. 

It was a bit awkward, being in just a thong and socks from the waist down, but the blanket helped me keep just a bit more of my dignity. Plus, the pair made me feel more than comfortable the times I was considered “exposed”.

As Dutch finishes up getting his tray set up, Lily hands me a stuffed fox, and I blink in surprise.

“For holding,” she says gently. “Helps when the pain gets a bit much.”

“Thank you,” I beam at her as she moves to sit at the station behind Dutch. I mentally kick myself for not having my stuffed skeleton, but considering how quickly we left base, I can’t be too mad at myself.

Dutch snaps on a pair of fresh gloves with a practiced flick. “Alright then, let’s get this show on the road, yeah? This is your first, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I admit, voice coming out softer than I intended.

“‘Sir,’ she keeps sayin’,” Dutch chuckles. “Proper polite, aren’t you?”

A small, breathy laugh escapes me. “Had to be where I’m from.”

He hums as he leans over me, machine poised. “Well, you can relax now, love. Yer makin’ me feel like my dad.”

We both share a small chuckle before he asks, “Alright, I’m all set to go. You ready?”

I take a deep breath, squeeze the fox a little tighter, and nod. “Ready.”

The tattoo machine whirs to life with a sharp buzz that fills the parlor. The first prick of the needle bites at my skin, and I tense on instinct. It surprises me how little pain I’m actually feeling, though. It’s more of a scratchy feeling than a stabby feeling like I was expecting.

“How’s that, love?” Dutch prompts.

“Not too bad,” I reply back with a small shrug.

“That’s good,” he tells me. “Might sting a bit more when we get up here towards the bone, but it seems like you’ve got nerves of steel.” 

I let out a shaky laugh through the sting as he continues. “I try.”

“Yeah, you and every tough guy who sits in that chair,” he teases, then adds with a grin, “You’re already doin’ better than he did his first time.”

“Didn’t tap out,” Ghost mutters from his chair on the other side of the divider. 

Dutch snorts. “Didn’t finish either, mate.”

Lily giggles softly behind him. “Alright, you two,” she chides playfully.

“Couldn’t handle the shading,” Dutch whispers to me, making me softly laugh. “Sure, you’ll do better though.”

Dutch easily settles into a rhythm, hand steady as he works. The pain ends up becoming background noise, almost meditative with the hum of the tattoo gun.

We all talk as he works, conversation flowing easily over the hum of the machine. Dutch tells me how he and Lily met, “She came in for a little wrist flower, left with half her arm done, and my number in her phone.”

I share small things in return. How long I’ve been in the UK, a quick, vague reasoning as to why, and things that I’m still not used to yet. 

Dutch teases me a few times about my accent, and I tease right back, happy to have the banter to help distract me.

Ghost sits quietly on the other side of the divider, occasionally joining in on the conversation. His scent lingers softly in the air, helping to keep me a bit more grounded as Dutch works over my hip bone.

As time passes, the sting of the needle fades into something distant and dull. My breathing evens out, and the soft buzz of the machine starts to lull me. The aching in my hip turns into a slow, rhythmic throb that’s almost soothing.

“Doing alright, love?” Lily murmurs at one point, leaning forward slightly.

“Mm,” I hum sleepily, eyes starting to flutter closed. “Just… tired.”

“Good sign,” Dutch says without looking up. “Means you’re relaxed. Tough little bird, ya got, Ghosty.”

I feel Lily drape another blanket over my shoulders, tucking it gently beneath my skin. Her comforting floral scent with Ghost’s homey scent has me completely surrendering my body over to the warmth surrounding me.

The last thing I register before sleep drags me under is Lily’s sweet voice saying, “You’re doing so well, love. It’s okay to rest. We’ve got you.”

A gentle nudge at my shoulder pulls me from sleep, the steady buzz of the machine long gone. I blink groggily, disoriented for a moment before Ghost’s low voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb brushing against my arm. “You’re done. Dutch wants you to take a look before I do.”

I groan softly, gently stretching as I sit up. “Already? Thought I just blinked.”

Ghost huffs a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling behind his mask. “You’ve been out for nearly two hours. Snored once or twice, too.”

I narrow my eyes at him, too tired to do more than mumble. “Did not!”

Dutch’s easy voice chimes in from behind me. “Nah, he’s right. You were out cold once we started shading.”

I laugh sleepily, rubbing my eyes. “Guess that stuffed fox worked a little too well.”

Lily giggles next to Dutch. “You handled it like a pro, love. Go on then, let's have you take a look.”

Dutch helps me to my feet, steadying me as I wobble for a second. He guides me toward a full-length mirror, and my breath snags in my throat.

Staring back at me from my hip is Ghost’s mask. On one side, a cluster of peonies blooms out from the mask; on the other side, marigolds. The shading has the flowers lying perfectly against the mask, making it look almost as if it’s sitting on top of them.

“Oh.” My voice comes out a bit shaky. “It’s… beautiful.”

Dutch’s grin widens, pride written all over him as he stands beside me. “Interested to see what the big guy thinks of it,” he says, amusement coating his tone.

I can’t stop the silly, giddy grin that spreads across my face. “Me too,” I whisper.

“Why don’t you come on over, Ghost?” Dutch prompts, stepping aside with an almost ceremonious flourish.

Ghost moves up behind me, silently scanning my face before his eyes dip to the tattoo. For a beat, he doesn’t say anything, and I’m worried he doesn’t like it. 

When he does speak, the rawness of his tone tells me otherwise. “Love… you sure?”

I turn my head just enough to meet his eyes, a soft laugh tumbling out. “Bit late now to have second thoughts,” I tease, gently.

That earns me a small chuff as his eyes go from mine to the mask’s. “Bloody hell,” he murmurs under his breath. “Didn’t think you’d ever do something like this.”

I smile, warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the sting of the tattoo.

“Guess you’ll have to get used to lookin’ at yourself, huh?”

He hums low in his chest, voice thick with affection. “Aye, that I will.”

Ghost leans in and presses a brief kiss to my temple. “Thank you,” he whispers to me.

Dutch clears his throat theatrically. “Right, lovebirds. Gotta wrap her all up, and then we can send you on your way.”

Dutch and Lily are kind enough to wrap up the tattoo nicely and help explain aftercare to me, despite Ghost’s assurance that he’d be on top of it. We say our goodbyes and head back out into the cold December air towards our rented home.

The rest of our time in Manchester flies by in a blur. 

Simon takes me to a stylist he found online, a nice beta woman who had a private suite tucked away in the back of a small studio. It had been years since I’d even stepped into a salon, so I was grateful to have the amount of privacy I had. 

She asked gentle questions about what I wanted, what I normally do with my hair, and which products usually work for me without judgment. When I tell her I’m not looking for anything too dramatic, she doesn’t push, just helps me to get my fried ends taken care of.

By the time my hair is washed and trimmed, I can’t help but feel cared for. My hair feels a lot better than it has in a while, and I can’t help but feel super confident afterwards.

Simon ends up using that to coax me into some light shopping for myself. Thankfully, it wasn’t super busy, and I was able to take some time to find some more simple pieces as well as one dress, much to both of our surprise. 

We also managed to check off the last of the gifts we needed, walking back to our little house with arms full of bags and faces full of smiles. It all feels oddly domestic, and something about that seems to melt away another layer I had put up around my heart. 

The following day, we caught a train to Liverpool. Simon was super patient with me, showing me how the whole process worked and making sure that we caught the right train. It was a bit overwhelming, but he was soft with the way he guided me that it made the whole adventure easier. 

We walked to the nearest beach, and I swear I couldn’t breathe the first time I saw the ocean. The smell was the first thing that hit me hard. The salt and cold wind had something deep and wild in it that just called out to me.

I fell in love instantly, practically dragging Simon to the waves so I could feel them for myself. The beach was absolutely freezing, but it still captivated me. I ended up taking a candle home from a local gift shop just so I could have something to sniff when we got back to base. 

Simon teased me about the whole thing, shaking his head and grinning at me as I picked up a handful of sand or dared to put my feet in the freezing water. He promised to take me back when the weather warms, since apparently, now was the worst possible time to properly enjoy a beach.

On our final day, with the sky finally cleared and the air warmed just enough to pretend it was pleasant weather, we visited the graves again. 

I insisted on a picnic, and Simon surprisingly humors me. We stopped by one of his favorite chippies and ended up sitting together in front of the headstones, sharing food and leaning into each other as we shared our favorite stories about our lost ones.

The energy between us is soft and electric at the same time. I feel a little ridiculous, like a pup with her first crush, practically buzzing with excitement over how much time we’ve spent together. Every moment charged in a way that I’m still getting used to.

Because somewhere in the middle of all that excitement, a little guilt starts to thread itself through my chest. 

I feel like a whole new person because of him. The way he’s looked after me, given me space to breathe without asking for anything in return. I mean, in some ways… I am a new person.

I’ve seen places I’d never thought I’d see, felt things I’d never imagine I’d be allowed to. He makes me feel safe and cared for in a way that still catches me off guard.

And what have I given him back?

I may be looking at it too harshly, but it feels like the answer is nothing. I haven’t had to work for anything. Haven’t had to try. Haven’t had to be anything other than someone he can come back home to.

I know he’d argue with that immediately. Tell me I don’t owe him a damn thing. That I should just focus on myself or some other well-meaning bullshit like that. But the unfairness of it digs at me. I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t offered him even a fraction of what he’s given me.

Which, if I were being rational, isn’t true at all. The way he’s been smiling the past couple of days, the ease in his shoulders, how fucking soft his eyes have been… all of that should tell me that I’m not just dead weight.

I know that… but the thought just won’t go away.

It’s still there as we clean up the house on our final night, moving around each other in this quiet, domestic rhythm that feels far too good to be something we have to give up in the morning.

Simon’s hands find me every chance they get. Fingers brush my waist when he reaches for a dish, palm settling on my back as he steps past me to help with laundry. Casual touches that send little sparks racing down my spine each time.

That’s when the idea hits me.

It’s so clear, so perfect, that I almost laugh at myself for not thinking of it sooner. There is something that I can offer him that I’ve been holding back from. Something I’ve been scared to give up, something we’ve talked about me not wanting to do because I wasn’t ready.

The weight of his tags around my neck, and the buzz of the healing tattoo on my hip make me realize just how ready I actually am.

Before I can talk myself out of it, Simon comes up behind me. His big hands slide around my hips, carefully guiding me back against him. His head dips into the curve of my neck, and he breathes me in with a low, pleased rumble that vibrates against my back.

“What can I do,” he rumbles, “to convince you to come to be with me?”

A smile tugs at my mouth.

Perfect.

“Actually…” I turn my head just slightly, letting the coyness bleed into my voice. “I’d really like to give you a massage… You know, if you’re up for it.”

I feel the way his head tilts, body now laced with curiosity. His hands tighten slightly on my hips.

“A massage,” he repeats almost cautiously. 

I hum and give him a little nod. “A massage,” I confirm. “If you’d like.”

There’s another moment of stillness between us that makes us giggle.

“I figure,” I continue, “that a big guy like you probably has a bunch of knots that need to get worked out.”

“Oh, I got a knot ye can work out,” he says without missing a beat. 

I laugh, bringing a hand up to settle at the back of his head, keeping him close. “Don’t I know it,” I tease back, moving my head to the side to lightly kiss whatever part of his face I can reach.

“But I’m serious,” I continue. “I’d really like to do this for you, but only if you want. I won’t push you. Don’t know if it’ll be uncomfy or—”

“I’d love it,” he cuts me off, rubbing his face some more into my neck.

I turn in his arms, and the look on his face nearly undoes me. He’s studying me with those soft eyes that have my knees already buckling.

His guard is down in a way that I’ve only ever seen in a way when it’s just the two of us, and for a heartbeat, I wonder if he even knows how vulnerable he looks right now.

I take his hand. “C’mon,” I murmur, giving it a gentle tug.

He follows without hesitation, letting me lead him down the hall to the bedroom. The lamps are already on, casting the room in a warm, low glow that just makes everything feel softer. I motion toward the bed.

“Undress and lie down on your stomach,” I say, moving to my suitcase. I’m aiming for a confident tone, but the way his eyes linger on me already has my face warming.

His brow lifts in a way that tells me he’s both amused and very aware of what I’m doing, but he doesn’t push it. 

“Bossy tonight,” he murmurs as he starts stripping, unhurried and annoyingly graceful about it. 

I turn away toward my bag, partly to grab what I need and partly because I know watching him undress will just completely derail my plan. I tuck the items I need under my shirt, hiding them from view.

“I’m going to change so I’m not getting lotion all over my clothes,” I say, slowly creeping toward the bathroom. “Just lie there and relax, okay?”

I hear the bed shift under his weight, and I can only imagine the eye roll he’s giving me. “‘Just relax,’,” he mimics. “Not sure you know how serial-killer-y that sounds… Undress. Get on the bed. Just relax.”

I let out a breathy laugh as I shut the bathroom door behind me. I change quickly, then throw a towel around myself before stepping back out. My heart’s hammering, knowing he’s going to be looking at me even if he pretends he’s not.

Sure enough, I catch the shift of his eyes as he peeks out from the sheets. They’re curious and hungry as they watch me quickly scramble behind him on the bed.

I climb onto the bed, making sure to carefully place myself on top of his hips before I pull off the towel and set it to the side.

“Doin’ alright down there?” I ask with a bit of a teasing tone.

“More than,” he rasps, lightly adjusting himself below me.

Satisfied, I grab the bottle of lotion I had with me and pour a line of lotion across his shoulders. He jerks at the cold feeling, a startled grunt leaving him.

“Sorry,” I murmur, and then let my hands glide over the lotion.

The reaction is immediate. His breath stutters, and a low, half-sigh, half-growl escapes him. My thumbs press gently but firmly into the first bit of knotted muscle I find, trying to gauge how much pressure he likes.

He ends up completely melting.

His arms fall loose beside his head, fingers uncurling, body going slack under me like he’s surrendering every ounce of tension he’s been holding onto for years.

A pleased chuff slips out of me instinctively, and his responding rumble vibrates up my body through his legs.

“Jesus…” he breathes, already sounding undone. “Didn’t know ye had hands like that.”

I grin, leaning forward to knead deeper into the muscle along his shoulder blade. “Maybe you should let me take care of you like this more often.”

He gives another low, velvety grumble, sinking even further into the mattress. “Don’t tempt me, love.”

With a hum, I begin working my way slowly down his back. Every few inches, I find a new knot. I work through every stubborn remnant of years of strain, missions, injuries he never talks about.

Every time I press just right, he grunts or his muscles twitch beneath my hands, and I stay there until the tension melts and he exhales again.

He gives me more and more of himself with each pass of my hands, and I feel the honor of that settle deep in my chest.

His back is littered with scars, puckered circles, and faint white lines that lead to his ribs. I want to kiss every one of them, trace them with my mouth, will them and the bad memories that come with them away.

But I can’t just yet, not with what I still have planned for the rest of the evening.

For now, I just let my hands tell him everything I don’t have the words for yet.

I do my best to work over his arms and legs, knowing he’ll probably try to speed up the massage once I have him flip over and he sees what I’m wearing.

That’s when I realize I still have the towel. 

“Alright,” I say, gently placing a flat hand to the center of his back. “I’m going to have you flip over.”

He makes a lazy, contented noise in reply.

“But,” I add, picking up the towel. “I’m putting a towel over your eyes.”

That gets his attention. He lifts his head up, and I quickly put my hand to the back of his neck, trying to keep him from turning to look.

“Wha—?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you, and I don’t want you peeking.”

There’s a long moment where neither of us moves.

Finally, he mutters, “Bloody hell. You are going to kill me.”

I laugh and shake my head. I place the head over the back of his head and help keep it over his eyes as he flips over. 

His hands settle at his sides, noticeably less relaxed, but I’ll fix that soon.

“Good,” I murmur as I adjust the towel so I know he’s not peeking. “Just keep that right there.”

“Not touchin’ it,” he says.

I nod before realizing he can’t see that. “Thank you,” I mutter instead. 

I readjust so I’m sitting just above his hips, intentionally dodging his already-stiff cock. 

“I’m gonna start workin’ again,” I say, a bit breathless, but I don’t know why. 

He gives me a grunt of acknowledgement, and I pour more lotion on top of his chest. He gasps when I start working my fingers in again, twitching lightly before settling down. 

As I work, I notice that the scars on his front side seem a lot more lethal. There are a lot on his chest and a couple near his ribs. I work through every knot the same, making sure it’s gone before I move on.

His breathing deepens, and for a second, I worry he’s fallen asleep.

“Doin’ alright?” I murmur.

He swallows once and gives me a curt nod.

“Keep goin’,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

I shift down, making sure to ignore his near-leaking cock as I resettle on top of his legs so I can work on his stomach. 

His hands twitch, like he wants to grab me, and the realization warms me down to my toes. I let out more of my scent, letting him know just how pleased I am with him. 

“Doin’ so good,” I whisper to him. 

He groans, decorum faltering as he shifts his hips up a little and his cock jerks.

I smirk at his reaction, loving the effect I have on him. I continue working over his muscles, only to watch his cock unabashedly twitch freely now. 

“Mmm,” I hum. “Looks like someone could use a happy ending,” I tease softly. 

My hands move to run over his thighs a few times before I grip the base of his cock. He lets out a low, strangled groan, hips bucking up slightly as his cock throbs in my hand.

“Fuck, love,” he grunts, voice strained with pleasure.

I smirk, giving him a few slow pumps, watching with adoration as he finally starts to leak in my grip.

“Mmm, you like that, baby?” I purr, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip.

He can only groan in response, hands that were relaxed just a moment ago, now fisting the sheets. I take that as my cue to continue, trailing my tongue along the underside of his shaft.

“Oh shit,” he curses, head tilting back.

“Doin’ alright?” I check in, savoring his reactions.

“Yes,” he groans, pained but still clearly aroused. “If this is a new form of torture, I’ll take the full punishment.” I laugh, breath ghosting his cock as I continue to lick around it, trying to make it wet enough that I’ll be able to slide down easier. 

Feeling like I’ve got it prepped enough, I lift up, sitting tall on top of him.

“Simon,” I murmur.

“Yes?” he swallows.

“You can take off the towel.”

There’s a beat of silence, like he’s debating whether or not he actually wants to do that.

Then his hand lifts, and he slowly pulls the towel off his face.

He blinks once.

Twice.

The silence in the room is deafening as he stares up at me. His eyes drag over me, staring at my thighs, then up to where the skeleton hands cup my breasts on the bra I’m wearing. His dog tags sit right in the middle, proudly glinting in the low light.

His breath punches out of him. “...Christ.”

It’s barely a word, more like an exhale that’s been dragged over gravel.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me, seemingly not breathing for a few seconds.

Then, slowly, his hands lift an inch off the bed like he’s reaching for me without meaning to. His fingers curl midair before he forces them back down.

“You’re…” He swallows. “...you’re takin’ the piss, love.”

I smile, heat blooming across my chest. “You like it?”

His jaw flexes before he lets out the softest growl I’ve ever heard from him. It’s not loud or aggressive, more instinct than anything.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice completely wrecked. “I’m tryin’ so fuckin’ hard not to grab you and force you down on my cock.”

I laugh, shifting so I’m able to start working on his cock again. “Good, let me take care of you some more.”

His head falls back into the pillow, a helpless laugh slipping out of him.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, eyes devouring me. “Absolute fuckin’ trouble.”

I smirk at him, loving the way his eyes roam over me. “Thought you liked trouble,” I tease. I lick my lips, keeping eye contact before lowering myself down so I’m level with his cock. 

My tongue trails along his shaft again, licking around his head before taking him in my mouth.

He groans, hands fisting the sheets impossibly tighter as he watches me. “Fuck, love… gonna be the death of me.”

I can only hum in response, sending vibrations against his cock that make him gasp. I turn my focus to his cock, working on taking him inch by inch, feeling him hit the back of my throat. I pause for a moment, breathing through my nose before pushing forward, taking him deeper.

“Shit,” he curses, head tilting back again as I start to bob my head up and down his length.

Watching him crumble under me like this might be my new addiction. I come up, taking a deep breath and readjusting myself slightly before I take him as far as I can bear. My nose just barely touches the curls on his pelvis before I’m gagging and having to come up for air.

I swirl my tongue around his dick, teasing the slit some before I force myself to dive back down, fully taking him down to the hilt.

That completely breaks his resolve. His hand comes to the back of my head. I look at him through teary eyes as he holds me there for a few seconds before releasing me, allowing me to come up for air.

A string of saliva connecting my bottom lip to the tip of his cock hangs between us. I take a moment to catch my breath before diving back down, taking him deep in my throat.

The corners of my lips feel a bit too stretched out, but I’m too determined to worry about that right now. 

Simon groans, fingers tangling in my hair as I start to bob my head faster, sucking him with enthusiasm. 

“Fuck, love,” he grunts, hips starting to lightly thrust up to meet my movements.

I can feel him getting closer, cock twitching against my tongue. I double my efforts, wanting to taste his come, feel it run down my throat.

Suddenly, he tugs on my hair, pulling me off his cock. I sit up, panting and licking my lips.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned. “You okay?”

He looks as destroyed as his voice sounds. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

My brows furrow as he heaves another breath, trying to steady himself.

“Wanna feel that tight cunt around me again.”

My face heats at his words, a fresh wave of slick coating my folds. “Oh,” I breathe out with a shy laugh. “Then I guess we should move to your real surprise.”

Now it’s his turn to look at me, confused. 

I move off the bed, offering him a hand to stand up. He’s still bewildered as he stands next to me. 

“Are you okay?” he asks me. 

I smile up at him and nod, tilting up to kiss him briefly. 

“Yeah,” I say after pulling away. “More than okay. I… I just think it’s time.”

Realization flashes through his eyes as I pull away. I crawl easily on the bed, positioning myself on my hands and knees. I take a deep breath before lowering my chest down to the mattress, leaving my ass up in the air, fully presenting myself to him.

I hear his sharp intake of breath behind me, and I whip my head to the side, looking at him over my shoulder. “Is… is this okay?” I ask softly, my nervousness bursting through my tone.

He swallows hard, eyes dark with desire as he takes in the sight of me. “Fuck, love…” he says, voice low and rough.

I feel the bed dip slightly behind me. His hands come to rest on the globes of my ass, making me jump slightly. 

“I… I’m not ready to mark you,” he admits, voice heavy. I can’t help the small pang of disappointment, but I know deep down that the reasoning has nothing to do with me. “But… I’m fuckin’ honored that you’re presenting for me.”

I blush at his words, pride and contentment washing over me as slick continues to pool in my core. He must smell it, because he growls, tightening his grip on me. 

I arch into his touch, feeling utterly breathless. “It’s okay, baby,” I tell him, moving my head back. “Just take what you want.”

I feel his hands move over the skeleton ones covering my ass, tracing the design before moving to remove the panties.

“Fuck, you’re such a good, sweet omega, offerin’ yourself up to me like this,” he praises, voice dripping with approval that has my omega practically exploding.

I’m bare before him now, glistening folds on full display, and my body under his complete control. It’s exposing, yet powerful at the same time. Every reaction of his physically tells me how well I’m doing, encouraging me to stay here rather than cower away.

It’s been years since I’ve been here, having done so for the worst person in my life by mistake. But now… It’s different. Hell, it even feels different. Simon’s hands have my skin lighting up, making me burn up almost like I’m in heat.

His fingers tease along my slit, slipping through my slick. “Fuck, you’re always so wet for me,” he groans, fingers circling my entrance. “All this for me?”

My hips push back against his hand. “Yes, alpha,” I blurt out. “All for you.”

He smirks, fingers dipping inside my entrance. I let out a low moan, walls clenching around him as he slowly begins pumping. Once he finds that special spot inside of me, I melt into the bed.

“Mmm, there she is,” he purrs, clearly proud of himself. “Feel good, love?”

I can only moan in response, too lost in the pleasure he’s giving me. My hips rock back against his hand, silently begging for more. He’s got me so embarrassingly close already, my body wound tight and ready to snap at any moment.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty and wanting. I whine at the loss, turning my head to look back at him again.

“I know, baby,” he says, voice strained. I see him gripping his cock tightly, before his other hand grips my hip tightly. “I need it too.”

With that, he lines himself up with my entrance, the head of his cock nudging against my folds. I take a deep breath, trying to relax and prepare myself for his size.

I’m surprised when he easily slides in. My back arches more as his grip tightens. 

“Fuck,” we both say through clenched teeth.

He settles himself fully inside of me, fingers digging strategically into my hips as I’m forced to feel every thick inch of him.

“Shit, love, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, giving a few shallow thrusts. “Love seein’ you like this, presentin’ for me. Lookin’ so fuckin’ sexy in my tags, knowin’ my masks on yer hip.”

I blush harder, readjusting slightly so I can feel the cool metal in my hand. It makes me feel owned, a meager possession… but in the best way possible. 

“Mmm, I like wearin’ them,” I admit, clenching down around his cock. “Makes me feel like yours.”

“Fuck. You are mine,” he growls, thrusting harder into me. “All mine.”

I moan loudly, pushing back my hips to meet his thrusts. “Fuck. I love that.”

He leans down, pressing kisses along my spine as he starts to move faster. The bed creaks beneath us, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

I can feel myself starting to lose focus, my mind going hazy as he pounds into me. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body, making it hard to think straight.

“F-fuck,” I slur, melting more into the bed. “S-so big… so good…”

A hand tangles into the roots of my hair, easily moving my head around. He tugs back slightly, forcing me to arch my back more as he continues his relentless pace. My omega howls in pleasure, screaming and squirming in my head. 

“Such a good omega,” he grumbles, slowly moving my head around, as if testing his control of me. 

It’s insane how quickly the tables have turned. Just mere moments ago I had full control of his body, now here I am, boneless and completely under his control. 

I moan out, my pussy starting to flutter and clench around him. I’m getting close, my body tensing as I feel my orgasm approaching. 

“Gonna come on my cock, love?” he asks, voice strained.

I nod against his grip, unable to form actual words. My mind is completely lost to the feeling of him pounding into me.

“Then do it,” he demands, giving me a particularly hard thrust. “Come for your alpha.”

My body tenses, back arching as my orgasm crashes over me. I mewl out in pleasure, pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice as I come.

“Fuck! Simon… Alpha!” I all but scream, seeing stars behind my eyelids. My body shakes and trembles below him from the force of my release.

He groans, his grip most likely bruising my hips as he buries himself to the hilt inside of me. “Shit, fuck. Take it all, love!”

His knot swells, stretching me further as he starts to come. I collapse onto the bed, completely spent and satisfied as he works through his own orgasm.

“God… Boo…” he pants against my neck. “You’re incredible. I fuckin’ love you so much.”

All I can do is hum because my brain is nothing but warm fog and aftershocks. Words are far too complicated right now. I tighten around his knot instead.

Simon groans before it turns into a breathless laugh. “Love me too, I take it?”

I nod, limbs feeling heavy and useless, a sleepy little smile sitting on my lips.

He shifts his weight carefully, mindful of the knot that locks up together. His muscles flex under me as he gathers me up, one arm under my arms, the other helping to support my hips. 

He maneuvers us with ease, rolling just enough so we can collapse sideways without pulling too hard in any direction. The warmth of the sheets and the lingering scent of us make me that much sleepier. 

“You doin’ okay, love?” he murmurs, kissing the side of my head. “Didn’t fuck you too stupid, did I?”

I let out a lazy laugh. “Mmm… yeah. More than okay.” My eyes flutter shut. “Feelin’ really good, Simon.”

His chest rumbles with a pleased hum. “Good. You were fuckin’ amazing, love. Really.” His hand rubs slow circles up and down my arm. “Thank you for that…. I know it took a lot.”

Heat crawls up my cheeks, the praise settling in my chest. “Glad you liked it,” I whisper, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Wanted to do something special for you.”

My fingers reach up to seek out his, needing the contact. “Feel like you’ve been doin’ everything for me.”

He lets out a soft, almost disbelieving exhale. His arm tightens around me just a little, a protective, instinctive little squeeze that makes my chest flutter.

“Speaking of,” I mumble, trying to blink away the sleep pulling at me, “don’t let me fall asleep. Still gotta finish getting everything together.”

I feel him shake his head before he even speaks. Then his lips brush the back of my head.

“Boo,” he murmurs, “you don’t owe me a damn thing.”

I huff a tiny laugh, knew he’d say that, I think, but he cuts me off before I can actually voice it.

“Listen,” he continues, tone soft but firm. “Everything I do for you? There’s no expectation of you paying me back.”

He starts rubbing circles on my waist now. “I do it ‘cause I want to. ‘Cause takin’ care of you feels right. Calms somethin’ in me. Tames my alpha, yeah?”

My throat goes tight, eyes stinging for a moment. His scent is thicker now, wrapping around my like a blanket. A small purr slips out of my chest before I can stop it.

“That…” he breathes, the sound almost a groan. “That sound right there…”

He rubs his head against mine. “Drives me fuckin’ mad. Lets me know it’s all worth it.”

I bury my face in my hands, trying to stop my face from exploding from how hot it is. “Simon…”

He hums, tugging me just slightly closer in a way that makes me gasp.

“No, really,” he says quietly. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

“I just…” I swallow, my voice feeling small. “Wanted you to feel as loved as you make me feel.”

He goes still for a moment, allowing me to keep going.

“I… I haven’t felt like this with any other alpha,” I admit softly, words tumbling out before I can lose the nerve. “I know you’re mine. And I love that. I… I don’t wanna lose you.”

Simon’s breath catches, hand stilling for a moment like my words have physically hit him.

Then he exhales… slow and controlled.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough in a way that has nothing to do with arousal now.  “You’re not losin’ me. Not now, not ever.”

I can’t help but fidget, not really sure what to do with myself.

“You hear me? You’re stuck with me.”

A choked little sound catches in my throat, and he takes that as a chance to continue. 

“You’re mine, yeah… but I’m yours just as much. More, probably.”

He kisses the back of my head again, lingering like he can’t quite pull away.

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried,” he adds softly. “You’ve got me tied in knots,” he huffs with a faint laugh. “Literally and figuratively.”

That earns a sleepy laugh out of me, my body still trembling faintly with aftershocks. His hands go back to rubbing my hip. It’s calm and steady, the type of touch built to soothe an overstimulated omega.

I hum, making his knot pulse. My pussy clenches in response, making us both groan.

“Sorry. Easy, easy. I’ve got you. It’s almost down.”

I let out a shaky breath, and he shifts just a little to help me settle more comfortably. “Did so good,” he murmurs against my hair. “More than good. Gave yourself to me completely. That’s not small, love.”

My eyes flutter as I fight off the tears that appear. 

“And for what it’s worth… I’ve never felt loved like this either. Not once. By anyone. Not even my own mum. You give me more than you realize.”

A soft quiet settles between us, his hand moving to lovingly rub the middle of my chest as his knot continues to soften. 

“You wanna rest a bit?” he asks. “We can finish packin’ after. Won’t let you oversleep.”

I nod, eyes already closed, body sinking deeper into his warmth. 

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Jus’... stay with me.”

He smiles against me.

“‘Course.”

The day after the chicken fiasco, the four of us slipped back into something that could only be called a routine in the loosest sense of the word. Mostly, it was just… moping.

The living room nest was still there, half-collapsed and pitiful from the night before. No one had the heart to rebuild it. Blankets hung off the couches and pillows were… everywhere. A couple of empty snack wrappers sat on the coffee table in the center, looking like a pile of discarded confetti.

The place had turned less like a nest and more like the aftermath of a hurricane.

Bee spent the morning with the remote glued to her hand, flipping through channels as if the right show might shake the gloom out of us.

Bun stayed curled up on the corner of the couch with her phone, earbuds in, endlessly scrolling.

Red had a book in her hand, but I barely saw her turning the pages. It seemed like the weight of it was more of a comfort to her than anything else.

As for myself, I just kept thinking that I should be doing something. Anything. Start a workout, clean up some of the wreck, maybe even cook something so we didn’t have to go to the mess. 

But instead, the most I could manage was staring at the ceiling or half-watching whatever Bee finally left running on the TV. 

The silence between all of us wasn’t heavy or angry. It was worse. It was that dull, restless quiet that came from missing people you didn’t know how to reach. Grieving someone who was alive… that we knew of.

The hours dragged. Lunch came and went. Then dinner. Rosco and Keegan showed up for the usual escort to the mess hall, trying to keep the mood light. Normally, Rosco could charm at least a smile out of us, but even he didn’t have the skills to break through our walls right now.

We went through the motions, eating, small talking, eating some more. It was like we were wind up toys that were losing our momentum.

On the way back from dinner, the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Have you heard anything? Do you know where the are, when they’re coming back?”

Rosco glanced over to me with that easy grin of his. “D, if I knew anything about the 141 and what they were doin’, I’d probably have to be taken out back and shot.”

It was supposed to be a joke. But the edge in his voice reminded me just how dangerous their job was. That the men we were waiting on belonged to a world of silence and secrets. And all we could do was just that…

Wait.

I’ve been up on the roof for what feels like at least an hour now. It’s freezing, but the half-burnt cigarette I have in my hands does its best to convince me that I’m warm. I haven’t even taken a drag, just let it burn slowly, the faint curl of smoke carrying a trace of Simon’s scent. That’s what I wanted anyway, not the nicotine or the taste. Just him.

The pack it came from sits a few inches away, slouched against the shingles, with two burnt-out butts resting beside it like evidence of my restlessness. 

I hadn’t planned on finding it. I was just reorganizing the jackets in the closet when it slipped out of a pocket. The lighter was taped to its side, and I couldn’t help but think about how it felt just like him, all squared away. 

I should’ve put it back. Should’ve left it alone.

But instead, I’d pocketed both of them like some thief in my own room.

He’d probably be pissed when he noticed, either because I wasted his smokes or because I hadn’t just ignored them. 

But right now? Right now, the need for something, anything , that smelled like him outweighed whatever lecture or harsh stare he might give me later.

“Those’ll kill you.”

The voice breaks through the quiet, and I jolt, my head thunking back against the brick behind me. I lean forward, eyes darting down, and find Rosco standing there with his arms folded, giving me an unimpressed look.

“Scared the shit outta me,” I mutter, annoyance edging my voice.

He smirks. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be sulkin’ on rooftops in the middle of the night.”

I frown, turning my gaze back to the stars. “What’re you even doin’ out here?”

“Got a report of a stray omega,” he drawls, the corner of his mouth twitching.

A huff of laughter escapes me before I can stop it. I don’t dignify the comment with anything more than that.

I hear him circle around the side of the building, followed soon by the creek of the latter.

A few seconds later, his boot scuff against the shingles, and he lowers himself down beside me. He settles with one knee up, the other leg stretched out, leaning back on his palms like he owns the spot.

We don’t talk at first. 

The quiet stretches, not awkward, just… gentle. The kind of silence that lets you just breathe. I tilt my head back again, watching the sky. The moon’s hanging just out of view, but its bright enough tonight to light up the world around us.

