12. Ryker
Chapter 12
Ryker
My grip tightens on the doorframe as another wave of moans echoes from the entertainment room. Control slips through my fingers like sand, each grain another problem I can’t solve. The room has become a sickbay—Finn and Cayenne sprawled on opposite ends of the sectional, both finally sleeping after Mona’s latest cocktail of “vitamins and probably some other things that are highly effective, very scientific, much healing potential.”
The distinct crackle of Jinx’s boots on the roof tiles above punctuates the silence between my own heartbeats. He’s been up there for hours, channeling his feral energy into perimeter checks rather than punching walls. Smart man.
My jaw aches from grinding my teeth, muscles bunched with the need to act when there’s nothing I can do. This is what real helplessness tastes like—watching my pack suffer while I, their alpha, stand useless as a decorative fucking statue.
The TV flickers with more death counts. More betas gone. More families shattered. I should turn it off, but there’s something appropriate about forcing myself to witness this particular failure. Sterling’s virus, targeting beta DNA markers with surgical precision while leaving alphas and omegas untouched, continues its decimation unchecked.
Three decisions wait for my call, each one potentially fatal if I choose wrong: divert resources to protect our location, pursue Sterling’s research files, or double down on Mona’s vaccine development. Military strategy says divide and conquer, but my pack is already stretched too thin. We have less than a week before we need to evacuate to the safe house Quinn is preparing—assuming we’re all healthy enough to move.
One wrong move, and I lose everything.
I check my watch—twenty minutes since I sent Mona back to the guest house, before I said something unforgivable. Logically, I know this virus isn’t her creation. But it carries her genetic signature along with her father’s—a Sterling family collaboration whether she intended it or not. She weakened it, yes. Turned it from automatic death sentence to merely probable.
Small fucking comfort as I watch Finn’s chest rise and fall too rapidly, his skin gone ashen beneath his freckles.
“Damnit.” The curse scrapes my throat raw as I resume pacing, wearing a path into the hardwood. Eight steps forward, pivot, eight steps back. The predictable rhythm should be calming, but all it does is highlight how trapped I feel.
Is this what Jinx deals with? This constant, crawling need to break something, to unleash violence on a target that doesn’t exist?
No wonder he’s on the roof right now, probably dismantling satellite dishes with his bare hands. At least that’s productive. I can hear him muttering security protocols to himself, the familiar cadence of his combat training a twisted lullaby above our heads.
I check on my betas one last time before heading toward the guest house. My mind says I need to assess Mona’s progress.
The alpha in me just wants to break something.
The guest house has transformed into something between a laboratory and a disaster zone. Equipment I don’t recognize hums on every surface, while half-eaten lollipops create a disturbing rainbow across what used to be my desk. Notes cover the walls—formula fragments, molecular diagrams, and what appears to be a detailed analysis of bee attack patterns. What the fuck that has to do with a vaccine, I have no idea.
Mona doesn’t acknowledge me, her focus absolute as she pipettes something between test tubes. Her hands move with surgical precision, at odds with the chaos around her. No hint of the manic energy she usually projects—just cold, methodical science.
“This is highly distracting,” she finally says without looking up. “Your alpha pheromones are disrupting the molecular bonding. Very inefficient. Much scientific interference.”
“Progress report.” I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Demanding.” She sets down her equipment with slow deliberation. “Also unnecessary. I work better without performance reviews. Very stifling. Much creativity inhibition.”
“Two of my pack are dying.” The words come out as a growl.
Something shifts in her expression—a flash of genuine emotion breaking through her calculated madness. “Not dying. Just extremely uncomfortable. I’ve adjusted the viral load through targeted antibody stimulation. Very precise. Much scientific innovation.”
She gestures to a whiteboard filled with formulas I can’t begin to comprehend. For all her quirks, there’s no denying the brilliance behind her chaos. The speed at which she’s constructed this lab, the methodical testing, the sheer volume of work—it speaks of dedication beyond mere obligation.
“How long?” I press.
