In the Woods
Tadeo
“Hey!” Dakota shouts from inside the tent. “Someone hand me the green blanket.”
Alex spins, scanning the pile of bags. “Where?”
Our beta pops his head out of the tent opening. His short hair is mussed at the top, looking extra spiky. I push a hand over my own short hair, making sure it’s still in place. The weather’s been rather nice, despite the chill in the air.
“It’s in Knox’s duffel bag,” Dakota says.
Alex stomps over to our gear, boots hitting the ground harder than necessary.
My nerves twitch at the sound, and I scan the trees around us. I can hear the faint chatter of alphas in the distance—rowdy and buzzing—but nearby, everything is still. Not even a breeze to rustle the leaves, but I can’t get over how exposed it feels.
Knox scouted this spot for hours before we made camp. I know he wouldn’t have picked it if it wasn’t safe. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. It feels like a betrayal to doubt my pack alpha, but I can’t help it.
"Finish setting up," Knox says as he glances up at the quickly setting sun. "We’ll want to head out soon." He pulls off his shirt, revealing his broad chest, hard pecs, and a scatter of faint scars, then tosses it over a nearby branch.
“I should’ve brought something nicer,” Alex mutters, running a hand down his faded death metal tee.
It’s an old band, the kind he used to live in as a teenager.
“I didn’t really think about it when we packed.
” He tucks his shaggy red hair behind one ear, but it curls up, brushing his jaw as he shrugs. “I guess there’s no helping it now.”
“You look sexy as always.” Knox winks as he crouches next to the basin of cold water we hauled in from a nearby stream.
Alex joins him, both of them splashing water onto their arms and faces. Alex flicks droplets at Knox whenever he leans in. The pack alpha predictably grumbles before splashing him back. I roll my eyes at their childish behavior, but the corners of my mouth twitch anyway.
A few feet away, Dakota throws himself into “organizing” the tent. Which, in his case, means dragging our supplies around as if rearranging them might somehow magically turn everything into a picture-perfect nest, and not a pile of stuff cramped into a ten-by-ten plastic tent.
“Do we really need that many blankets?” I call toward the beta.
“Yes, we do,” Dakota yells back. “Omegas need all the blankets, Tadeo. Don’t kill the fantasy.”
I exhale sharply—half-laugh, half-sigh—but it catches in my chest. There’s a part of me that really wants to believe this isn’t a fantasy. That this whole setup—the Morder, the black market for omegas—might actually be real.
But something about it doesn’t sit right.
I know I’m younger than Knox and Alex by a little over a decade, but it’s like they’ve already decided there’s nothing to fear. They’re treating this like a weekend road trip, not the possible con it might be.
I’ve learned the hard way that belief doesn’t equal truth. That hope, if you’re not careful, can poison you from the inside out. And things that sound too good to be true? They usually are.
Out beyond the trees, the wind shifts, and I hear it again—the low, steady murmur of alphas. Distant. Mechanical. Like something warming up.
Fuck, I hate how weird this feels.
“Hey.” Alex’s voice cuts into my thoughts. He walks over, shaking out his wet hands, letting the drops fall onto his jeans. “You’re making that face again.”
“What face?” I ask, though I know exactly which one he means.
“The one that says, ‘This is a trap and I’m ready to kill everyone within a ten-mile radius.’” He grins, nudging my shoulder. “You’ve been in silent-alpha mode since we got here.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Oh, great,” he snorts loudly. “Even worse.”
Knox stands up, rubbing a small, dry washcloth over his face. “He’s nervous,” the pack alpha says without looking at me. “He doesn’t want to get his hopes up.”
“Don’t speak for me,” I snip, even though he’s right. And he knows it.
“My apologies,” Knox says, lowering the washcloth and flashing a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t want to upset our ruthless baby alpha.”
“Don’t call me that.” I glare, and his smile grows.
“Why not?” Knox teases. “I like it when you get all tense and broody. It makes me think you’re trying to impress me.” His big pecs flex, popping up then down.
Alex laughs under his breath. “You wish.”
Knox keeps his heated gaze on me. “Maybe I do.”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the tent.
Dakota’s still inside, holding up two sad, lumpy pillows like he’s judging fine art. His brow is furrowed as if the fate of the whole world depends on making the right choice. He really is so adorable when he’s like this.
But any urge to smile is completely overpowered by my growing anxiety.