Rosco follows my line of sight, his voice softer now. “Mo used to send me pictures of y’all in the truck. Every one of ‘em, you were starin’ up. Always wondered what you were lookin’ at.”

“The stars,” I murmur. My chest tightens, but I don’t look at him. “Noah used to tell me which one was which. He’d talk about them like he knew them personally. Made ‘em seem less… far away.”

Rosco gives a quiet chuckle. “So you must be an expert then.”

I glance at him sideways, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Wouldn’t say expert. But… I’ll tell you what I know.”

I lift my hand, pointing toward the brightest cluster above us. “See those? Those are Noah’s eyes.”

My finger drifts to a star that flickers like it’s winking. “That one’s his smile.” 

I shift again, pointing just left. “That one there? That’s the dumb laugh that he had. Made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.”

I pause, moving one more time, to one with a sharper sparkle. “And that one? That’s the smirk that always got us in trouble.”

The words hang between us. Rosco doesn’t say anything at first, just lets the silence stretch. My vision blurs at the edges, stars bleeding together with the sting in my eyes.

“All that time,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “All those nights staring at the sky with him, and I wasn’t payin’ attention to a damn word he said. I was too busy starin’ at him. Memorizin’ him like he had the constellations on his face.” 

A wet laugh slips out, shaky.

“And now… I’m scared I’m doin’ the same thing with Si—” I correct myself, throat a bit tight, “...with Ghost.”

Rosco finally shifts to look at me fully. His eyes aren’t judgey, more… steady.

I stub out the half-burnt cigarette, reaching for another. My hands shake as I finally bring it up to my lips, flick the lighter, and take the tiniest drag before pulling it away. The smoke curls upward, disappearing into the sky. 

“There’s so much I want to say to him. So much I want to do. But…” My voice cracks, and I hate how small it sounds. “I don’t know… I’m… I’m still scared.”

Rosco’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Of what?”

I shrug, eyes locked on the glowing tip of the cigarette in my hand. “Losing him, I guess. Losing all of this?” 

The night quietly carries on between us as my chest aches from my admission. I pull my knees closer to my chest, cigarette still outstretched and burning in front of me. “I just… I really miss him,” I murmur, assuming he knows I’m talking about Simon.

“It’s his first mission away, and it feels like someone’s taken the air out of the room. He’s not loud like the others, but he’s there, y’know? And now he’s just… not. And I can’t help thinkin’… what if he doesn’t come back? What if that was it?”

Rosco blows out a long breath. “Darlin’, I don’t know that man like you do, but I do know he’s too damn stubborn to let death win. He’s got you waitin’ for him now. That’s one hell of a motivator. Least, it’s been for me.”

I glance over at him, catching the rare softness in his voice. It hits me how unusual this moment is. Just the two of us, no one else hanging around, no pressure. If I’m ever going to say what I need to, it’s gotta be now.

“Mo told me about your deal with Dave,” I say, my tone deliberately vague. “Would’ve never gone for it.”

Rosco’s brow ticks up. “Him? Or you?”

The question dries out my mouth. Makes me want to drag the cigarette in front of me all the way down to ash.

“Probably both,” I admit after a beat. “Woulda been too stubborn to say yes. Dave too. Just… even this ,” I gesture vaguely around us, “was hard enough to agree to. Even with the other option being me gettin’ locked up. I mean, me ? Settling down with someone? That’s not easy for me. ‘Specially after Noah.”

Rosco lets out a quiet laugh, but his eyes stay steady on me. “Wasn’t tryin’ to tie you down. Lord knows nobody’s capable of doin’ that.”

We both share a small laugh at that.

“Just wanted you outta there,” he adds.

I shake my head, sucking in my lips before sighing and popping them back out. “It’s crazy, lookin’ back. The constant strugglin’. Constant fightin’. All to just make it to the next day…”

My voice falters before I can stop it. “Noah was tryin’ to do the same thing you wanted to. Take me and Mo and just… leave. But you know how that town’s run. And with Henry? Forget it. Made everything trickier.”

Rosco exhales, long and knowing.

“We were gonna come back for them,” I add quietly. “It would’ve been easier to sneak back in then to try and leave altogether. But… well. You know what happened.”

The words fade into the night. My hand slips through my hair as a bitter laugh slips out.

“Wild, isn’t it? That the girls look up at me the way they do. Like I’m worth somethin’. If they only knew, right?”

Rosco doesn’t answer. He just gives me a look that speaks louder than any of his words would.

I turn my head away, not able to look long. I stare at nothing, old memories chewing at the back of my head. Years wasted on that damn farm. Years of clawing and fighting just to keep breathing.

“You hear Red call me perfect?” I laugh again, sharper this time. “‘T’s like she forgot how I even got here. In handcuffs .”

Rosco’s mouth quirks. “Think that’s less about you, more about her. Girl’s still wrestling her own confidence.”

“Oh, no doub about itt,” I cut in. “And I plan on changin’ that. But perfect? Me?” I shake my head. “I’m about as far from perfect as it gets.”

He looks at me then, really looks, and it makes something twist in my chest. His eyes look like Simon’s just for a moment and I tear my gaze away.

“For starters, I’m way too damn aggressive to be any kind of role model for these girls. No doubt Price is gonna chew my ass out when he gets back. ‘Head omega material’? Please. With my track record? Bite first, ask questions never? He’s for sure going to make sure I tone it down, or at least keep it away from the girls.”

Rosco leans back again, eyes tilted toward the stars. 

“Y’know,” he drawls after a beat, “you sound all kinds of pent up. Like a kettle whistlin’ with nowhere to blow off steam.”

He glances over to me, the corner of his mouth giving a knowing twitch. “Have you tried singin’ yet?”

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Get off my back, Rosco. You’re like a broken record with that shit. Already told ya. Got nothin’ to sing for.”

He smirks, seemingly pleased by my irritation. “Seems to me like you do. Gotta take care of the girls now. Can’t do that if you’re not takin’ care of yourself. Look, I’ll get off your back when you get off your own. You can sit out here all night worried about things, but it ain’t gonna change nothin’ and you know it. Singin’ ain’t gonna fix your problems, but it’ll fix you. Or at least loosen up the stick in your—”

“Rosco.” I warn with a hint of a growl in my tone.

“What?” he shoots back, unbothered. “You think Noah’d want you sittin’ around here, forgettin’ who you are?”

That hits me like a punch to the gut and I can’t help but swallow hard.

“You miss Ghost. I get it. But you gotta find a way to breathe while he’s out there, kid. Otherwise, you’re gonna burn yourself out.”

My lip wobbles. “Singin’ ain’t gonna bring him back.”

“No,” Rosco admits with a shrug. “But it’ll bring you back. And that’s somethin’.”

I don’t say anything, so he fills the silence.

“Start simple. Sing the alphabet, a nursery rhyme, or whatever. Or, better yet. Put on a musical and sing along with the girls. What was the one Mo said you liked…?”

“Mama Mia?”

“That’s the one.” He points a finger gun at me. “Put on some Mama Mia and just let it all out .”

I shake my head, but I’m not really saying no. My eyes flick sideways to his. “You and Mo pretty friendly,” I comment.

He laughs, sheepish but not unbothered. “Yeah… always been a little sweet on her. But she was way too young back then, even I could see that. Plus, y’all were like sisters. Would’ve felt like hittin’ on my own.”

“So you were fine askin’ to collar me, but not her? You don’t think my foster brother askin’ to collar me is—”

“Look!” Rosco cuts in way too fast, too loud. He clears his throat, lowering his tone. “I was gonna offer it as a way out, not… y’know. Not like that.”

“I know, I know.” I wave him off with a smirk. “Just wanted to see you squirm. Felt like I’ve been the only one under the gun this whole talk. Didn’t seem fair.”

He rolls his eyes at me.

“Who was the alpha gonna be?” I ask bluntly. It catches him off guard. 

“Hm?” 

“The alpha. Dave wouldn’t have said yes without one. No doubt you were planning on going the whole pack route.”

“Yeah…” He trails off, jaw tightening just slightly. “There was a buddy of mine I was gonna try to get in on it if I needed—”

“Keegan?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

“God no,” Rosco laughs, shaking his head. “Someone I went through training with, who decided to get out when he could. Works a cushy civvie job now.”

“And you thought Dave was gonna go for that? That I would?”

“Like I said,” he shrugs, expression softening, “I just wanted you out. Safe. That’s all that mattered.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the night pressing around us. I shift a little. “Thanks.”

“‘Course, D.” His smile is tender, and it helps some of the tension leave my chest. 

The last of the cigarette singes down, so I smudge it into the roof next to the others. Rosco’s expression is unreadable as I take a deep breath and go to reach for another one.

“Alright,” he says, easy but firm. “You’re done. Show’s over. You don’t gotta go to sleep, but you can’t keep roostin’ out here.”

I arch a playful brow. “You callin’ me a chicken.”

He smirks. “Nah, you’re more like a stubborn mule. Either way, roof ain’t a bed.”

He stands up and his voice turns into that blend of authority and brotherly patience he fine tuned when we were kids. “C’mon, D. You’ve got a couch, a chair, a bed, and four very scary alphas who’d kill me if they knew I let you freeze your ass off out here.”

I lean back against the siding, fighting the urge to argue just because it’s him. He catches it anyway, because of course he does, and adds with a softer edge, “Ain’t tellin’ you what to do. Just don’t want you sittin’ out here stewin’ till dawn. ‘Specially not with these new recruits. Lord knows they can’t handle your grumpy ass right now.”

A little chuckle leaves me as I push myself up. “Fine. But if anyone asks, I went in ‘cause I was tired of your naggin’.”

Rosco grins. “Deal.”

The place is quiet as I slip back inside. It’s the kind of quiet that feels like cotton balls stuffing up your ears, begging for the faintest of noises to fill it.

I pad through the hall, deciding to head back to my room when I catch a soft glow coming from the rec room.

I peek my head in to find Bun sitting curled up on the couch, knees tucked to her chest. The light from her laptop lights up her face as she watches a video with her headphones on. I get closer, watching dancers practicing some dance in a mirrored studio.

When I lean a bit over the couch, she finally notices me. She startles, tugging her headphones down like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she whispers, sheepishly.

“For what?” I ask softly.

Bun’s cheeks flush pink. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought… maybe watching would help.”

I lift myself up and over the couch, sliding in beside her. “Better than pacing in the halls. What’re you watchin’?”

She hesitates, then angles the screen. “Old choreographies. Stuff I used to practice.” 

I watch as her nose crinkles, no doubt from the lingering smoke scent on my sweatshirt. “You ever think about showin’ us?” I ask before she can ask questions of her own.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no… I don’t…. I couldn’t. I’d mess it up, or… I’m not really a good teacher—”

I cut her off with a small huff. “Bun. You light up watchin’ this. Don’t tell me you couldn’t hande teachin’ us a step or two. You were really into it at the country bar.”

Bun fidgets in her seat a little. “That was different,” she says with a bit of a whine. “Teaching’s… scary…”

“Then we’ll make it not scary,” I said simply. I lean over a bit, catching her gaze. “Tomorrow, show us something easy. Even if it’s the Macarena. Bee’ll jump in, no doubt Red too. I’ll make sure of it. Think you’d be surprised how it goes.”

Bun looks at me, doubtful, but her lips curve into a small, hopeful smile. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I say encouragingly. “And if you freeze up, or something happens, I’ll make a fool of myself first. Fair deal?” 

That earns me a soft, gentle laugh.

I’ll take that as a win.

Since we all seemed to stay up late, I let us all sleep in some. We miss breakfast at the mess, so we end up making what could loosely be considered a meal about an hour before lunch. 

It holds us until Rosco and Keegan stop by to escort us. The girls are still really quiet and I start to feel bad. I’m supposed to be guiding them through this, and I’m just letting them all mope. 

When we get back, I decide enough is enough and that it’s time to make good on my word.

“Hey, Bun,” I say gently. “I think now would be a good time, don’t you?”

“Now?” she asks, clearly not liking the idea.

“Good time for what?” Bee chimes in.

“Bun was watching some dance videos yesterday. I think it’d be really nice if we all tried to learn one of the dances she does.”

“Oh!” Bee says, already bouncing at the idea. “Yeah, that would be fun!”

“I don’t know…”

I reach out, giving her a reassuring shoulder squeeze. “Let’s give it a shot. The video will do most of the work, right? You’ll just help us make sure we’re doin’ it right.”

I shoot her a wink and it seems to encourage her.

Bun agrees with a shy nod before heading into the rec room with a bouncy Bee. Red stands off to the side.

“You joinin’ us?” I ask casually. 

She shrugs before following behind the others. She’s been hot and cold since handing the reins over to me, but I can’t say I blame her. 

We spent the next few hours learning a dance to one of Bun’s favorite K-pop songs. She warned us that her absolute favorite was too difficult for beginners, so we settled on her second favorite. I wasn’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying, considering how fast the moves were when we first watched the dance.

I was honestly surprised at how quickly Red and Bee started picking things up. I know some steps from my countless hours of watching line-dancing videos online, but this was on another level entirely. Moves flowed into moves, spins into jumps, all while keeping rhythm. 

There was no simple “repeat” to fall back on like line dancing. You had to remember the whole thing. I end up getting lost constantly. My feet refuse to cooperate half the time, and my arms felt like they had a mind of their own.

Red, meanwhile, seemed to have a good memory for the sequence, but wasn’t as fluid or relaxed as the dancers in the video.

Bun tried gently nudging her, showing her how to loosen up, but after a few attempts, she seemed to shrug, content that Red could at least remember the steps.

Bee was something else entirely. She flung herself into every motion, arms and legs everywhere at once, often bumping into one of us and laughing uncontrollably. I had to pause once just to catch my breath from laughing at her exuberance. 

Bun looked a little stressed at first, hesitating to correct us, letting us do our own thing in hopes we’d figure it out. But the chaos wasn’t working. After a particularly messy spin where I ended up tangling with Bee, Bun stepped in. “Okay, enough of that,” she said, laughing. “Follow me. We’ll do this properly.”

I felt a burst of pride. She was taking charge, and not in a bossy way, but a way that made learning fun and doable. Once she started guiding us, we were able to find our rhythm a lot easier.

After a few corrections, suddenly the three of us were moving almost in perfect sync. By the time the sond ended, our limbs ached, our faces were flushed, and we were laughing so hard we could barely stand, but we’d done it.

Bee, thrilled with our progress, immediately starts scrolling on her phone, thumbs flying.

“Wait, no, this is actually so fun. I want to do more. Can we do more? I want to do one where it's like all of us doing it together!”

“I don’t know…” Red starts to say, still catching her breath, but Bee is already determined.

“Look! I found a group with four. Oh! I like this dance already.”

“You’ve seen like two seconds—”

“Ah! Wait, no, this is perfect, look.”

She shoves her phone toward us, practically bouncing on her toes. On the screen are four girls: one blonde, one redhead, one brunette, and one with jet black hair. The title reads BLACKPINK — DDU-DU DDU-DU .

I can already tell where Bee’s mind is going. 

“Look, I can do the blonde. Red gets red. Bun gets the brunette, and then you get black,” she says pointing at me.

The video plays on for a little bit.

“See, look the brunette is like front and center, it’s perfect.”

It plays on a bit longer, the choreography sharp and flashy.

“Ooh, look. I’m killin', it. Uh, uh, yeah! Get it!” Bee starts trying to mimic the moves. “Oh, I can totally do this!”

The redhead on screen leans against the blonde, and I can practically feel Red’s face heat from here.

“You know what, Bee?” I say slowly. “I think you’re right. We should do this.”

“Oh my gosh…” Red grumbles.

Bun looks hesitant, chewing her lip as if trying to get us to learn this concerns her.

“This might be too much,” she mumbles.

But I decide to lean into it, smiling wide. “We’re going to need mirrors, right? Let me see if I can lock down a gym with Rosco.”

Red immediately starts waving her hands. “No, no, no, absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on ,” Bee says, hanging off Red’s arm dramatically like a child. “This would be so fun! Think about it! We’d have a full routine. We could just whip it out at any time! Imagine the look on the guys’ faces when they come back and they see us dancing like this?”

Bun hides a giggle behind her hand, and even I can’t stop the laugh bubbling in my chest. The idea of the four of us learning to dance together sounds a bit ridiculous, but fun all at the same time.

Red groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You four are going to be the death of me.”

Bee clasped her hands together like she’d just won a prize. “So that’s a yes?”

“Fine,” Red muttered, cheeks pink, “but only because if I don’t you’ll just hound me about it until I do.”

Bee squealed and practically tackled her in a hug, while Bun gave a tiny cheer of encouragement. I smirked and pulled my phone from my pocket.

“Alright, let’s see if Rosco can score us a gym. We’ll need space and mirrors if we’re actually going to do this.”

Bee gasped, eyes wide. “Oh my god, you’re actually serious.”

I winked. “Dead serious.”

It only took about two minutes of sweet-talking Rosco before he gave in, though not without some ribbing first.

“ What are you four even up to now? Last time I gave you a favor, one of you nearly burned down the kitchen.”

Still, he agreed to escort us to the private gym Ghost and I normally used on Saturday mornings, reasoning it would be mostly empty this time of day.

He wasn’t wrong. The moment we stepped inside the empty gym, Bee let out a sharp gasp. The polished floor gleaming under the overhead lights, mirrors running the entire length of the wall.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, clutching her phone before turning to me. “I can see why you come here. It’s so nice.”

She jumps around, turning to Bun. “This is it. This is where we’re going to become legends.”

Red mutters something about regretting her choices while Bun laughs at Bee’s antics. 

Bee starts queuing up the video, vibrating with excitement as the rest of us pull up our hair and walk to the mirror.

The afternoon melted away into chaos. Laughter ricocheted off the walls, limbs tangled, and voices carried as we shouted corrections across the gym.

Bee barked, “More ass, Red!”

Bun broke down footwork into something the rest of us could follow.

Red loosened up, suprising even herself as her body started moving more fluidy than before.

Through it all, Rosco leaned against the doorframe like a bouncer. Every time someone tried to wander in, he’d block their bath, crossing his arms and sending them on their way. 

One soldier started to get a bit grumpy with him, one that I had seen around during the weekly workouts. I promised him some baked goods as an apology and after that word must have spread, because fewer people bothered us.

By the time we decided on one last run-through before dinner, sweat was sticking our shirts to our backs, but no one cared. We set up Bee’s phone, recorded the routine, and huddled around the screen after.

Bee suggested sending it to the alphas. Even though they hadn’t been answering any of our messages, maybe this would be something to cheer them up when they finally opened their phones. Hope buzzed through us that maybe, just maybe, this video might somehow get our alphas home to us sooner.

Dinner only cranked the energy higher. Bee retold every single blunder like she was narrating an epic saga, exaggerating until Bun was bent over wheezing. 

Red protested every detail, cheeks pink but smiling brighter than I’d seen in days. She snuck me a couple proud little glances, as if silently declaring she was glad she hadn’t chickened out. 

Rosco, who ate with us, only fueled the chaos with his commentary.

“Uh-huh. Sure. You only tripped once , Bee. Those other times? Clearly impromptu breakdancin’.”

We nearly choked on our food laughing.

Later, I texted Rosco a quick thank you. He didn’t answer right away, but when he finally sent back a thumbs-up and a winking face, something in me settled deeper than I expected.

We ended the night in the rec room, tidying up the nest until it looked less like a disaster zone and more like an intentional space.

Bee queued up new dance videos for us to watch, and Bun shyly shared some of her favorites, cheeks warm but eyes sparkling when Bee cheered her choices.

By the time I finally crawled into bed, hair still damp from a quick shower, my body hummed with the best kind of ache.

Not the hollow burn from missing him. Not exhaustion from phsycially pushing myself too hard. Just the lingering soreness of laughing, moving… living.

For the first time since the boys left, sleep came easy.

The next morning, I decide it’s Bee’s turn. She practically bounces in her seat when I nudge her with the suggestion over breakfast.

“Friendship bracelets,” she declares without hesitation, like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.

By the time we’ve finished tidying up the kitchen, she’s already claimed the coffee table in the rec room. 

Bright skeins of embroidery thread are scattered in rows, arranged almost like an artist’s palette. The rest of us gather around her like campers at the arts and crafts table.

“Okay,” Bee says, holding up some strands that are already tied together at the top. Her grin is contagious. “It’s all about the knots. The simplest is like a braid. Over, under, pull tight. Just keep a rhythm.”

Her fingers move quick and sure, weaving the strands with ease. I can’t help but laugh to myself. This girl struggles with braiding actual hair, but give her some string and she’s a magician. 

My first attempt looks more like a knotted shoelace than a bracelet, but Bee doesn’t tease. Instead, she tilts her head, studying it seriously.

“Abstract,” she declares, then helps me fix my tension issues until it actually starts to look like something wearable.

Red, of course, is meticulous to the point of madness. She keeps undoing her rows the moment they get a little crooked. She mutters under her breath until she finally manages a perfectly neat row of chevrons. The triumphant little smile that flashes across her face when she shows us is worth every second of her fussing.

Bun finds her groove only after she puts on some music, filling the background with soft beats and bright pop melodies. She sways a little as she works, humming along, and I catch myself humming along as well. 

The hours slip by in a blur of color and laughter. We swap threads, experiment with new patterns, and cheer each other on every time someone masters a tricky knot. By the time Rosco and Keegan stop by to pick us up for lunch the table is covered in half-finished creations and loose tangles of thread.

Bee, naturally, insists on presenting the guys with bracelets. Keegan accepts his with a quiet, almost shy smile, while Rosco clutches his to his chest like it’s a priceless jewel. 

“Custom-made for me? I’ll never take it off,” he decalres dramatically, making us all roll our eyes and laugh.

After lunch, we return to finish what we started. The final products are mismatched, multicolored, and imperfect in the best way. Each of them have “Pack 141” woven into the pattern.

It feels a little silly, but when we all slip them onto our wrists, the mood in the room changes. It’s brighter, easier, like the weight of the last week has finally shifted, even if just a little bit.

The girls lounge around a bit after that, hanging out in the nest, but the previous gloomy mood has been replaced with something a lot lighter.

I take the chance to sneak away into the kitchen. The scone recipe I found last night has been burning a hole in the back of my head. I figure I can get a head start on making some for the gym guys we kicked out, as well as have enough left over for breakfast tomorrow.

I’ve just pulled flour and sugar from the cupboard when Bee pads in.

“Do you mind if I watch you?” she asks, folding her hands behind her back.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a smile. “You can even help if you’d like. First time trying this recipe, so we can figure it out together.”

Her shoulders relax, and she gives me that soft, warm smile of hers. “That sounds perfect.”

The other two girls end up joining in a little bit later. Bee surprises me, having some tips to make them tall and fluffy.

“My mum and I used to make scones a lot for my dad and bring them to him on base so this is kinda surreal,” she comments as we start laying out scones on some baking trays.

“Mum always let me pick the flavor. I’d choose chocolate chip every time until my dad got sick of it. One day, my mum told me we were making cranberry orange instead. I sulked the whole time… until I tried them. Then I was hooked, they’re still my favorite.”

Red laughs softly. “My mum used to hate it when I cooked. Not sure how, but my scones always seemed to turn into biscuits. Mum wouldn’t even scold me, just told me the dogs could use them for chew toys. After that, I mostly just hovered in the kitchen or had my sister bake things or me.”

We all giggled at that.

Bun stirred some icing around in a little bowl, encouraged to share a story of her own. “My grandmother made honey rolls every Sunday. She’d hum old tunes while she kneaded the dough. I can still remember the smell… that mixed with her own scent… gosh … I never wanted to leave that kitchen.”

She glances down with a small smile. “I haven’t made them since she passed, but maybe I should try again.”

I grin at her, rubbing her back softly. “They sound delicious. We’ll have to add them to our rotation.”

She looks up at me with eyes that carry a mix of sorrow and appreciation. Suddenly, I’m overcome with the need to share a story of my own.

My thoughts shuffle through a dozen memories. Some good, some painful. I end up settling on one that sits somewhere in between.

“Noah and I used to make the best pies,” I say quietly. “Peach was my favorite. Dave had this old tree out back that would overproduce every single year. I’d end up with a couple of bags and turn a bunch into pies.”

I can’t help but smile, the smell of cinnamon and sugar ghosting the back of my mind. “Noah went crazy for ‘em. Couldn’t hardly wait for them to cool before sneaking a slice. He’d pretend he was helpin’ me in the kitchen, but really, he just wanted to sneak some filling.”

A laugh bubbles up, and the girls mirror it. “Then… he started showin’ up with peaches from other farms nearby. Always ‘just so happenin’ to have too many’. Like I didn’t know he’d gone out of his way to trade or buy ‘em.” 

I shake my head, chuckling. “Man couldn’t bake worth a damn, but he sure knew how to make sure I never ran out of fruit.”

The girls smile, soft and warm, and it sinks right into my chest. For a moment it feels like I can breathe easier, like their kindness patches up all the little cracks I keep trying to hide.

“Guess we gotta add peach pie to the rotation too,” Bun says, her voice bright as she carefully shapes one last scone.

“But only if Ghost gets her peaches,” Bee teases with mischievous grin, wiggling her brows.

“Don’t tell him. Lord knows he’ll end up coming home with a whole truckload,” I laugh, shaking my head.

They giggle, and I can’t help myself. I pull both of them into quick side hugs, squeezing until they squeal. For a few heartbeats, it feels like family in the simplest, sweetest way.

“Alright,” I say, clearing my throat as I step back. “Let’s get these beauties in the oven, yeah?”

Together, we slide the trays in, the oven door clicking shut with a little puff of heat that warms the room. Already, the air is thick with the promise of sweetness.

“Smells ike heaven,” Bun sighs, leaning back against the counter with her eyes half-closed. “I want one now.”

I grin. “Waiting is always the hardest part, but I think we’ve got plenty of practice with that this past week.”

A few short minutes later, the timer dings and we’re pulling out our goodies from the oven. The tray is an arry of golden miracles. The scones are all perfectly tall and fluffy, making the kitchen reek of butter and sweetness. It’s the kind of smell that would pull anyway away from what they were doing just to see what’s baking.

“Dang, Bee, you killed it. These look amazing,” I say with a low, appreciative hum, leaning closer as the steam curls up.

Bee’s cheeks flush as she bumps her shoulder against mine. “ We did it.”

“Yeah, we did!” Bun chimes in, too proud to wait. She snatches one straight off the tray, and takes a huge bite. Only to immediately regret it.

Her whole face scrunches up as she starts puffing frantic breaths, waving her hands like that’ll cool her tongue. “Hot! Hot! Oh my god, hot!”

We collapse into hysterical giggles. Bee leans against the counter for support while I double over, my stomach aching from laughing so hard.

“Didn’t we just say we were good at waiting?” I tease between giggles.

Bun shoots me a dramatic glare, cheeks puffed out with molten pastry. She tries to mumble something back, but it comes out completely unintelligible. That only sets us off more, the three of us caught in a hopeless loop of giggles until my cheeks ache.

A sharp knock at the doorframe finally pulls us out of it. Rosco leans against the wood with his usual grin, Keegan standing just a step behind him.

“Smells like trouble in here,” Rosco drawls. 

“You’d know that smell well,” I shoot back without missing a beat. Keegan snorts, ducking his head away like he’s trying to hide it.

We quickly clean up, boxing up the scones neatly so we can drop them off at the gym after dinner. The whole way to the mess hall, the laughter sticks with us, buzzing under our skin and making us feel lighter.

Dinner is no different. The girls share stories similar to the ones we shared earlier. Talking about foods they liked to make and the people they made them with. 

It feels homey and cozy, and a small bit of pride sticks to my chest, knowing I was able to get them to lighten up while their alphas were gone.

Rosco, of course, doesn’t let the moment last. He’s quick to stir the pot.

“You know what y’all should do tonight? Watch a movie. Y’all seem like you’re practically buzzin’ with energy. You could probably do a sing-along to somethin’ like… Mama Mia or somethin’.”

I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut steel.

“Oooh!” Bun gasps, eyes lighting up. “I haven’t seen that in forever.”

Bee, catching my glare, tilts her head. “Boo… do you not like Mama Mia?”

I let out a tired sigh. “No, I love it. Rosco’s just bein’ a little shit starter.”

“Am not,” he says with the fakest innocent tone I’ve ever heard. “Just thought you might wanna watch your favorite movie.”

I pause my glaring to look at Bee honestly. “He doesn’t actually care, he’s just tryin’ to get me to sing.”

Now Bun’s head tilts. “You can sing?”

I shrug. “A little.”

Red groans. “What can’t you do?”

I huff out an exasperated laugh.

Rosco leans back in his chair, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “Hold your temper, for one.”

I sock him in the arm without thinking.

“Ow!” He rubs at the spot, grinning smugly. “See? Proved my point.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s already useless. Bee and Bun are now fulling insisting on a movie night.

About half an hour later, we’re sitting on the couch with Mama Mia queued up. I tried to stall as long as I could. I took forever to chew my food, dragged my feet to drop off the scones, but it was useless. The girls were relentless and Rosco’s smug grin when he left us at the door told me I was doomed from the start.

Bee sits cross-legged with a blanked wrapped around her shoulders, humming the opening notes before the movie even begins.

Bun curls into the corner of the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn even though we just ate.

Red lays out on the long part of the couch, feigning disinterest but I can see the small smile she’s trying to hide.

The movie starts, and within minutes, the room fills with squeals and laughter. Bee sings every line she remembers and Bun joins in when the chorus hits.

Red’s shoulders shake as she fights back laughing along with them.

I try to keep quiet, but it’s impossible not to hum along here and there. The music just tugs something out of me.

I end up whispering out a couple of words during “Dancing Queen,” a little under my breath in “Lay All Your Love On Me”, andI think I’ve gotten away with it, but Bee’s sharp eyes catch me every time.

“Boo,” she whines halfway through, jabbing me in the ribs. “You’re singing . Just do it properly!”

I shake my head, cheeks warming. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” Bun teases. “We heard you.”

Red doesn’t even glance away from the screen when she adds, “Coward.”

I chuck a pillow at the side of her head, making the other two laugh harder.

By the time “Slipping Through My Fingers” plays, I can’t hide it anymore. The lyrics hit too close, tugging at an old ache and a half-healed wound.

My throat tightens, and I laugh a little to cover it, but tears prick the corner of my eyes anyway. I swipe them away quickly, hoping no one notices. 

They do, because of course they do. But instead of teasing, Bun rests her head on my shoulder and Bee is quick to do the same other side. Red doesn’t say anything, just gives me a knowing look.

When the credits roll, I just decide to go for it. 

“I’m nothing special, in fact, I’m a bit of a bore…” I start softly, just above a whisper. But the room goes still, the girls leaning in, waiting. My voice steadies as I keep going, the words coming out of me without even thinking about it.

By the time I reach the chorus, I’m not even holding back anymore. My chest feels lighter, my cheeks ache from smiling, and tears are in the corner of my eyes again. The girls clap when I finish and can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed. 

It only amplifies when Bee throws her arms around me dramatically. “Oh my god, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Red shakes her head. “Figures. She can fight, cook, dance, and sing. It’s disgusting.”

I snort, wiping my eyes. “Excuse me? Disgusting ?”

Red raises a brow, all faux-innocence. “What? You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“Oh, no, don’t start with that,” I shoot back, leaning forward so it’s just me and her. “Miss perfect chevron bracelet, straight as an arrow posture, reads books thicker than Ghost’s bicep for fun, and I’m the one who’s disgusting?”

Bee cackles, nearly falling sideways. “She got you there, Red!”

Bun hides her giggle behind her hand.

Red narrows her eyes. “That’s different.”

“Is it? Explain it to me,” I press with a grin.

Red lifts her chin, regal as ever, though I catch the flicker of vulnerability behind it. “Because… I can’t do the things you can. And the things you can do matter more.”

That knocks the smile right off my face. “Red.”

She tries to wave me off, but I don’t let her.

“Listen,” I say, softer this time. “All of you. I don’t ever want you thinkin’ of me like that. Like I’ve got it all figured out.”

I glance between them, my chest tight with too many emotions at once. “I know it might look like I’ve got things locked down, but I think you’re forgettin’ where all that comes from.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Most of the things y’all call ‘perfect’? They were just ways I learned to survive.”

My words hit a little hard, making the room go quiet. “I had to know how to cook and fight because that’s what was expected of me back at the farm,” I continue. “The singin’ and dancin’ was just a way for me to escape all of that for a little while.”

I look at Bun first. “I think we all saw plain enough that what I know don’t full translate to what y’all know. My two-steppin’ sure ain’t the same as you k-poppin’, right Bun?”

She giggles, nodding.

Then I turn to Bee. “And I may know my way around a kitchen, but that don’t mean I know every dish. I still need tip and tricks, ain’t that right, Bee?”

She beams at me, warm and encouraging.

Finally, I fix my gaze on Red. “And just ‘cause I can hit a few notes and a few punches, don’t make me any more amazing than you guys are.”

Her eyes flicker between me and her lap.

I lean back, making sure to catch all of them in my gaze. “Like I’ve said before, I’ve got a few years on y’all, and we all know they haven’t been even close to kind. Or did y’all already forget my track record?”

Bee and Bun giggle softly, but my gaze softens as I look at Red again. “Red… you’re steady in ways I’ll never be. You’re capable, you’re sharp, and you’ve got a strength I can’t touch. I know you might not see it right now with everything goin’ on, but that’s why we’ve got each other.”

“We’re pack!” Bee chimes in brightly.

“And we couldn’t do it without you,” Bun adds, her voice gentle but sure.

I smile as I watch them pile reassurance on her, warmth curling in my chest.

“She’s right, Red,” Bee continues, her expression earnest now. “You’re like our anchor. You make feel like I can actually breathe sometimes.”

Bun tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You take care of us without even making it look like work. You always have things lined up, like… like you’re holding the ground steady under our feet.”

Red looks between the three of us, shoulders stiff like she doesn’t know where to put the praise. “That’s just… being organized.” 

“No,” I say firmly. “That’s you being you . And it matters. So don’t you dare act like my screechin’ is some kinda crown jewel you can’t touch.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting not to smile. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”

“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you strong and humble,” I grin. “Oh and for the record? I expect no complainin’ when I start beltin’ out songs from now on. Y’all opened this can of worms, you can deal with it.”

For the first time all night, Red’s laugh joins ours.

I think about my chat with the girls for the rest of the night. When I crawl into bed, there’s still the familiar pang of loneliness from Simon not being there. But just like the night before, it’s softened by the warmth the girls gave me.

I can’t seem to fall asleep, but not because I feel restless like before.

My body’s tires, but my head is too full. Full of laughter and warm moments and the way Red’s eyes softened when she finally started laughing with us.

I let myself replay those moments, small as they were, because they don’t feel small anymore.

I shift on the mattress, pressing my cheek into the pillow, staring at the shadows stretching across the ceiling. It’s quieter than I’d like, the base humming in the distance. I trace idle patterns on the blanket, replaying memories and just settling into the night.