“Until full recovery? Approximately seventy-two hours. Until vaccine viability? Unknown. Science requires patience. Also candy.” She unwraps a lollipop with meticulous focus. “Daddy’s formula was quite elegant, actually. Very precise genetic targeting of beta DNA markers. Much evolutionary consideration. The virus completely ignores alpha and omega genetic structures—immune systems don’t even register it as a threat.”
The casual way she discusses biological warfare should repulse me. Instead, I find myself studying her with new understanding. This isn’t just about saving Cayenne for her. This is personal.
“You’ve been fighting him for years.” It’s not a question.
“Obviously.” She doesn’t look up from her microscope. “Daddy tends to break his toys. I prefer to fix them.”
The revelation hits harder than expected. For all her calculated insanity, Mona Sterling might be the only person on earth with both the knowledge and motivation to undo Roman’s work.
“What do you need?” The question surprises even me.
She looks up then, something genuine breaking through her facade. “Better equipment. More blood samples. Full access to your medical supplies.” She pauses, lollipop hovering midair. “And possibly some more bees. For scientific verification. Also morale.”
“No bees.” But I’m already mentally cataloging what equipment we can acquire, what resources we can divert. “The rest is doable.”
She returns to her work, dismissing me without words. But as I turn to leave, her voice follows me, oddly sincere: “They won’t die. I’ve recalculated the probability sixteen times. Very thorough analysis. Much statistical consideration.”
It’s not quite reassurance, but coming from Mona, it might be as close as I’ll get so I walk away trusting her even if I don’t want to.
In the distance, I hear the soft metallic scraping of Jinx dismantling something on the roof, followed by his muttered curse as something drops. His restless energy mirrors my own—both of us alphas with no enemy to fight, just an invisible threat we can’t shoot or strangle.
I pause mid-stride, some deeper instinct cutting through my useless rage. The house feels wrong—unbalanced in a way I can’t immediately place. Each pack member registers in my awareness like points on a tactical map: Jinx on the roof, Finn and Cayenne here, and Theo...
Where is Theo?
A spike of fear lances through me, sharp and cold, before logic reasserts itself. Omegas are immune to the virus—Mona had been crystal clear on that point while rolling her eyes at what she called “basic designation biology, very elementary, much scientific consensus.” But that doesn’t explain the wrongness humming through our bond.
I take the stairs two at a time, following the thread of discomfort to the nest. The door stands ajar, spilling warm light into the hallway. What I find inside stops me dead—Theo kneeling in the stripped center of his sanctuary, blankets and sheets piled chaotically around him like the aftermath of some primal battle.
“What are you doing?” I grab a blanket from his white-knuckled grip, the fabric twisting in his hands.
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Just kneels there, eyes closed, breathing shallow.
“Theo?” I toss the blanket aside, moving closer. My hand finds his forehead, and the heat radiating from his skin sends fresh panic coursing through me. “You’re sick.”
He slaps my hand away with surprising force. “I’m not sick.” His words slur slightly as he swipes at his damp forehead. “Pre-heat.”
The moment he says it, I register the scent change—dark vanilla deepening to incense, night-blooming jasmine turning headier, more insistent. My body responds instantly, blood rushing south with enough force to make me light-headed. My knot swells against denim, the sudden pressure almost painful.
“Fuck,” I growl, understanding crashing over me.
“Don’t be mad,” he whispers, still not meeting my eyes.
“Why the hell would I be mad that you’re hitting your heat?” Even as I ask, I catch the sour note in his scent—that particular blend of shame and secret-keeping that makes my alpha instincts sharpen to dangerous points.
“Not for the heat,” he clarifies, head hanging. “For what I’m about to tell you.”
I grip his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Why?” The word comes out rougher than intended.
“I took suppressants.” The confession falls between us like a grenade with the pin half-pulled.
Anger floods my system—hot and sharp and dangerous. I force it down, caging the alpha that wants to roar at the thought of my omega interfering with his natural cycle. Suppressants are risky at best, devastating at worst. And they’re expensive as hell, which means?—
“Why?” I manage, the single word carrying all my fear and fury.
He licks his lips, fever-bright eyes finally meeting mine with that stubborn defiance that first made me fall for him. “I want her with us.”
