26. Hunter
Hunter
Iwatch in the reflection as Benny catalogues each mark, every bruise, every imprint of my teeth on his skin in the bathroom mirror.
He looks like a piece of art, a patchwork of my affections, my claim on him bold and blossoming.
It feels only right the raw bruised flesh symbolises everything he means to me, it’s carnal, hedonistic, a battle of wills and pleasure. It’s more than words.
The mark on the back of his neck is the one that I am most proud of, but also the most frustrated by.
Already the dark purple has faded, giving way to a pale blue with yellow tinges.
It’s a mating mark and if he was an omega it would have taken.
It would be seared into his skin as a silver scar, telling the whole world he belongs with me.
There’s this horrible grief in my chest as he absently strokes his fingers over it, knowing that in a few days it will fade because a mating bond hasn’t been made.
If it had, I would’ve felt it snap into place, washing away the mournful bitterness that lingers in my mouth instead of this horrible ache.
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I gently kiss over the mark resolving to Claim him again over and over and over again until it becomes a permanent fixture on his body because there is no debate here.
Benedict Crawford is mine. Every version of him belongs to me, with me.
For the next two days we hide away in our cabin, talking, laughing, playing video games, getting stoned and sitting in the spring, fucking because it feels good and because we can’t seem to keep our hands off one another.
He drags my mattress downstairs, and my workroom has turned into a collection of blankets and cushions, strategically placed for maximum comfort.
I don’t think Evans realises, but we’ve built a nest. A place where we hide away from the world until it feels like we’re ready to face the fallout.
Omega’s need a nest for breeding, it makes them feel secure while they’re vulnerable as they’ll often become territorial and volatile, but you rarely hear about an alpha nesting.
Which is strange because an alpha is no different.
A nest represents home and safety for us too.
There’s a primordial instinct to build these, to surround ourselves in the scents that make us feel reassured and calm.
My heart feels like it might burst when he pulls me down beneath the blankets, in this little corner of the world that’s just ours, surrounded by my paintings and sketches.
When we can’t put off the inevitable any longer, we share a shower, trading quick blowjobs under the steam before packing up all of our things, not that Evans brought much with him. I know he’s reluctant to leave the cabin but we can’t hide here forever.
Once the bags are in the car, I video call my parents to let them know that we’re leaving.
I did try to head down to the family cabin and explain in person, but Evans clung to me, anxious about being separated and I wasn’t much better.
My feet felt like lead with every step I took and there was a definite sense of unease unfurling low in my gut as I started heading down the trail.
It was a lingering effect of heats and ruts, and I knew it would calm down fully in a few days.
They protest about us just sneaking away, but Evans isn’t ready to face them and their loud love just yet. And they do love him.
It didn’t matter what I say or how I try to reassure him that they don’t care, he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was an alpha, with another alpha.
The tips of his ears turn pink when I convince him to say goodbye to my mom at least, he’s embarrassed that they know what we’ve spent the last four days here doing.
As a dominant alpha, a four day rut is a record, since they usually last six-eight if I’m working through it with an omega. I think that may be why the lingering effects seem stronger, more potent.
In the family group chat, he promises to take the twins to a football game the next time he plays. Even Ivii calls out in the background that they can catch up for coffee back on campus. I guess she knows I’m serious about this.
“So,” Evans says after we’ve been driving for about an hour. “Are we going to talk about the shrine you have in your cabin?”
Frowning, I shift his palm from my thigh, lacing my fingers through his. “Shrine?”
“Don’t pretend that your art room isn’t wallpapered with pictures of my face.” He laughs, and it’s a throaty sound, lighter than normal somehow. “And my hands. I think I even saw one of my ass.”
Shrugging, I keep my eyes on the road, resisting the urge to watch him instead. “It’s for my final art project.”
I may as well admit it, since my work was due to be showcased in the university festival in a few weeks where he’d see it anyway.
“Your theme is me?” It’s adorable how confused he sounds. How has he still not realised how I feel or what he means to me?
I smirk. “The theme is obsession.”
“And you’re obsessed with me?”