It's a long while later when my eyelids finally start to droop, the edges of sleep tugging me under.

That’s when I hear it.

A faint crunch of gravel outside the window.

It was too deliberate to be the wind, far too heavy to be a stray animal. My eyes snap open, every nerve in my body firing to attention.

I hold my breath, straining to catch the sound again. For a moment, there’s nothing. My ears ringing from the silence. Then… there it is again. Another crunch. And… whispers.

Not one voice.

Two.

My blood runs cold.

Carefully, I ease myself upright, moving slow enough that the mattress doesn’t creak. My pulse pounds in my ears as I turn toward the window.

Nothing’s there.

I drop low, moving to the space between the bed and the wall. I press myself against the wall beneath the window sill. Whoever’s out there won’t see me unless they lean all the way in.

The whispers are muffled, but they pick up again. Then, there’s the unmistakable scape of fingers on the frame.

I stop breathing.

The window moves once, then again, harder. My heart lurches in my throat.

It’s locked. You locked it. You always locked it. You’re safe. The windows locked.

But then… 

Click .

A clean, deliberate sound, soon followed by the unmistakable turn of a latch.

No. Fucking. Way.

I freeze, terror flooding icy and sharp through my limbs. Slowly, achingly slow, the window slides up a fraction, just enough to break the seal. 

Cool night air seeps in, carrying with it a faint, foreign scent.

It hits me like a punch to the gut.

My instincts surge, the feral beast stirring awake in the pit of my stomach. My throat tightens, claws itching just under the surface of my skin.

Not now. Not here.

The whispers start drifting through the open window now.

“Think that’s enough?”

“Just a little more. We wanna make sure she actually attacks them.”

Alarm bells ring frantically through my head. They’re baiting me. They’re trying to make me snap. Make me attack…

No.

I lunge, grabbing the bottom of the window with both hands and slamming it up so hard it rattles the frame.

There’s startled yelps and the scuffle of boots on gravel.

Then they bolt.

Not a chance.

I vault through the window in one smoothe motion, landing hard on the ground outside. My legs coil, then launch me forward, sprinting after the shadows tearing away from the building.

Two female figures. Both small, fast, dressed head-to-toe in black.

“STOP!” I scream, the sound ripping through the dead of night, raw and desperate. 

My voice bounces off the walls of the barracks, sharp enough that someone should hear, someone should come running.

But the girls don’t falter. Their boots hammer the pavement, dragging us deeper through the base.

The scent hits me next. Sweat, adrenaline, fear. Something familiar…

Them .

The omegas I had smelt earlier.

Rage spikes white-hot in my chest. They’re not getting away. Not this time.

I dig in, pumping my legs harder, faster. My body strains, muscles burning, lungs searing, but I’m closing in.

One of them glances back, eyes wide above their mask. She sees me gaining ground and panics.

Something small glints in her hand before she hurls it at me.

It smashes against my face.

I stumble, skidding to a near stop, hands flying up to wipe away whatever the hell it is. My palm comes away wet and sticky. The scent gets me next.

Oh, fuck.

My nostrils flare, lungs dragging in a mouthful of it before I can stop myself.

Mistake.

Colossal, bone-deep mistake.

The world tilts sideways. My stomach lurches, head snapping as the sensation barrels into me like a freight train. 

My senses ignite all at once. Every light is blinding, every shadow too dark, every smell like broken glass to my body.

My vision tunnels, edges darkening like someone poured ink over my eyes.

I can feel that my body’s moving, but it’s no longer mine. 

My legs are pistoning harder, faster, as feral strength surges through my muscles in a way I can’t control. My breaths are coming out ragged, chest rumbling with a growl I don’t remember starting.

Thoughts fracture, shattering into primal shards.

Traitor.

Evil.

Threat.

Must catch.

Must protect pack.

Must…

Kill.

The word slams into me, echoing louder than anything else.

Kill, kill, kill.

I’m on them again. Faster. Harder. My legs burn but it’s only feeding me. Fueling me.

Prey runs. Prey must fall.

There’s barking now. Deep, vicious snarls ripping through the dark. A K9. Closing fast. The girls panic, their footsteps sporadic against the pavement, but they’re slowing. They’re mine .

Kill, kill, kill.

I launch, the ground cracking under my boots as I hurl myself forward. A feral roar tears from my throat as I slam into one of them, driving us both down hard. The air whooshes out of her lungs in a scream that pitches high and wild.

Prey. Caught prey. Kill prey. Threat. Evil. 

I claw at her, nails raking across fabric, tearing through to skin. The copper tang of blood hits my nose, and it’s like gasoline to a fire. 

My canines are fully lowered, ready to pierce skin, finish the job. She writhes beneath me, shrieking as I pin her with every ounce of weight I have.

She kicks, desperate. I lock her legs down with mine, snarling at her as my grin tightens, completely unforgiving.

My teeth snap, bared inches from her throat. The beast in me screams for the vein, for the finish.

Somewhere nearby, another cry cuts through the night. There’s another wail as I hear the K9 take down the other girl. My head snaps up, watching as it locks its jaw on her leg. We lock eyes. 

Predator recognizes predator. 

The dog snarls, starting to shake as another voice gets closer. Boots thunder all around me, shouts slicing through the air.

“D!” I hear. It’s familiar. Panicked. Rosco .

“Get her off! She’s gonna rip her apart!” another voice commands.

Hands grab at me, trying to pry me back, but I whip my head around with a guttural snarl.

My vision turns red. Rosco’s face flashes for half a heartbeat, but it doesn’t stick. Whoever is touching me, friend, enemy, I can’t tell. All I see are obstacles between me and my prey.

The girl thrashes under me, sobbing now. I rake across her shoulder, shredding fabric, leaving hot welts and shallow gashes. Her scent floods my nose, the way it’s tinged in fear makes me smile.

“Hold her! Christ, she’s gone feral. Hastings! Don’t let her bite her!”

Strong arms wrap around me from behind, hauling me up. I thrash around, growling low and violent. My nails tear tracks into skin and pavement as I’m dragged back inch by inch. 

The girl beneath me scrambles back, but not before other soldiers grab her.

I lunge forward, trying to get back to her. 

They’re trying to take my kill. I growl out, and she screams in response, much to my satisfaction. 

“D!” There’s shouting in my ear. “It’s me! It’s Rosco! Stand down!”

But the words don’t reach me. There’s nothing but noise in the storm as I stare down the prey that got away.

The strong arms around me do their best to try and keep me in place, but it’s no use. I twist, buck, then slam my head back into his.

He grunts, loosening his grip just a little.

It’s just what I need. I slip out of his grip, whirling around to kick him in the chest, putting some distance between the two of us. 

He curses as he lands hard. I turn back toward my prey and I’m planning how to get my hands on her again, when another scent catches my attention. 

I stand stick straight, looking around. Trying to find it’s source.

Alpha. My alpha.

He’s here. I can smell him. It’s faint, but its real.

My legs start moving me toward him. I take off, lungs burning as I push myself again. There’s more shouting behind me as I chase down the scent.

Alpha, alpha, alpha.

I round a corner, chest heaving and there… just ahead… I can tell I’m close. So close. My body trembles, a feral whine clawing up my throat. My vision narrows, desperate to see him, to have him.

The something stings. A sharp prick in my shoulder, quick as a wasp.

I stagger, blinking. The world’s moving around me again.

No, no, no, no. I’m almost there.

My legs won’t listen, steps growing heavier, slower. My breathing turns ragged as I desperately get closer and closer.

Darkness curls around the edges of my vision. 

There’s more shouting as I feel myself starting to fall. The world goes black as arms stopping my descent.

And then I feel him.

He’s here.

Alpha.

Simon .

The base is a flurry of motion today. New recruits are scheduled to arrive for training soon, which translates to chaos around the base.

Price and Ghost are locked in nearly back-to-back meetings, coordinating with other administrators to finalize training schedules and ensure everyone’s on the same page.

Gaz and Soap are swept into physical prep duties. Soap assembles demolition kits while Gaz teams up with other sergeants to ready the fields and equipment.

With everyone occupied, our usual shopping trip gets scrapped. The guys had planned to ask Rosco or possibly Keegan to escort us, but even they’ve been pulled into the storm.

Inevitably, the fridge starts looking more and more like a barren wasteland. After much debate and some failed recipes, we finally admit defeat.

We’re going to have to eat in the mess hall by ourselves.

Wandering around the base without the guys always feels strange. Sure, we’re together, but something about their absence makes me feel weird. 

We had a meeting with the research team this morning. They took our vitals, went over milestone updates, the usual. One of the researchers lit up when I mentioned how close Simon and I were getting. It was subtle, but noticeable, and I did my best not to read too much into it.

We had walked to and from that meeting alone, so it shouldn’t feel so weird, but that awkward feeling is still there.

Red sends a message in our group chat to let the boys know where we’re headed, and we start making our way over.

Bee and Bun are making guesses about what’s going to be on the menu today while Red and I talk about the research meeting from this morning. 

That’s when it happens. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

Something’s wrong. 

The feeling of being watched slithers down my spine, making my steps slow.

“Wait,” I mutter to the girls, turning to glance over my shoulder.

But it’s already too late, chaos explodes around us.

Heavy boots pound against the pavement as commands are barked around us. 

I barely manage a warning shout before a thick arm locks around my waist and slams me into the wall. There’s just enough force to knock the air out of me for a moment.

Red yells something, and Bee’s scream cuts through all of the confusion. 

There’s a struggle nearby, the scuffle of shoes, and sharp curses, but no cries of pain from any of the girls yet. 

At least, not yet. 

A guttural snarl tears from my throat before I can even think. I’m twisting violently, ramming my elbow back into the gut of the bastard holding me. He grunts, grip loosening just enough. I shove backward, catching him off balance. Another set of hands grabs me before I can bolt. I kick out, heel connecting solidly with a shin. There’s a hiss of pain.

I whip around, eyes blazing, just in time to see a hand lunging for my face. I strike like an animal, teeth first. I clamp down on the thick muscle of their arm, biting deep.

“Fuck!” She bit me!” they yell, voice ragged.

Good. I think as the taste of their blood settles in my mouth. 

But there are too many. Rough hands claw at me, one forcing my jaw open as the other pins my arms. I thrash wildly, but they’re stronger, more coordinated now.

My heart is pounding, vision slowly turning red. The snarl rumbling in my chest is feral, uncontrollable. I feel myself slipping, instincts taking over as my body prepares to fight.

It takes three of them to wrangle me down to the floor and pin me. 

Gravel digs into my arms as a heavy knee keeps my back pinned down. They manage to force my wrists behind my back and zip-tie them tightly, making me hiss. I snarl and pant, my chest heaving as they secure a blindfold over my eyes. The world goes dark, and my panic only spikes.

“Get her gagged,” someone mutters. “She’s too damn loud.”

I feel hands fumbling at my face, and I buck again, trying to jerk away, but I can’t see where they’re coming from. 

Someone presses into the side of my jaw, forcing it open before something soft but firm presses into my mouth. The strap of the gag tightens against the back of my head, and the growl it draws is audibly muffled.

My snarl is reduced to a muffled growl, lips curled, breathing hard through my nose. Rage boils under my skin as I prep myself to fight as best as I can.

Then I hear it.

“Let me go!”

Bee’s voice. Sharp and panicked.

A soft sob follows. Bun.

The feral haze that clouds my mind thins just enough to break through. My breath stutters as I freeze. 

The girls. They need me. 

If I go feral, I might lose myself and hurt them. I need to stay in control if I want to keep any chance of helping them. I breathe hard through my nose, the rage still simmering under my skin, but I go limp in their hold.

They haul me up and drag me, my boots scraping against the ground. I thrash as much as I can, but they have too good of a grip on me for it to do anything. 

I’m shoved into the back of what I assume is a van. Metal slams against my shoulder as I’m shoved onto a bench seat, pain flaring down my arm. I grunt into the gag before letting out a muffled snarl. 

“Boo?”

Red’s voice is across from me. I jerk my head toward the sound, my heart lurching. 

“Are you okay?”

I growl low in my throat, a warning reflex, but the gag turns it into a throaty rumble. Someone beside me flinches and lets out a soft, high-pitched whine.

Bun.

My snarl dies immediately, guilt twisting in my gut because I’m scaring her. I shift towards her as best as I can, pressing my shoulder lightly to hers in what I hope is taken as comfort. She leans into the touch, her warmth grounding me more than anything else could right now.

“It’s okay,” Red says again, voice more firm now. “We’re okay. Everyone breathe.”

I hear Bee’s soft voice from the corner. “Looks like we got off easy with just these cuffs. They blindfolded Boo.”

“And gagged her,” Red mutters. “Did you bite one of them?”

I grunt in confirmation, my teeth still aching from the force of it.

“I mean… fair,” Bee adds under her breath.

“Stop talking,” a firm, masculine voice snaps from the front of the van.

I snarl in the direction it comes from, but it seems the other girls are listening to the command. The van rocks slightly as we hit a bump, and Bun leans into me more with a quiet, shaky breath.

I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, doing my best to be a firm pillar for her to lean on. Fury simmers in my chest, and I fight down the feral beast that wants to explode out of me, knowing it won’t do me any good here.

We continue for some time until the van slows. The sudden change in momentum jerks us forward, and my shoulder knocks into Bun’s. She flinches, and I instinctively press back into her, trying to steady her. An apologetic noise does its best to work its way from behind the gag.

A second later, the doors open, letting in a rush of cold air that makes me shiver. Two sets of hands grab under my arms and haul me off the seat.

“Move,” someone barks near my ear.

My boots scrape against uneven ground before I’m lifted again and carried a few steps. I twist against the hold, but it’s no use, they’re prepared this time.

“Ow! Not so rough!” Bee yells somewhere behind me. I growl behind the gag, a muffled threat, but it’s ignored as I’m dragged forward.

“Boo! Bun! Where are you taking us?” Red snaps, her voice vibrating with protective fury. Her answer is met with silence and more heavy footfalls as we’re taken further into… wherever we are. 

I’m dragged through what sounds like a doorway, the air shifting into something cooler, damper. Cement, maybe. A basement? A bunker?

Then I hear the girls' voices getting farther away.

“They’re splitting us up! Boo!” Red calls out.

“Shut up!” comes another masculine voice. Her voice gets cut off abruptly, and the sudden silence sends a shot of dread down my spine. 

I thrash again, kicking wildly. One of my boots connects with someone’s thigh, and I hear a sharp curse. I get shoved hard in return and do my best not to trip as I’m taken down a flight of stairs.

Heavy doors open, and I’m pulled into a new space. It’s colder and echoing the sounds of the boots scuffing against the floor. I’m guided to a chair and pushed down into it. A moment later, something metallic clicks around one of my ankles, and then the other. 

I’m shackled to the chair.

The blindfold stays on. 

So does the gag.

There’s the clatter of something being set down beside me. Then, gloved hands work quickly around my chest and waist. My pulse skyrockets.

“Keep still,” a man mutters.

I growl, but that doesn’t seem to deter him. 

There’s the subtle weight of something being added to my chest as straps tighten around my torso. There’s a faint click of some more plastic components, and my heart thrashes against my ribs.

The man says nothing as he adjusts a few more things. I feel a wire brush against my skin, and a low growl rumbles in my throat.

“It’s a prop,” he tells me. “Nothing live. Just part of the scenario.”

Scenario? So this is just a drill?

Part of me doesn’t believe it. My body certainly doesn’t, fight or flight instincts coil in my gut. He gives a couple of test pulls, and then a few moments later, I’m alone.

My pulse thuds in my ears as I hear a door above me shut with a heavy clunk. No voices. No footsteps. 

Just silence.

I suck in a breath through my nose, trying to calm the adrenaline flooding my system. 

My thoughts inevitably drift to Simon. Surely he’s tearing the place apart by now, trying to find me. The image anchors me, and I let the hope it brings hold my nerves at bay.

Time crawls.

The soft hum of some kind of ventilation kicks in, and it becomes the only thing I can focus on. I don’t know if it’s been minutes or hours. My arms ache from the zip ties cutting into my wrists, and the gag itches against my jaw, drying out my mouth.

Nothing changes. The silence is a weight of its own.

Then… footsteps coming down the stairs.

I tense, my back going rigid against the chair as the sound grows louder. A door creaks open.

“Easy,” a male voice says, firm but not unkind. “You’re alright.”

I growl behind the gag.

He exhales like he expected that. 

“This is a drill. Just a drill. You’re not in any danger. We just had to follow special restraint protocols because of your history. You did good, though. Really good, actually. They’ll debrief your alphas after.”

I sit still, breathing hard through my nose.

I hear him move closer. He tugs and does something to whatever’s strapped to my chest. A faint beeping starts up, rhythmic and mechanical.

“This won’t last much longer,” he tells me, his voice softer now. “The alphas are already on their way. Try to relax. Everyone’s safe.”

I want to scream at him. To demand answers. But the gag is stifling everything, so all he gets is a snarl.

He doesn’t reply. Just walks out, shutting the door behind him and sliding the lock into place.

Silence again.

Only now it’s worse, tainted with the false reassurance of his words. I can still feel the wire across my skin, the too-tight straps around my chest. 

I sit, bound and gagged, straining to listen. Occasionally, I catch muffled voices through the vents, but they’re impossible to decipher. I try pulling at the restraints again, but there’s no give. I know better than to exhaust myself, so I give up the fight.

My thoughts spiral. Frustration bleeds into dread. Dread gives way to fury.

I hate this.

The blindfold. The gag.

It reminds me of—

No.

I slam the door on that thought.

No point in going somewhere that dark, I need to focus on the present.

Above me, hurried footfalls pound across the floor. A door slams open. Shouting. 

Then… nothing.

My heart kicks up a gear. 

Footfalls pick up again. They’re heavier, faster. I can hear them working their way down the stairs with a purpose. 

There’s a brief pause before the door bursts open with a loud clack . 

I freeze, breathing shallowly, body coiled tight as a wire, waiting for something to happen.

“Boo?”

That voice. Soft and familiar, and heavy with worry.

Gaz.

Relief slams into me so hard it makes me dizzy.

“Gaz,” I try to say, but it’s garbled through the gag.

“Hang on, I got you. You’re okay now.” 

His boots scuff quickly against the floor as he rushes over to me. Hands touch the back of my head, and the blindfold comes free. Light sears my eyes, making me blink furiously.

My eyes water as his face comes into focus. There’s panic in his expression, but I can also see the raw relief that sits there as well. 

“Jesus,” he breathes, eyes scanning over me. “They got you all gagged and blindfolded…” he trails off.

I grunt again, shifting. The movement pulls on the zip ties, sending a jolt of pain through my shoulders. I flinch in pain, and Gaz lets out a noise of pity.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Okay, try not to move.”

He crouches, inspecting the device around my chest. His hands have a slight tremor to them, and I do my best to play it no mind.

“We’ve got what looks like a bomb vest,” he says into his comms, voice taut. “I need Soap down here now. Boo’s rigged.” 

I can’t hear the response, but his shoulders shift slightly with what must be a confirmation.

Gaz turns his attention back to me, softer now. “Alright. I’m going to cut that gag off you. Nice and easy, yeah? No sudden movements.”

I nod once, holding as still as I can. The blade of a knife flashes in the light before the gag drops away. I gasp, sucking in air like I’ve been underwater. My jaw aches, and my mouth feels like sandpaper.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I rasp, coughing once. “The others?”

“We’re still looking,” he says. “But finding you? That’s one hell of a start.”

Boots echo down the stairwell, fast and heavy. Soap bursts through the door a second later, eyes locking onto me. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

He drops to his knees beside Gaz, the two of them scanning the vest with quick, practiced movements. Despite the thundering in my chest, their calm focus settles something deep in me.

I try to keep still, but my muscles won’t stop shaking. There’s too much adrenaline coursing through me from being bound and blindfolded.

“Don’t worry, Boo,” Gaz says gently as he shifts to my side, starting to work on the shackles around my ankles. “We’re gettin' you out. Just breathe, alright? You’re safe now.”

Soap pulls a small kit from his belt and begins inspecting the wiring. “It’s a prop,” he confirms, mostly to himself. “No live components, but they didn’t cut corners. Looks like they wanted to see how we’d react under pressure.”

Gaz growls, low and sharp, catching me off guard. “Test or not, they crossed a line. She was gagged and blindfolded.”

They both pause for a second, looking at each other while touching their comms. They nod between each other before getting back to what they were doing.

The pressure around my ankles releases as Gaz gets them unshackled. 

“You still with us?” Gaz checks in, one hand coming up to steady my shoulder.

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Just…” I exhale hard. “Pissed.”

He huffs a dry, humorless smile. “Fair.”

Soap snips something, and the small beeping that was coming from the device stops.

“Bomb’s disabled,” he mutters to both Gaz and the comms. He immediately starts unbuckling the harness securing the mock device.

There’s another pause as they both seem to be listening to whatever is being said on the other end of the line.

“Any word yet on the others?” I ask, my voice still hoarse. 

Gaz nods. “Ghost found Red and Bun, and Price just located Bee. Everyone’s safe. We’re regrouping for exfil, then heading home.”

I sag a little, a wave of relief washing over me hard enough to leave me dizzy. “Good. That’s… good.”

Soap peels the last strap off my chest and tosses the fake bomb aside with a scoff. “Bloody twisted excuse for a training op, if you ask me.”

Gaz is already at my side, slicing through the zip ties with a practiced flick of his knife. The second they give, I bring my arms forward with a hiss, rolling my shoulders to work out the tightness. The plastic left angry lines on my wrist that ache with every movement.

I wipe my mouth, smearing dried drool and blood across the back of my hand.

Gaz gives me a crooked grin. “They certainly picked the wrong omega to mess with today.”

Heat climbs up my back. I rub my hands and look away.

“Hopefully no one’s too mad at me,” I murmur. “I, uh… went a little feral.”

The words feel thick with shame now that I know it was just a training op.

Soap glances over from where he’s repacking his tools. His face softens. “Boo… You were snatched, tied up, blindfolded, and gagged. ‘Course, you fought. I’d be more worried if you hadn’t.”

Gaz nods, voice steady. “You did what you had to. You got through it, fought back. No one’s holding that against you. Least of all Ghost.”

His name makes something tighten deep in my chest. I draw in a slow breath, biting the inside of my cheek. “Still… now that I know it was all fake, I feel stupid for losing it like that.”

“Don’t,” Soap says right away, standing up. “You reacted like someone who’s seen some real shite. That’s nothin’ to feel stupid about.”

Gaz steps closer, resting a firm hand between my shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here. Everyone’s upstairs, you’re safe now. You did good, Boo. Real good.”

I nod, swallowing the lingering guilt as best as I can. 

The stairwell blurs past in a wash of hard light and pounding footsteps. My wrists sting, and my jaw throbs, but I push forward anyway.

At the top, the door swings open, and we find everyone else waiting for us.

Red spots me first, her head snapping toward the stairwell.

“Boo!”

Bun and Bee are huddled behind her, looking a little disheveled, but otherwise whole.

Red rushes toward me, wrapping her arms tightly around me. Her grip nearly knocks the wind from my lungs.

“You’re ok,” she breathes, almost as if she’s reassuring herself.

I return the hug slowly, every muscle in my body aching, but her scent and warmth settle something inside me.

“I’m okay," I murmur against her shoulder. 

She pulls back, her eyes scanning my face. “You should have seen what you looked like. They had you tied and gagged and—”

“We need to move.”

Simon’s voice cuts through the reunion like a knife. His tone is sharp and commanding, sending a chill down my spine. He’s standing just inside the doorway, eyes sweeping the room with a harsh gaze. 

I want to run into his arms, have him tell me everything’s okay, but…

This isn’t Simon.

It’s Ghost.

The Ghost .

The one I’ve heard other soldiers whispering about when they think we can’t hear them. He’s not letting out any scent, but there’s still a presence about him that fills the room. It demands compliance and makes him scarier than I’ve ever seen him before.

He doesn’t meet my eyes, his focus falling to the corners and exits instead. He’s on high alert, and it’s clear that my comfort is not his concern right now.

“Gaz. Soap. Get them out. I’ll cover the rear. Price is bringing the van around.”

His orders are as sharp and fiery as the intensity in his eyes.

It makes me flinch. He hasn’t directly commanded me, yet the desire to obey overwhelms me.

The other two alphas give affirmatives and gestures to me and the other omegas to follow them. A small bit of hesitation has me linger for a second.

Surely, Ghost is just acting this harsh because he thinks I’m not okay. If I were to just bury myself into his chest, and let him know everything’s fine, he’ll be his normal self again, right?

I shake off that thought right as it crosses my mind. Everything about this man right now screams “mission first”.

Red catches my hand, squeezing gently. “Let’s go,” she says, her voice soft but shaking.

Nodding, I fall in step beside her.

Soap gestures us forward again, and we move. Bee and Bun stay tucked behind Red, with Gaz taking point and Soap at the flank.

We move quickly, but carefully. The corridors in this building stretch long and dim, lined with rusted pipes and flickering lights. I’m a bit thankful I couldn’t see all of this when I came in, because no doubt it would have just made me more spooked. 

“Almost there,” Gaz murmurs, cutting off my thoughts.

Glancing back to check on the girls, I find them spooked but still good. Ghost follows behind us, constantly scanning. The weight of my earlier panic still clings to my skin, but the way the guys seem to have everything locked down makes it lessen.

The air shifts as we get closer to the exit. It feels less barren, and I can smell the afternoon air before I see it. Finally, we burst through a metal door out into the open.

The sky spreads out above us, starting to shift colors as the sun starts its descent towards the horizon. A van idles nearby, and Price stands at the ready. His silhouette is solid, his eyes scanning the world around us.

“Clear,” he calls the second he spots us. His voice holds the same authoritative tone he used when we had the whole mystery omega debacle.

Soap waves us forward toward the van. “Come on, in you get.”

We rush across the open space to the van. Hands reach to help us up, guiding us one by one into the van. We pile in quickly, the cold giving way to the van’s warm interior. The heater is running at full blast, and my chest warms thinking about Price doing that for all of us.

Soap and Gaz climb in after us, sliding the door shut with a metallic thunk. Ghost and Price are already up front.

“All inside?” Price calls back, already shifting into gear.

“In and accounted for,” Gaz replies, clipped and certain.

“Copy. We’re mobile.” 

The van jolts forward, and we move away from the compound.

“Soap. Status,” Price says.

“No major injuries,” Soap calls back. “They’re shaken, but intact, Cap.”

Red relaxe more into the seat next to me, so I follow her lead. My limbs feel heavy, and my heart does its best to slow its pounding against my ribs.

Bee and Bun curl closer together across from us. I can’t help but feel sad about how quiet it is back here. Soap and Gaz make no move to change that, staying as silent sentinels by the doors. 

I want to say something.

Thank you. 

I’m sorry.

Anything… 

But the words won’t come. They’re buried under the ache in my throat, the static in my limbs, the bone-deep fatigue clawing at my edges.

So I lean my head back instead, letting my eyes fall shut for just a second. Red is trembling beside me. Not violently, but enough that there’s a constant tremor. Like her body hasn’t gotten the message that we’re safe now.

I shift slowly, easing behind her, and let her lean back into my chest.

She startles.

“Wha—”

The low rumble of my purr cuts her off. It’s a small thing, more instinct than anything. But it rolls through me, soothing and warm, meant for her just as much as for myself.

Red exhales slowly. Her shoulders loosen, and then her spine melts back against me. The shaking doesn’t stop, but it dulls. I rest my chin lightly on her shoulder and just breathe .

Across from us, Bee’s fingers tighten around Bun’s. She doesn’t say a word, but her thumb strokes the back of Bun’s knuckles, over and over, like she needs the repetition.

Soap glances at us, his eyes softening a fraction. He shifts his weight as if to say something, but then doesn’t. Just leans back against the wall of the van. 

Gaz mimics his action, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, jaw tight. His leg bounces, its soft rhythm betraying the nerves still buzzing through him. 

No one speaks.

The only sound in the back of the van is the engine, the soft breathing of the team, and the faint, steady hum of my purring.

No one says anything the entire ride back, and Ghost doesn’t look back.

Not once.

It’s a while later when we arrive back home.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Price says from the front.

The van rolls to a stop, and almost immediately, the back doors are opened. Gaz and Soap are up like a wall, stepping in front of the opening before we can even move.

“At ease, soldiers,” comes a familiar voice.

Kate.

I peer between Gaz’s shoulder and Soap’s elbow. Sure enough, she stands just outside the van with a clipboard tucked under one arm. A few researchers and some support staff flank her. Price is already out, his door slamming behind him before I hear him stomping over to her. They start talking in low, clipped tones I can’t quite make out.

Gaz and Soap stay right where they are until Price turns towards them.

“Stand down.”

Only then do they relax and step out of the van.

And then, there’s a blur of fur.

“Murphy!” Bee breathes, just as the dog jumps up into the van, tail wagging furiously. He’s panting like he just ran a mile, tongue lolling out. He goes straight to Bee and Bun, nudging their hands until Bee gives him a few, shaky strokes.

Red doesn’t move. She’s frozen stiff beside me.

Murphy spins once, then focuses on Red and me. He sniffs Red, who jerks back and grabs my arm out of reflex. The dog simply huffs, then sits in front of her and rests his head in her lap.

I look up to see Rosco at the open doors of the van, eyes sweeping over each of us. 

“How we doin’ in here?” he asks.

He’s using that tone. The soft-edged, no-sudden-movements, omega-safe voice. 

I hate it.

“We’re fine,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Bit rattled. That’s all.”

Over his shoulder, I see Kate and the alphas walking off with the research team. They’re being led toward a nearby building, clearly in a heated conversation.

Bee watches them leave and makes a small, panicked noise in her throat. 

“It’s okay,” Rosco says gently, already moving to block her view. “They’re just stepping away for a quick debrief. They’ll be right back, alright?”

Soap turns his head, looking like he wants to stay behind, but one of the researchers touches his arm and murmurs something. He shoots one last look over his shoulder, shooting Bee a kiss before disappearing into the corridor.

“Why don’t we get you all somewhere warm?” Rosco offers. “I hear you guys missed lunch, we’ve got some food for you if you’re interested.”

We all look to Red, our head omega, to see what she wants to do. She’s checked out, eyes glazed and hands still clenched in her lap as she looks down at Murphy.

Despite my better judgment, I make the call. I know she’ll grumble about it later, but right now, someone has to take the lead.

“That sounds good,” I say. “Let’s go, girls.”

Rosco watches me closely. He doesn’t question it, just nods once.

“Murphy, come.”

Murphy hops down without hesitation, happily returning to Rosco’s side. Beside him, a few other soldiers approach with blankets and water bottles in hand. They move slowly and quietly, like they’re approaching injured animals.

Rosco steps forward, holding out a hand.

Bee and Bun look over at me, still unsure.

“It’s okay,” I tell them. “We’re safe.”

They exchange a look. Then, finally, Bee reaches out. Her hand trembles slightly as it grabs Rosco’s hand. He helps her down carefully, like she’s made of glass and about to break at any second.

He guides her to the next soldier, who meets her with a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak.

Bun watches the whole thing with wide eyes before slowly extending her own hand.

One by one, we come down, met with blankets and water bottles. The girls seem a bit softer now, but still a little rattled. Rosco moves in front of us, grabbing our attention.

“Alright,” he says, voice pitched low and calm. “Let’s get you all home.”

To my surprise, Keegan essentially pops up next to him. They fall in step, walking slightly ahead of us. At their heel are Riley and Murphy, who occasionally circles us as we walk towards home.

Some of the other soldiers leave, until we’re left with just two and a researcher who walks in loose formation behind us. Nothing about this is aggressive, but I can’t help but be overly alert. 

No one’s rushing us, but I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched from every angle, making me want to sprint home. 

Red walks beside me in silence, her hands clutching her blanket and water bottle. Her jaw’s locked tight, and I know better than to try to speak to her right now.

Bun is holding onto Bee’s sleeve like a lifeline. Neither of them speaks, but they keep their attention on the dogs.

We move as one slow, shuffling group through the base and toward the familiar barracks we call home. 

When the barracks door opens, the scent of home hits, and it’s enough to ease some of the tightness in my chest. 

Bee and Bun collapse onto the couch without hesitation, sinking into the cushions like their legs just gave out. I hang back just a step, guiding Red with a hand at her back. She’s upright, but her eyes are distant, like she’s looking right through me.

“You’re safe,” I find myself murmuring. I rub my hand against her back in slow circles. “We’re home. Sit down for me, yeah?”

She gives a faint nod and lowers herself into her usual spot like her body remembers the motion better than her mind does.

I turn as the researcher steps forward, tablet in hand, med kit slung over their shoulder.

“Vitals only,” they say carefully. “Everyone’s free to refuse anything. We just need a basic read.”

I bit back the instinct to snap. The words, “ we’re not fuckin lab rats ,” hover on my tongue, but I swallow them. It’s not worth it right now.

With a tight nod, I let them do their thing.

Murphy and Riley drift easily among the girls, lying down and snuggling with them like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Riley snuggles in between Bee and Bun, tail wagging as they mindlessly pet him. Murphy finds Red again, settling between her legs and lying his head down on her lap. One of her hands finds its way to one of his ears, stroking it with her thumb.

I stand at the back of the couch, watching every goddamn move that the researcher makes. I know Rosco and Keegan are nearby, but I don’t look at them, my focus is solely on the girls. 

Every wince, flinch, and tired twitch of their hands makes my jaw clench harder. I do my best to not let it show on my face and hold in my scent, but I can feel the pressure that’s building in my chest from the restraint.

I’m the last one they come to. They run through their tests quicker, probably because of the mean look that’s no doubt in my eyes. Their fingers are light and professional, but I still want this over as soon as possible.

“Any dizziness? Nausea? Head trauma?”

“Just homicidal urges,” I deadpan.

The researcher pauses, lips twitching into something that isn’t quite a smile. They jot it down and back off.

“That’s all. I’ll be leaving now.”

“Thanks,” I say, flat and automatic. I make sure I see the door physically close before I turn to the two that are left behind.

“How long are you staying?”

“Until your alphas get back,” Rosco answers, voice calm and low.

I grunt in acknowledgment and finally let my shoulders drop. My gaze moves back to the couch, where the girls are still petting the dogs. Red’s got me a bit nervous, she hasn’t moved much and her breathing is slow but shallow. 

There’s movement in the kitchen before Keegan appears with a stack of meal containers. He sets them on the coffee table before passing them out to the girls. The last one, the one meant for me, is placed on an empty spot on the couch.

He looks at me, brow arching in a way that reminds me of Simon. With a reluctant sigh, I make my way around the couch and sit where the container was placed. I watch as the girls eat, happy in particular to see Red eating, even if it does seem robotic. 

Rosco comes with more bottles of water, placing them next to us before sitting on the ground in front of us. 

