Max #2
My stomach practically drops through the ground when I read it.
It would be a weird text to get from him under normal circumstances—there has never been a time in our nearly thirty year friendship when either one of us has considered time away from each other ‘a night off’ —but considering what happened last night, it’s even more alarming.
Kyle doesn’t want to see me. We crossed a line last night, and he’s freaking out and doesn’t want to see me. Or he’s pissed that I left while he was asleep this morning, and thinks I’m the one freaking out. Or—
I stop myself. This isn’t me. This isn’t us.
Max: I’m coming over, dumbass.
Then I put my phone on silent, shove it into my jacket pocket, and high tail it to Kyle’s before I let my anxiety get in the way.
—
I know something’s wrong as soon as I open the front door.
The apartment is quiet: no music blasting, no hum from the television, not even the creaking of floorboards as Kyle moves around in another room. Just silence. Silence, and the overwhelming thickness of Kyle’s scent.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, locking the door behind me hastily as my heartrate picks up.
The alpha part of my brain rears its head instinctively as I’m hit with a thick wave of Kyle’s hazelnut scent, so strong it’s practically dripping down the walls.
It’s deeper and darker than I’ve ever smelled before, but my biology still recognizes it for exactly what it is.
He’s in rut.
In all our years living together, our rut cycles were both regular enough that one of us could make ourselves scarce when necessary—staying with friends, the occasional omega or even a rut hotel was never a problem, a minor inconvenience compared to the consequences of being around each other’s rut pheromones.
We’d get territorial, aggressive, probably end up trying to tear each other’s throats out.
At least, that’s what we always assumed. Why wouldn’t we? We’re both alphas, and the last thing an alpha wants is to be anywhere near another alpha when they’re burning up from the inside and trying to fuck everything in sight.
But that’s not what I’m feeling right now.
When I go into rut, every primal instinct I have goes into overdrive: I’ll protect my space at all costs, my teeth itch to tear apart anyone who gets too close, and my brain interprets every knock on the door or invading scent as a direct threat.
It’s a violent hyper-vigilance meant to protect me and my mate from the outside world.
What’s fucking with me right now, is that my body is reacting with that same aggressive urgency—but I don’t feel a shred of competition toward Kyle.
There’s no urge to bare my teeth and assert my dominance.
Because my brain isn’t interpreting him as a rival alpha in rut; it’s interpreting him as me.
His rut pheromones feel like a call from my own body, and all I want to do is barricade the door and lock out the rest of the goddamn universe so nothing and nobody can come anywhere near him while he’s vulnerable.
I drop my bag on the floor, locking the door behind me and heading straight to Kyle’s bedroom.
The air gets heavier the closer I get, his scent strong enough to make it harder to breathe, my thoughts getting hazier as it seeps into my subconscious, instinct taking over.
My scent flares thickly in response, but I hold it back, not wanting to make this any harder on Kyle than it already is.
“Ky?” I call out softly, pushing open his bedroom door. “Ky? It’s just me. I’m coming in, don’t freak out.”
The sight of him in the dark, still twisted in the sheets I left him in this morning, makes my legs weak. The difference between now and then is breathtakingly stark: the soft, slack features of this morning are long gone, replaced with tense, clenched muscles and sweat-slick skin.
“Fuck off, Max,” he groans.
“Is this why you wanted me to stay away tonight?” I ask softly, lingering in the doorway as he presses himself back against the headboard. “When did it start?”
“As soon as I woke up, pretty much.”
My heart twists. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” I breathe. “I just didn’t want to wake you, I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping—”
“I know,” he says, sounding pained. “I know, Max. I called my doctor because I’m not due to get my rut for another three months. He said it’s the upheaval from the accident, something about the painkillers being hormone disruptors. I couldn’t really take it in. Please, Max, go home.”
“You know I’m not gonna do that, Ky,” I say, taking a tentative step forward and stopping dead in my tracks when his breath hitches, his eyes widening in something alarmingly close to fear.
“I—I don’t want to hurt you,” he gasps, pulling his broken arm into his bare chest.
“You’ll hurt yourself if you deal with this alone,” I say fiercely. “Your arm is still broken, and your wrist is barely healed. And I’m a six-foot-two boxing coach in the best shape of my life; you’re not going to hurt me.”
“Max, I can’t—”
“I can help—”
“You can’t—”
“Do you not want another alpha here?” I ask bluntly. “Because it’s okay if you—if you need an omega.”
Even saying those words makes me feel sick.
It makes no sense to me that I spent years watching Kyle hook up with omegas right under my nose, and sure, there were nights when I’d feel a pang of jealousy that I wasn’t the one getting to hang out with him, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t doing exactly the same thing when I got the chance.
It never made me feel like this. Like I would rather rip my own eyes out than see him with anyone else, let alone a female omega.
Someone who’s as far from me as he could possibly get.
“No,” he growls, the sound raw and rough and tearing right out of his chest, his eyes wild. “I don’t want an omega, Max. Not even the most primal, feral part of me wants an omega right now. I want—I just want—”
He clamps his mouth shut, pressing himself back against the wall like he’s holding himself back from leaping across the bed. He’s clearly in pain, tears threatening to spill over his lashes, and the sight of it rips something inside of me wide open.
“What, Ky?” I say.
“I want you,” he chokes out, finally, his eyes going wide at the admission. “But I need things you can’t give me. It wouldn’t be fair.”
I blink, holding my breath.
“Like what?” I press, taking a step toward him and watching the way his muscles tremble.
It occurs to me that I’ve never seen another alpha in rut before, and I’m taken aback by how primal he looks; his muscles look like they’ve actually grown in size, defined and vascular, his eyes dark and tinged a dangerous shade of red.
His scent is so thick it’s completely obliterated any trace of mine.
It wakes something up inside me. My skin prickles with sensitivity.
“I need to pin you down and scent you,” he starts, wetting his lips. “I need to mark you. I need you to submit to me like an omega would, and beg for me, and thank me when I give it to you. I need to—”
“Keep going,” I say breathlessly.
“I need to fuck you. Fill you up with my come. I want it dripping out of you, Max. I want you covered in it. Fuck.”
I can see his cock straining against his sweatpants, a wet patch spreading from the tip and darkening the gray fabric.
My entire body feels hot, the blood throbbing through my veins.
Marcus’ words from the bar rattle around my skull: don’t shy away from what you want. Not if it feels good. And right.
“You can have all of it,” I say simply.
Kyle shakes his head, his eyes rimmed with pink. “It’s too much. You’ve already done too much for me.”
“When are you going to get it into your thick skull,” I say slowly, pulling my t-shirt over my head and sliding a hand up to my scent gland, grazing my fingertips over it as I tilt my head in a show of submission that should feel so wrong. “That there’s nothing I won’t do for you. Fucking nothing.”
Something in him breaks.
With a raw, animalistic growl, Kyle lunges forward.