The words hit harder than any physical blow. Of course. Of fucking course my beautiful, broken omega would risk his health rather than exclude our beta from this most intimate pack bond.
A battle rages inside me—the alpha wanting to claim and protect warring with the leader who needs to oversee a pack in crisis. Theo needs me, but so do Finn and Cayenne. The weight of responsibility crashes against the primal pull of my omega’s need.
“I can’t go into heat without her,” he continues, voice strengthening with conviction. “So I called Aria.”
“Cayenne’s friend with the pink hair.” I sink back on my heels, running a hand down my face. “Theo?—”
“I know, alright!” The words burst out of him. “I know it was reckless. I know you’re angry. But I just...” His composer cracks, that perfect artist’s control fracturing to reveal the raw need beneath. “I need to hold it off just a little while.”
“When did you take them?” My tone turns clinical, assessing damage rather than assigning blame.
“Half hour ago.”
I exhale slowly. “Do you think we should have Mona check them?” The idea of inviting our chaos agent into this feels wrong, but if anyone would understand the chemical composition of illegal suppressants, it would be Sterling’s rebellious omega daughter.
“No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I thought about going to her first, but I need her focused on curing them.”
Of course he would prioritize that. My selfless omega, always putting others before himself, even when he’s burning from the inside out.
“What are you doing with the sheets?” I ask more gently, gesturing to the chaos around us.
His lower lip trembles, a vulnerability he rarely shows. “They smell like sick.” The distress in his voice would be clear even without our bond pulsing with his discomfort. “I can’t...”
The whine that escapes him breaks something loose in my chest. I gather him close, letting him bury his face against the junction of my neck and shoulder where my scent is strongest.
“It’s okay,” I soothe, understanding flooding through me. At his core, Theo is still an omega, and his most sacred space has been contaminated with the scent of illness and fear. He’d never regret caring for Cayenne, but the nest violated feels like salt in an already raw wound.
“Let me take care of it,” I murmur into his hair, holding him until the trembling subsides.
He nods against my shoulder, silent permission.
I gather the sheets and toss them into the hall, returning for the blankets when he whispers, “Those too.”
Soon, the nest is stripped bare except for the mattress. “Keep or wash the sheets and blankets?” I ask, knowing some omegas can never feel right about textiles once they’ve been tainted.
His eyes fill, tears spilling over as he shakes his head.
“Toss,” I translate, kneeling before him again. “This is why we buy in bulk. This is why we scent all new blankets.” I tip his chin up, making him meet my eyes. “We can wash the clothing and have the others wear them again to re-scent them. Alright?”
He nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
“Mattresses?” I check, always thorough.
“They’re okay.” He bends, burying his face against the bare surface. Anyone else might find the gesture strange, but I follow suit, my alpha senses confirming what his omega already knows—the illness hasn’t penetrated this deep.
I move to the wall of cabinets where we keep supplies, grabbing the cleaning spray that neutralizes scents without chemicals that might trigger his increasingly sensitive nose. Then I pull out a sheet already carrying my scent from the last time it was used.
His sigh of contentment as I spread it over the mattress sends warmth spreading through my chest. But the sweat beading on his forehead reminds me that we’re fighting against time—suppressants or not, his heat is coming.
I grab a fresh blanket, tossing it down before returning to him. “You need me,” I state, simple truth.
“They need you,” he counters, stubborn to his core.
I capture his wrists, holding them behind his back—not to restrain, but to ground. “Theo.”
“Ryker, Cayenne and Finn?—”
“Are sleeping,” I counter, voice firm but gentle. “There is nothing more we can do for them right now.”
He drops his head against my shoulder, a small whine escaping him. “How long does it take these to work?”
I suppress a humorless laugh at the irony—my omega, who rebelled against arranged mating by fleeing halfway across the world, now desperate for suppressants to function properly. “Let me take care of you.”
“It feels wrong,” he argues, though his body presses closer, seeking relief only an alpha can provide.
“Why does it feel wrong to live?” I challenge. “To take what you need?”
“They’re down there sick and maybe?—”
I cut him off with a kiss, stealing his words and his fears. I can feel them through our bond and scent them in the air—the guilt, the worry, the conviction that he should suffer while others do.