He doesn’t say anything, just folds his arms loosely as he just exists . Betas have always been a gamble for me. Either they’re grumpy about alpha and omega dynamics, or they’re like Rosco. Just a calm presence that helps keep everything balanced. 

He’s not pushing out his scent or anything like that, but him just being here is grounding enough. 

The room is filled with the sounds of eating and the occasional thumping of tails. The longer we sit, the more the edge bleeds out of the air. Not gone, just softened. 

I glance up at Red again. Her eyes meet mine this time, and I see her actually staring back at me.

I nod once, and she nods back before I see her swallow hard.

We definitely need to talk. But once we’re better.

The food’s hald-finished in my lap, but I don’t have the appetite to finish it all. I just let it sit there, warming my legs for me.

Bee and Bun are both lying on top of Riley, who doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Red’s holding on to her barely eaten plate, her appetite probably just as gone as mine is. 

There’s a subtle shift in the air that has my head whipping towards the entrance of the rec room.

The barely audible sound of boots outside the door has every hair on the back of my neck standing up. I lock in, waiting to see who’s going to walk through the door.

Soap comes in first, slow and alert, eyes scanning until they land on Bee. His shoulders drop just a little when he sees her, breathing and safe, curled up on the couch. Then Gaz comes in, jaw tight and eyes already on Bun. 

Price enters next, standing next to them. There’s a flicker of emotion behind his eyes when he clocks Red sitting stiff and silent, her face a blank wall.

And then…

Him .

He doesn’t say a word. His mask seems colder, as if his emotions leaked through and contorted it to something meaner. The second his eyes land on me, something in his posture changes, just barely. He steps inside slowly, hands still at his sides.

None of them rush in, they just stand there, taking all of this in.

Bee looks over to Soap, a shaky little exhale that sounds like the start of a sob escapes her. 

Soap looks troubled, like he wants to dart over, but he’s not sure if he should. He looks to Red and then to me.

My jaw is stiff as I look at all of them and nod, giving silent permission.

Soap’s across the room in a second, crouching next to Bee, brushing her hair back, grounding her with one hair on her shoulder.

Gaz sits next to Bun on the arm of the couch, not touching her yet, just there. Waiting for permission. She leans into him first, and that’s all he needs. His arms go around her slowly, like he’s trying not to crush her.

Price kneels in front of Red, not reaching out, just looking at her.

“I’m here,” he says, voice low.

Red doesn’t answer but lets him move the food container out of the way so he can get closer to her. 

Rosco and Keegan are looking at me expectantly. 

“We can leave the dogs here for the night if you’d like,” Rosco tells me. 

I think about it for a second before shaking my head. “That’s alright. Thank you, though.”

“Of course, D,” Rosco smiles. 

The dogs are called and the soldiers leave just as Bee and Bun are taken back to their rooms. Price is whispering some things to Red, most likely trying to get her to do the same. 

I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until Ghost steps closer to me on the other side of the couch. I look up at him, not quite sure what to say or do.

“You okay?” he asks.

It’s not the question that kills me.

It’s the way he says it, like he’s been waiting hours to ask.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but my voice cracks, betraying me.

His fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t move any closer. 

Red lets Price help her stand and the pair makes their way out of the room. Ghost and Price share a nod, before it’s just me and Ghost in the rec room.

There’s an awkward silence between us. 

Which is weird.

This is all so weird. 

Why are things so tense?

“You can sit, you know,” I say quietly, trying to cut this weird tension. “I’m not gonna bite.”

Nothing.

He just stares, like he’s still on watch.

“You still in Ghost mode?” I ask softly, wrapping my arms around myself. “Not sure if I’m talking to him or Simon right now.”

That gets a reaction. A twitch of his shoulders.

“You hurt?” he asks finally. His voice is low and flat with barely any inflection.

“No. Nothing bad. Just tired.”

He looks me up and down, as if double-checking for himself.

“Let me see.”

It’s not a suggestion.

I sigh and hold out my hands, letting him inspect them like evidence. There’s blood flecks dried in the creases of my knuckles, and red rings around my wrists from the restraints.

He walks around the couch with measured steps, every movement controlled and precise. 

His gloved fingers skim my skin, tracing the marks on my wrists before moving up my arm. He pushes one sleeve up, and then the other. When this thumb brushes a bruise near my elbow, I flinch.

He freezes.

Stares.

I see movement under the mask, but can’t quite make out what he’s doing.

Then his hand drops away.

“I’m fine,” I say gently. “You got us out. We made it.”

“It shouldn’t’ve happened,” he growls, voice sharper now. “It wasn’t right of them to involve you.”

“We’re alright—”

“ You panicked ,” he cuts in, eyes flashing. “You were gagged. Blindfolded. You didn’t even know it was a drill.”

The words hit hard enough to sting. I watch him glance away like he’s already regretting it.

He’s mad, but not at me.

I lean closer and rest a hand on his arm, making him tense.

“Yeah. I panicked,” I admit quietly. “And I feel stupid about it. It was a lot. But I’ve been through a lot worse.”

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me like I’m breakable, which makes my stomach twist. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than before.

“Didn’t know it was fake until we breached.”

A pause.

“Thought I lost you.”

My heart stutters. It’s like the first real crack in his armor.

“I’m here,” I whisper, smiling faintly. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

He lets out a hard breath through his nose. More like a scoff than a laugh.

I close the distance between us by wrapping my arms around his waist.

For a second, he doesn’t move. He just stands there, solid and stiff.

Then, finally, his arms drape around me.

They’re not gentle and soft. They’re tight and possessive. Like he’s trying to fuse us together so nothing can get between us again.

We stay that way until the pressure in my spine makes me shift. I whine a little and he lets me go. When I pull back to look up at him, I catch just the edge of softness in his eyes.

“Wanna watch a baking show?” I ask, voice lighter than I feel. “Think I’m too amped up to sleep.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m joking. Then the corner of his eye crinkles.

“...Fine.”

A beat.

“But if someone drops a cake, I’m turning it off. Can’t handle any more tragedies tonight.”

We get through about four episodes when my eyes start to droop.

The rush from the day, the way his arms are wrapped around me, and the gentle waft of his scent coming through his gear is enough to take me out. 

I feel myself getting jostled at one point, but I’m too far gone to really wake up. I just know one moment I’m in my bed, and the next I’m surrounded by Simon’s scent. 

And warmth.

Delicious warmth.

The kind that sinks into your bones and makes you want to stay asleep forever. I shift, stretching my leg before tucking it back in again. I’m slung up against something solid and warm.

Alpha, my omega determines.

I nuzzle closer, practically on top of him. My head’s on his chest, his arm snug around my back, and our legs are tangled together beneath the blanket. His body radiates heat.

For once, there’s no tension.

Just peace.

It’s a chore to open my eyes. It takes a few tries before I can manage to fully do so. 

My vision is a bit blurry, but I stare at a face.

My brain catches up a bit too late.

There’s a face.

A man’s face.

A man I don’t recognize.

That’s not Ghost.

There’s no mask, no balaclava, just a face. 

I react on instinct.

My fist rears back and I punch him right in the chest.

“Fuck!” the man coughs, waking with a jerk.

I scramble back on the bed, trying to create some distance between me and this stranger. 

“Who the fuck are—”

Then it hits me.

The scar on his jaw, the voice…

Simon.

Oh. Shit.

My mouth hangs open in horror.

He props himself up on one elbow, rubbing his sternum with a glare.

“Good morning to you, too,” he grumbles, voice rough with sleep.

“Fuck, I thought… I didn’t realize…” I cover my face, then peek through my fingers. “You can’t just not have the mask on and not warn me!”

He groans and flops back onto the pillow, draping his arm over his eyes. “Wanted to just sleep. Needed the mask off.”

“I’ve never seen your face!” I hiss, starting at him like he might vanish. “You can’t just spring this onto me! I thought there’d be… I don’t know… some more ceremony to this!” I gesture vaguely, flapping one hand around.

“I can put it back on,” he deadpans.

“No!” I shoot back, maybe a little too fast. “No. It’s nice… Seeing you.”

That earns a grin.

A real one.

“You have a nose,” I blurt out.

Now I’ve earned a laugh.

“I do,” he says with a smirk that feels illegal. “And I’m thankful you didn’t aim for it.”

I let out a breathy chuckle, eyes drifting down his chest before snapping back up to his face.

Jesus, what a face.

The scar that protrudes from his mouth is familiar, but now I can see just how far up it runs, curving toward his cheekbone. Smaller ones branch off at the end like tree branches. Without his black face paint, I can finally see that one of his eyebrows has a scar at the tail end of it as well, splitting it in half. His brows are just a shade darker than—

Wait.

He’s blonde.

My breath catches a little.

Of course he’s fucking blonde.

This man just keeps getting better and better. Of course he’d have the hair color that just makes my knees buckle.

A stupid grin breaks across my face, and I can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Simon asks, the smile slipping from his face as he shifts, a bit thrown by my reaction. “What’s so funny?”

I cover my mouth, trying to get a hold of myself. “You’re blonde,” I say between breaths.

Simon blinks at me, arching a brow. “Huh?”

I shake my head, still smiling. “You’re blonde. Because of course you are .” A small laugh escapes me. “I have always had such a weakness for blondes. Like… embarrassingly so.”

His shoulders slump, tension easing from him. “That’s right,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I remember you saying that.” 

He lets out a relieved groan. “Scared me there, thought I’d scared you off.”

“No,” I say, voice warm with reassurance. “Not at all.”

He studies me for a moment, then cocks his head slightly. “So…” he drawls. “I take it you like what you see?”

I hum, eyes sweeping over his face and chest again, soaking in every inch of him.

“Very much so,” I grin. “Glad I didn’t ruin anything.”

Simon huffs a quiet laugh. “Give a guy a warning next time you’re going to wake him up with a punch, yeah?”

“Reflex,” I say with mock innocence, rubbing the area I just hit. “Besides… you lived.”

My fingers brush over his bare skin, just above his heart. The laughter shifts into something quieter, and once again I find myself feeling… warm.

I don’t pull my hand away, letting it trail up and down his arm, across his chest, and then up his neck, before settling under his jaw.

My thumb strokes his chin, lovingly touching the exposed skin. 

Simon watches me with those dangerous eyes of his. 

He’s certainly a lot more readable without the mask on. I can understand why he wears it. His face is so easy to read.

His breathing shifts just slightly beneath my fingertips, and I watch as my touch strokes the fire in his eyes.

“You always this handsy in the morning?” he murmurs, low and dry.

“Only when I wake up on top of a hot blonde,” I reply, my smile softening.

I let my hand drift upward, trailing along the edge of an old scar on his shoulder. Then, without thinking, I reach up and gently run my fingers through his hair.

It’s soft and messy, and somehow even blonder up close.

His eyes close for a moment as I explore his scalp with my fingers. 

“Careful,” he rasps. “You keep touching me like that, I’m gonna forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman.”

The heat in his voice goes straight to my core. I lean in, nose barely brushing his cheek as I whisper, “What if I don’t want you to be?”

He exhales sharply, bringing both of his hands up to keep me pushed up against his chest. One hand works its way to the back of my neck, pulling me in.

Our mouths meet, and my heart soars. We start off slow, enjoying the connection before it quickly turning into something hungrier. 

His other hand moves under my shirt, running up my bare back. I slide into his lap better without hesitation. My knees settle on either side of his hips as I steady myself with one hand on his chest and the other in his hair. 

I break the kiss, lowering myself into his neck and nuzzling into his scent gland. He stretches his head back, allowing me better access as I let myself get drunk of his scent alone.

I feel my body responding to him, and I can’t help it when my hips rock up against him. His grip on me tightens as he lets out a small growl.

“Sweethe—”

“Please,” I pant against his jawline. “I need you. I’m ready.”

He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with me.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low but firm. “You just went through a lot. You don’t have to prove anything.”

I kiss the corner of his mouth where the scar is.

“I know.”

A beat.

“Not trying to prove anything. Just really need you.”

His gaze flicks over my face, like he’s making sure I’m not lying. I keep my eyes on him as my fingers drift down his chest.

Something in him shifts.

The hand on my neck tightens slightly, and the hand on my back moves down to my waist as he guides me back into a kiss. It’s deeper and hotter this time. I gasp into his mouth as his teeth scrape lightly against my lower lip, and he groans low in his throat.

I can feel the restraint as it coils in him. Like he’s trying to hold back a dam with his bare hands.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he mutters against my skin as he kisses along my jaw. “If it’s too much, if it hurts… anything.”

He tells me this every time, and every time, I can’t help the flutter of my heart at his words.

“I will,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He slowly flips us so I’m under him, my back pressing into the warm mattress where he just was. His scent hugs me from behind as he works on helping me out of my shirt.

He presses a kiss to the center of my chest, then another just beneath my ribs. He lowers himself, trailing his mouth down my stomach, taking his time.

When he reaches the waistband of my panties, he pauses, eyes flicking up.

I nod.

He slides them down, baring myself to him and his breath hitches.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and I can hear the edge in his voice now. “That never gets old.”

My cheeks warm as I look away, suddenly feeling bashful. 

His fingers dip between my legs, slowly dragging through the wetness he finds there.

“You’re already soaked,” he says, voice rough with restraint.

I arch up into his touch, gasping softly. “Told you I like blondes,” I breathe out a laugh.

He chuckles. “I can see that,” he tells me as he slowly slips a finger inside me. 

I squeeze around him, moving my head back so I can look at him.

“You good?” he checks in, eyes locked on mine.

“Yeah,” I nod, biting my lip. “More.”

He works his finger in and out of me. “Now, now,” he tuts playfully. “Thought you told me you needed me to take my time. Open you up for me. Isn’t that what you told me Mo was telling you?”

I look away again, my blush no doubt making my face even redder. “That was before I had your hands on me,” I all but whine.

He huffs a laugh that sounds more like a growl. “Patience, love. Let me make this good for you.”

He works me open patiently, adding a second finger eventually, and easing them in and out in long, curling motions. He strokes along the sensitive wall that has my hips jumping, and he’s quick to keep me anchored.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he mutters.

A third finger has me gasping. I can feel myself stretching around him, burning just a little, but in the way that feels oh so good. My body starts to flutter around him, breath coming fast.

“Simon,” I gasp, clutching his arm, trying to anchor myself.

He stops immediately. “Too much?”

“No,” I breathe. “Just losin’ myself a little.”

“‘S alright, love,” he coos at me. “‘M right here.”

His thumb gently brushes over my clit, and he hums as I jerk again. “Need you to come for me,” he says, voice dark and sure. “Want you drippin’ for me.”

I whimper when I feel his lips on mine. My hands are quick to tangle in his hair. I savor the way it feels as I’m finally able to run my fingers through it, lightly pulling on the strands.

He groans, watching me as he devours me with dark, heavy eyes. His tongue flicks, then flattens, the circles until I’m panting his name and fisting the sheets below me.

His fingers curl, once again hitting that spot inside of me, and my body clenches around him.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let go for me.”

I come hard, body arching up off the mattress as I rock and roll with the waves of pleasure that plow through me. His hand never stops, riding me through the pleasure, coaxing every pulse out of me until I’m gasping and shaking.

Only then does he slow down.

He pulls back, fingers glistening with my slick. His eyes meet mine, and I watch something feral flicker behind them.

“Still good?” he checks.

I nod dumbly. “Yes,” I breathe. “Please, Simon. I need you.”

My hips cant up to him on their own.

He swears under his breath and moves to pull his boxers down. He hovers over me, stroking himself a few times. He’s still so long and so thick, but the need to feel him supersedes any fear I have.

He catches me watching him, and his jaw clenches. “We can stop the second it’s too much, love. I mean it.”

“I trust you,” I say, and we both share a tender look.

He settles between my thighs, lining himself up. One hand presses gently against my hip, and I’m not sure if it's to help ground me or himself.

The first push in is slow, just the tip. I gasp and clutch onto his arm. My nails dig into the thick muscle that’s there.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

I nod as he starts slowly pushing in more. My body’s instinctively clenching down, trying to suck him in, but deal with the stretch all at the same time. He eases in another inch and I feel myself stretching wide around him.

My chest rises in sharp, shallow breaths. The stretch is dizzying, like my body is being claimed and reshaped around him.

Simon leans in and presses a kiss to my temple, his breath hot against me. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tight fit, but you’re takin’ me like you were made for it.”

The praise melts something in me. I exhale, easing just enough of the tension that he’s able to slowly push in deeper.

Inch by inch, he slowly eases in until he’s completely bottomed out. He groans, low and guttural, into the crook of my neck.

His breath hits my scent gland, and I shudder at the feeling. He trembles, holding himself above me while he fights to control himself. I breathe deeply, trying my best to adjust to his size.

“You alright?” he rasps.

“Yeah,” I whimper. “Fuck, Simon. God, yeah.”

I feel his mouth twitch into a grin against my neck.

“Good,” he coos. “Could live right here. Deep inside my girl.”

“Wouldn’t stop you,” I breathe.

That gets a growl out of him. I gasp as it vibrates against my neck, clenching around him on instinct. The faint burn of the stretch I was feeling fades into pleasure. My body starts to move on its own, rolling my hips up while it tries to chase more of the delicious friction.

I feel him fist the sheets beside my head, his control wavering.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, baby. Need you to move.”

He pulls out slowly, then pushes back in with a tight groan.

His thrusts are shallow at first. He’s letting me adjust again, letting me feel every stroke as he drags against my walls.

My arms wrap around him, nails digging into his back, leaving my own marks on him. I need him impossibly closer. There’s a pull in my chest that aches for me to be closer.

He trembles above me as he keeps going.

“God,” he says, voice breaking. “You feel like heaven. So wet… so tight around me. My perfect fuckin’ omega.”

I’ve beaten the shit out of guys for even referring to me as an omega before. I’ve always had to fight because of my designation, always felt like it made me something… lesser .

But when Simon says it, when he says I’m his omega, it feels right. The anger, the feral need to prove myself, is gone. Instead, I find myself feeling… proud. 

Yeah, I’m his omega. I’m the one who’s got him damn near fighting for his life right now.

My body must feel the same way, because it eagerly adjusts to him. I’m no longer clenching around him to try to accommodate him, I’m clenching around him to try to suck him in deeper. 

Every filthy, sweet word he whispers in my ear has me unraveling just a little bit more.

He keeps his rhythm shallow and controlled, but every stroke drags against me in a way that has me seeing stars. His cock presses against that sweet spot inside me again and again, and it hits so good that I swear my mind starts to fog around the edges.

I whimper something, not even sure if I’m forming actual words. He pulls up just enough to look at me.

“Feelin’ good, sweetheart?”

I nod, but it's mindless. I don’t even care what I look like right now, but I’m sure “absolutely wrecked” could be an accurate description. He’s certainly making me feel that way. 

His muscular arms cage me in, and I can’t help but turn my head towards his inked one. My lips lazily mouth at the artwork, drooling as my mind starts to turn more and more fuzzy. He smells like home and something more… primal.

“Shit,” I breathe against his arm. “Simon, I— fuck … feels too good.”

His eyes flash darker. “Too much?”

“No! God, no. Just… keep going. Please.”

He groans, and it sounds desperate. His hips stutter once, like instinct is breaking past the hold he’s kept so carefully.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Listen to you. Already all fucked out for me, baby?”

A desperate, needy moan leaves me, and he responds with a growl of his own. The sounds vibrate between us, and I can feel something once again stirring in my chest. It’s like a primal call and response that I’m just a bystander to.

And then… I feel him getting thicker. The base of him starts to swell in that subtle but unmistakable way.

Oh, fuck .

“Simon—” My voice shakes. “Is that… your knot?”

He curses, forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged. “Yes,” he grunts. “‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to. Not in rut, just… fuck … I couldn’t hold it back.”

I should be panicking. I should be shoving him off of me and figuring out what’s going on. 

But that’s not what I want. 

I want that stretch, want to be locked together with it. I’m aching for it.  

“God, Simon, please, ” I whine. “Want it.”

I arch under him, rolling my hips to grind more against the base of him.

He snaps.

His mouth crashes into mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. His hands grip my hips tightly, dragging me into him with force that makes stars explode behind my eyes.

Every thrust now is harder. Deeper. Any sense of gentleness is gone .

He’s panting against my throat now, and for a second, I think he might just mark me.

“You want my knot?” he growls with a hoarse tone. “Wanna be all tied up on me?”

“Yes,” I sob. “Yes, Simon. Please, please, please . Knot me, need it. Want it, baby, please .”

He snarls and buries himself as deep as he can go, hips grinding tight to mine. I shake beneath him, my walls fluttering around him in pulses I can’t control.

I feel him swell again. It’s so good, so thick and hot and absolutely perfect.

His fists tighten against the sheets, threatening to tear them to shreds as he fully locks up together.

He groans against my neck, shuddering and shaking above me as bursts of warmth start to fill me.

I can’t help the wrecked moan that leaves me as I feel the warmth, delicious stretch of his cock, making me feel so unbelievably full .

“Fuck,” he growls desperately. “So perfect. Perfect little omega. Got you all tied up on me.”

I whimper, unable to really answer with words as my pussy continues to pulse around him. 

He seems to gain some control of himself back and cradles my face.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers as I wriggle around his knot. “Just breathe, love. Ride it out with me.”

His knot twitches again, making me whimper. My cunt flutters around him as I come hard. My brain feels syrup-thick, floating somewhere in space as my body jerks and spasms against him.

I grip onto him tightly, for fear if I don’t that I’ll be joining my mind in some other dimension. My heads thrown back, completely exposed to him as I let wave after wave of pleasure wash over me.

“So good,” I hear myself whimper. “So… so good.”

He stays buried, knot locked, as another wave of heat pours into me. I feel every twitch, every soft grunt he tries to smother as he stares down at me.

Our breathing fills the room as we both try to catch our breaths. His is a bit more low and steady while mine is soft and shallow, like I’ve forgotten how to inhale all the way.

The room is a bit lighter now, sun peeking through the curtains and casting soft shadows over us. It makes everything seem more like a dream.

Simon’s still buried inside of me, his knot swollen and snug. It keeps us flush together in a way that feels… dangerous .

It’s intimate in a way I don’t think either of us were ready for.

My body feels boneless, thighs twitching as my breathing slowly starts to come back to normal. Every pulse of him sends another ripple of heat through my belly.

I blink up at the ceiling, feeling dazed.

Simon shifts, just slightly, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“You alive?” he mutters.

“Barely,” I breathe. “Don’t think I fully have control of my body at the moment. Can’t stop shaking.”

He huffs a breathy laugh. “‘M sorry. That’s my fault.”

I hum, my hand comes up to stroke his tattooed arm. 

“...So what’s with the knot?”

He stills.

“Didn’t mean to,” he says, looking at me with concern. “‘M not in rut… it just popped somehow. Maybe I was just… more pent up than I realized.”

“Pent up enough to pop a knot?” I ask him, bewildered. I had never heard of anything like that before.

“I don’t know. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

I hum, thinking.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” I shake my head, trying to reassure him. “God, no. That was…”

I trail off, my pussy clenching against him as I think about what just happened.

He groans, leaning down and settling between my neck again. “Fuck, sweetheart. You can’t be clenchin’ me like that or we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.”

“Sorry, sorry,” I respond automatically.

He rubs his neck against mine, scenting me in a way that feels more passionate than possessive. “You’re fine, love. Just been drivin’ me half mad since I first smelt you. Think we’re lucky I’ve even held out this long.”

We share a breathy laugh before readjusting to wrap our arms around each other better.

“Thank you, Simon,” I say, voice heavy with emotion.

“For what?” he says against my neck.

I smile. “For all of that,” I sigh. “It felt good. Really good… Haven’t felt that good in a while.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for making you feel good. I’ll happily do it whenever you ask, love.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I tease.

There’s a flutter in my chest as we both settle into each other, waiting for his knot to go down. Our arms wrap around each other as our touches turn into something more soothing. We lay there for some time, lying in comfortable silence as we softly touch one another. My mind starts to drift into the haze again. It’s warm and relaxing, making me want to stay there forever.

Simon’s voice jolts me out of it.

“...Think we woke anyone?”

I snort. “I’ll be honest. I forgot where we were. We share a wall with Gaz, so I bet they probably heard.”

He groans. “We’ll have to watch ourselves next time. Don’t need Price giving us a talk for being too loud.”

I giggle. “Yeah, that does not sound fun at all.”

We don’t say anything else. Just breathe together, letting the light from the morning sun spill against our tangled bodies. 

The knot holds us together, not quite ready to let go.

But neither are we.

When I was just a pup, I was told meeting your mate was supposed to be one of the most profound, life-altering moments of your existence. The media made it look like something out of a fairy tale. A whirlwind of emotion and chemistry that flipped your entire world on its head for the better. It was meant to be this sacred, life-defining event. The ultimate happily ever after.

Even the alphas I grew up around had been raised to believe that their greatest purpose in life was to find their mate and build a pack. Like it was an inescapable destiny written into their bones. 

But as I lay sprawled out on a stiff, unfamiliar bed in the middle of a military compound, staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling, I couldn’t help but feel like all of it was just dumb, idealistic fluff.

I’d spent the last two weeks being physically, mentally, and emotionally tested to determine if I was fit to even qualify as a mate. The entire process drained any notion of romance from the concept. It felt more like a brutal job interview than the stuff of soulmates and sweeping declarations of love.

But I didn’t have much of a choice.

After running into some trouble with the law, I was given two options: undergo the selection process and potentially become a mate for a highly trained, potentially dangerous military personnel, or go to jail.

I had agreed to the first option without much thought. At the time, it seemed like the obvious choice. Buying myself a little more freedom, no matter how brief, felt like the better option. Besides, I was certain I wouldn’t make the cut.

I wasn’t the typical, soft-spoken omega that alphas usually fawned over. My years of working on my pack’s farm had left me sturdier than most, my frame stronger and more solid from hauling feed and breaking colts. My body had been shaped for labor, not draping over an alpha’s arm looking dainty and fragile. My rougher edges had always been more repellent than attractive. 

To my surprise, the recruitment team wasn’t interested in run-of-the-mill, delicate omegas. They were looking for omegas who apparently weren’t going to “break so easily”.

For the first time in my life, my strength was viewed as an asset rather than a flaw. Supervisors praised my high physical scores, commending my endurance and combat readiness. It felt so bizarre, being complimented for something I had always been told was undeniable. I had no idea how to process it.

Amongst the omegas, rumors started circulating. The word was that they needed tougher omegas because the alphas we were to be paired with were dangerous. Brutal. Some claimed they were unstable, hardened by years of warfare, barely civilized. 

The stories made my stomach not. Omegas whispered about alphas who were cruel and unfeeling, who would break their mates for sport, turning them into docile little trophies. Suddenly, neither option, mate or prisoner, seemed particularly appealing.

I did my best to block out the rumors and focus on the tests, determined to push through. The physical trials were easy enough, my body was built for hard work. The written tests were manageable too, nothing I couldn’t handle with a bit of focus.

It was the other part I was struggling with. The supervisors were constantly watching us during downtime, assessing how we interacted with one another, how we bonded. They were looking for social compatibility, softness, kindness, an easy, likeable nature.

That’s where I fell short.

I wasn’t good at making connections. Even as a pup, I’d never been particularly social. My first instinct had always been to withdraw. So, rather than risk embarrassing myself, I made a habit of heading to bed early, keeping my head down and my distance from others.

By the time final cuts were made, there were only sixteen omegas left. All of them seemed like perfect specimens of omega grace and beauty. And then there was me.

The outlier.

We were moved into a smaller barrack, supposedly a preview of the living quarters we’d have if we were chosen. Each room had two sets of bunk beds and a cramped, shared bathroom. The space was tight, claustrophobic even. But when the three girls I was assigned with picked out their bunks, a small, unexpected flicker of warmth filled my chest.

They didn’t treat me like an outsider. They saved a bunk for me with the sheets neatly folded at the foot of the mattress. I placed my back on the bunk, happy for the small bit of inclusion. 

We had the evening to ourselves since the alphas had their own responsibilities to tend to. I spent most of it sprawled out on the bottom bunk, mind drifting aimlessly between idle thoughts and the looming reality of the next 48 hours.

Either I was about to become the omega to a potentially ruthless, battle-hardened alpha… or I’d be on a one-way flight back to my local prison. 

I rubbed my palm against the rough fabric of the blanket beneath me, trying to ground myself, but the thoughts remained restless.

We had the evening to ourselves since the alphas were off doing some training or whatever else it is they get up to. I was stretched out on the bottom bunk, staring at the ceiling, mind churnin’ over what the next 48 hours might bring. Either I’d end up bonded to a potentially ruthless alpha… or I’d be on a one-way bus ride straight to county.

Across the room, a petite blonde girl peeked down at me from the top bunk. Her big blue eyes flicked away when ours met, like she'd been caught doin’ somethin’ she wasn’t supposed to. I caught the faintest whiff of lilac hanging in the air as she tried real hard not to glance back.

“Everything alright?” I asked, not bothering to hide the fact I’d noticed her gawking.

Better question: Why were you starin’, sugar?

She chanced another look, and when I gave her a tight little smile, she relaxed. “Sorry,” she said, cheeks flushing pink. “Didn’t mean to stare. You just looked real focused. I was wonderin’ what you were thinkin’ about.”

My smile softened some. “Just thinkin’ about tomorrow,” I replied, letting that be enough of an answer.

“Are you excited?” she asked, all bright-eyed and beaming like she’d just stepped out of a Disney movie.

I felt a prickle of jealousy at how easy that kind of optimism came to her. “Yeah,” I drawled, nodding slow. “Somethin’ like that.”

She tilted her head at me, looking all curious, like a puppy trying to make sense of a new sound.

She kept watching me, clearly waiting for me to say more. So I turned the question around. “What about you? You excited?”

“Oh, yes! Very much so,” she said with a little bounce in her voice. “I hope I get picked. My dad and uncle were military, so I jumped at this. Since I couldn’t join myself, this felt like the next best thing.”

“Makes sense,” I said with a shrug, understanding all too well. Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, and even though there was talk in the government about changing that, nothing ever came of it. Seemed like every time it came up, it got pushed off or voted down. I figured if it ever did pass, I’d already be too old to qualify.

“I’m surprised you’re not in the other room,” I added.

She matched my shrug. “Probably the same reason you’re not in there. I’m not too concerned about how I look. Figure the guys won’t care either,” she said with a little smirk, whispering like it was some shared secret.

That made us both laugh.

“You’re probably right,” I chuckled. “They’re doin’ scentin’ tomorrow, right?”

She nodded confidently. “Yeah, using those shirts they took after our physicals.”

I hummed, trying to remember that part. “Still wild we’re down to sixteen. Weird number, too. Why not twenty?”

“One of the sups told me they narrowed it to four candidates per alpha. So tomorrow we’ll be split into groups and just... watch while they choose.”

I grimaced. “In front of everybody?”

She nodded again. “That’s the word.”

“That’s rough,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” she said, drawing the word out with a sigh. “But what can you do?”

Silence settled for a moment while I let that sink in.

“You’re kinda quiet, huh?” she blurted, like she couldn’t stand the quiet anymore.

I laughed, not offended in the slightest. “Yeah, Blondie,” I said with a grin. “I guess I am.”

“Well, Muscles,” she fired back, smiling just as wide. “I think it’s kinda nice. Most of the girls here ended up bein’ real…” She trailed off, searching for a polite way to say it.

“Annoyin’?” I offered.

She giggled. “I was gonna say two-faced, but yeah, that works too.”

We kept chatting about nothing in particular, just killing time until one of the supervisors came knocking, calling us down to the rec room for dinner. We ate together, still talking and laughing, and before I knew it, the night had gotten away from us.

Back in the room, we climbed into our bunks.

“Night, Blondie,” I said, rolling over to face the wall.

I could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, “Good night, Muscles.”

We’re up bright and early the next morning. My nerves feel like live wires twisting beneath my skin, humming with unease as I move through my routine. Today decides my future. And I hate how little say I’ve got in it.

I know I’m the one who landed myself in this mess. My choices, my consequences. But still... there's a bitter part of me that can’t help but blame the broken systems that funneled me here in the first place.

Soon enough, we’re herded into a holding room tucked behind a one-way mirror. Blondie’s right beside me, holding onto my arm like it’s some kind of anchor. I jumped at first, wasn’t expecting her to be so bold, but I’m oddly grateful. In a place like this, even the thinnest thread of connection feels like something worth holding onto.

My heart’s pounding so loud I’m half convinced the rest of the girls can hear it. Hell, they’ll probably need to fumigate this room once we’re done, there’s enough scent in the air to choke a wolf.

The supervisors explained the whole process earlier. Each alpha comes in one at a time. They’ll scent four shirts, one for each of their assigned candidates, then make their choice and let the staff know. After that, the shirts get cleared out, the table wiped down, and the next alpha comes in. All neat. All controlled. No chance for cross-contamination.

Once all the alphas have made their picks, we’ll be called out in our groups of four and told whether or not we made the cut.

The tension’s so thick it’s hard to breathe. Then the door creaks open and someone steps in, announcing flatly, “We’ll begin bringing the alphas in now.”

And just like that, it starts.

The first alpha enters, and the room falls dead silent.

He’s older, maybe mid-thirties, with a full beard and a kind of steady presence that fills the space. He’s wearing a faded army green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khakis, and a tan bucket hat that sits low on his brow. His eyes scan the mirrored glass, like he knows we’re watchin’, and he gives a subtle nod before movin’ to the table.

He handles the shirts with a calm, methodical sort of care, bringing each one to his face to scent. Every eye in our room follows him. There’s quiet murmuring from the other omegas, but it’s too soft for me to catch more than a word here or there.

He reminds me of my old pack’s alpha. Stern, steady… but with a softness tucked underneath. The thought hits me square in the chest, a pang of homesickness I didn’t expect. Without thinking, I lean into Blondie just a little. She doesn’t pull away, just glances at me, eyes warm.

We all watch as he sets down the last shirt… then looks back at the first one again. My breath hitches. I don’t dare make a sound until he leaves the room, like he might somehow hear me through the glass.

Once he’s gone, I clear my throat, low and tentative. “Reminded me of my old alpha,” I whisper.

Blondie nods. “Yeah, he had that big teddy bear vibe, didn’t he?” she murmurs, then grins. “Kinda gruff, but like, you know, he probably gives proper good hugs.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “You were into the beard, huh?”

“I love a beard,” she whispers back, eyes twinkling. “Gives ‘em character. S’long as they don’t smell like old steak or whatever.”

A staff member slips in, gathers the shirts, sprays down the table, and gives it a quick wipe. With a cheeky little wink in our direction, they’re gone, and the anticipation creeps right back in.

After a short wait, the next alpha enters.

He’s dressed kinda like the first, green shirt, jeans this time, but he’s got a mohawk that instantly grabs attention. Blondie perks up beside me, practically sitting taller in her seat. Murmurs ripple through the room again, and this time I catch the words... cute, mohawk, daddy arms. That last one comes a little louder than intended, and a wave of hushed giggles follows.