“Trust me, Tad.” Knox steps closer. All joking is gone, and his brows pull together with worry. “Relax.” He cups the back of my head, gentle but sure, and presses a single kiss to my lips. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Guilt twists in my gut, and I nod quickly. “I do trust you,” I say. And I mean it.
It’s everyone else who’s the problem.
“Okay, everyone.” Knox turns and moves to our bags. He pulls a clean black and gray flannel out of his bag. “It’s almost eight. The sun will be down soon. It’s time to head out.”
Dakota emerges from the tent like he’s arriving on stage, dramatically flinging both pillows behind him.
He’s wearing gym shorts, a hoodie with frayed cuffs, and neon green running shoes that squeak slightly as he walks.
The hoodie’s too big, practically swallowing his lean frame, and he’s already shivering as the evening chill seeps in.
“I told you to wear pants,” Knox mutters as he buttons his shirt. The thin fabric clings slightly to his damp skin.
“I want to look approachable,” Dakota says. “Like, ‘Hi, I’m stable and emotionally available.’ Not, ‘Hi, I chop wood with my teeth.’” He cuts a look at Knox’s shirt.
The pack alpha laughs, and Alex snorts, ruffling Dakota’s hair as he passes. “And yet, you actually look like someone’s lost little brother.”
Dakota shoots Alex the middle finger. “Fuck off.”
I can’t help but laugh—but the sound barely leaves me before my brain hijacks the moment and takes it hostage.
Is our pack too immature to claim an omega?
What if our new mate walks in and sees this chaos and thinks we’re a bunch of overgrown children?
Will she enjoy our banter or find it obnoxious?
And what about our home—no cooks, no maids, no gardeners?
Just us, a half-decent house, and a fridge that somehow always smells like someone left a curse in it.
Omegas are usually claimed by alphas with estates. Staff. Money. Stability. We don’t even own matching kitchen chairs. Shit.
What if she thinks we’re not serious?
What if she thinks I’m not serious?
What if I open my mouth and say something weird and ruin everything before it even starts?
“Tadeo.”
Knox says my name with his pack alpha edge, all clipped authority. My spine snaps straight like I’ve been called into formation. “Stop worrying,” he says in his most stern tone. “That’s an order.”
I give him a forceful nod, but then frown the second he turns around.
Fucking stop it, I tell myself as I move to follow my pack. Trust Knox. Everything will be okay.
We quickly fall in step, moving through the woods.
For a while, I only hear the sound of boots crunching twigs and Dakota’s sneakers sliding on wet leaves.
Knox and Alex walk ahead, all worn denim and heavy footsteps, shoulders broad and casual, like this is any other walk through the forest. I trail behind them, the weight of my leather boots sinking into the forest floor with every step.
My navy polo feels too stiff, too clean.
I feel overdressed for something that might turn out to be a cattle market in disguise.
“Hey, Knox?” Alex speaks up, breaking the quiet. His voice is light—too light. I already know that tone. It’s the one he uses right before he starts poking the bear.
Knox doesn’t respond, but I see his jaw tighten.
Alex presses on anyway. “What if she doesn’t want to wait to—”
Knox snaps his head, narrowing his eyes at Alex. “Seriously?” His voice is low, clipped. “We’ve been over this.”
“I know,” Alex says quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying we push anything—obviously. I’m…thinking out loud.”
“We are waiting to rut her,” Knox says each word deliberately. His tone doesn’t rise, but there’s steel behind it. He made this clear a few days ago—physical affection comes second to our new mate’s comfort. Period.
“And I totally respect that,” Alex adds, grinning like he’s not pushing at all—sincerely wondering…
hypothetically. But we all know him too well.
He’s desperately trying to get Knox to budge.
“All I’m saying is, if she’s the one who initiates something first, if she wants to be touched… I mean, who are we to say no?”
Knox exhales sharply through his nose. Not quite a sigh, not quite a growl. “I sincerely doubt she wants to be rutted in a muddy tent in the middle of the damn woods.”
Alex opens his mouth, but Knox cuts him off before he can get another word in.
“If, by some miracle, she asks to be claimed,” Knox says, pushing a branch out of his way a little harder than necessary, “you and Tadeo are going to the river. Wait there until I say otherwise.”
Alex’s mouth drops open like Knox personally insulted him. “Seriously?”
“You know he’s right,” I say before the red-haired alpha can start whining. “The second her pheromones hit the air, and they’re all mixed with Knox’s? It’ll be hell. For her and for us. Downwind is safer.”
Alex’s jaw shifts, his lips pressing into a tight, stubborn line. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows we’re right.