Chapter 4 #2
When the alpha caught him, tackling him to the forest floor, the omega went limp. Surrendering with the boneless collapse of someone who had learned that fighting made things worse. Who had learned that stillness invited less pain than struggle.
I kept walking. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
That could be Dalvin. If Mercer caught him first, that would be Dalvin. Limp and surrendered and dragged back to Vernon because the law didn't care about consent, only about completed bonds.
I moved faster.
By nightfall, I'd found the trail.
Dalvin's scent threaded through the underbrush, faint but unmistakable.
That warm, smoky sweetness, layered now with exhaustion and the sharp edge of approaching heat.
He'd passed through here hours ago, moving erratically, doubling back on himself, leaving a path that spoke of confusion rather than strategy.
I crouched beside a broken fern and studied the ground.
Bare footprints in the soft earth, smaller than mine, the impressions deep at the toes where he'd been running hard.
A smear of blood on a rock where he must have scraped his foot.
A handprint on a tree trunk, pressed there for balance when he stumbled.
He was scared. Lost. Running on instinct instead of thought.
The thought surfaced before I could stop it: if another alpha touched him, I would kill them. Not defend Dalvin. Not rescue him. Kill the alpha. The distinction mattered, and the fact that I couldn't feel it in the moment should have worried me more than it did.
And beneath the fear, beneath the exhaustion, his heat was building.
I could taste it on my tongue, sweet and urgent, calling to every alpha instinct I possessed.
My body wanted to follow that call. Wanted to run him down and claim him and bury myself inside him until neither of us could remember our own names.
I forced the instinct down. Locked it behind the same walls I'd built around my rage, my grief, my loneliness. There would be time for want later. Right now, I needed to find him before Mercer did.
I followed the trail through a dense stand of hemlock, their feathery branches blocking the last of the daylight. The ground rose beneath my feet, rocky and uneven, until I emerged onto a small plateau overlooking a tumble of boulders.
And there, tucked into a crevice between two massive stones, I caught a glimpse of white linen.
Dalvin.
He'd found shelter in the rocks, a defensible position that offered cover from above and limited approaches from below. Smart, even in panic. Even terrified out of his mind, some part of him had remembered to think.
I didn't approach.
Instead, I found a position fifty yards out, behind a fallen pine that offered a clear sightline to his hiding spot. I settled my back against the trunk, set my pack beside me, and waited.
The forest darkened around me. Stars emerged through gaps in the canopy, cold and distant, their light too faint to reach the forest floor.
An owl called somewhere to the east, its hollow cry echoing off the rocks.
The temperature dropped steadily, mountain air seeping through my jacket, raising goosebumps along my arms.
I didn't mind the cold. The forge had taught me patience with discomfort. Hours of standing before the heat, sweat soaking through my clothes, muscles screaming from the repetitive swing of the hammer. This was nothing compared to that. This was just waiting.
Somewhere in the rocks, I heard Dalvin shift. Heard the rustle of fabric against stone. Heard the quick catch of his breath as he startled at some sound I couldn't identify.
He wasn't sleeping. Neither was I.
Hours passed. I ate from my pack without tasting the food, mechanically fueling a body that would need strength tomorrow.
Drank water. Adjusted my position when my legs cramped.
The night grew colder still, frost forming on the fallen needles around me, but I didn't build a fire.
Didn't want to announce my presence any more than necessary.
I just watched. And waited.
The moon rose late, a thin crescent that offered little light but marked the passage of time. Three hours until dawn. Then six hours until the alphas who hadn't made claims would grow desperate, would start taking risks, would hunt harder and faster as the deadline approached.
Mercer would be out there too. Moving through the darkness with military precision, tracking Dalvin's scent the same way I had. He wouldn't stop for rest. Men in his profession didn't need comfort. They needed results.
I flexed my hands, feeling the calluses on my palms, the strength in my fingers. I had shaped iron with these hands. Had bent metal to my will through patience and heat and precisely applied force. I could do the same to anyone who tried to take Dalvin from me.
But first, I needed Dalvin to understand that I wasn't another predator.
He had been chased his whole life. By parents who saw him as currency. By Vernon who saw him as property. By a system that treated omegas as prizes to be won rather than people to be loved.
I wasn't going to chase him. Not tonight. Not ever, if I could help it.
When he was ready to talk, I would be here. When he was ready to choose, I would offer myself as an option. And if he chose someone else, if he looked at me and saw only the past he wanted to escape, I would let him go.
***