The alpha moves with confidence, scenting each shirt without rushing. He lingers on the second one, brings it back to his nose, and smiles. That sets off a soft chorus of ooooh’s and whispers.

Then he turns, flashes a cocky smile straight at the mirror, and strides out.

Blondie’s practically buzzin’ with energy beside me. “Oh my God,” she squeaks, squeezing my arm and pretending to swoon like it’s a romcom.

I raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Did you see him? That smile? Jesus,” she says, hand on her chest, like she’s seconds from passing out. “I’m just glad it’s dark in here. Pretty sure I’m red as a tomato.”

That earns a snort from me, and we both end up giggling. The room settles again, the nervous tension stretching tight, until the third alpha walks in.

The first thing I notice about him is his smile. It’s bright as daylight and warm enough to thaw nerves. His skin’s a rich brown, deeper than the last two alphas, but he’s dressed just like the others. A forest green shirt and black cargo pants snug around solid thighs. There’s a friendly spark in his eyes, the same kind of gleam Blondie had yesterday when we first met. It’s disarmingly charming.

“I’m startin’ to think they’ve all been put in the same outfit just so we can stare at their arms,” Blondie whispers with a grin, voice low and teasing.

I huff a breathy laugh, trying not to encourage her. She ain’t wrong, though, there’s not a single sleeve in sight that isn't rolled up tight against a bicep.

He finishes scenting the shirts, sets the last one down, then hesitates, his hand lingering on the one beside it. Then he straightens, tosses a polite wave toward the mirror, and exits with an easy confidence.

A girl somewhere behind us lets out a dramatic little whine, and the rest of us laugh quietly before the low murmur of voices starts again.

Blondie’s already leaning into my side, waiting for me to say something.

I nudge a little closer and murmur, “I liked his smile.”

“Mmhmm,” she hums in agreement. “He was proper lovely, wasn’t he?”

We don’t have long to linger. The staff’s just finishing up setting the next row of shirts when the final alpha steps into the room.

A collective breath catches, sharp gasps echo through the space, and my head snaps up like it’s been yanked on a string.

He’s massive. Bulkier than the others by a long shot, all broad shoulders and raw presence. But it’s the mask that steals every ounce of air in the room. A skull sitting on top of a painted ski mask.

I can feel him. Not just see him. It’s like his presence is heavy enough to press through the glass and sit square on my chest.

He doesn’t even look our way. Doesn’t acknowledge the mirror, doesn’t pause. Just strides straight to the shirts, picks up the second one, brings it to his nose, and inhales. Then, he nods, hands it to the staff member still laying out the others, and turns to leave.

The poor staffer looks rattled, stammering something we can’t hear. He replies, but we have no clue what’s said before he strides out the door like a storm blown through.

The staff member stands there for a beat, stunned, then jolts back into motion, hastily collecting the rest of the shirts and scrubbing the table down again like they’re trying to erase whatever just passed through.

No one says a word. The room is still. Spooked. Every pair of eyes locked on the empty space he left behind.

It’s a while before anyone dares break the silence. And even then, it’s just murmurs, soft as moth wings, like speaking too loud might summon him back.

“What the hell was that ?” I whisper, barely moving my lips.

Blondie looks over, wide-eyed. “Not a bloody clue,” she breathes. “But it wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, was it?”

I shake my head, brows drawn. My mind replays it again and again, how fast it happened, how quiet he was. No hesitation, just... decision.

Before either of us can say more, a sharp knock hits the door.

A staff member cracks it open and steps in. Their expression’s unreadable.

“Alright,” they announce, tone clipped but calm. “The alphas have made their selections. We’ll be calling you in groups of four to inform you of your standing.”

The first four names are read off, and the chosen omegas shuffle out the door, tension in their posture. Not a minute later, another group of four is called.

Blondie and I glance at each other, our names still hanging in the air, unspoken.

“That was quick,” Blondie whispers, eyes still locked on the door.

“Probably wasn’t the first group,” I murmur back, trying to keep my voice steady.

The tension in the room grows heavier with every second that ticks by. We both stare ahead, waiting. Hoping. A longer pause than before, then leadership returns and reads off the third group. Neither of our names are called.

We exchange a glance, the weight of realization settling in. We’re in the last group.

Blondie’s grip slides from my arm to my hand, her fingers wrapping around mine. Her eyes meet mine, and I try to muster something encouraging. A half-smile, maybe more for her than me. Then I turn back toward the door, heart pounding.

We don’t wait long. A staff member steps in and gives us the signal. The rest of us rise, silent but buzzing inside. We’re led back to the barracks, now noticeably emptier.

In the rec room, a woman waits. She stands tall with an air of practiced calm, smiling as we file in.

“Welcome back, omegas,” she says. “I’m Kate Laswell, the station chief here. And I want to be the first to congratulate you. Each of you has been chosen as Task Force 141’s omegas.”

Blondie squeals before I can even process the words. She practically bounces on my arm, a burst of floral scent blooming around her like an explosion of springtime joy. It spreads through the room, echoed by hints of mint, more florals, maybe even something fruity. Every scent giving up the truth of our shared relief and excitement.

I can’t help but laugh, warm and genuine, as she grins up at me.

“Oh, I knew we’d smash it, Muscles,” she crows, giving my arm a theatrical air-punch. “No way they were turnin’ this down.”

I grin and shake my head. “You were the good luck charm it seems.”

The other two omegas glance over with smiles. One’s a mid-sized girl with sun-kissed skin and waves of dark brown hair brushing her shoulders. The other’s taller, a bit lanky, with a head of ginger curls and freckles scattered like constellations.

Kate clears her throat lightly, and Blondie stills, cheeks flushed pink as she ducks her head.

With a knowing smile, Kate continues. “Task Force 141 is a specialized unit. Reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, hostage recovery, they’ve seen it all. Over the last couple of years, the four alphas on that team have formed a strong pack bond. We’re introducing omegas to the pack as part of a controlled trial. A research initiative, if you will.”

The buzz of joy dims a little, tension rippling across the group. A trial? That hadn’t been mentioned before.

Kate seems to catch the shift in energy. “Don’t worry,” she adds quickly. “This has more to do with the alphas than with any of you. We’re observing how adding omegas affects their performance, positively or negatively. That’s all.”

I exchange a glance with Blondie, whose brow has furrowed slightly. “So we’re lab rats now?” she mutters under her breath. I nudge her gently with my elbow.

Kate gestures toward the center of the room, where four labeled boxes sit neatly on a table.

“Tonight, you’ll all stay here in the barracks to rest and get used to one another’s scents. No introductions to the alphas just yet, we’ve found it’s less overwhelming that way. Tomorrow, you’ll meet your alpha face to face.”

We nod as a group, some slower than others.

Kate steps aside, motioning to the boxes. “Each one contains a scented item from you, a welcome kit with rules and protocols, and a folder on your assigned alpha with basic info, mission roles, and history.”

A quiet thrill runs through me. It’s becoming real. Names, faces, facts. We’re about to know who chose us.

“And lastly,” Kate adds, looking around the room, “we ask that each of you come up with a call sign by tomorrow morning. Something short and simple. It’ll be used by the team during operations and around base. You’ll know the alphas’ names, and they’ll know yours, but for security reasons, we try to limit personal intel exposure among the wider ranks.”

Her eyes settle on me as she finishes. I meet her gaze and give a respectful nod.

Blondie leans into my shoulder again, voice low and cheeky. “D’you reckon I can get away with ‘Hot Stuff’?”

I snort. “Pretty sure that’s already taken, sweetheart.”

There’s a flutter of giggles amongst the other girls.

“Now that I’ve given you my little spiel,” Kate says, clasping her hands together, “let’s get you all paired up, yeah?”

She strides over to the first box and calls out the redhead’s name. The girl lights up like a bulb, smiling wide and giddy as she steps forward to grab it.

Next, Kate calls Blondie’s name. Blondie throws me a look, pure electricity in her eyes, before bouncing over to the table, practically skipping.

The third box goes to the dark-haired girl beside us, and the final one, of course, comes to me. It’s lighter than I expected. My fingers tighten around the edges.

Kate smooths her jacket sleeves, already half-turned toward the door. “Right then, I’ve got a few things that need handling before I’m back tomorrow. Make sure you get properly acquainted, get some rest, and have those call signs ready by morning, alright ladies?”

A chorus of Yes, ma’am’s chime as we wave her off.

Blondie clutches her box like it’s a birthday present from the gods, squealing under her breath. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmyGOSH ! We actually did it!” She does a celebratory squat and gives a cheeky wiggle of her hips.

I snort, grinning. “You are so ridiculous.”

The redhead tilts her head, amused. “You two know each other?”

I shake mine. “Nope. Met last night.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, smirking. “You act like old friends.”

“Give us a few more days,” Blondie chirps, placing her box on the table with a dramatic thud . “I can’t wait any longer. I need to know who I’ve got!”

The rest of us glance at one another, then quickly follow suit. Blondie, of course, is already halfway into her box, tossing the lid over her shoulder like she’s unwrapping treasure.

She pulls out a neatly folded shirt and the folder underneath. Without hesitation, she buries her face in the fabric, inhaling like it’s oxygen. “Ohhh, yes. That’s so nice.”

Clutching the shirt to her chest like a teddy bear, she flips open the folder.

“I have…” Her eyes dart across the page. Then a cheeky giggle. “Sergeant ‘Soap’.”

“Soap?” I echo, eyebrows raised.

“Yup! That’s his call sign. Sergeant Soap,” she repeats, making the final p pop. Her gaze catches on the photo, and she lets out an excited squeal. “ OH! It’s the mohawk guy!”

I laugh. “Well done, Blondie. You got your guy.”

“I got my guy,” she beams, doing another little wiggle. “Knew he’d want a piece of all this.”

The redhead next to her giggles. “You should pick ‘Bubbles’ as your call sign—then you’d be Soap and Bubbles. It’s honestly perfect.”

Blondie rolls her eyes, but the grin doesn’t leave her face. “Ugh. You’re not wrong. I’ll think about it.”

She turns to the redhead. “What about you? Who’d you pull?”

The girl lifts out a cap along with her shirt, her smile deepening as she sniffs the fabric.

“Ooooh, I know that hat,” Blondie singsongs with an elbow nudge. “You got Mr. Mustache!”

The redhead lets out a low laugh, flipping open her folder. “Name’s Captain Price.”

“Ooh, Captain! ” Blondie teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “Alright, yes ma’am , I see you.”

The redhead snorts, clearly warming to Blondie’s chaotic energy now.

I glance at the last omega. She’s already halfway through her own reveal, shirt pressed to her face, folder open in her lap. Her voice is warm, almost velvet-like.

“I’ve got Sergeant Gaz.”

Blondie’s head whips toward her. “Wait. Is he the gorgeous one with that smile? You know, the one that makes your ovaries cry?”

“The very same,” the girl replies with a dreamy sigh.

Blondie beams, until her head slowly turns toward me, realization dawning.

“That means you got-” Her grin falters. Just a flicker. But I see it.

Silence settles over the group like a cold draft, all eyes drifting to me and the box still unopened in my hands.

Lifting the lid off my box, I’m met with a black shirt neatly folded beneath a skull-patterned ski mask. The sight alone is enough to still the air around me. I can feel the silence from the other girls pressing in, but I ignore it, reaching for the shirt and lifting it to my face.

The scent hits instantly. Cedarwood and something deeper, softer, almost sweet. My brow furrows as I breathe it in again, trying to name it. There’s warmth in it. Familiarity. It smells like early mornings, making breakfast with the pack, flour dusted on hands and aprons. Like spiced cookies and bread cooling on racks while elders told stories by the fire. Like holidays back home, laughter echoing off the walls.

Cinnamon.

A surprised breath escapes me as the connection lands, a smile spreading across my face without permission. I flip over the mask to the inside, where the scent is strongest, and inhale again, greedily. It wraps around me like a memory.

Reaching into the box, I pull out the folder and flip it open, eyes scanning quickly.

“I am now the proud omega of…” I murmur as I scan the page. Then I find it, the call sign printed just above the rank in bold block letters.

“Lieutenant Ghost.”

The room is still for a beat.

When I glance up, Blondie’s eyes are locked on my face, her playful expression replaced with careful concern. “Wow, Muscles… a lieutenant,” she says gently. “How are you feeling?” The question hangs heavy, echoed in the guarded looks from the other two girls.

But I smile, soft and genuine, lifting both the shirt and mask to my face again with a dreamy sigh.

“Great,” I reply. “I’m doing really great.”

The tension breaks all at once. The redhead exhales audibly, her shoulders slumping in relief. Blondie mirrors my smile, warm and bright. “I’m glad,” she says, nudging my arm.

I look back down at the folder, hungry to learn more about the man behind the mask. There’s no photo, unsurprising, considering the whole mask situation, but the name is there.

Simon Riley. Thirty-two. Just four years older than me.

Simon.  

A surprisingly soft name for someone who commands a room the way he does.

My eyes keep skimming. Six-foot-four. Three hundred pounds of solid muscle. Specializes in sniper tactics and excels across all physical evaluations. A cold shiver of awe trickles down my spine.

My omega purrs in approval.

Strong alpha. Can protect. Good alpha.

I remember the way he entered the selection room. How he walked straight to my shirt without hesitation, didn’t even glance at the others. Picked me, like it was already decided.

Definitely something I’ll be asking him about.

Across from me, Blondie is already tugging on her alpha’s shirt, the fabric swallowing her like a hoodie stolen from a boyfriend.

“Mmm. It’s like I’m wrapped up in him,” she sighs, hugging herself and rocking side to side.

The redhead and the other omega follow suit, sliding their shirts over their heads, sighing contentedly. I glance down at mine, hesitation creeping in. The others are drowning in fabric, soft and small. I’m… not. My frame is broader, stronger. Back home, some alphas looked twice at me, and not in a good way. Like my size somehow made me less omega.

I bite the inside of my cheek, the sting grounding me. Then I exhale and pull the shirt over my head.

It’s big. Not quite a dress, like Blondie’s, but oversized enough to make me feel small in the best way. I let out a slow, quiet sigh of relief.

Clutching the mask to my chest, I close my eyes and let the scent wash over me again.

The other two girls go to move their things into the room Blondie and I shared, so we aren’t all separated for the night. Blondie and I hang out on one of the couches, absorbing our alpha’s scents while we wait for them to come back.

“Gosh, it's so weird having just us four in here,” the redhead remarks as she walks back in with the tan omega. “It's way quieter.”

“Right?” Blondie says with a bounce. 

“Well, almost,” the redhead jokes with a teasing glance. 

The tan omega takes a seat on one of the empty couches.“We should probably start thinking of our call signs,” she suggests casually.

Blondie squeals. “Ooh. Yes! This is going to be so fun!”

“I still say you gotta be Bubbles,” the redhead chuckles.

Blondie playfully waves her off, head tilted while she thinks. “Nah, I was thinking something a little shorter. Snappier. Easier to call out over the radio. Like maybe just… Bee,” she says with a shrug.

“The letter or the bug?” the tan omega asks with a giggle. 

“Oh, definitely the bug,” the redhead chimes in. “Matches how much energy you have.”

Blondie’s eyes suddenly light up, locking onto mine. “Muscles, I have the perfect name for you.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Oh yeah, Blondie? Let's hear it.”

She springs to her knees in front of me, clasping her hands beneath her chin. Then, leaning in with a mixhievous glint in her eyes, she says, “Boo.”

I blink, a smile tugging the corners of my mouth. “ Boo ?”

She flops back onto he couch, clearly proud of herself. “Yeah. You know, like ghosts, boo …”

“Yeah, I get it,” I say, playfully shoving her. 

But then her eyes widen and she bolts upright again. “Wait. No, it’s perfect. You'll be Boo and I'll be Bee. Boo, Bee…”

“Boobies,” we say at the same time and the room explodes into laugher.

I shake my head with a dramatic sigh and a smile I can’t hide if I try. “Alright, I'll be Boo, but only if you're Bee.”

“Deal!” she shouts with a laugh. 

The redhead lets out a chuckle at Bee's antics. “You are too much,” she says, shaking her head fondly. 

“Eh, don't fret, Red. You get used to it,” I say with a smirk.

She cocks her head, placing her hands on her hips. “Red?” she echoes.

“Sorry. I’m unoriginal,” I shrug. “You can ask this one,” I say, jerking my thumb at Bee. 

“It's very true,” Bee jokes with a solemn tone. 

“I kinda like it,” she quips. “Kinda kills the whole B thing you guys had going on, though.”

“Eh, don't worry about it,” I wave off. “It can just be our thing then.”

“Oh, dangit,” the tan omega quips. We all startle and look at her. “I just thought of a really cute B name, though!”

Bee lights up. “Oh, what is it?”

“Bunny,” she smiles. Bee and I immediately look at each other, wide-eyed, not sure if she understands the implications.

“Uh, do you know what a -,” Bee starts, but the omega just cuts her off.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves off. “I know the whole barracks bunny thing. I think it’s kinda funny. Although, maybe I’ll just go as Bun?”

Bee squeals. “Oh, yes! Can I call you BunBun?” she asks, that familiar twinkle back in her eye.

“Fine. But only you,” Bun says, slightly rolling her eyes.

“Yay!” Bee bounces. “Ok, so we’ve got Boo, Bee, Bun, and Red.” 

Red crinkles her nose. “Yeah, see. It doesn’t really go well-,” she starts, but I’m quick to cut her off.

“Hey,” I cut in gently. “If you like it, we can keep it. No one said we had to do a theme. But, if you really don’t like it, we can change it.”

“Kinda matches with your alpha though,” Bun comments. “His name doesn’t really match the others, kinda stands out as well.”

“True,” Red says, thinking it over. “Nah, I think you’re right, it does work. Plus, it kinda matches the vibe that’s been set. Something short, easy to call out.”

“Alright, Red, it is,” Bee declares. “Ohmygosh, you guys. I am so excited to meet them!”

“We can tell,” Red and I say in unison. Our heads turn to each other as we laugh. 

The warmth in the room lingers long after the giggles fade. I lean back into the couch, soaking in the comfort of the shared moment. This is what I had been missing out on for so long. What I’ve been practically starved of. Though the alpha I’m paired with seems very intimidating, his scent is something else entirely. It’s warm, grounding, and impossibly soothing. I cling to that comfort even as a familiar ache of doubt begins to gnaw at the edges of my thoughts.

Maybe he just grabbed the first shirt he saw.

Maybe I was just convenient.

Maybe he’s planning on rejecting whoever he picked out.

He’ll definitely reject me once he sees me.

Once he knows me.

The thoughts slip in like smoke under a door. Uninvited but impossible to ignore. The faint smell of charcoal hits the air, a bit burnt from my anxiety. I inhale deeply, trying to center myself back into the conversation the girls are having.

Bee leans over slightly and whispers to me, “You ok? ” 

I nod back wordlessly. She looks to me for a beat before I whisper back, “Just a little nervous about tomorrow.”

Without a word, Bee shifts, leaning fully back against my chest. I’ve seen other omegas do this for comfort, but never experienced it myself. I freeze, unsure of how to respond. I lift my arms awkwardly out of her way, but then feel silly with them just danglin’ in the air.

“Do I just, uh -,” I start, feeling stupid.

Bee reaches up and gently guides my arms around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“There,” she murmurs. “That’s better.”

It’s still a little awkward, but there’s something incredibly soothing about it. Especially when I hear it. A soft, low purring sound coming from her chest. My eyes widen.

“Am I supposed to do something, or…?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not really good at this, are you?” Bun teases.

Embarrassed, my face flushes, and I bite my inner cheek. “Uh, no. Not really. Sorry. This is all really new. I’m, uh, not very popular in my hometown,” I offer as an explanation.

Bee gently rubs one of my arms. “Don’t worry, I’m a pro. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“Thank you,” I smile down at her. The girls don’t prod any further, going back to their conversations. More small talk about food, families, and travel is had, but I stay rather quiet. Instead, I let Bee’s comforting purrs rumble through me, allowing it to calm my nerves. 

By the time morning arrives, the nerves are back with a vengeance. Not even Bee’s comforting purrs could’ve reached the frantic rhythm of my thoughts last night. We’d gone through the welcome packet, recited expectations like mantras, but I still spent the night tossing, turning, sweating through my shirt as my brain whispered worst-case scenarios.

When the girls wake up to a room thick with the scent of smoke and ash, like a campfire long since burned out, I mutter a quiet apology and bolt for the showers. The scalding water does little to cleanse the unease, but at least it rids me of the scent of fear clinging to my skin.

While the others get ready, I retreat into one of the empty rooms. Hanging from the metal bars of the top bunk, I let gravity pull my hair straight, fingers working quickly to tame the wild strands into a tight, disciplined braid. The routine steadies me. Something familiar, something mine.

Bee appears in the doorway just as I reach the halfway point. “Hey, there you-whoa!” She stops, eyes wide. “Are you braiding your hair like that?”

“Yeah,” I say casually, continuing without pause. “It helps get all the strands aligned. Hanging like this makes it easier.”

She stares, impressed. “Your core must be insane. Being able to hang like that and braid at the same time? I’m jealous.”

“It’s more about arm strength,” I reply with a smirk, curling up into a seated position on the top bunk as I finish the braid. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

She huffs playfully. “Show-off. You’ll have to teach me. It’s only fair, since I’m teaching you omega stuff.”

“You got me there,” I chuckle.

Later that morning, Kate returns with her usual brisk energy, clipboard in hand. She checks off names, takes down our new call signs, and ensures everyone has gathered their belongings.

“They’re disinfecting the barracks after this,” she explains. “Anything left behind will be incinerated, so if you love it, pack it.”

We all make a final sweep, scanning corners and under bunks. Satisfied, we gather in a loose formation and follow Kate through the base. The halls are quieter than expected, but the soldiers we do pass give us lingering looks. Curious. Appraising.

I instinctively drift to the back, scanning our flanks. It’s habit. I was raised to be something I didn’t become, taught to protect before I was told to yield. That protective instinct hasn’t faded.

Some of the stares from passing alphas feel too intense, and I catch the slight lift of Bun’s chin, her scent spiking with unease. I place myself behind her without thinking.

Then, suddenly, I smell him.

That warm, grounding scent like cedarwood and cinnamon punches the breath from my lungs. My heart stumbles and then sprints.

He’s close.

Bee glances over her shoulder and reaches back for my hand. I take it. My grip is tight, but she doesn’t flinch.

Thank you, I mouth.

The new barrack is nearly identical to the one we just left. Standard layout, same bland walls, but this one feels lived in. The rec room bears traces of its occupants. Scuffed furniture, a dog-eared deck of cards, sticky notes pinned to a board. Yet the alphas are nowhere in sight.

Kate enters behind us, flanked by two betas in lab coats. Clipboards in hand. Observing. Recording.

“How are we feeling?” she asks.

We glance around at each other. Shrugs, nods. No one’s scent spikes in distress, but I catch one of the betas scribbling furiously in response.

“Alright. I’ll go get the boys. Be right back.”

As she leaves, silence descends. Every sound, the click of the door, the echo of her footsteps, all feel amplified. My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest. Each passing second thickens the air until it’s hard to breathe.

Then the door opens again.

Four men walk in, but I only see one.

The mask.

Him.

His eyes find mine instantly, sharp and narrow beneath the skull print. Something flashes there. Recognition? Disbelief? Frustration?

He strides forward, brushing off the other alphas who try to greet him. They reach for him, and he ignores them. His pace is relentless.

My instincts flare. I gently push Bee behind me, shielding her without thinking.

He stops inches from me. I can feel the heat coming off of him. Towering, solid, intense. His gaze never wavers. My throat goes dry.

He growls, making chills explode throughout my body, before saying,

“You.”

NEXT

Homemade face masks have never felt quite comfortable to me. They’re always either too damp or too sticky and seem to cling to my face in the worst way. 

I’m currently fighting the urge to dry heave as Bee gleefully starts slathering on the concoction she’s created all over my face. It’s a bit watery, and though the scent isn’t exactly offensive, it’s not quite pleasant either.

After everything that happened last night, Red had firmly declared today an official omega self-care day. There were no arguments from me and the other girls, we all needed it.

The alphas had returned a while after we’d locked ourselves in the old den, and even though we knew we were safe, none of us wanted to chance venturing back to our rooms again. The idea that someone might have been watching us was enough to leave all of us rattled.

None of us had slept well, either. There was too much tossing and turning, too many restless sighs and quiet reassurances in the dark. So, the idea of taking it slow and taking care of each other was met with little resistance. 

We ended up turning the rec room into a giant nest. Blankets, pillows, skincare products, nail polish, and snacks are spread out across the large couch and the floor below it.

Music hums gently in the background, soft and familiar. Red is getting some more snacks in the kitchen, and Bun is sprawled out amongst the pillows.

Bee finishes putting the mask on me with a flourish. “Ok, just wait like five minutes and then we can take it off.”

I make a noise of understanding, not wanting to chance anything getting in my mouth when I hear Red coming back from the kitchen.

“Got a plate of some fruits and veggies.”

“Oh! Cucumbers, perfect,” Bee chirps, grabbing two and placing them on my eyes.

I do my best to hold back my laugh, my mouth twitching as I fight the urge.

“Those were meant to be eaten, but I’m sure that’s fine,” Red teases.

Bun munches on something crunchy, probably nuts. “Does that really work? Cucumbers on your eyes?”

“I dunno,” Bee says with a little giggle. “But it doesn’t feel bad, right?”

I shrug my shoulders, giving very small nods. 

“See? Boo’s in paradise.”

A puff of breath escapes my nose, and the girls break into giggles.

The tension that lingered from last night is mostly gone, which is probably why Bee feels more comfortable asking her next question.

“Look… I know we’re not supposed to be talking about last night… But can we just talk about how hot it was to see our alphas in action?” I can hear the smile spread across Bee’s mouth as she talks.

I quirk a brow.

“Bee…” Red warns gently.

Bun’s quick to chime in. “No, but she’s so right. You should have seen the way Kyle just leaped into action. He didn’t even flinch. One second we hear the bang, the next he’s out the door with his boots half on.”

Bee giggles. “Johnny nearly took out the doorframe trying to grab his gear. His shirt wasn’t even all the way on.”

Red snorts. “You guys are hopeless.”

Bee leans closer to Red. “Oh, come on. Like you didn’t think it was hot that Price had control in like two seconds flat. I swear, he was halfway through giving orders before I could even process what was happening.”

Bun sighs dreamily. “It’s the competence for me.”

“It’s the voice for me,” Bee says. “Johnny could tell me the house was on fire with that tone he was using, and I’d say thank you.”

They all laugh again, and I can’t help but smile. It’s nice, this easy warmth between us.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Red says, fondness lacing her tone.

“But you’re not disagreeing,” Bun teases.

I can practically hear Red’s eye roll. “Fine. Maybe it was a little hot to see him go full ‘Captain’ mode.”

“Knew it!” Bee shouts triumphantly. Bun and her giggle before the attention gets turned onto me. 

“What I really want to know,” Bee says slyly, “is why Boo smelt particularly… perfumy, last night.”

I reach up to remove one of the cucumber slices from my eye so that I can glare at her properly.

“Probably the same reason I was,” Bun says with a bit of a blush. 

We were all surprised to find a mating mark on her neck this morning. She apparently hid it last night, not wanting to stir up any more drama. Even more surprising, Red was extremely supportive, not reacting at all like she had with Bee’s mark. 

Red gives Bun a warm smile. “It’s good to see you happy.”

“Thanks,” Bun murmurs, fingers brushing over the mark as her smile grows.

A timer goes off, and just as Bee starts to tell me that I can rinse off the mask, I’m up on my feet and bolting to the kitchen.

I have to admit, my face does feel a lot smoother, but God was that a test of patience. I don’t know how the girls don’t go stir crazy doing that. But then again, there are a lot of things they feel comfortable doing that I’m still getting used to.

When I return, freshly rinsed and patting my face with a towel, the girls are staring at me expectantly.

I narrow my eyes at them. “What?”

Bee leans in with a knowing smirk. “We’re waiting for the tea, babe. Don’t keep us hanging, we could literally smell it on you.”

I sigh and flop down on the couch. “It’s all Gaz’s fault, really.”

Bun sits up straighter. “What? What did he do?”

I shake my head with a fond smile. “That jersey he got me? Arsenal. Not Man U.”

Gasps all around.

“Scandalous,” Bee whispers, mock-horrified.

“How’d he take it?” Bun asks.

I huff a laugh. “Not well. Demanded I take it off right then and there.”

Bee’s grin turns wicked. “And…? Did you?”

I slowly shake my head. “Told him if he wanted it off, he had to take it off himself.”

Matching squeals come from Bee and Bun. 

“No wonder you were so perfumy,” Bee says slyly.

I grab a handful of cashews before leaning back into the couch with a smirk. “Nah,” I say casually. “That was because he was seconds away from eating me out when all hell broke loose last night.”

Red, mid-sip of her tea, chokes. Bee and Bun let out matching shrieks of scandalized delight.

“You’re evil for dropping that so casually,” Red coughs, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

I grin. “Just returning the favor. Y’all were circling me like sharks.”

Bee waves a hand. “Can you blame us? Boo, this is the juiciest catch we’ve had all week.”

Bun giggles behind her hands, still blushing, and Red shakes her head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The sounds of footsteps pull our attention toward the doorway. Ghost steps in, his sharp eyes scanning the room before landing on us lounging comfortably.

“Ghost!” Bee chirps, sitting up straighter with an excited grin. “You’re just in time for gossip and face masks.”

I roll my eyes and give her a light shove, sending her tumbling into the cushions with a burst of giggles.

“Ignore her,” I say with a lazy drawl. “What’s up?”

He steps further into the room, his tac gear standing out against the piles of fluff and pillows below him. “Price wanted me to check in on you all,” he says matter-of-factly. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“We’re doing fine,” Red reports dutifully. Ghost’s eyes land on me, as if he’s trying to validate that claim for himself.

I meet his gaze and offer a small nod, trying to ignore the way it makes my chest flutter. “Yeah, we’re doing a lot better now.”

He gives a grunt of acknowledgement, but I know him well enough now to know there’s a hint of doubt in his tone.

Bee leans up over the back of the couch, chin propped on her hand, and grins at him. “You know, if you’re here, it’s only fair you contribute to the gossip pile. Got any juicy confessions? Secret obsessions? Oh! Maybe the reason behind why you wear the mask?”

Ghost raises an unimpressed brow. “I came to check on you lot. Not volunteer for interrogations.”

“That’s the same thing in this pack,” Red quips with a smirk, sipping from her tea.

“C’mon,” Bee presses, undeterred. “You can’t be the mysterious broody one forever. This is a safe space. No judgement.”

He crosses his arms, clearly amused but playing it cool. “Pass.”

Bun pipes up with a teasing lilt. “Oh, that definitely means yes. He’s probably just super embarrassed.”

“Exactly,” I say, smirking. “Classic deflection.”

He tilts his head slightly in my direction, voice low with mock betrayal. “Thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

Bee jumps to my defense. “Nope! She knows it’s pack before peen,” she says with a playful shrug. “Sorry, Ghost, rules are rules.”

I chuckle. “You heard her. Pack before peen.”

Bee cackles. “See! Just give it up. Confess something mildly embarrassing, you know you want to.”

He sighs, dramatic and long, but there’s a glint of something warm in his eyes as he glances at each of us.

“Fine.” He takes a moment to think before softly confessing, “I like to watch those baking competition shows.”

A beat of stunned silence passes through the room.

“No!” Bee gasps. “You do not!”

“I bet you have a favorite contestant, don’t you?” Bun grins, eyes wide with glee.

“Oh, oh! I bet he cries when someone drops a cake,” Bee adds, barely able to contain her laughter.

“Never said that,” Ghost mutters, with a small hint of annoyance. His posture is relaxed despite the teasing, and I bet if he wore just his balaclava instead of the full skull, we’d be able to see some slight pink peeking out. 

There’s a quiet sort of acceptance from him, and I can’t help but adore the way he acts with the other girls. He fits in with them in a way I never expected him to. Stoic, but softened by the atmosphere they produce.

“Stay for tea?” I offer, voice softer now.

His eyes meet mine again, and he gives a small nod. “Yeah. I got time for a cuppa.”

I push to my feet, making my way to the kitchen. Behind me, the girls are still gleefully tormenting him. Bee’s voice rises above the others. “Okay, but sponge cake or shortbread, Ghost? Be honest. This is important.”

Bun jumps in without missing a beat. “Do you root for the underdog or the one with flawless piping skills?”

Ghost’s low replies are a mix of amused resistance and reluctant participation. Every answer earns him fresh laughter and playful encouragement from the girls.

I can’t help but smile as I listen from the kitchen, carefully preparing his tea the way I’ve seen him do it before. I stir slowly, taking my time just so I can hear a little more of the banter before making my way back to the couch.

When I finally pass him the mug, his fingers brush mine.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. It’s barely above a whisper, but it sends a warmth blooming in my chest all the same.

“‘Course,” I reply with a small smile.

He lifts up his mask just enough to take a sup of tea, the motion practiced and effortless. A soft hum escapes him, making my omega preen.

“If you don’t mind… I’ve wanted to know,” Bee begins, her voice tentative but curious, “why do you wear the mask?”

Without missing a beat, Ghost responds, “To hide my face.”

I try and fail to suppress a breathy laugh as I lower myself back into the nest of blankets and pillows. 

Bee rolls her eyes. “Ok, yeah. No duh. But what’s the real reason?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“He’s wanted in twenty different countries,” I jump in, my voice completely serious. “He’s too handsome, it causes some serious international affairs.”

Bun lets out a snort before slapping a hand over her mouth. Red tries to swallow her smile, but I catch it as she hides it behind her mug.

“I mean, have you seen that jawline? A major weapon of mass destruction,” I continue.

“We were talking about his face, not your thirst levels,” Red chimes in.

I can’t help but belly laugh as Bee cackles like a mad woman.

Ghost just shakes his head, clearly amused. “No comment,” he mutters, but his mask moves in a way that I can tell he’s smiling underneath. 

I’m surprised when Ghost kisses my cheek before he heads back to work for the day. The girls erupt immediately, cooing and clucking like a flock of hens. I wave them off with a roll of my eyes as a blush creeps up my face. 

We settle into the rest of the afternoon, continuing our self-care plans from the morning. We paint each other’s nails, watch an old movie, and treat ourselves to hair masks that leave the air smelling faintly of coconut and rosemary.

Eventually, Bun and Bee doze off, draped in blankets and tangled in each other like kittens in a sunbeam. I catch Red’s eye, and she gives me a subtle nod of permission, already knowing what I was going to ask. I slip out of the nest and head to my room to shower, grateful for the quiet.

The warm water seems to help settle the last remnants of my nerves. I take my time washing my hair and end up scrubbing every inch of my skin. After toweling off, I pulled on one of Ghost’s shirts and pair it with some comfortable panties before turning my attention to the items I bought for the room.