His hands twist in my grip, not to escape but to hold tight. When I finally release his mouth, his pupils have dilated further, the fever of approaching heat sharpening every line of his body.
“Ryker,” he whispers, my name becoming both plea and permission.
“I’ve got you.” I release his wrists, my hands finding his face instead. “I’ll always have you.”
“And them?” The question carries all his fears—that they might not survive, that the pack might fracture, that the carefully constructed harmony we’ve built could shatter.
“And them,” I promise. “All of them. But right now, you need to let me take care of you.”
He nods, just once, surrender in the gesture.
I gather him close, my arms spanning his back as I lower him to the freshly made nest. Whatever comes next—Cayenne and Finn’s recovery, Mona’s chaotic presence in our lives, the looming threat of Sterling’s return—we’ll face it together.
But for now, in this moment, I’ll be what my omega needs. The rest of the world can burn for all I care. They’ve taken enough from us already.
“Alpha,” Theo murmurs, voice thick with need and trust and everything that makes our broken pieces fit together.
Whatever control I’ve been clinging to finally shatters. And for once, I welcome the fall.
“Live.” I plead with him against his lips.
His moan is all the answer I need to deepen the kiss. The taste of him—vanilla and heat-sweet—floods my senses, clouding rational thought. His body trembles against mine, skin already fever-hot as the suppressant fails against his natural cycle.
“Alpha,” he gasps when I break the kiss, pupils blown wide. “Need you.”
Those three words shatter what remains of my restraint. I growl low in my throat, primal instinct taking over as I push him back onto the mattress. His body yields beneath mine, legs falling open in perfect omega submission.
“How long have you been fighting it?” I demand, scenting the air. The suppressants have barely touched his natural cycle—his heat scent already thick enough to make my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
“Hours,” he admits, arching as another wave hits him. A damp spot forms on his pants where slick leaks from him. “Didn’t want to distract you from them.”
Anger and tenderness war in my chest. Always putting others first, my selfless omega. I strip my shirt off, letting him press his face against my chest, taking in my scent.
“No more hiding from me,” I order, grip tightening in his hair. “No more suffering alone. Understand?”
He nods, eyes glazed with heat-need. “Yes, Alpha.”
“Good boy.” I reward him with another kiss, harder this time. Claiming. His taste burns like the finest whiskey, addictive and intoxicating. “Now strip. Show me what’s mine.”
He scrambles to obey, fingers clumsy with desperation as he tears at his clothes. I hold back, watching him reveal himself inch by inch—the lean muscle, the tattoos that mark his pale skin, the hard length of his cock already leaking against his stomach.
When he’s fully naked, slick glistening on his inner thighs, I give my next command. “Present for me.”
The way he immediately turns over, raising his ass in the air while pressing his chest to the mattress, makes my knot throb. His hole is pink and wet, clenching on nothing as slick drips down his thighs.
“Beautiful,” I breathe, running my hand down his spine. “My perfect omega.”
He pushes back against my touch, needy whimpers escaping his throat. “Please, Alpha. Need your knot.”
“And you’ll have it.” I strip quickly, my cock springing free, knot already beginning to swell at the base. “But first, I’m going to taste you.”
I drop to my knees behind him, gripping his ass with both hands, spreading him wide. His hole clenches in anticipation, more slick gushing as I blow cool air against his heated skin.
“So wet for me already,” I growl, leaning in to lick a broad stripe from his balls to his hole. The taste explodes across my tongue—sweet and addictive, pure omega essence. “Fucking perfect.”
Theo bucks against my face, a broken cry tearing from his throat. “Alpha, please?—”
I grip his hips harder, holding him still as I devour him. My tongue circles his rim before pushing inside, drinking down the slick that flows freely now. Each lap makes him tremble, thighs shaking with the effort of holding position.
“That’s it,” I encourage between licks. “Stay just like that. Show me how good you can be.”
His answering moan vibrates through him as I work him open with my tongue, then add a finger alongside it. The tight heat of him makes my cock throb with anticipation, pre-come beading at the tip.
“More,” he begs, pushing back against me. “Need more, Alpha. Need your knot.”
