Chapter 16 Half Formed Plans and Uncertain Outcomes #3
His hair would have fallen around his face—the big man could never keep it tamed—and the coarse ends would tickle his back and neck, carrying more of his scent.
Ridan would keen, beg for his alpha. It would be distressing enough to color his cheeks, but Brune wouldn’t mind.
He would never judge him. His alpha would simply wrap himself around Ridan, let his weight press him into the furs to ground him.
Heated flesh pressed to his, impossibly soothing the too tight itchiness until all Ridan could feel was his alpha's hot breath on his neck, the occasional nip of teeth, and the insatiable heat coiling in his gut.
Gasping into the shirt, Ridan reached behind him to slide his fingers against his sticky hole. It was soaked, rim loose and fluttering. Ready and desperate, he plunged two fingers in and keened, a sharp whine begging his alpha not just for more, but for everything.
As vivid as his fantasies were, they weren’t enough. His omega wouldn’t be fooled, and while the sick squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of his ass felt good, there was a distinct tang of disappointment on the edge of every wave of pleasure.
Ridan curled his fingers and brushed against that elusive bundle of nerves he could just barely reach. With a soft cry, he came, his small cock spurting all over Brune’s shirt and his nest.
Collapsing on his side, he brought the shirt up to his nose and tried to breathe in the scent. It was different now, mixed with his sweat and spend. He didn’t hate it, his omega purring at the thought of his scent on his alpha.
But this was just a shirt. It wasn’t his alpha.
Disappointment sat heavy in his stomach, and he had to resist the urge to weep. Brune wasn’t here. Why would he be? He wasn’t Ridan’s alpha.
But oh, how Ridan wanted him to be. From his big smile that could so quickly change into a ferocious snarl, lifting that shield high to become a solid, immovable object.
Ridan never had to worry with Brune at his back.
He would not fail. It wasn’t in him. The ground beneath his feet would have to crumble before that shield came down.
And last night—or the night before, Ridan lost track of the time—how Brune had so easily tossed Jonen to the ground.
He put himself between them, sensing Ridan’s vulnerability.
He didn’t do it to be a pretentious alpha, or because he believed Ridan needed it, but because he wanted to.
Because the thought of someone touching Ridan when he was in pre-heat was too much for his alpha.
Not to mention his teeth. Ridan nearly swooned when he saw those fangs dropped. He wanted to drop to his knees right then and there, bare his neck and pray those teeth dug deep enough to draw blood.
Just thinking about it had his cock hardening again. Flopping on his back, he pulled the shirt over his heaving chest, whimpering when the material caught against his sensitive nipples.
His mind cleared a bit after the orgasm, and the realization hit that he was still clutching Brune’s shirt.
And he didn’t want to let go. In fact, he wanted to pull it closer.
Embed that scent and touch into his marrow, remake his bones until they resembled something that had them so utterly entwined nothing could break them apart.
And as much as he wanted to blame his heat, it wasn’t just that. These thoughts weren’t foreign. They sounded a lot like Ridan from far away. Like the parts of his mind that accepted them were pressed down so far, they had to shout; the words echoing and distorted, but clearly his own.
Buzzard told him love wasn’t a weakness, or a betrayal, but rather a gift. A celebration of everything they had. Ridan couldn’t say he agreed, because if this was love, it was different than that.
Brune felt more like his nest. A comfort he didn’t need but wanted.
Something made of many imperfect parts, but together created what Ridan needed.
Secure, safe. Something he could fall into when he was desperate for comfort.
A place that would always change, but with the same comfort. Tangible and easy.
Because like the nest, Brune was more than his parts that made him up—more than his red hair, or his strength. More than the empathy in his heart.
Brune vowed to be his shadow, but Ridan didn’t want a shadow. He wanted Brune to stand beside him, to take his hand and face each new dawn together, as something greater than their individual parts. As a team.
As mates.
Pulling the shirt tighter around him, Ridan tried not to think about how big his nest felt as he fell into another wave.
A rooster crowing shattered whatever sleep he fell into. It wasn’t restful, and as Ridan tried to open his eyes, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been asleep at all.