Inspired by our nest in the living room, I allow myself to let my instincts take over for a bit as I slowly start to decorate. The room starts to take shape around me, little by little.

I pause briefly at one point to blow dry my hair, but then I’m back to placing items around the room in a steady rhythm. 

When I finally take a step back, I can hardly believe the transformation. 

A plush rug sprawls across the center of the room, dulling the unforgiving concrete and grounding the room in warmth. Bins and buckets are now strategically placed, taming the chaos and bringing in a sense of order to everything.

The warmth of everything makes it feel a lot more like home. The fall air has been biting a lot harsher lately, so this cocoon of warmth feels like a pleasant escape. My omega hums contentedly, soothed by the homey feel of everything. 

Home. This is home.

Just as the first tendrils of scent start to waft from the candle I’ve lit, the door opens. The soft creak startles me, and I’m quick to spin around. A familiar mask stares back at me.

“Oh,” I breathe, placing a hand over my chest. “You spooked me.”

Ghost murmurs a quiet apology as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him. His presence fills the space with a heat all its own.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so early,” I say with a shy smile. My hands drift behind my back as I take a small step backward, trying to manage the sudden flutter in my chest.

“Was able to get some things taken care of early today,” he replies. His voice seems far more enticing than normal, almost rougher.

“Feels nice in here,” he comments, looking over my work.

“Thanks,” I respond back with a soft smile.

His gaze locks onto me, and his head tilts slightly as he takes me in.

“That mine?” he asks, pointing toward me.

I glance down, looking at the way his shirt hangs loosely off of me. 

“Yeah,” I murmur, the corners of my mouth tugging up just a little more. “Smelled like you.” 

He hums happily before he starts removing his gear. I step forward to collect each piece, carefully placing them in their newly designated spots. He seems to watch me as I do it, as if cataloguing where to put things in the future.

As I hang up the last piece of his gear in the closet, I feel him come up behind me. A strong arm wraps around my middle, drawing me back against him. His masked face slowly lowers down, nestling into the crook of my neck. I freeze for a heartbeat, then melt.

“We got interrupted last night,” he murmurs, voice edged with longing. “Been thinking about you since.”

My throat tightens, suddenly dry. “Me too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

He presses a trail of light, masked kisses along my neck before spinning me to face him. His eyes meet mine, and I see just how raw and hungry he is. I reach up to cup his jaw, my thumb brushing along the curve of his cheek despite the barrier of his mask.

I lean forward and bury my face in the side of his neck. I breathe in deep, letting the intoxicating blend lightly numb my senses. 

A gloved hand comes up, cradling the back of my head, encouraging me to take more of his scent in. A soft sound escapes my throat as I clutch at his shirt. Ghost groans low, deep in his chest, as if I’m dragging the sound out of him.

His hands slide down to the back of my thighs, and then I’m being lifted, as if I weigh nothing. I squeak, my arms quickly scrambling to secure themselves around his neck. He chuckles as he swings us around and takes the few steps over to the bed. 

He lays me down gently, as if I’m something delicate and treasured. He hovers above me for a moment, eyes searching mine as if asking a silent question. I answer by reaching up, cupping his jaw again.

He lets out a slow breath and leans down, forehead pressing to mine.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low with restraint. His body trembles slightly, a testament to how much he’s actually holding himself back. My fingers roam over his tense back, greedily admiring the sculpted muscle.

I press him closer to me, nodding. “I want you.”

That seems to be all he needs. The air between us changes, suddenly charged with everything we’d been forced to put on hold last night. He kisses me through the mask, his mouth dragging over mine with desperation and restraint. 

His body presses into mine, heat radiating off of him in waves. He takes off his gloves before one hand slides up under the hem of the shirt I stole from him. Calloused fingers trace the soft skin underneath, shooting sparks of pleasure through me. His hands tremble slightly, making my chest clench.

“You okay?” I whisper.

“Tryin’ to behave,” he tells me hoarsely. “But you make it hard.”

A genuine smile tugs at my lips before it morphs into something deeper, more primal. “I trust you.”

Something in him cracks, I can see it in the way the tension in his body lessens. He starts mouthing at me through the mask, down my body. 

His kisses are soft and hot and everywhere. I lean into every single one, loving the way he has my body responding. 

My shirt gets lifted up and over my head, getting discarded onto the floor next to us. I waste no time evening the playing field, fingers fumbling with urgency as I tug at his shirt and all but rip it off of him.

There’s a flicker of hesitation from him when my eyes land on his bare chest. There are scars all over him. The longest one curves just beneath his pec, angry and deep. My omega responds instinctively, something protective and tender coiling in my gut.

I lean up and press my tongue against the scar, tracing it with a hunger I didn’t know I possessed. 

His breath catches. 

I look up at him, eyes wide and full of feeling. I’m sure from his side of things, there must be hearts floating in them. I’m overwhelmed by how much I want him. Not just his body or his touch. 

Him.

“Mine,” I whisper, voice hoarse and raw.

He shudders, muscles tightening beneath my hands.

Then his gaze locks onto my mouth. He goes still, too still, pupils dilating as something raw flickers in his eyes

“Fuckin’ hell, Boo…”

My stomach drops as I realize what he’s looking at.

I snap my mouth shut like I’ve been burned.

My teeth. He’s seen my teeth.

I’ve been so careful up until this point, I let my guard down for one second, and now he knows.

Shame floods me, immediately making my face hot. I turn away, hand flying up like I can hide what he’s already seen.

“Boo.”

I shake my head, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can control it, I swear… they just drop when my blood gets pumping. I—”

“Boo.”

His voice is firmer, more commanding now. It stops me dead in my tracks.

He leans in close, slowly moving my arm from my face. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I do. My eyes water instinctively, expecting to find disgust in his eyes.

But it’s not there.

He cups my chin, his thumb brushing slowly over the bottom of my lips. I flinch, instinct telling me to pull away. But he doesn’t let me go. He presses just enough that my mouth parts, trembling as it opens up for him. 

I watch him as he gets an eyeful of my trauma. 

“Jesus,” he breathes, like he’s looking at something sacred.

I tense. “I’m sorry I—”

“Beautiful.”

His comment short-circuits my brain. I blink, completely stunned. “What?”

He leans down, his mouth brushing against the edge of mine. “They’re beautiful.” 

“You’re lying,” my voice cracks.

He rocks his hips against me. “Does this seem like I’m lying?”

My breath catches as I feel his hard length press against me. There’s the shuffle of fabric I’ve come to know as him putting his mask up over his nose.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls, mouth trailing along my jaw. “You keep finding new ways to ruin me.”

I shiver beneath him, unsure if it’s from fear or desire. It’s crazy how easily the two blur in his hands and how crazy I seem to be for it.

His eyes are dark as they stare at me and my flaws with a reverence that has my heart aching. 

Is this what he just saw from me?

Why does he make me feel so new, so different? What is this?

“You with me, love?” he asks. The rough edge of his voice has lessened, and I realize just how much I had been spacing out.

“Yes… Yeah… Sorry. I’m good… Real good.”

He mouths at my collarbone, making me gasp. “Need me to stop?” he asks.

I shake my head, barely able to speak. “No. Just… don’t look at me like I’m broken.”

He trails kisses lower, down my chest, down my ribs. My breath catches as his lips find my stomach, and I realize where he’s going. 

His hands slide down my thighs, slow and certain. “I don’t.”

He presses a kiss just above my core. “You’re not.”

Another, lower. “You’re perfect.”

Ghost spreads me open and settles between my thighs like he belongs there. He inhales deeply, like I’m his only source of oxygen. His eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, I can see just how desperate he is to be here.

“You smell like mine,” he growls.

He goes still, eyes flying open like the words shocked him as much as they shocked me. It wasn’t Ghost who said it. Not really.

That was his alpha.

I don’t flinch, don’t pull away.

Something in me answers.

Like we’re made of matching instincts. I’ve never felt anything like it before. But I don’t want it to stop. 

I was this. Want to be his.

My head tips back as a whine slips past my lips. My eyes screw shut as heat coils in my core.

“Please,” I gasp, barely recognizing my own voice. The plea is torn from somewhere deep. 

He responds with the first, hesitant drag of his tongue against me.

I jerk slightly in surprise. Not from discomfort, quite the opposite. I jerk from how much it is all at once. Too soft, too much, all at the same time.

He growls softly, more instinct than thought, as he grips my thighs with both hands. He drags me flush against his mouth like he can’t get close enough.

My hands fly to the top of his mask, fingers scrambling for something to hold on to. I can’t pull his hair, but I don’t care.

I just need him.

His tongue moves with purpose now.

It’s broad and hot as he licks flat against my folds. It’s slow at first, almost as if he’s savoring every lick. 

When he reached my clit, everything sharpens. His tongue shifts to something more precise. He tests different strokes, different pressures, studying my reactions.

He’s learning me. Fast.

What makes me cry out, what makes my legs tremble. I don’t have time to be embarrassed when he finds it, when he gets me melting like putty under his attention. It’s too good. 

That perfect rhythm sends my spine arching and my mouth falling open in a wordless moan. I can feel the slick heat between my thighs, how completely and utterly soaked he’s got me. 

He groans against me, and the vibration makes my thighs twitch. He turns all of his attention to my clit, making the coil tighten quicker than I’d ever admit. 

I’m so caught up in the feeling that I don’t feel his finger until it’s already deep in me. I jerk, hips bucking in shock, but his arm tightens around my thigh, holding me right there.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he growls into me, voice all grit and heat. “I’ve got you.”

He does. God, he so does. 

A low, breathless moan tumbles out of me as my hips roll against his mouth, helpless and aching. He groans like this is all he’s ever wanted. Like the heat of me clutching around his finger is a gift he’s been starving for.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself.

His lips brush my clit with every word.

“So perfect. So wet and tight around me already…”

My bails dig into the fabric of his mask, but it’s not enough. My hands fly to the sheets, desperately clawing and twisting at the fabric.

My whole body trembles as he works his finger in slow, measured strokes, matching his tongue perfectly. It’s like he’s easing me open, savoring the way I grip and tense around him.

The stretch of his second finger has me seeing stars.

My mouth drops open in a silent gasp as I’m forced to take the explosion of pleasure it brings me.

The second fills me more. It’s just shy of too much, but his pace stays careful. I can feel his eyes burning into me as his tongue drags tight, slow circles over my clit.

The coil inside of me winds impossibly tighter, and I can’t keep still.

My legs tremble. My hips jerk despite his grip. Every slow thrust of his fingers sends another shockwave crashing through me, stealing what little breath I have left.

“Ghost,” I sob, choking on the pleasure. “Ghost, I—”

“No.”

He stops, growls low and sharp.

My haze shatters. I blink hard, breath catching as I look down at him.

“Not Ghost. Say my name.”

My pulse skips. My mind's too blank to remember.

He seems to catch my struggle and helps me out.

“Simon,” he tells me. “When you fall apart around my fingers, call me Simon.”

Something in me shatters.

“Simon,” I whimper, the name slipping out of me like a prayer. “Simon, please, I-”

He starts sliding his fingers in and out of me again, cutting me off.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice low and dark with approval.

He’s quick to work me up again. Just as quickly as before, the coil inside me gets tighter and tighter. 

He hits the angle that has me seeing stars, squeezing and gripping around his fingers. His tongue twirls and presses oh so perfectly around my clit, amplifying every stroke and thrust of his fingers.

“Simon…” I cry out. “Simon…”

It seems to be the only thing I can manage to say now. 

“Beautiful,” he hums around my clit. The praise, the warmth of his breath, the way his fingers press up into me, oh so well, are just what I need to fall right off the edge.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “There’s my sweet omega. It’s ok. Let go.”

I do.

The orgasm washes over me like a wave breaking over my skin. I can’t help the sound that leaves me, helpless as my body locks up and trembles, clenching around his fingers. 

The world around me shatters. It feels like I’ve been broken apart and haven’t quite been reassembled yet.

His name falls from my lips again and again.

“Simon. Fuck. Simon!”

It’s like it’s all I’ve ever learned to say.

He just holds his fingers deep in me as I ride out the waves and soak his hand with every pulse. Aftershocks ripple through me in slow, gentle pulses.

My chest heaves, skin slick with sweat. My hands fall limp at my sides, fingers aching from how hard I had been gripping the sheets.

As my mind slowly starts to stitch itself back together, I realize he hasn’t moved. He’s still between my thighs, cheek resting against the softest part of me like he was made to be there.

He breathes in deep like he’s grounding himself in me. It’s as if I’m the one keeping his inner demons at bay.

A breath shudders out of me.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

He shifts slightly, lifting his head just enough for me to catch the glint of his eyes from behind the mask.

“You with me?”

His voice is low and rough, but still laced with warmth. It sends a fresh shiver through me.

I nod weakly. My limbs feel boneless, like he’s wrung me dry in the best way.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’m here.”

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, trailing a hand up my thigh. When he finally eases his fingers out, I whimper at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to overdo it.”

“You didn’t,” I rush to say. “You didn’t. Just… holy hell.”

I see the way his chest rises, obviously very proud and pleased with my reaction.

I smile, warmth stirring in my chest as he shifts to hover over me again. His tongue swipes over his lips, slow and unhurried, before he reaches for the edge of his mask and pulls it down into place. 

“Your turn,” I whisper, voice still raw from moaning out his name.

His eyes flicker.

“You don’t have to,” he says immediately, though the rasp in his voice betrays him. “Didn’t do it for payback. Just wanted to taste you, make you feel good.”

“I know.”

I lean up, pressing a kiss to the edge of his mask. My scent lingers from behind it, making me smirk.

“But I want to make you feel good, too.”

His hands twitch on the sheets, and I watch his jaw tighten.

“Please,” I whisper to him, a bit breathless. “Let me make you feel good.”

That’s all it takes. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath, then shifts us gently so I’m the one between his legs.

He helps me ease his pants down, leaving him in nothing but his dark boxers. My eyes go wide.

He’s… huge.

His cock is straining against his boxers, it almost looks painful. Against my better judgment, I hook my fingers into the waistband and tug his boxers down. His cock springs free, bobbing from the release.

“Jesus, Simon…”

He chuckles softly, mostly smug with a hint of shyness.

“Bigger than your standard issue,” he says, voice rough with humor. “But I don’t think you’ll mind.”

I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around the base. 

God, he makes my hand look so small. 

It’s not the length that gets me. It’s the girth. 

My pulse stutters and my cheeks flush with nervousness.

“I don’t know if I can…” I whisper, eyes flicking to his.

He freezes. His expression shifts, something primal flashing deep in his gaze. He looks like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got.

“It’s alright,” he says softly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I won’t ever push you.”

“No, I want to,” I rush to insist. “I’ve just… I’ve never been with someone quite this… big before. Might not be as good as I’d like it to be.”

He exhales, long and shaky. Like the relief physically hurts.

“Love…” he groans. “Whatever you give me, it’s already more than enough.”

His words loosen something in my chest. 

I nod, feeling a bit emboldened, and start stroking him slowly. 

His hands grab the sheets instantly, knuckles turning white.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth.

His hips twitch, abs tightening with every pass of my hand.

“Am I hurting you?” I ask, pausing. The tension in his body has me worried.

“No,” he groans. “God, no, sweetheart. Just…”

I can see his jaw clenching below the mask.

“Tryin’ real hard to behave.” 

That makes me smile, knowing it’s his turn to fall apart. 

I keep my stroke slow, taking my time. I do my best to learn every inch of him like he’s learned every inch of me. 

He’s hot in my hand, thick and heavy. It takes a few tries to find the right rhythm and the right grip to stroke him fully. 

“Fuckin’ hell…”

His voice sends a flutter straight to my core, making me braver.

I lean down and kiss the sharp edge of his hip, just above my hand.

He jolts.

“Shit…”

A smirk tugs at my lips.

I turn my head and kiss along the length of him, lips wrapping gently around his curve. I let my lips linger, teasing him as my kisses turn sloppier. 

I’m all but drooling around his cock, slicking him up, and making every stroke smoother.

“Love…” he rasps, voice fraying at the seams. “What are you doing to me, sweetheart…”

I hum against him, and he jerks. His hips twitch up into my mouth.

“Like it when you call me that,” I murmur, lips brushing against his skin. 

My eyes flick to his, watching his chest heave with restraint.

“And as for what I’m doing?” I grin. “I’m just showing you how much I like you.”

His head tips back, a groan escaping him.

My hand picks up pace, thumb sweeping over the tip to gather the slick that’s already leaking out. He twitches beneath me, so sensitive now it’s almost like every stroke pushes him closer to breaking.

I press a kiss to the underside of his cock, then another near the base. I keep stroking him slowly and steadily, making all my moves deliberate. 

Flattening my tongue, I drag it from the base to the tip. I let drool gather in my mouth, just to let it spill over onto his cock.

His whole body tenses when I twist my wrist just right. My strokes are more confident, especially since I can see how much he unravels from all of this.

“Jesus, love…” he gasps. “Don’t stop.”

I don’t.

I keep stroking, pressing warm kisses against the side of him. 

I play with him a little, enjoying just how much control I have over him in this moment. 

I can tell when he gets close. His thighs lightly tremble, and his breath catches. I ease up, just a little, so he can catch his breath. Then I’m back on him, kissing and stroking him in a way that sends him careening towards the edge again.

His hands leave the sheets for just a second, reaching for me before stopping themselves. His fingers curl into fists at his sides instead.

He’s shaking now, his whole body trembling from restraint.

I ease up and press another kiss to his hip.

“You can let go,” I murmur. “I got you.”

That’s all it takes.

A deep groan tears from his chest, hips bucking as I tighten my grip and stroke him faster.

“I’m… f-fuck, love…”

His voice shatters. “I’m gonna—”

And then he does.

He comes with a hoarse moan, body bowing up off the mattress as he spills hot and heavy across my hand and his stomach. His breath catches in broken gasps as release pulses from him in thick, needy spurts. 

I stroke him through it, gentler now, easing him down from the high, just like he did for me.

He collapses with a ragged breath, blinking up at the ceiling like he’s forgotten where he is, or who he is.

“You okay?” I ask softly, my hand resting lightly on his chest.

He tilts his head down, eyes dark and soft, absolutely gone.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, voice wrecked behind his mask.

Pride blooms in my chest like wildfire.

I did that.

I made my alpha fall apart.

I smile and wipe my hand on the sheet, mentally adding laundry to tomorrow’s to-do list. I slide up the bed and press my body against his side. He wraps an arm around me immediately, pulling me close.

“Glad I could be of service,” I tease, voice light but warm.

Something tugs deep in my chest, a pull I can’t ignore. I melt against him, nuzzling into the curve of his neck and breathing in the scent of sweat, sex, and Simon. Before I even realize I’m doing it, a purr rumbles from my throat.

He answers with a sound of his own.

A soft chuff that short-circuits my brain.

Every nerve in my body lights up with pure, unfiltered joy. I’ve never had an alpha chuff at me before. It feels like his alpha is calling out directly to my omega. My heart flutters as I melt into his chest, a soft smile curling across my lips.

Eventually, we decide to peel away from each other and quickly rinse off before venturing into the rec room in search of food. 

As we walk into the rec room, we’re met with a wall of silence. 

It’s a little awkward, but I decide to focus on the kitchen instead. Thankfully, it seems that they’ve ordered in for dinner, so I make my way over to the food and start making plates for Simon and myself. 

Someone lowers the TV volume, and I swear I can feel everyone’s eyes burning into my back. I spin around with two full plates to, sure enough, see the rest of the pack staring at us.

Bee catches my eye, and a wide smile stretches across her face. I give a slight eye roll, and she elbows Bun, who bites her lips and grins in response.

Ignoring them, I carry the two plates over to the dinner table and take a seat with Simon sitting next to me. He doesn’t seem to be reacting to anything, an air of indifference wafting from him.

By the time I go to take my first bite, Bee is practically vibrating.

“Okay, no. I can’t take this. What happened?” she blurts.

I freeze.

“You’ve got the look,” Bee continues, waving her hand up and down. “The flushed cheeks, dazed smile, the slightly messed up hair…”

“Bee!” Bun gasps, surprised by how blunt she’s being.

“What?” Bee asks, wild-eyed. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong!”

I feel my face catch fire. Simon just lets out a small, noncommittal grunt and takes another bite like nothing is happening. 

“We were… talking,” I mutter.

“Uh-huh,” Bee says, not buying it for a second. “Were you talking with your mouth or…”

“Bee!” Red’s voice cuts in. She does her best to control the conversation, but I can see her stifling her smile.

Soap snickers from the couch. “No complaints here,” he says. “If Ghost’s less growly now, we all win.”

Simon finally speaks, low and calm.

“You keep talkin’, Soap, and I’ll be growlin’ just for you.”

The couch erupts into laughter.

I drop my face into my hands, grumbling.

Simon leans over slightly, voice just for me.

“I’ll always growl for you, sweetheart.”

“Simon!” I hiss, cheeks really blazing now. 

The room goes dead silent.

The other alphas’ heads swivel towards us like we just dropped a bomb.

“Did she just…?” Soap starts, eyes wide.

“She did. I heard it,” Gaz confirms.

Bun’s looking around, trying to figure out what just happened. Bee’s quick to jump in to explain. “She just called him Simon,” she says with a whisper.

Bun squeaks.

Simon doesn’t react at all, continuing to eat his food.

“Wait,” Bee says, eyes glittering. “Does that mean we can all call you Simon now?”

Simon looks up at her, a dead serious expression on his face.

“No.”

Soap howls with laughter, bringing his omega to his chest to comfort her as she pouts. Red smirks behind her mug as Price chuckles beside her. 

I shovel down more of my food with a huff. I really did not mean for this to turn into a whole thing. It only continues the further the night progresses.

I’m comfortably lounging in Simon’s arms, watching the movie that’s been put on when Bee leans over.

“So… you gonna tell me how far you went?” she whispers over to me. 

I roll my eyes.

“Bee,” Red warns from the other side of the couch, watching us with a careful eye.

“What?” Bee shrugs. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

Bun lets out a quiet hum from her place between Gaz’s legs. She’s clearly trying to appear innocent, but she seems just as jumpy as Bee is for information.

“I mean, she’s wearing his shirt,” Bun whispers, confirming my suspicions.

“I’ve worn his shirts before,” I add to my defense. 

Bee’s got a smug look on her face. “Look, you don’t have to be embarrassed. It was really obvious. I mean, you guys weren’t around for dinner and then you both show up with matching smiles,” she shrugs. “It makes sense.”

Soap, not helping at all, leans over to Gaz with a gleam in his eye. 

“Place your bets,” he says with a little nudge. “I say second base. Maybe a small, cheeky trip to third.”

“I will end you,” Simon says calmly, with just a small hint of a growl.

That doesn’t deter anyone.

Gaz doesn’t even look away from the TV as he counters, “Third.”

Bee leans in even closer to me. “Did he take his mask off?”

My entire body locks up.

Simon’s grip on my hip tightens.

“Bee,” Red warns sharply. “That’s too far—”

“I just wanna know!” she hisses “Like… does he lift his mask when you kiss? ‘Cause if so, then it would make sense that he—”

“Bee!”

Red’s tone turns dangerous.

Bee throws both of her hands up. “Ok! Ok! I’ll stop asking. But I’m just saying, if I don’t get details soon, I’m gonna start making things up, and it’s going to involve handcuffs.”

Simon looks over at her, eyes narrowed. 

“There were no handcuffs,” he says plainly. 

She must feel way more comfortable with him after their earlier conversation, because his death glare behind the skull mask doesn’t seem to deter her.

“That sounds exactly like something someone who uses handcuffs would say.”

Simon sighs, muttering something under his breath as he pulls me closer. 

“We’re turning in for the night,” he announces.

Then, without warning, he lifts me up like it’s nothing. I let out a small squeak, still not used to his ability to do that.

Bee calls out to us as we leave, “Ok, so no handcuffs… but did you at least make it to second base?”

Simon doesn’t respond to her, rather he makes his way out of the room. Just as we’re about to leave, he turns, making eye contact with Gaz.

“Third,” he mutters, before heading back towards our room.

The room explodes.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Gaz pump his fist.

Soap lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Bee screams, “I KNEW IT!”

And I bury my face into Simon’s neck, dying a little inside. 

But also kind of glowing.

Mo is no help when I call her the next day. I catch her up on the drama of the mystery omegas and how it led to Simon and I finally getting some quality time with each other.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“So you’re officially a ghost rider now, huh?”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face.

“Are you proud of that one?”

“Very,” she says in a way that I can practically hear the smile she’s got on. “So? Was it everything you imagined? Did the mask stay on? Is he quiet or… wait. Don’t tell me. He’s totally one of those growl-against-your-thigh types, isn’t he?”

“Mo!”

She cackles, completely unbothered. “Oh, come on! It’s clear you really like him. I’m your bestest friend in the whole world. I deserve to know a little something.”

I laugh, my face a little hot. There’s a long pause before I finally sigh and let my voice drop.

“Honestly… it wasn’t what I expected.”

I can hear her hesitate.

“Not in a bad way,” I add quickly. “Just… I kind of freaked out a little. He’s… really big.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “Define, ‘really’. We talkin’ bull or horse?”

“Mo,” I groan.

“Okay, okay,” she laughs gently, but I hear the shift in her tone. “So what happened? You okay? This isn’t something that normally deters you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” I pause, rubbing my face some more. “I’ve never been with someone quite so… thick before. I mean… it’s like… I’ve had guys that were decently long, and he’s definitely got that too, but it’s the girth that’s got me spooked, I guess. Well, that and…”

I cut myself off, realizing too late that it was a mistake.

“And what?”

I roll my head to the side. “Well…” I start with a sigh. “It’s like he’s really struggling to keep control of himself. Like his instincts were barely leashed. Just has me a bit nervous.”

“You think he’d hurt you?”

“No,” I say instantly “God no. Don’t think he has it in him. I just… I don’t know. I got nervous. Like… what if I’m not enough for him?”

There’s another pause.

“Well now that’s a first,” Mo says with a laugh.

“I’m serious,” I plop back onto my pillow.

“I know you are,” she says warmly. “But babe… come on. You’re one of the most capable, resilient, terrifyingly hot omegas I know. If you’re nervous, that’s okay. But don’t sell yourself short.” 

I huff a laugh. “Okay,” I drawl. “But it’s clear he’s holding himself back. You really think I’ll be able to handle him when he stops?”

“I know you will,” Mo says firmly. “You’ve been able to handle everything that’s been thrown your way. Don’t think some girthy guy is gonna change that.”

We both giggle. I blink, my heart softening a little. 

“You’re too good at this.”

“Damn right I am,” she retorts. “I’ve been dealin’ with you for how long now? Think I can handle a little bedroom talk with you.”

I breathe out of my nose. “Okay, but for real. What do I do? Like… logistically. Tactics. I need a game plan, Mo.”

She lets out a low, knowing laugh.

“Alright, strategy talk,” she says and I hear the phone shift. “First thing, lube is gonna be your best friend. Either with split, slick, or the actual thing.”

I snort.

“Second, you’re going to have to take your time. I know that’s hard when instincts are involved, but you gotta go slow and build up. Like, foreplay is not an option. Think of it like… stretching before a marathon.”

“Oh my god,” I chuckle.

“I’m serious! Oh, and make sure you’re checking in with one another. Eye contact, lots of talking. It won’t kill the mood, I promise, if anything it’ll probably help him. He’ll know you’re not in pain or anything. It’ll keep his alpha at bay.”

I hum. “Makes sense.”

“And don’t feel bad if it doesn’t happen right away. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed, just means you’re not prepped yet.”

I pause.

“You really think I can do it?”

Mo doesn’t hesitate.

“I know you will. Because if anything, you’re stubborn and you care about doing it right.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“That man clearly cares about you, so when the time is right I’m sure he’ll make sure you got everything you need.”

I look at the bedroom door as if he’s going to walk in at any second, knowing he’s not.

“You’re right.”

“Aw, wish I was recordin’ this. I’d be replayin’ you sayin’ that all day long.”

We both burst into laughter and a smile settles on my face for the rest of the day.

The next few days feel like breathing after holding your breath for too long.

Whenever he’s near me, Simon’s arm finds its way around my waist. We start to grow more comfortable in each other’s space. Casual touches become second nature to us. Our fingers brush when we pass by each other, we’re holding hands when we can, and cuddling on the couch is a no-duh at this point. 

At night, when we turn in, the touches linger longer. We explore one another, savoring the one another’s touch. 

He’s already found the places that unravel me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised — reading people, learning what makes them tick, it’s practically in his job description. But the way he uses it on me? It’s far from tactical.

He finds every sensitive spot with unnerving precision. I find myself coming a lot quicker than I’d like to admit, but he never teases me about it. If anything, he seems proud. Like every noise, every tremble he works out of me is something sacred.

In turn, I’ve started to get a bit more comfortable when it’s my turn to share the love. I’m still nervous. Still trying to figure out how to handle everything he’s giving me, but I’m trying.

He doesn’t rush me though, doesn’t push me like some of my previous partners have. And best of all, he doesn’t seem to mind how slow we’re moving. If anything, it’s the opposite.

He treats every touch, every glance like it’s a gift. I find my heart leaping at the thought that he’s not treating this like it’s right to receive this, rather it’s a privilege. 

I sleep far easier as well. In the past few days, not a single nightmare has visited me. It’s strange how quickly things change. It feels like something inside of me finally unclenched.

I wake up feeling lighter, more content. Like I’m not carrying the weight of my past on my shoulders anymore. Even if he’s not there when I get up, his scent, the ghost of his presence is there soothing me. 

By Saturday morning, we slip back into our usual rhythm of an early morning gym session. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until we walked in. The smell of the rubber mats and sweat meets me like an old friend and I can’t help but smile.

But everything ends up feeling different,

Before, Simon’s touches were a little clinical when he would correct me. They were always a bit careful, never lingering. Now… now it’s like he’s looking for excuses to get his hands on me.

While I’m deadlifting, his hands ghost along the curve of my lower back, warm through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“Careful,” he murmurs low into my ear. “Your back’s rounding.”

The words alone make my spine straighten, but it’s the way his hand lingers that sends a shiver down my arms. I adjust my stance, but I’m far more aware of his touch now. 

And maybe I lean into his hand a little. Sue me.

When we’re working free weights, his fingers almost always brush against mine more than necessary. No apologies or explanations from him. Just a soft, constant current of contact. It doesn’t feel out of place though, if anything it feel nice to sort of let loose and relax more around him. 

I’m spotting him on the bench press when I realize he’s no longer looking at the bar. Instead, he’s looking straight at me, eyes steady beneath his lashes.

“You’re drooling,” he says flatly.

My face heats immediately. “I am not,” I huff, but my voice comes out a little too defensive.

“You really are,” someone pipes up from across the gym.

My body freezes as my head slowly turns their way.

They look younger and almost smug with how they’re holding themselves. Despite the mask on their face, I can see them smirk as they sling a towel over their shoulder.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Did I ask you?”

Laughter bubbles up around the room. Another voice chimes in, “Damn, she’s got a bite.”

A few weeks ago, I might’ve bristled. Snapped. Maybe even just stormed out.

Now? I just roll my eyes and shake my eyes before turning my attention back to Simon. He’s still lying on the bench, lifting the bar like the most unbothered man alive.

“You’re not gonna defend my honor?” I ask dryly.

His eyes flick to mine under the mask, one brow raising just slightly. “Now why would I do that when they’re not wrong?”

I blink. “Unbelievable.”

He grunts as he lifts the bar again, and I can see the crinkle under his eyes that gives away he’s smiling. 

But I am too, so I can’t complain.

The teasing doesn’t sting. If anything, it feels… familiar. Almost homey. This is how I used to joke with the other farmhands back home. Sharp words with soft edges. The kind of rough affection you only get when you truly belong.

It makes me feel like part of the room instead of just a shadow in it. 

That evening, he surprises me by throwing one of his jackets my way.

"We’re going out. Get your boots on.”

There’s no explanation, but I don’t ask for one. A ripple of anxious curiosity twists in my stomach as I pull the jacket on and lace up my boots. He hasn’t told me to change out of my base uniform, so I figure we’re staying on base, I just have no idea where.

We drive to a part of the base I’ve never been to before. It’s quiet this time of night, the buildings outlined in a low amber light. When we pull up beside a squat, concrete structure tucked behind a row of fencing, Simon kills the engine and moves around the car to let me out. He moves to the trunk next, opening it up and hauling out two metal guncases. One is long and heavy, the other is short and familiar.

My eyes widen.

“Are those…?”

“Yep,” he says, not looking at me as he heads toward the building’s side door. 

Inside, the scent hits me immediately. It’s a mixture of burnt powder and metal, sharp and dry like the aftermath of shooting off a bunch of fireworks. Underneath that, the air carries the tang of oil and concrete dust. It’s the kind of smell that sinks into your clothes and into your memories.

A gun range.

Simon sets the cases down on a metal table near one of the shooting lanes. The long one clanks heavily. The smaller one, with the scuffed corners and familiar sticker, makes a faint flush creep up my neck.

Simon looks at me briefly, then jerks his chin towards the cases.

“Wait here.”

He heads toward a steel door on the other side of the room marked Authorized Personnel Only. He takes out a set of keys before unlocking the door and heading inside. 

Deciding I don’t want to deal with the awkwardness of my heat toy, I pop the latches and lift the lid of the case.

Yep. It’s still there.

My heat toy and vibrator sit snugly in the foam, right where I left them. I grimace and grab my gun from the other side. I note that my spare bullets are missing, but focusing on snapping the case shut rather than dwelling on it. I don’t need any lingering trace of my heat seeping out more than it already has.

The pistol feels heavier than I remember. It’s familiar, yet strange at the same time. I used to wear this thing like a second skin, but now it feels nearly foreign. But that could also be because someone’s cleaned it. It looks far nicer than I ever remember it looking. The metal catches the overhead lights like a mirror, showing off its polish. I run my thumb along the grip, the feel of it sending tendrils of familiar energy down my spine. 

I put it down in front of me while I wait for Simon to return and look at the rest of the range. 

It seems pretty standard, at least from what I can remember. It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped in a range. 

The place is dimly lit with long concrete lanes stretching out ahead. Overhead fluorescent lights hum faintly, casting everything in a weird glow. Each shooting stall is divided by thick panels of scuffed Plexiglas and soundproof foam. There are stains and various dents in each stall from years of use.

Out past the stalls, ammo litters the ground before stretching out into a long stretch that ends in a backstop padded with shredded rubber.

I step into the nearest stall and let my hand trail along the edge of the divider. It’s all familiar in the strange, off-kilter way. Like stepping into a dream that’s been shaped from muscle memory.

I’m still standing there when Simon returns.

He walks toward me, headphones and glasses in one hand, a few boxes of ammo in the other.

His eyes immediately flick to the pistol in front of me. 

 I walk over to the nearest stall, looking everything over and feeling like I’m in a weird half-memory. 

Simon comes back before I can really dwell on anything. In one hand, he’s got headphones and glasses, and in the other, he’s got what appears to be boxes of ammo.