I add a second finger, scissoring them to stretch him properly. Even in the haze of rut responding to his heat, I won’t risk hurting him. “Patience. Want you ready for me.”
“I am ready,” he insists, desperation edging his voice. “Been ready for hours. Please?—”
I cut him off by crooking my fingers, finding that spot inside him that makes his back bow. “What was that?”
“Please!” The word breaks on a sob as I continue to work that spot. “Alpha, I need you inside me. Need your knot. Need?—”
His words dissolve into incoherent moans as I add a third finger, stretching him wider. Slick coats my hand, dripping down my wrist as he fucks himself back onto my fingers.
“Look at you,” I praise, my voice rough with need. “So desperate for it. For me. For this.” I press deeper, making him cry out. “Tell me what you need, omega. Be specific.”
“Your cock,” he manages, words slurring with heat-need. “Your knot. Need you to fill me up, breed me full.”
The crude words from my usually artistic omega send a surge of primal satisfaction through me. I withdraw my fingers, leaving him empty and wanting.
“Alpha?” Confusion and need color his voice as he looks back at me.
“Turn over,” I command. “Want to see your face when I claim you.”
He complies immediately, rolling onto his back and spreading his legs wide. The sight of him—flushed and desperate, cock hard against his stomach, hole pink and glistening with slick—nearly breaks my control.
I position myself between his thighs, the head of my cock nudging against his entrance. “Mine,” I growl, pushing in just enough to feel him stretch around me.
His eyes roll back, lips parting on a silent moan as I begin to sink into him. The tight, wet heat of him is paradise, perfect and claiming. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to slam home, to take and possess without mercy.
“Yes,” he breathes, hands clutching at my shoulders. “Yours. Only yours, Alpha.”
The trust in his voice steadies me, allowing me to maintain control as I push deeper, inch by deliberate inch. When I’m fully seated, my growing knot pressing against his rim, we both groan at the perfect connection.
“So full,” he whispers, eyes glazed with pleasure and heat-haze. “So good.”
I roll my hips experimentally, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, I pull back slowly before thrusting back in, setting a rhythm designed to drive us both mad.
“That’s it,” I encourage as he meets each thrust. “Take what you need. Show me how much you want it.”
His legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper as his nails score lines down my back. The slight pain only heightens my pleasure, making my knot swell faster.
“Mine,” I growl again, leaning down to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss. “My omega. My mate.”
“Yours,” he agrees, voice breaking as I angle to hit that spot inside him. “Always yours.”
I reach between us to wrap my hand around his neglected cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. The dual stimulation has him arching off the bed, a stream of desperate pleas falling from his lips.
“That’s it,” I praise, feeling my knot catch on his rim with each thrust. “Let go for me. Show me how good I make you feel.”
He comes with a broken cry of my name, cock pulsing in my grip as his release paints his stomach and chest. His inner walls clench rhythmically around me, making my knot swell to its full size.
But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his heat scent spikes again, his body already preparing for more.
“Perfect,” I growl, stroking him through the aftershocks. “But we’re just getting started.”
His spent cock twitches in my hand, already hardening again—the blessing and curse of an omega. His eyes widen as I continue thrusting, my knot catching more with each movement.
“Alpha,” he gasps, oversensitive but still wanting. “Too much?—”
“You can take it,” I assure him, knowing his limits better than he does in this state. “Going to make you come on my knot again. And again.”
A whimper escapes him, part pleasure and part surrender. His body yields to mine completely as I adjust my angle, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.
“There it is,” I murmur as his eyes roll back. “Feel that? Feel how perfect we fit together?”
He nods, beyond words now. His fingers clutch at the sheets, at my shoulders, at anything to anchor himself against the onslaught of sensation.
My knot swells impossibly larger, catching fully on his rim with each thrust. The resistance makes us both groan—the perfect edge of pleasure-pain.
“Ready?” I ask, feeling my own release building rapidly. “Ready for my knot, omega?”
“Please,” he begs, cock fully hard again, leaking against his stomach. “Need it. Need you.”