What he could tell was that his body was cooler, and rather than the obscene lust boiling in his blood, he felt disgusting. With a jaw cracking yawn, he sat up. His legs were stuck together. Ridan purposefully didn’t inhale to avoid the foul smell.
Clearing his throat, he squinted around the small room. It was intact. The only thing he’d destroyed was his nest. He would have to wash that before he let Corric sleep on it again.
Thinking of Corric had him looking around. He was alone, but Corric’s smell lingered in the air. Ridan remembered him stopping in to check on him, but he didn’t stay. He didn’t need to. Not when Ridan had Brune’s shirt.
A shirt he could never give back to the alpha. Not only was it covered in Ridan’s slick and cum, but at some point, he must have bitten it. Gnawed on it to get more of Brune’s scent. It no longer resembled a shirt, but a wretched old cloth Sehleh wouldn’t use to dry dishes.
No, the shirt would have to be destroyed. Ridan could feign ignorance. ‘What shirt? Never heard of it…’ it would be fine.
While he would have cried if he removed the shirt during his heat, now he could peel it from his skin. It no longer smelled like Brune. Dropping it off the side of the nest, he shifted until he caught sight of a bucket full of clean water.
Ridan would have to thank Corric for his thoughtfulness.
He scooted towards it on protesting muscles and pulled out the ladle, slurping the cool water down until his belly ached.
Corric, or maybe Sehleh, had included some soap and a small cloth.
He used them both to get himself clean. It wasn’t as good as a true bath, but the water sluicing against his skin felt heavenly.
Ridan sighed in relief when he scrubbed his face, letting the water run down his neck and drip into the divots of his collarbones.
His hair was soaked when he finished, but he felt more alive.
The clothes he wore when he first went into heat weren’t too bad, but the heady scent of fertile omega still lingered.
Unfortunately, he had nothing else. Shimmying into his pants and fastening his belts and boots.
His legs were wobbly, and every muscle ached, but it felt good to stretch them out as he pulled a sweater over his head.
Dressed for the first time in days, he set about righting his nest. His omega whined mournfully as he dismantled the top couple of layers, but he would just have to get them scented again.
The bits from his father and mother were safe—he would never wash them.
As it was, their scents faded every day and with each diluted breath he had to fight back the urge to mourn all over again.
He couldn’t get those scented again.
With his pile for laundry sorted, he pinned open the flap to air out the room and made his way into the main room.
No one was home, but Sehleh had left a plate for him.
Smelling the thick biscuits slathered in honey butter made his stomach tighten in on itself painfully.
Resisting the urge to point out it was his stomach that kept him from eating these past couple of days, he scarfed down the flaky breakfast. He didn’t know how she did it, but Sehleh’s biscuits were always crispy on the outside and soft inside, warmth radiating in every bite.
She always seemed to know what he’d crave after a terrible heat.
Ridan couldn’t let himself savor the taste. He had things to do. His heat was unavoidable, but it couldn’t have come at a worst time. Not with Kaldonea’s threat hanging over his head and not one, but two magical refugees hidden in camp.
Collecting himself, he made sure his necklaces were sitting right on his chest before storming out into the chill morning.
He took two steps before running into something solid. Stumbling backward, it was only a large hand grabbing him by the forearm that kept him from falling into the dirt.
The sun was behind his roadblock's head, but he knew Brune from the feel of his hand alone. That, and he’d been huffing his scent like a madman for the last three days.
Shoving the big alpha's hand off him, he fixed his face in the best glare he could to hide the red he knew was coloring his cheeks.
“You’re up!” Brune greeted him happily, his entire face lighting up. “I m-mean you’re out. And…not in…your tent…” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, looking away from Ridan as he tripped over his own tongue.
Brune must have figured out he was in heat. Not that it was a secret—omegas had heats, alphas had ruts. It was a biological function. There was no shame. But knowing he was in heat was different than knowing he was using his scent to get through it.
“What are you doing here, Foreigner?”
Scuffing his feet, Brune wouldn’t meet Ridan’s eye.
“I was just…” he trailed off, head whipping up to finally look at him.
Brune’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he took in the lingering scent of heat.
Swallowing thickly, he took two large steps back and clenched onto his belt with a white knuckled grip.