His eyes fall on the pistol in front of me.

“You opened it,” he says, low.

I nod, not quite sure what to make of the tone in his voice.

“Was hopin’ I’d be the one to hand it to you,” he adds, setting down the gear. “Wanted to see your face when you saw what I did to it.”

There’s no heat behind his words, so he doesn’t sound angry, but I definitely catch some disappointment.

I glance at the gun. “Sorry,” I say softly. “Just didn’t want to stink up the place. It’s beautiful though, you did this?”

He nods, opening up an ammo box and setting it at a nearby stall.

“Yeah. Cleaned up the sights. Lubed the slide. Took a bit of polish to the frame,” he murmurs. 

I glance at the gun. “It’s… beautiful. Thank you.”

“You remember how it shoots?”

“Sort of. Been a while.”

Our eyes meet and there’s a warmth in his that spreads to my chest.

“Let’s find out. First, you gotta put on your eyes and ears.”

He picks up a pair of glasses and headphones and holds them out to me.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.” 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t need this to shoot a pistol, never have.”

“That would explain why you’re so bad at listening,” he teases. “Not optional, I’m afraid.”

I huff a sigh, taking them from him with an exaggerated motion. I put them on and flash him a look. There’s a twitch of movement under his balaclava that I know to be him smiling.

“Happy now?” I ask him.

“Ecstatic,” he deadpans. He grabs the pistol and moves over to the stall. He removes the mag and goes to start loading it with bullets.

I reach out, “Actually,” I start. “Do you mind if I load it up? It’s been a while.”

“‘Course,” he nods. He hands it over and I take my time adding in the bullets. He slips on his eye and ear protection while I work. It’s familiar and oddly satisfying.

I didn’t use my gun a lot. It was more for show than anything, but there were the occasional times it was needed on the farm. Every once in a while, when I got extremely bored, I would go out to the little makeshift range we had in the far-off field and shoot some frozen soda cans. It was fun to watch them shoot up and explode, almost like a little mini fireworks.

Simon catches my eyes. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I answer with a soft smile. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout the farm. Sorry. Feels good to be able to do this again.”

He hums in acknowledgment. Grabbing a paper target, he brings in the line for it and sets it all up. He sends the target out about halfway before turning his attention back to me.

“Don’t know what you’ve been taught, but quick reminder: only have your finger on the trigger when you’re ready to shoot.”

My response is immediate. “Yes, sir.”

I can almost feel his grin as he motions to me before stepping back. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I slide the mag into the well and rack the slide, the clack of it echoing louded that I expected, even in the muffled hum of the range.

“Wow, that’s a lot smoother than I remember,” I comment. 

I let the pistol sit heavy in my hand, the weight both familiar and a bit foreign. My palms are a little clammy, but I try to ignore it. 

I raise the pistol with a firm grip. My stance feels a little awkward, but I’m not really quite sure how I should be standing. I’m definitely too stiff, but try to play it off as I look down the sight at the target. My finger is up against the barrel as I try to steady my aim before it lowers to the trigger. I breathe in, locking in before squeezing. 

The first shot cracks through the air, sharp and jarring. The recoil isn’t much, but I still feel taken aback. I breathe out, setting the gun down in front of me.

My chest feels full and tight, making me almost want to cry. I don’t even see where I’ve shot, just overtaken by a sudden rush of emotion.

Simon peeks around my shoulder. “Everything alright?”

I nod. “Yeah,” I swallow. “First shot always makes me feel a bit emotional. Don’t know why.”

He watches me before his hands come to my hips. “You need to relax a little more. Your body is taking the brunt of the shot.” 

He takes his hands from me, motioning to my feet. “Try widening your stance just a little, it’ll help center your weight.”

I follow his advice and he helps get me a bit more centered. “Now, try picking up the gun again.” 

I bring it up and his hands are back on me again. He’s moving my arms, having me relax my shoulders a bit more and stand just a bit taller instead of hunching like I didn’t realize I was doing. 

He steps away, letting me take another shot when I’m ready. There’s a long span of time where I work up the nerve to shoot again. 

I look down the sight again, breathing in a breath before taking the next shot. The flood of emotion that followed the first shot doesn’t come creeping back. Rather, I can focus a little more on where I’ve shot. I’m not too far off from the center of the target, so I adjust just a little bit before going for another shot.

It hits way closer this time and a proud smile stretches across my face. I go for another shot and get farther away this time.

I feel Simon step behind me. He’s close but not crowding me. His hand brushes my elbow briefly, helping me get into a better position.

“Lean into it a little, but keep your hips where they’re at.”

I do my best to do as he asks, feeling his eyes on me as I take another shot. I hit dead center and a burst of excitement courses through me. I move my finger from the trigger, lowering the gun a little as I look over my shoulder at him. 

He’s got that crinkle to his eye that I love. “Good shot,” he encourages. “Keep goin’.” 

I nod happily and do my best to return back to my stance. I finish out the mag, with some slight adjustments from Simon. 

My last cluster of shots is pretty close to one another and I’m practically bursting with happiness as I set the gun down and turn around.

“How you feelin’?” he checks in.

I breathe out my nose with a wide grin. “Pretty good.” 

“Want to shoot another round?”

I nod. “Yeah, but what about you though?”

He crosses his arms. “Believe it or not, I’m having quite a lot of fun watching you shoot. Did you want another target or is this one good.”

“No, no. This is fine. Thanks, I’m… I’m actually having a lot of fun.”

He gives me a quick nod with that crinkle to his eye. 

I turn back around, removing my mag and filling it up again. It’s quiet between us as he watches, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Like normal with him, the silence is comfy, not offputting. 

I raise the gun again and move to the “head” section of the target. I do my best to try and keep my shots close together as shot after shot rings out. There’s a part of my brain that berates me, telling me I shouldn’t be having as much fun as I am shooting a gun, but Simon’s presence behind me drowns it out.

When I finish out this mag, I put the gun down and spin around to look at him again. He’s looking down at me with a gleam in his eyes that has me giddy.

“Done with your warm-up?” he asks. 

I cock my head to the side and he sidesteps, putting the other gun case in my view.

I look between him and the case, brows raised. “You want me to shoot whatever’s in there?”

He shrugs. “Case just makes it look big.”

That earns a quiet snort from me as I follow him over to the table. He pops the tabs on the case and lifts the lid.

Inside sits a sleek, matte black rifle. It’s definitely a lot heavier than anything I’ve ever handled. It looks terrifying really, the type of weapon that demands respect.

“This one’s got some punch to it,” he says, lifting it easily. “Figured you might want to try something with a little more presence.”

A ripple of anxiety hits me as I watch him handle it. There’s also just a bit of fear. I’m not quite sure if I’ll even be able to lift the thing.

He sets down the rifle beside my pistol, then picks up the second ammo box and opens it for me to see. The rounds inside are massive. They’re almost three times the size of what I’ve been shooting.

“.308s,” he says tapping my earmuffs. “Way louder. You’ll be thanking me for these later.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s half-hearted. My focus is on the back on the rifle. He loads it up, getting both it and a new target situated down range. He eventually steps aside, gesturing for me to take position.

My teeth wrangle at the inside of my cheek as I hesitate.

“Actually…” I start, shifting my weight a little. “Mind showing me a couple shots first?”

He pauses, reading me the way he always does. Then he shrugs. “Alright.”

Simon steps up to the bench and shoulders the gun with ease. “This is a bolt action,” he explains with a level tone. “Each shot, you’re going to cycle the bold manually. You pull it up, back, forward, down.”

He makes the movements, showing me how it works. “Don’t feel like you need to rush it and I’ll be here if you need some help.”

He loads a single round and glances at me.

“Recoil’s goin’ to be sharper than what you’re used to. The weight of the rifle will help balance it for you just a little. You’re going to feel in your shoulder more than your hands.”

I nod, a little tighter than I mean to.

He settles in, feet planted like he showed me earlier, and gazes down the sights. The rifle almost looks like it melts into him like it was supposed to be there the whole time. 

It goes quiet for a quick second and then he pulls the trigger.

CRACK.

The sound of the shot bounces off the range walls and straight through my chest. Even with the headphones on, it rattles me and is just shy of being too lud. My body tenses on instinct. 

Simon cycles the bolt in one clean motion, ejecting the casing with a soft metallic clink. He looks over to me and I can tell by his eyes that he’s smiling again.

“Hits like a hammer, yeah?” 

I huff a breath, trying to play it off but no doubt he can see right through me. “Yeah, that’s one way to describe it.”

He smirks faintly and loads another round. He fires again and cycles the bolt with that same fluid motion, hands never hesitating.

After the second shot, he steps back and gestures toward the bench. “You’re up.”

I swallow hard, forcing my legs to move as I approach the rifle. It seems even bigger now, heavier even.

God, why am I so nervous now?

I lift it up and fumble a little bit. The weight is intense, even as I get it to settle against my shoulder. I feel myself shake slightly as I fight to get it where it needs to be. 

“You good?” Simon asks, voice low as he steps up behind me.

I nod and make a noise of acknowledgment. “Just… that was louder than I was expecting, I think.”

“Bet it was,” he says. “But it’s all noise. Think you can handle the rest. Make sure to check your stance.”

I nod, shifting my grip and planting my feet where they should go. Simon reaches over and helps adjust the stock against my shoulder.

“Don’t feel like you need to muscle this. Let the weight of it work for you.”

I nod again and load the round like he did. I thumb the bolt closed and my heart starts hammering in my chest.

“Take your time,” he says smoothly. “Breathe. Same way you did before.”

I take a couple of deep breaths. It helps to steady the gun a bit more, but I’m still shaky. I lower my finger, letting it hover over the trigger as I take in another deep breath and hold it. I aim and then squeeze.

CRACK.

The recoil slams into my shoulder, making me unsteady. I fall back into Simon who helps keep me upright.

“Shit,” I mutter as my heart races.

“That was good,” Simon says calmly. “You hit the target and didn’t fall on your ass.”

I glance up at him with a tired huff. “You sure? ‘Cause it feels like I just got punched by a truck.”

“You did,” he replies. “And you stayed standing.”

A slow smile pulls at my lips.

“Want to go again?” 

I nod. “Yeah. Let me try again.”

Three shots later and I can’t handle holding the gun anymore. 

Simon brings in the target and we both look it over. My shots are all over the place in comparison to my pistol target.

“Well?” I ask, trying to gauge his reaching.

Simon nods, taking it off the hook. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

I smirk. “You say that to all the rookies?”

“Only the cute ones.”

“Well, no wonder Soap’s in love with you then.”

He lets out a quiet breath that’s almost a laugh, eyes flicking toward me as he holds open the door.

“Come on, trouble.”

I step out into the cool air. There’s a softness in me I haven’t felt in a long time. 

For days after, I cling to that feeling, letting it wash over me in the quiet moments. 

It settles in my chest, loosening the tight coil of tension I usually carry. I catch myself smiling more, letting my guard drop in ways I never thought possible.

But maybe I let it drop too much.

Because I don’t notice the shift.

Don’t see the shadows that stay a little too long at the edges.

Don’t feel the tension in the air until it wraps around me like a snare.

Not until it’s too late.

Until I’m slammed into a wall hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

Until darkness crashes down like a wave.

Until all I can hear is the sound of the girls screaming around me.

The walk back to the barracks after breakfast was more brutal than I wanted to admit. Every step sent a fresh wave of ache through my body. I was sore… everywhere. 

In the next day or two, I was sure bruises would bloom in all the worst places. And with how badly my legs were shaking, even making it to the bathroom later would probably feel like a full-blown mission.

For the most part, all of us omegas kept quiet during the slow, painful trek back. No one had the energy for conversation, all focused on trying to survive each step. The boys had gone back to work, so there was no one to lean on besides each other.

Loud, close barking breaks through our quiet walk. It’s sharp and frantic, making me stop in my tracks. It wasn’t unusual to hear dogs around base, but it was weird to have it this close. The barking also wasn’t the disciplined barks I had grown used to hearing. It was desperate. Eager. 

The others paused beside me, their own exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Bee opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, two dogs tore around the corner ahead of us. Their paws slide against the concrete before they bolt toward us.

I stepped forward instinctively, arms out, shielding the other girls, a growl built in the back of my throat, half warning, half instinct. 

But just as the dogs reached us, everything shifted.

The one in front dropped to the ground in front of my feet. It lies its body low and its ears flat as it lets out a long, soulful howl that sends a chill down my spine.

The lead dog, a Malinois with amber eyes, whimpered before gently nudging my leg. That’s when I noticed the patches on its vest.

SEARCH AND RESCUE. OMEGA SPECIALIST. There were some medical-looking patches and then a small patch in the front that said: MURPHY.

Despite my better judgement, I slowly start to crouch, my muscles protesting the movement. The Malinois whined again before lunging into my arms. The force of it knocked me flat on my back. Before I could react, he was sprawled against my chest, pressing his weight firmly into me.

“Boo!” the girls call out in unison, alarmed.

“It’s ok,” I say quickly, lifting a hand to try and keep them calm. “It’s alright. I think he’s trying to help us?”

“By tackling you?” Red huffs.

I do my best to let out a laugh, but Murphy’s weight is making it a little tricky. “Think he’s trying to help. Seen it on a video before. Supposed to calm me down or something.”

Murphy huffed and adjusted slightly, resting his head against my collarbone. My arms curled instinctively around his warm, solid body, fingers brushing against the seams of his vest. I look over my shoulder to see the other dog moving in slow, deliberate circles around the girls. Its nose was lifted, and its posture was alert, but it didn’t seem aggressive. Its gaze seems to flick between each omega as if evaluating them.

Realization of what it’s doing hits me like a bus. It's herding them. Bee and the others stand frozen at first, but huddle together the closer the dog gets, unsure of what it’s going to do.

“G-Good doggy,” Bun tries, voice light and nervous. She holds out a hand like she’s placating a toddler about to throw a tantrum. The German Shepherd doesn’t pay any mind to it. It just continues its pacing back and forth, slow and deliberate.

Only when the girls get close enough to each other, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, does the dog stop. It plants it’s butt on the ground with authority and lets on a single, soft boof . It’s not aggressive, not loud, just… satisfied. Like it was announcing a job well done.

I blink, still sprawled on the ground beneath Murphy, my head tilted enough to get a better look a the second dog’s vest.

It’s different from Murphy’s, darker with more tactical attachments to it. The patches seem to be similar, but I can only make out two. PATROL and…

“Riley!” a sharp voice calls out behind us.

A soldier jogs up, emerging from the same hallway the dogs had come barreling through just moments prior. He looks vaguely familiar, and I realize I’ve seen him at the gym with Ghost.

The shepherd’s ears perk at the sound of boots, but it doesn’t budge from its spot, still sitting dutifully in front of the group like it’s guarding royalty. 

“Are these your dogs?” Red asks dryly, stepping forward with an edge in her voice that only an omega running on zero patience and sore muscles can muster.

The soldier holds up a hand in apology. “Yes… Well, yes and no…”

Another soldier rounds the corner. He’s clearly winded, chest rising and falling beneath his slightly disheveled K9 handler uniform. His vest hangs crookedly over one shoulder, like he hasn’t finished buckling it in his rush. 

“Murphy!” he shouts out, his voice loud and commanding. His boots barely make a sound as he jogs up next to the other soldier, eyes scanning the scene with practiced ease before locking onto the dog still half-draped over my chest.

Murphy lifts his head and lets out a short, dutiful boof like he’s saying, Right here, boss.

Despite myself, a small smile tugs at my lips. My hands, almost instinctively, reach up to scratch gently behind his ears. He leans into the touch, tail thumping once against my hip.

“Ma’am. You’re going to spoil him,” the second soldier says flatly.

Red crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed with the situation. “Mind explaining what’s going on here, gentleman?”

The first handler winces, shooting a helpless glance at his partner. “That’s, uh… That’s on us, miss,” he admits. “They’re part of a K9 recon and emotional response pairing. Specialized for working with omegas.”

The second soldier steps forward, hands out like he’s trying to placate a bear. “They were supposed to be looking for the other omegas that have been sneaking onto base. We were getting them prepped, but they must have caught one of your scents and well…”

“Thought we were the ones they were supposed to find,” Bee finishes, looking at Riley with a bit more softness.

The handler nods sheepishly. “Exactly. They must’ve caught your scent and assumed it was time to get to work. Although Murphy here must have thought you were distressing with the way he’s got you under him there. You good, by the way? Need me to call him off?”

I shake my head. “This is oddly soothing,” I admit. 

The first soldier is quick to call off Riley. “Sorry girls, hope he didn’t scare you too much. Riley’s been training to guide groups in high-stress scenarios. Think he just saw a group and figured that’s what the job was.”

Red’s eyes narrow. “So you just… let your dogs loose, hoping they find the right omegas?”

The first handler immediately shakes his head. “No, no, they broke off early. We were going to run some scent drills before we started tracking the scent, but they must have caught your scent in the wind or something and just went straight to work. We’ve been chasing them since they took off.

The second soldier rubs the back of his neck. “Look, we’re sorry. They’re trained, but they’re also really smart. Sometimes too much for their own good. When they think they’re needed, they act.”

“Well, they’re damn lucky Boo didn’t throw hands,” Bee mutters under her breath.

I glance down at Murphy, who now seems perfectly content on my chest, his big brown eyes watching me like I’m the most important thing in the world. Something in my chest melts as my fingers continue to stroke his fur.

“...They’re just trying to help,” I murmur, trying to ease the tensions of the group.

The soldiers nod quickly, grateful someone’s not chewing them out.

“Exactly,” the first one says. “They’re good dogs. They were just a little… overeager.”

Murphy shifts just enough to nudge under my chin again, a soft whine in his throat.

I smile, moving to scratch under his chin. “Who’s a good boy?” I say with the mushiest baby voice ever. “Such a good soldier, aren’t you?”

I turn my head toward the second soldier, taking the chance to actually get a good look at him. Something tugged at my memory. A familiar scent. Familiar eyes. 

I blink. “Wait a second… Rosco?!”

His gaze snaps to mine, confusion plastered all over his face. His eyes narrow before flying open in shock. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s not sure he’s seeing me right.

“Rosco!” I blurt again, scrambling to sit up. Murphy lets out a small grumble but obediently rolls off of me with an almost offended huff, padding over ot the other soldier with a proud little trot.

Rosco, because it is Rosco, I’d know that crooked smile anywhere, reaches down, offering me a hand. “DD?” he says, like he can’t believe it’s really.

I take his hand and let him haul me up, my grin stretching so wide it almost hurts. “ Holy shit! ” I laugh, nearly breathless. “It’s really you!” Before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around him and squeeze, burying my face briefly in the curve of his shoulder. “God, I can’t believe it. It’s been what, ten years?”

He lets out a stunned, breathy chuckle, arms tightening around me, “Longer, I think. Damn DD… I thought you were still on the farm.”

“I got sent here a few weeks ago. Wait… what are you doing here?” I lean back just enough to see his face, still grinning like an idiot. “This is hardly the states, and last time I checked, you were a US soldier.” I fold my arms playfully, popping my hip while we chat.

Rosco scrubs a hand through his hair, clearly still reeling. “Yeah, transferred here about a year ago with Murphy. We’ve been specializing in omega search and rescue with the Spec Ops crew here. Oh… wait…” he covers his hand with his face. “Wait, this makes way more sense now that it’s you . I first trained him with that cow stuffie you gave me. Think reeked of you. He must have caught your scent and thought he found the gold mine.” 

“Aw, smart boy,” I comment, smiling at Murphy warmly. “Gosh, I’m so sorry, it’s just been so long,” I say, going in for another quick hug. 

Rosco chuckles, “Not a problem,” he says, returning my squeeze. His hand lingers on my back, giving a soothing rub. “It’s crazy to see you. Wait… if you’re here, that must mean… you’re one of the 141’s omegas?”

“She is.”

The voice slices through the air like a knife.

I stiffen instinctively as Ghost steps into view, his presence immediately suffocating. His chest rises and falls in sharp, controlled breaths, his jaw tight beneath the edge of his mask. Behind him, Gaz appears, equally disheveled, eyes wide and scanning the scene like he’s preparing for the worst.

“Someone said our omegas were being attacked by dogs,” Gaz announces, eyes scanning for threats.

Rosco instinctively straightens at the sight of them, hands lifting in a universal gesture of non-aggression. “Negative, sir. No attack. Just miscommunication. The dogs weren’t aggressive.”

Ghost’s head tilts slightly, the faintest shift in his stance betraying his scrutiny. “Rank Name. Now.”

Rosco swallows but answers promptly. “Corporal Austin Hastings, K9 Handler, sir. Here as part of the omega training program.”

The first soldier follows suit, stepping up and offering a crisp nod. “Corporal Keegan Russ. Also a K9 Handler here for the omega training as well.”

Ghost’s gaze flicks between them, cold and unreadable. “And the dogs?”

“Riley's mine,” Keegan says, pointing to the large German Shepherd now sitting obediently by Bee, tail thumping lazily. “He’s trained for recon and patrol. Thought they were the omegas you were asking us to find. Just got a little confused.”

Rosco gestures to the Malinois seated next to him. “Murphy’s mine. Emotional support and scent-tracking. He, uh… thought your omega needed some assistance, sir.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow as they land on me. “That so?”

“Hey!” I say, undignified, placing my hands on my hips. “I was fine. Murphy just knows what a big dog person I am.”

Red, still standing with her arms crossed, lets out a frustrated huff. “They herded us like sheep and tackled Boo.”

Keegan winces. “Yeah, sorry. Riley’s trained for tight perimeter control. He was just trying to do his job.”

“And she wasn’t hurt,” Rosco adds, gesturing to me. “Murphy just laid across her like he’s trained to. No harm done.”

Ghost doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. The two handlers shift under the weight of the silence.

“And the reason,” Ghost says finally, voice low and edged with steel, “that you were hugging my omega?”

The air shifts. Keegan visibly tenses beside Rosco, who opens his mouth like he’s about to defend himself again.

I step in, placing a hand gently on Ghost’s arm. “He’s my foster brother,” I say quickly, glancing up at him with a smile I can’t quite contain. “He and I grew up together on the farm.”

That cracks something in Ghost’s posture. It's subtle, but I catch it. His shoulders loosen ever so slightly, and the sharpness in his eyes dulls from threat to calculation. He looks between me and Rosco, reassessing.

“This is Rosco,” I introduce softly, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. “He was the first to greet me when I got there.”

I lean in, just enough for my voice to drop, and feel Ghost’s focus tighten on me. “He knows me as DD,” I add. “It’s… a whole thing.”

His eyes flicker, something unreadable passing through them.

Rosco lifts a hand, almost sheepish. “It’s true,” he says with a scared smile. “And I’d love to catch up properly.” 

He pauses, casting a careful glance at Ghost, as if testing the water before he steps in. A beta against an alpha is one thing, but a beta caught between an alpha and their omega is another. “Maybe over a pint?” he offers, tone respectful, almost cautious. “If that’s alright with you, sir?”

I look up at Ghost again, my fingers tightening just slightly on his sleeve. “Please,” I murmur, voice soft with unguarded hope. “It’s been years. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”

Ghost doesn’t answer right away. His silence stretches for a beat too long, and Keegan glances sideways at Rosco like he’s bracing for impact.

Then Ghost exhales through his nose, low and quiet. He tilts his head slightly, not quite a nod, not quite a refusal. Just a silent warning that he’s listening, watching, and not easily won over.

“We’ll see,” he says at last. “For now, get these dogs back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers say in unison.

As they turn to leave, Rosco glances back at me over his shoulder. I give him a smile, bright, a little teary, and full of everything I can’t say just yet. There’s a time and place for all of it. For now, it’s enough to know he’s still alive. Still out there. 

Someone I haven’t lost.

As the soldiers retreated down the hallway with their dogs in tow, Ghost finally turns to me. His tone is low and a bit playful.

“You really have a talent for finding trouble, don’t you?”

I grin up at him, completely unbothered. “You act like this is news to you.”

He doesn’t answer, but the faintest twitch under his mask tells me everything I need to know. 

Before I can tease him further, our attention turns back to the girls just in time to catch Bun protectively in Gaz’s arms. Her fingers fist the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring her. Bee is draped over both of them, arms looped loosely around Gaz’s shoulders like a koala.

“The dogs here are so scary when they’re working,” Bee whimpers. “I’d hate to be on the enemy team.”

Gaz chuckles, smoothing a hand down Bun’s back. “That’s kind of the point, love,” he jokes to the omega around his shoulders.

Red stands a short distance away, scowling. “They should train them not to be so damn terrifying to the ones they’re supposed to rescue,” she grumbles, kicking a rock with her shoe. “Like herd the enemy. Not us .”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “You’re just mad you didn’t get Murphy’s cuddles.”

Red blanches instantly, her scowl faltering as a splash of red races up her neck.

“I don’t need his cuddles,” she snaps a little too quickly, her voice rising an octave. 

Bee gasps in mock betrayal, removing herself from Gaz’s back. “You do want Murphy’s cuddles!”

Red throws a glare that could peel paint, but it only makes Bee giggle harder.

Ghost lets out a quiet sigh behind me. “Bloody hell,” he mutters under his breath. “You lot need leashes more than the dogs do.”

I’m still in too good a mood to let the comment go. Without thinking, I tilt my head up toward him, smirking. “You offering to collar me, sir?”

He goes absolutely still.

I wink before he can recover, then turn to the rest of the group like nothing happened.

“Alright, let's get back home. We’ve caused enough distraction for today, and I think we all need to rest.”

“Hey!” Red calls out. “ I’m the head omega, here.”

I pause mid-step and glance back at her. “You’re totally right. By all means, then,” I say with a flick of a hand her way.

She narrows her eyes, then sighs in defeat. “No, you’re right. Let's go.”

“Gentlemen,” I say with a head nod to our alphas. The girls say another quick goodbye before we head back home.

“I can’t believe you said that to him,” Bee huffs, dramatically flopping across he couch like her entire soul has been scandalized. Her limbs dangle off the cushions like she’s melted from the drama.

I snort as I fill a glass of water at the counter, then settle into my usual spot in the living room in the tank top I promised I’d wear. “Said what?”

Bee looks up at me, eyes wide and scandalized. “The collar thing!”

“Oh,” I say, completely unfazed. I sip my water and offer a slow, smug smile. “That was probably a bit much, huh?”

“Yes!” Bee’s voice pitches into a squeak. “I thought Gaz was gonna choke ! Even Red looked like she short-circuited.”

“Correction,” Red says flatly from the other side of the couch, not even looking up from her phone. “I did short-circuit. My brain threw a blue screen and restarted.”

Bun giggles from where she’s curled up beside Bee. “I mean… it was kinda hot,” she says, then glances at me. “You weren’t nervous saying that?”

“Not even a little,” I grin. “Think I was just in too good of a mood to even think about it.” 

Bee flails a hand. “Because of that guy? You said he was your brother, right?”

“Foster brother,” I clarify with a shrug, “but yeah. Basically.”

Bun perks up a little, legs kicking idly off the edge of the couch. “Ghost was like two seconds from ripping his head off. You should’ve seen how scary he was when he first walked up. Terrifying.”

Bee laughs and bumps her shoulder against Bun’s. “Probably because of how hot he was,” she teases, making both of them squeal like teenagers.

I nearly choke on my water, snorting as I wipe my mouth. “Ew. You would not say that about him if you knew his nose-picking habits like I do.”

“Details like that won’t stop me,” Bee says with a dramatic toss of her hair. “Hot is hot.”

“I feel like you’ve been holding out on us,” Red mutters.

I pause, the humor slipping just a little from my smile. “Yeah,” I drawl. “You’re right. I have been.”

The room softens around me, the laughter fading into quiet curiosity. I set my glass down and glance at each of them.

“There’s… a lot I haven’t told you guys. About my life growing up. About the farm.” My voice lowers as I try to find the words. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… it doesn’t feel fair to dump it all on you guys when we’ve all got our own stuff.”

I rub the back of my neck, glancing away. “I’ve got a few years on you guys, and none of them have been particularly kind.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for me to regret saying anything, before Bee lets out a laugh she had been fighting off.

“Should we just start calling you Grandma Boo?” she says in a fit of giggles.

Bun snorts into her blanket. “That would explain the back pain complaints.”

Red leans back with a smirk. “Should I have taken it easier on you this morning?”

Despite myself, I laugh. “Alright, alright, sheesh!” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m not that much older. Just… enough to have some extra baggage, I guess.”

Bee leans forward again, her teasing softening. “Well, lucky for you, you’re stuck with us now. Age and all.”

“You’re part of the pack,” Bun adds, nudging my foot with hers. “That means you don’t have to carry all that crap alone anymore.”

I blink, throat tight, looking away from them. “Ghost said the same thing,” I say softly, the corner of my mouth crooking softly. 

“I’m not used to this,” I admit with a shaky breath. “A pack that’s… kind. Patient. Loving.” My voice cracks a little, but I can’t find it in me to care. “You guys have given me more grace than I’ll ever deserve. And I’m so damn thankful for it.”

Bee reaches out again, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. “You’re not on a timer here, Boo. Take your time. We’ll be here.”

“Even if you are an old lady,” Bun teases.

“I swear to God-” I start, laughing as I throw a nearby pillow at her. She squeals and ducks, and the whole room dissolves into laughter and warmth.

That warmth follows me through the rest of the day. The girls make plans to start doing some training of their own. Pilates and dancing from the sounds of it. Meal planning for the week and lists for things to buy the following day get written up.

The sun is starting to set when we make our way to the dining hall, having gotten a text in our group chat from Price to meet us there. The dining hall buzzes with low conversation and the clatter of cutlery as we file in. The scent of roasted meat and something buttery floats in the air. We make our way to our normal table, waiting patiently for the alphas to arrive.

When the boys finally come in, the room shifts. Just a little. Like the air naturally makes room for them. Some conversations stop, whispers start fluttering about. I always find it a bit humorous to see how this world changes in their presence. 

Ghost walks in beside Soap, his expression unreadable under the mask, but I can tell by the way his eyes immediately sweep the room that he’s looking for us.

Looking for me.

I raise a hand in a small wave. He nods once and makes his way over.

“Evening, sir,” Bee singsongs, scooting closer ot Bun to make room on the bench.

Ghost eyes her briefly. “Evening,” he replies simply, but his gaze lands on me next, and it lingers.

I pat the empty space beside me in offering, he doesn’t hesitate. The girls stand up to load up their trays, and conversation around us starts to pick up. 

“How were things today?” I prompt with a warm smile.

He shrugs. “Fine.” 

I scrunch my mouth, knowing there’s probably a lot going on he can’t tell me about. “Hey, uh,” I say low so my voice doesn’t carry.

He turns his head a bit more towards me, eyes sharp and attentive.

“I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. ‘Bout the collar thing.” I wince a little. “It was a stupid joke, I wasn’t trying to push a line or embarrass you. You probably got enough on your plate to deal with. ‘M sorry.”

There’s a beat. And then, to my utter surprise, his shoulders shift faintly, almost like a chuckle worked its way through him.

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” he says, his voice even lower than mine now. “Caught me off guard, sure. But… I liked seeing that side of you.”

My brows rise before I can stop them. “Yeah?”

His eyes narrow slightly in amusement. “You’re usually all tense and composed. Calculated.” He tilts his head just enough to give me a read of his expression. “But that? That was cheeky. Unexpected.”

I feel a grin curl at the corner of my mouth. “Cheeky?” I giggle. “You like cheeky?”

He’s silent for a moment. “In moderation.”

That earns a quiet laugh from me, and he shifts a little closer, his thigh brushing mine under the table. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But it’s deliberate. Warm.

“I’ll try to keep it reined in then,” I murmur with a smile.

“Now… about this brother of yours.”

“Foster brother,” I correct gently, my smile thinning just a touch. “Think my real brothers could give two hoots about me and what I’m doin’.”

“Foster brother, then,” he repeats, voice softer now.

I nod, picking at a spot on the table. “Rosco and I weren’t blood, but it didn’t matter much when you're sharing food, chores, and every scrap of warmth during the winters. We uh,” I let out a breathy laugh. “We gave each other nicknames from that show, Dukes of Hazzard, you ever seen it?”

Ghost shakes his head.

“Ah, well, he got the name Rosco because he liked helpin’ out with the pigs. And I got DD, for Daisy Duke, only because I was the only girl on the farm. ‘Sides Dave’s wife that is.”

Ghost hums thoughtfully, watching me the way someone watches for incoming storms on the horizon. “He important to you?”

“He was,” I admit, the words tugging something bittersweet. “Left the farm when he was 21 to join the military. Haven’t seen or heard from him since. Don’t think that was his doin’, though. Had a fallin’ out with Dave before he left. Think he was just sore.”

A silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s something else, something close.

“If you’d like to see him again,” Ghost says, leaning in just a bit more, “you’re more than welcome to. I won’t stand in the way.”

That stirs something unexpected in me. Warmth, yes. But also a strange ache. I look at him, really look at him, and find the truth written plain in the weight of his gaze.

He’s not giving me permission.

He’s trusting me. Protecting me.

My smile softens into something real. “Thank you,” I murmur, the words carrying more weight than they have any right to.” 

But it's me, so of course I can’t leave it there. The smile twists slowly into a smirk. “Think you just want to take him up on that offer of a pint, though.”

Before Ghost can respond, Soap appears like he’s been summoned by the word drink , sliding into the seat beside Bee with the grin of a man who knows he’s interrupting something.

“We drinkin’?” he asks, already eyeing us both with too much interest.

Gaz follows a moment later, plopping down next to Bun with a raised brow. “We’re drinkin’? No one told me we were drinkin’.”

Bee perks up. “Wait, are we going out?” she asks, her excitement immediate. “Like actual out, with music and drinks and cute outfits?”

Bun gasps softly and starts planning outfits with Bee on the spot. Red, coming up behind with Price, just rolls her eyes, but even she doesn’t look totally opposed.

Ghost groans softly beside me, but there’s a resigned tilt to his head that gives him away.

“Not tonight,” Price jumps in as he takes his seat. “End of the week. If everyone behaves.” He shoots a pointed look at Soap, who's practically bouncing with Bee.

“I always behave,” Soap says with a wink.

“Sure, mate,” Gaz mutters under his breath.

“We can probably get Rosco to buy the first round,” I suggest with a shrug.

That earns a twitch of Ghost’s brow and some cheers from the girls. Ghost just leans back slightly next to me.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Ghost and I bring dinner back to the barracks, the scent of warm food making my stomach grumble.

“Think I’ll be able to eat in front of the others,” he told me as we were loading up our trays. “You’re all trying, so I should too.” 

It was a simple statement, but it landed hard. Warmth flares in my chest, quickly chased by something I shove down. Jealousy. The thought of him showing that vulnerability to other stings a bit more tha I expected. But he’s opening up, like I am. That matters more.

“They’ll appreciate that,” I say with a gentle smile.