With one final thrust, I push my knot past his rim, locking us together. The pressure is exquisite, perfect—his body stretching to accommodate me as I begin to pump him full.
The first pulse of my release triggers his second orgasm. He cries out, back arching off the bed as pleasure overwhelms him again. His body milks my knot, demanding every drop I have to give.
“Mine,” I growl, leaning down to bite the junction of his neck and shoulder. Not breaking skin, but leaving my mark. “My omega. My mate.”
“Yours,” he agrees, voice wrecked and beautiful. “Always yours.”
I roll us carefully, keeping my knot firmly seated inside him as I position him on top. The change in angle makes him gasp, his spent cock twitching with interest again.
“We’ll be tied for a while,” I remind him, hands gripping his hips. “Might as well make the most of it.”
Understanding dawns in his heat-hazed eyes. He braces his hands on my chest, experimentally rocking on my knot. The movement sends sparks of pleasure through both of us.
“That’s it,” I encourage, guiding his movements. “Use me. Take what you need.”
He finds a rhythm that makes us both groan, grinding down on my knot while I continue to fill him with short pulses of release. My hands roam his body, pinching his nipples, stroking his cock back to full hardness.
“One more,” I demand, feeling another orgasm building in my own body. “Give me one more, omega.”
His movements grow frantic, desperate. When I wrap my hand around his cock again, he shakes his head. “Don’t need—just your knot?—”
The admission sends fire through my veins. I grip his hips harder, grinding my knot directly against his prostate. “Come for me. Now.”
He obeys beautifully, back arching as he comes dry this time, his body too spent to produce more. The rhythmic clenching of his inner walls triggers another release from me, my knot pulsing as I pump him fuller still.
When he collapses against my chest, we’re both trembling, sweat-slick and satisfied. For now. His pre-heat will demand more soon enough, but this brief respite allows me to hold him close, to stroke his damp hair from his forehead.
“I didn’t…” he begins, and I know what he’s going to say. No come.
“You took suppressants,” I murmur against his temple, not accusatory, just stating a fact to remind him.
He nods against my chest. “Wanted to wait. For her.”
The admission should hurt, but somehow it doesn’t. Because I understand. Because I want the same thing. Because what started as me protecting a troublesome beta has grown into something deeper, something that connects all of us.
“Next time,” I promise, feeling my knot begin to subside. “Next time, she’ll be with us.”
He looks up, eyes clearer now between heat waves. “You’re not mad?”
I brush my thumb across his swollen lips. “How could I be mad when you gave me this? When you trust me to take care of you even in the middle of chaos?”
His smile is soft, genuine. “Alpha.”
“Rest while you can,” I advise, knowing his pre-heat will flare again soon. “I’ll check on them when we’re able to separate.”
He nods, already drifting into that blissful post-orgasmic haze. As I hold him, my mind inevitably turns to the sickness below, to our betas fighting for their lives, to the world falling apart outside our walls.
The alpha in me wants to shut everything out, to focus solely on my omega’s needs during his heat. But leadership doesn’t allow that luxury. Even as I hold Theo, my mind assembles the pieces of our next move.
Mona gets the equipment she needs—whatever it takes. Cost, legality, risk—all secondary to developing that vaccine. If Sterling’s creating a beta genocide, we need more than just our pack’s survival. We need a cure for all of them. And we need it before Alexander finds us—which, based on past patterns, gives us less than a week until we need to relocate to the safe house.
In the back of my mind, I hear the echo of Mona’s clinical assessment—how the virus targets beta DNA markers with surgical precision while leaving alphas and omegas completely untouched. It’s not just a virus; it’s designation warfare on a global scale.
The immediate needs of my pack must balance with the broader fight. Theo gets what he needs from me now, while Mona works on saving our betas. Meanwhile, Jinx will secure our backup location, and I’ll coordinate with Quinn to track Sterling’s movements.
The decisions crystallize with surprising clarity—trust the chaos scientist, prepare for war, protect what’s mine. Sometimes the hardest part of leadership is acknowledging when someone else holds the key to victory.
For this moment, with my omega safe in my arms, I allow myself to believe that everything will be okay. That we will all survive this.
That life, somehow, will go on.