“Isn’t that obvious? I’ve been obsessed with you for a long time. I just always watched from the edges. It wasn’t until Crest Haven that I realised I didn’t want to watch anymore.”
It’s not just the tips of his ears that turn pink this time, his whole face goes red as he coughs awkwardly and stares out of the window in silence.
The thing about Benedict Evans Crawford was that he’s so desperate for someone to love him unconditionally.
He wasn’t just a frat boy jock or a nepo baby and he needed to know that.
Needed someone who can value him as Benedict and the life that brings.
Someone to see who he is beneath all of the pranks and the stupid jokes he pulls as Evans.
Someone who can love, praise and spoil him as Benny.
And that someone is me. It’s an added bonus that I also happen to like being right by his side pulling those pranks.
“I’m not ready to tell anyone else.” I can hear something in his words, not fear, not quite but something that’s making him hold back. “Yet.”
I raise a brow, “Am I about to become your dirty little secret, Benny?”
I get it. This time last year, Evans was a straight jock in a casual relationship with an omega sorority girl.
Now he was about to go balls to the wall with his artist housemate who definitely has a dick.
And uses it on him. Repeatedly. Even just thinking about the things we did is making me hard.
He could simply smile at me and I’d still be dragged through all of Dante’s nine circles of hell with a raging hard on.
“Haven’t you always been?” I glance at him, and find him smiling to himself. “You know Blake and Zale are worse than two old gossipy women. I just need a little more time. I need it to be us for a little while longer. Please…”
"You're lucky I like you." Bringing our hands up, I kiss his fingers. “I kept your butt plug fiasco to myself, didn’t I? Benny, there’s no more running away. This is it and if you’re not on board, you need to get with the program fast because I’m all in.”
There’s still a lot to unpack, and things we need to talk about but I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life. Everything else would become untangled with time.
Blake still hasn’t returned from his spring break visit to his parents when we finally arrive back at the house in Oakley.
Letting ourselves in the door, we’re hit with the smell of omega, sweet and rich with something crisp underneath.
It reminds me of toffee apples as the thick, almost syrupy scent wraps around us.
Heading into the hallway we spot Shiloh and Zale draped across the sofa, Zale‘s head resting on Shiloh‘s little bump.
“Yo dickbags! Good visit?” Zale calls, barely looking up as we walk in with our bags, giving us a wave of his hand, his gaze still fixed on the TV show they're watching as we try to sneak past the living room.
“Yeah, thanks.”
My gaze locks with Shiloh’s as he scrunches his nose like he’s caught the scent of something peculiar. He stares at me for a moment, head tilted, big green eyes narrowing before they widen with surprise. I don’t even have to say anything, I know he knows.
When my mom was pregnant with the twins her sense of smell had been heightened, so much so that my father wasn’t allowed eggs, garlic, coffee or cheese. The coffee thing hit hard, and he was like a drug addict getting his fix at work and brushing his teeth in his office before coming home each day.
Evans comes bumbling in behind me, stretching out his limbs and grumbling about being starving.
Zale chuckles, still not moving from where he’s practically blanketing Shiloh while his omega threads a hand lazily through his hair, stroking his scalp. “Technically, it’s Hunter’s turn to cook but I’m not in the mood for beans and rice so how about we order a pizza?”
“Are you saying you didn’t miss my specialty dish?” I joke, shoving my hands in my pockets as I share a knowing look with Evans.
When we got out of the car, he’d pulled on one of his hoodies to hide the worst of the marks scattered on his skin, his backward cap concealed the one on the back of his neck—my failed mating mark.
I hated it. He should be naked, my marks on show. Biting the inside of my cheek, I ignore the possessive alpha snarls in my head. My failed mating mark hidden beneath cotton made my skin itch.
“You are not going to believe this,” Evans says as he practically throws himself into the armchair, and it’s all so…normal. He lifts an accusatory finger to point at me. “But that fucker can cook.”
Zale lifts his head to look at me for a moment, before settling back down. “Sureeeee. Look, I don’t want to spend my evening on the toilet. Pizza please!”