We settle at our kitchen table while the girls and their alphas sprawl across the couch, chatting animatedly as they catch the guys up on their day. Laughter bounces off the walls, and for a moment, things just feel… normal. Whatever that means.

I pick at my food for a moment when the topic shifts to grocery lists and plans for tomorrow. That’s when I decide to speak up.

“Hey, uh…” I say during a natural lull in the conversation. “Would it be alright if I just hung back tomorrow?”

The room quiets a little, attention sliding my way. There’s no judgment in their eyes, just curiosity.

“I’ve got a call I want to make,” I explain. “Plus, uh… I haven’t really been a fan of the crowds.”

There’s a moment of silence. Not awkward, more like everyone trying to figure out who should answer. Then, Red nods from her spot on the couch.

“Yeah, of course.”

Bee smiles over at me. “If you need us to grab anything, let us know.”

“Yeah,” Red says, taking out her phone, no doubt to take notes. “Did you need us to grab anything? More horse shampoo or something?”

I shake my head with a short laugh. “Nah, I’m good. But… thanks for being cool about it.”

A quiet understanding seems to pass through the room. The girls nod and go back to chatting, but the energy has shifted so something just a bit softer. I turn back to my food with a small, contented sigh, the warmth of their support settling in my chest like a blanket.

Ghost hasn’t said anything, but when I glance over, he’s watching me. 

“Gonna call Mo,” I murmur, voice just low enough for him.

He nods, taking another bite of his food without breaking eye contact. No further questions. Just simple acceptance.

And somehow, that says more than words ever could.

My fingers hover over the call button, suspended in hesitation. Mo’s contact photo stares back at me. It’s an old picture from years ago, all sunshine and freckles and a smile that used to mean home. It feels like she’s looking right through me now, like she’s waiting. Like she knows I’m hesitating.

My thumb trembles slightly above the screen.

I haven’t spoken to her in months. Not since before everything fell apart. And now, with everything that’s changed, everything I haven’t said, I’m suddenly sure if I even know how to talk to her anymore.

A knot twists low in my stomach, pulling tighter with every heartbeat. I shift my weight on the couch, trying to shake it, but it lingers like a shadow.

The rec room is quiet. Too quiet. The girls went out shopping with Gaz and Soap earlier, laughter trailing behind them like ribbons as they left. Price and Ghost are both off handling work things. That leaves just me, alone in the rec room with nothing but the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

No distractions. No excuses.

This is what I asked for. Space to make this call. But now that I have it, all I want is to run. God, why is everything so hard lately?

I swipe my thumb away from the call button. Then back again. I do it three more times, chewing the inside of my cheek so hard it stings. My heart’s beating fast, too fast, like it’s preparing for a fight I haven’t even started.

What if she’s angry? What if she doesn’t pick up? Or worse… what if she does, and she sounds like a stranger?

Another one lost.

I draw in a shaky breath and squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the phone to my chest.

Just call her, damnit. Just do it.

Do it.

Do it.

Do it.

Do it.

The phone is ringing before I can even register that I’ve clicked the button.

I freeze.

The sound of the dial tone echoes in my ears, distant and far too real. My breath catches in my throat as my eyes snap open, staring at the screen like it betrayed me.

The name Mo glows softly back at me.

Too late to back out.

Too scared to move.

The line clicks.

A small, startled sound escapes me, barely a breath.

“Hello?” Mo’s voice. Quiet. Curious. Cautious.

I go absolutely still.

“...Hello?” she says again, this time a little stronger. “Is someone there?”

“Mo…” I don’t recognize my voice. So shaky, so scared. I try to say anything else, but my tongue feels so thick. A floodgate of words are lodged up in my throat, but it’s too tight to let anything else through.

“...N-Nova?”

It shatters me. 

The sound of my name. The real one, the one she gave me. It cracks something wide open inside me. It’s been so long since I’ve heard my name said like that. Not as Boo, not as omega, not as bitch, but as something tender. Familiar. Mine

My breath leaves me in a rush. Tears spill over before I even realize I’m crying.

“Mo,” I croak again, voice cracking in half. Apparently, it’s the only word in my vocabulary right now.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. A beat of silence.

“Nova? Oh my god. Are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe?”

Mo’s voice rises, panicked now. The quiet curiosity from before is gone, replaced by the fierce protectiveness I remember so well.

I can’t find it in myself to stop my tears long enough to answer her. 

“Talk to me, please. Did something happen? Are you in danger?”

I shake my head instinctively, even though she can’t see it. The increase of panic in her tone has me quickly pulling myself together with a heavy sniff. “No. No, I’m okay,” I say shakily, dragging the sleeve of my hoodie across my face. “I’m safe, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” she asks again, frantic. “Because you sound like you’ve been draggin’ your heart behind you all day.”

I let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I’m fine, sugar. Heart just needed a minute to catch up is all.”

Mo lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Good to know you haven’t lost your southern charm.”

I lean my head back against the cushion, eyes closed, as her voice washes over me like warm sunlight after a long winter. “Didn’t think you’d want me if I ever started makin’ sense.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she murmurs, gently now. “I’d take you however you come. Talkin’ nonsense, covered in scars… all of it. You’re still my girl, Nova.”

God. That name . That voice. I press my hand over my mouth to keep the spb from spilling out loud, but she hears it anyway.

“I’m sorry, shug. I didn’t mean to make this harder,” she says quickly, apologetic. “I just… when they took you in, it felt like someone reached inside me and tore out half my ribs. You were just gone , and I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. They wouldn’t even let me see you.”

“I know,” I whisper, guilt pooling thick in my throat. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I was so, so fucking stupid. I probably put you through hell.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time,” she jokes weakly. 

I swallow hard.

There’s a pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft. “So… where are you, sugar?”

I glance out the window, like the answer might be written in the sky, then let out a slow breath. “You’re not gonna believe it.” 

She snorts. “Oh, please, I doubt there’s a single thing on God’s green earth that could surprise me with you anymore.”

“I’m in the UK.”

Dead silence.

“...You’re what ?”

I can’t help it, I bark out a laugh, rough and too loud, but real. “Told ya you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You mean like… England ? You’re in England?” Her voice pitches up, incredulous. “You’re over there with the Queen and the corgis and the tea kettles?”

Another laugh shakes out of me. “Yeah, Mo. Moved in with the Queen herself. She’s teachin’ me how to curtsy proper. We braid each other’s hair and talk about royal scandals over breakfast.”

Mo gasps dramatically. “Well, damn . You always were a high-faultin' little thing. All them years wearin’ feed store boots and now look at you. Palacin’ it up across the pond.”

I snort, looking at the room around me. “Ain’t quite a palace, sugar.”

“No, but if I find out you’re sharin’ a place with some British boy named Oliver who drinks room-temperature beer and calls you ‘luv’ I swear, I’ll be fixin ta-”

“It’s not like that,” I say, smiling, the ache in my chest easing under her familiar teasing. “It’s a lot more… military than royal. Long story.”

“And you’re safe?” she asks again, quieter this time.

“Yeah,” I say, soft and sure. “Got a pack and everything.”

She’s silent again. “A pack…” she echoes with a whisper. “Well I’ll be damned…”

I hear her sniff once. “Alright, sugar,” she says, voice hitching with something soft and fierce. “You spill every little detail. Names, ranks, who smells like what. Don’t you leave nothin’ out or I swear I’ll drive straight through the Atlantic to shake it outta you.”

I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve. “Alright, alright,” I say, sinking deeper into the couch. I lean my head against the phone as I pull my weighted skeleton into my lap, wrapping my arms around it. “But you gotta promise not to start hollerin’ till I’m finished.”

Mo hums suspiciously. “I make no such promises. ‘Specially when it sounds like you’re about to tell me you joined a cult or somethin’-”

“It ain’t a cult,” I cut in, grinning. “Though Lord knows sometimes it feels like one.”

“Then what is it?” she asks. “This pack you mentioned. Who’s in it?”

I draw a deep breath. “Well… there’s four alphas.”

“Four?!”

“I ain’t done yet!”

“Four?!”

I snort. “Mo, breathe.”

“ Are they all yours?! ” she practically shrieks, and I have to move my head away just slightly from my ear. “What in the blessed Hell kinda polyfairland fantasy life did you fall headfirst into?!”

I cackle, full and ugly, curling more into the couch with my plushie. “No! No. It ain’t like that!”

Mo gasps. “Oh my God , Nova. I raise you better than to be a harem protagonist! How did that even happen? You hate alphas!”

“I’m not sleepin’ with all of ‘em!” I protest through my laughter.

“Yet!”

“Oh my God, Mo. No! Only one of 'em's mine. There’s three other omegas in the pack.”

She’s wheezin’ now, the phone cracklin’ with her laughter. “Oh, thank the Lord. I knew you wasn’t no hussy.”

“Mo-” I drawl.

“You scared me, shug,” he says with a breath. “Alright, let's start with these alphas. Names and vibes, let’s go.”

I take a deep breath, letting the grin settle into something softer. “Alright. Well, to start, they’re all on a team together. There’s a captain, a lieutenant, and two sergeants.”

“Ooh, you’re with the captain, right?”

I grin and huff out a laugh. “No. Not with the captain.”

Mo makes a displeased noise. “Hm. Ok. Well, tell me about him.”

“Goes by Price. He’s the head alpha. Real stern, real British. Beard like a lumberjack and a voice like gravel.”

Mo makes a low, impressed sound. “Mmm. Sounds like he keeps a flask in his coat and reads Hemingway for fun.”

I laugh. “You’re not far off.”

“Alright, who’s next?”

“There’s Sergeant Soap. Loud, Scottish, sweet as pie but built like a linebacker. He’ll flirt with a brick wall if it looks at him the right way.”

“Oh, he’s my favorite already,” Mo says.

“Nah, think you’d go for Sergeant Gaz. Smart, steady, sharp as a tack. He’s the one who keeps everyone grounded. Got a smile on him that could light up a whole porch.”

Mo whistles. “Damn, you’re right. Always liked the smart ones.”

“Don’t I know it,” I chuckle.

“Ok, so who’s the last one? He yours?” Mo presses, her tone all nosy curiosity.

I nod even though I know she can’t see me. “Yeah. He’s mine. Lieutenant Ghost.”

Mo lets out a long, drawn-out “ Lieutenant ,” like she’s tasting the word. “Alright, I see you, sugar.”

I smile and something flutters low in my stomach as I think about him. “He’s tall, quiet, a bit… intense-”

“Gorgeous?” Mo interrupts knowingly.

“Wears a skull mask,” I deadpan.

Silence.

“You’re joking.”

I snort. “‘Fraid not.”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

More silence. Then, “He’s fuckin’ perfect for you.”

A hearty laugh leaves me, and I have to reach a hand up to make sure my phone doesn’t fall.

Mo laughs too, wheezing through the line. “Looks like all those years of chasing after whatever greasy biker rolled through the town finally paid off, huh?”

“Alright, alright ,” I say, still laughing, “we don’t need to drag my early twenties into this.”

“Just sayin’,” she chuckles. “You had a type even back then. Leather, mystery, real broody. I mean, skull mask? That’s practically a bonus .”

I wipe a tear from my eye. “He’s more than just the mask. A lot more. Protective. Patient. Like, good Lord, is he patient. And he sees through me in a way that’s kinda scary sometimes.”

Mo hums, thoughtful now. “Sounds like he doesn’t just see you. He knows you.”

I go quiet for a moment, hand pressed to my chest. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I think he does.”

“Bet you haven’t even let him scent you yet.”

I click my tongue, trying and failing not to smile. “About that…”

Silence.

“Whaaaat?!” she screeches so loud that I’m pulling away from the phone again. “Nova, don’t you mess with me. Did you?! Did you really?!”

I sigh, shoulders curling up with giddy nerves. “Yeah,” I admit warmly. “I asked him to. After we went out to the bar.”

“ You asked him?! Oh my God. It took you months to ask Noah. Now you’re some kinda scent-sluttin’ little minx, I knew you had it in you!” she howls.

“It wasn’t like that!” I protest through a giggle. “We were talkin’, walkin’ around after some drinks, and I don’t know, Mo. I felt safe . Like really safe. He wasn’t even gonna try nothin’, just walkin’ me back to the car. The moment felt right, so I just… asked.”

“And then what? He just leaned in and took a whiff?” she teases.

My breath catches a little, remembering it. “No… he told me he had been waiting for me to ask. Then yeah. He leaned in and we just…”

Mo goes quiet for a second, all her teasing stripped back.

“Damn,” she finally breathes. “Sounds like you’re finally listenin’ to your omega.”

I let out a slow breath and press a palm to my chest, where everything feels warm and tight all at once. “Still not as much as I should be,” I admit, lips twisting. “But I am tryin’. This one… he’s different, Mo. I don’t know how else to say it. He makes it easier to listen. Makes it feel like I’m allowed to.”

Mo hums low, thoughtful. “Sounds like you finally met your match.”

I grin, unable to help it. “Let's hope so.”

There’s a beat, then Mo’s tone perks back up. “Alright, alright, so if you ain’t shacked up in Buckingham Palace, where are you livin’? Don’t tell me it’s some hobbit hole.”

I snort. “The barracks , smartass.”

“Oh, well, pardon me, Miss Army Boots. Look at you, all military. And the other omegas? They treatin’ you good?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice softening with honesty. “They’re… they’re really good to me. Probably more than I deserve, if I’m honest.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Then, warm and firm. “Nova, don’t you ever say that. You hear me? You deserve a whole damn world full of softness. Just ‘cause you ain’t used to bein’ cared for don’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

My throat tightens. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah, I hear you.”

There’s a soft exhale on the other end of the line, and then Mo’s voice comes through, gentle but curious. “So… these other omegas. What’re they like?”

I glance around the quiet rec room, almost like I expect them to pop in just from me saying their names. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “They’re good people. Real sweet.”

“That ain’t what I asked,” she says, amused. “I want details. You don’t casually drop ‘I got a pack now’ and leave it at that. Who are they? What kinda girls you runnin’ with?”

“Well,” I laugh lightly, “there’s Red, the head omega. Looks like Jolene but acts the complete opposite. Bit straightlaced, says what’s on her mind and doesn’t take shit from nobody. Real protective, even if she pretends she’s not.”

Mo hums, clearly intrigued. “Sounds like you two butt heads. ‘Specially if you’re not head.”

“A bit,” I grin. “But, she’s solid. Got a good heart, even if she hides it under about six layers of sarcasm and enough book smarts to fill a library.”

“Love that for you. Who else?”

“Bun and Bee. Bun’s this adorable little thing. Real soft-spoken, but the girl’s got steel in her spine. You can tell. Cutest curly brown hair, too. The type that brings a man to his knees.”

“ Sounds cute.”

I move my head slightly to the side, soft smile on my lips. “And Bee. Good Lord, does she remind me of you.”

“The greatest?” Mo quips, all mock innocence

“To put it lightly,” I drawl. “She’s a spittin’ image, I tell you. All sunshine and chaos. Makes sure nobody takes themselves too seriously. Always touchin’, always laughin’. Got some of that wild-heart energy you used to knock me sideways with.”

Mo laughs. “Sounds like a helluva woman.”

“You have no idea.”

There’s a beat of silence before she snorts. “You gonna try to fuck her in the back of your truck?” 

A startled laugh bursts outta me, and I have to bite my lip to stifle it slightly. “Is that what you think about when you think of me?”

“I’m just messin’,” she chuckles breathlessly. “But seriously. They sound like my kinda people.”

“They really are,” I admit, surprising myself with how easily the truth comes out. “They’ve been real patient with me. Kinda… let me ease in without pressure. Make space for me when I don’t even know how to ask for it.”

Mo goes quiet for a second. “That’s a good pack, sugar.”

“So I’m learnin’,” I say plainly. “Enough about me, what have you been doin’ all this time?”

She groans, loan and exaggerated. “Goin’ crazy, mostly.”

I chuckle softly. “Still workin’ for your parents?”

“No,” she says, finally, and her voice is different now. Thinner. Tired. “Um. I, uh…”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable. “Mo?” I ask gently. “Everything ok?”

She breathes out through her nose, shaky. “Got married.”

I sit up straighter. “What?! To who?”

“Lucas.”

I blink, stunned. “Lucas? Like… Lucas Johnson Lucas?”

I can hear the nod from the other side of the line. “Yeah. Him.”

Now it’s my turn to fall silent. The Lucas I remember was decent enough, but quiet, aimless. Not the kind of man I pictured for her. Not for my Mo.

“Congr-” I start, but she cuts me off.

“I didn’t want to,” she cuts in. “Parents kinda forced my hand.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Mo, I’m so-”

“Worked out, though,” she interrupts again, a little too fast. “I was able to convince him to let me take Henry.”

I freeze. 

Henry. 

Sweet baby Henry. That little boy meant the world to both of us. One of my deepest regrets about getting locked up was not being able to be there for him anymore.

“His mom givin' you any trouble for that?”

“No,” she says, voice soft. “No, she signed all the papers and everything. Don’t see him or anything. Just handed him over, really.”

“And Lucas agreed to this?” I ask, a bit in disbelief.

“Part of the marriage agreement,” she says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’m sure for most well-to-do betas it is. “He still wants a kid of our own, but Henry… kinda helps me buy some time.”

I rub a hand over my face. “He treatin’ you okay?”

“I mean, yeah,” she replies, hesitantly. “But I sure as shit don’t love him. He don’t love me neither. We both knew this was comin’. You know how my parents are.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, throat thick. My mind flashes back to all those nights I’d drive her away from that big, cold house of hers, tears steakin’ down her face. The nights we’d lay in the bed of my truck talkin’ about runnin’ off with just enough money to start over somewhere quiet. Somewhere free.

We always said we’d take Henry with us.

“Mo…” I breathe.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she says softly. “I just… I needed to make sure he’d be safe. That he’d have somebody. He didn’t deserve nothin’, ya know?”

“You were always the brave one,” I whisper, eyes stinging again. 

There’s a pause. Then quietly she says, “I miss you, Nova.”

“I miss you more,” I reply without hesitation. 

Mo’s breath crackles softly through the speaker. “He still remembers you, y’know?”

I feel my chest clench. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Showed him that photo of him on your knee while you’re playin’ the guitar.”

I smile, wet and aching. “He always fit so perfectly there.”

“Probably won’t anymore. He’s gettin’ so big.” Her voice cracks, just a little. “He keeps askin’ when you’re comin’ back.”

I press the heel of my hand to my eye, hard. “I ain’t ever sure I ever could, Mo.”

“I know,” she says. “But I told him someday. Had to give him somethin’ sugar. That boy still sleeps with that raggedy dinosaur you won him at the country fair.”

I let out a soft, choked laugh. “Ugly fuckin’ thing.”

“Keeps callin’ it Noah.”

The sob that leaves me isn’t pretty, but it’s quiet. Just a little breathless crack in my throat that I don’t bother to hide.

“I failed him, Mo. Failed them both.”

“No, you didn’t,” she says firmly. “You did what you had to do. You were just tryin’ to survive. Hell, you still are. That don’t make you a failure.”

“I shoulda been there.”

“You were there,” she snaps, fierce now. “When nobody else was, you were. You were more of a mama to that boy than anyone else in his life. And you still are. That don’t disappear just ‘cause you had to go.”

I blink fast, trying to keep my voice from shaking again. “You really think that?”

“I know that. And more than that, he knows that.” She pauses. “But if you’re wantin’ to do right by him now, then you keep goin’. You get strong. Figure your shit out and be ready for when he comes lookin’.”

I sit with that for a minute. Let it settle in my bones like warmth after a long storm.

“I’m tryin’, Mo.”

“I know you are, baby,” she says. “And I’m real proud of you.”

I nod, unable to speak.

After a long pause, she adds, “He’s startin’ school soon. Wants to be a firefighter. Says he wants to save people like Nova does.”

That just about does me in.

“Tell him…” I swallow hard. “Tell him I said I love him, alright? Tell him… every time he’s lookin’ up at the moon, I’ll be on the other side, lookin’ at it too.”

Mo’s voice wavers. “I’ll tell him, sugar. Every night.”

The line falls quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just full of the kind of love that stretches across oceans and years and old wounds that never quite healed right.

“Thank you, Mo,” I whisper.

“You ain’t never gotta thank me for lovin’ you,” she murmurs. “It’s just part of the job.”

“Sorry for callin’ you outta the blue and takin’ up so much of your time,” I apologize.

Mo lets out a soft exhale, the kind that sounds like a smile. “Sugar, you could call me at three in the mornin’ from the bottom of a well and I’d still pick up faster than a toupee in a hurricane.”

I laugh, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “Still. I shouldn’t’ve dropped this all on you outta the blue like that.”

“Nova,” she says gently, “you’ve been carryin’ too much by yourself for too damn long. You don’t gotta apologize for wantin’ someone to walk a few steps with you.”

I close my eyes, clutching the phone and my plushie a little tighter. “You always know what to say.”

“I’ve had a lotta practice,” she teases. “You gave me a hell of a time growin’ up, remember?”

“Only ‘cause you won’t let me forget.”

“Damn straight.”

We both go quiet again, but this time it’s soft and warm, like two rocking chairs creaking on the same porch.

“I should let you go,” I murmur. “Didn’t mean to steal so much of your time.” 

“Wasn’t stealin’,” Mo says, voice thick now too. “But alright. You make sure to get some rest, okay?”

“I will. And I’ll text you.”

“Better,” she says. “You send me pictures of your pack, too. I wanna see these British bitches that snatched up my girl.”

I smile. “You got it. Bye, Mo.”

“Bye, sugar. And Nova?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you called.”

My heart stutters at that. “Me too.”

The call ends, and I sit there in the silence of the barracks rec room, phone still warm in my hand. I pull up my plushie to my chest, savoring the heavy feeling. A flurry of emotions washes over me as I replay the conversation in my head. With a sigh, I get up and move to the kitchen, determined to settle my emotions before the rest of my pack arrives.

I move through the kitchen on autopilot, grabbing the scrub brush and a bottle of cleaner from under the sink. My knees hit the floor with a soft thud. The rhythmic motion of scrubbing is mindless, just enough so to keep my thoughts from spiraling. The scent of lemon cleaner fills the air, sharp and clean.

The scrub brush squeaks softly against the tile, the motion steady, mechanical. I don’t think about the aching pull in my shoulders or the raw ache in my knees. I just keep scrubbing.

I don’t even notice the tears until they fall, hitting the clean tile below with soft, pitiful splashes. I wipe at my face with the sleeve of my shirt, but it just smears things worse. I scrub harder, like I can erase the ache in my chest if I can just get the grout white enough.

I don’t hear the door open. Don’t hear the footsteps. Not until a shadow stretches across the floor and boots stop just a few feet from where I kneel.

My hand stills.

“You alright there, love?”

Price’s voice is gentle, but it cuts through me all the same.

I flinch. Instinct. Shame burns hot behind my eyes, and I swipe my face again before daring to look up. He’s crouched in front of me now, arms resting loosely on his knees, eyes soft with something like worry.

“I-” My voice breaks. I shake my head and let out a watery breath. “Shit. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says quietly. “Saw you down here and figured somethin’ was weighin’ on you. Didn’t want to interrupt, just… wanted to make sure you were alright.”

I duck my head, pressing the scrub brush to the tile like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. “Just needed to do somethin’ to keep my hands busy,” I mumble. “Wasn’t tryin’ to fall apart or nothin’.”

“You’re allowed to,” he says simply. “Fall apart, I mean.”

His voice is low, calm, like he’s talking to a skittish animal he doesn’t want to spook. I press my sleeve to my face again, trying to quiet the hiccuping sob that wants to escape my throat.

There’s a stretch of silence where I just breathe. It’s ragged and uneven, like my lungs can’t quite remember how to do it right. The scrub brush in my hand feels stupid now. Pointless. Like I used it as armor and forgot I’d left the rest of myself wide open.

“Take it the call didn’t go well?” he prompts, his tone careful. Gentle.

I shake my head as a breath shudders out of me. “It did,” I whisper. “Think everything just hit me all at once. What I did. What I left behind. Who I left behind.”

My voice breaks halfway through, and I don’t bother trying to fix it.

There’s a pause, just long enough for me to feel foolish again. I’m kneelin’ on the floor like a wreck, cleanin’ the same damn spot over and over. There’s a soft creak of weight shifting before Price lowers himself beside me. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t crowd. Just sits, solid as a stone wall beside me.

“Hits harder when things are quiet,” he says after a moment, voice low. “That’s when the ghosts crawl out. Not the ones from war, either. The personal kind. The choices. The regrets. The people we never meant to leave behind.”

That undoes something in me. A knot, maybe. Or a thread I’ve been holding too tight.

I nod, slow and silent, eyes burning. “She was always there,” I murmur. “Even when she shouldn’t have been. And I just… left her there.”

“She sounds like someone worth missin’,” he says easily. No pity behind his words, just truth.

“She is,” I breathe.

A beat passes. My hands are trembling again, and I look down at the scrub brush still clenched in one of them like a lifeline.

“Don’t want you thinkin’ I don’ wanna be here though, Captain,” I say, finally looking up at him with watery eyes. “It ain’t that. I do wanna be here. It’s just… hard. Sometimes it’s like my head and my instincts are speakin’ two different languages.”

Price nods once, calm and measured. “Talk to me.”

I swallow. “I think I’m scared of lettin’ my omega take up too much room. Of givin' her too much control.”

He doesn’t flinch at the confession. Doesn’t blink. Just listens.

“She’s louder now than I think she’s even been,” I whisper. “And it’s not bad, not really. She just wants stuff I ain’t used to askin’ for. Comfort. Nestin’. Help. Things I was taught to think made me weak.”

“She wants to be safe,” he finishes gently. “And she is. You are.”

Tears prick at my eyes again, sharp and sudden. I let out a shaky laugh and look down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come apart like this. Didn’t mean to drag you into it.”

Price lets out a soft breath through his nose and reaches over, giving my arm a steadying squeeze. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. You’re part of the pack now, Boo. That means your mess is our mess.”

I look up at him, lips trembling. “But you’re the captain… and the head alpha, I’m sure you’ve got a million other things to be dealing with right now.”

“That’s why I’m the head alpha,” he says, voice firm and kind all at once. “So you’ve got someone to come to when it gets heavy. So you don’t have to carry all this on your own.”

My chin quivers as I nod slowly, the weight of it sinking in. That it’s really okay to not have it all handled. That I don’t have to be the tough one all the time. “Just feel a little broken,” I admit.

His voice is softer now. “You’re not broken. You’re tired. You’ve been fighting what seems like quite some time and keepin’ that omega of yours locked up. Now, she’s stretching her legs again, remembering what it feels like to want things. To trust. To be safe.”

He pauses just long enough for his words to settle before adding, “ Let her. Let her want. Let her ache. We’ll be right here to catch you if she stumbles.”

A sob hiccups in my throat and slips free before I can stop it, sharp and shivering. I curl in on myself for a second, scrub brush forgotten beside me. Price puts a placating hand on my back, letting me work through everything. 

It takes me a few deep breaths before I can manage any words.

“Thank you,” I whisper, raw and hoarse.

He gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgment and rubs up and down my back.

“You don’t ever need to thank me for this,” he says. “This is what a pack’s for.”

A let out a watery laugh. “Y’all keep sayin’ that,” I murmur, swiping at the tears clinging to my lashes. “But I think… I’m only just startin’ to believe it.”

Price hums, thoughtful. “Takes time,” he agrees. “You’ve had to carry a lot alone for a long time. Letting go of that… trustin’ other people to help? That’s no easy thing.”

He pauses for a beat, then pulls up, sitting a bit straighter. “Y’know… Ghost wasn’t so different, once. When I first met him, he didn’t even want a pack. Thought it was a weakness. Figured needin’ anyone would just get him hurt.”

I blink, trying to picture it. With how friendly he is with Soap, it’s a bit hard to believe.

“Yeah,” he says with a faint smile. “Took him years to let anyone in. Even now, he’s still learnin’. But he gets it, Boo. That feelin’ you’ve got? Of wantin’ someone to lean on and bein’ terrified they won’t be there? He’s lived that. Still fights it, now and again.”

I look down at the floor.

“If you let him,” Price says, voice steady but gentle, “he could help you find your footing again. Not by takin’ your pain away. But by standin’ beside you while you work through it.”

I glance back up. “You think he’d… be alright with that? Me leanin’ on him like that?”

“I think,” Price says, with a knowing look, “it’d mean more to him than you know. Might be just what he needs, too.”

I sit with it for a second, everything he just said. The weight of it. The truth of it. Then, with a sniff and a weak chuckle, I glance sideways at him.

“Y’know,” I murmur, voice still a bit raw, “for the scariest alpha I’ve ever met, you’re… by far the gentlest.”

Price raises a brow, amused. “Scariest, am I?”

“Mm-hm,” I nod, wiping under my eyes. “Got that whole gruff thing goin’ on. Gruff voice, beard, that stare like you’re readin’ someone’s soul and judgin’ it accordingly.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Soul’s usually got it comin’.”

I smile for real this time. “Still. You’re kind, Cap. Steady. I didn’t expect that.”

“Not many do,” he admits with a small shrug. “Figure if I bark loud enough, fewer people try to bite.”

“Is that why Ghost growls all the time, too?” I tease, tilting my head.

Price huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head fondly. “Ghost growls ‘cause he hasn’t figured out how to say ‘I care’ like a normal person.”

That gets a real laugh out of me, short and breathless but honest.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, my tone a little lighter. “Maybe I’ll growl back sometime. See how he likes it.”

“Could surprise him,” Price says, smiling. “Man’s tough, but he’s soft where it counts. Especially when it comes to people he gives a damn about.”

I nod slowly, pressing my palms to the tile like I’m grounding myself again, but this time not out of desperation. Just so I can rise up from it a little steadier.

“Thanks for comin’ down here,” I say. “Even if I looked like I was fixin’ to scrub a hole in the floor.”

He stands when I do, offering a hand to help me up. I take it.

“Anytime, love,” he says. “And next time things start feelin’ heavy, you come find me or Ghost. We’ll be here. That’s the whole point.”

I squeeze his hand before letting go, my voice quiet but sure now.

“Yeah. I think I’m finally startin’ to believe that.”

The room is too quiet tonight. Too dark. I’ve tried to sleep for at least an hour, and I’m getting nowhere even close to falling asleep. 

The girls caught onto my mood when they returned from shopping and demanded a cuddle pile. They wouldn’t leave me be, practically attached to my hip as we all worked on making dinner together. 

We joked and laughed, making my spirits rise as the inner turmoil from the call slowly faded. 

The darkness made it seep right back in, though.

With a huff, I put on Ghost’s jacket, thankful it still reeks of him. I snag my skeleton plushie, stuffing it into the jacket and zipping it up to secure it in there. I sneak out the front door and move to the side where there’s a ladder that leads to the top of the roof.

It’s colder than all get out tonight, but the cold bite of the air and the metal under my fingers is kinda nice. It’s dark out, the nearby light not quite reaching the top of the roof.

The faint glow of a cigarette tip meets me, and I freeze.

He’s there.

The dull red ember isn’t nearly enough to highlight any of him, but his scent wafts just enough in the wind to know that’s my alpha waiting on the roof.

I hesitate, suddenly unsure, before I watch him look over at me. 

I swallow and ultimately decide to just go with it. I finish my climb, walking quietly and slowly over to him. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks after a beat, his voice low.

“Somethin’ like that,” I reply, taking out my stuffie and holding it a bit tight. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He doesn’t say anything, and I follow his lead. The breeze bites through the jacke,t and I click on my plushie, letting it start to warm up to fight off the ache in my fingers. The silence sits between us before the need to explain myself wins out.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout the phone call today.”

He makes a noise of understanding. 

“Price told me he found you on the floor.”

I breathe a laugh out of my nose. “Yeah,” I drawl. “Cleanin’ usually helps clear my mind. Not this time, though.”

Silence sits between us ike a fire left to smolder.

“The captain told me you didn’t want a pack at first.”

I feel his eyes on me. Not defensive. Just waiting. 

I keep my gaze out to the lights of the base, my voice a faint whisper. “Said you thought it made you weak. Trustin’ people Needin’ ‘em.”

He exhales through his nose. The ember at the end of the cigarette flares once more before he drops it and steps it out under his boot.

“Not wrong,” he admits. “Didn’t trust anyone. Didn’t think I was the kind of man anyone should be leanin’ on.”

I swallow thickly.

“Guess I know a little somethin’ ‘bout that too.”

Ghost turns toward me slightly, getting just close enough that I can feel the heat of his body besides me, even through the chill. 

“You’re doin’ better than you think, Boo.”

It’s so simple. So honest. Feels like his words strip me bare. My throat tightens, and I hate how quickly my eyes burn.

“Still scares me,” I breathe. “Wantin’ things. Wantin’... people.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Then, his words come out, soft as mist,

“You can want me.”

I freeze. Not with fear, more… clarity.

He’s not teasing. Not asking. Not coaxing. Just… offering.

I turn to face him, heart thundering so hard I’m sure he can hear it. But he’s still. Waiting. His hands hang loosely at his sides, there’s tension in his shoulders that looks like it’s being held tight on a leash. 

“You don’t have to rush,” he adds. “I’ll still be here tomorrow. And the day after that. Whenever you’re ready.”

I take a breath that shakes my whole frame. My plushie shifts in my arm as it starts warming up. 

I take a tiny step forward. Just enough for our arms to brush, for me to have to tilt my head up just to see his face. Then, slow as honey, I lean my head against his shoulder. 

Ghost’s arm comes around, helping guide me further into him, so I’m lying a bit on his chest. He’s careful about it, like I might spook. But I don’t.

His scent wraps around me like a blanket pulled straight from the dryer. All smoke and cedar and something just uniquely him . My omega settles for the first time in what feels like years.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, rumbling against the side of my cheek.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “More than okay.”

The wind tugs at a loose strand of my hair, and he’s the one to reach up and tuck it behind my ear. His gloved knuckles graze my skin with the barest pressure, but it sends goosebumps up the back of my neck. I shiver, not from the cold.

He notices.

“You’re sure?”

I lift my head a little, just enough to meet his eyes. They’re so dark, but soft in a way I’ve never seen on anyone before. Like he’s looking at something precious and terrified of being the one to break it.

And something in me… some wall, some wound, something locked up too tight… just lets go.

“I don’t wanna wait,” I whisper. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Ghost doesn’t move right away. He watches me like he’s waiting for me to change my mind. Like, he doesn’t believe it’s real.

So I make the choice for both of us.

I reach up, and gently curl my fingers in the fabric of his hoodie near his collar, tugging just a little to bring him down. I tilt up.

And then we’re kissing.

Soft.

Slow.

His lips are warm and careful against mine, not pushing or demanding. Just… there. He’s meeting me halfway, letting me lead.

It’s not perfect, but that makes me love it even more. My nose bumps his mask a little. We both breathe too hard. But none of it matters, because it’s real.

It feels like coming home.

It grows in desperation as something in the pit of my stomach hollows and tugs at me for more.