Atlas #3
I’m a goddess-cursed werewolf, I can save my own distressed, damsel ass.
My senses are a mess, and I can barely see to try and take in my surroundings with the beating pain through my skull.
Smell seems neutral; there’s no musty scent to make me think I’m below ground, though it’s definitely dark.
There’s something familiar about the scent, the warm pine smell, intertwining with the maple and oaks, it smells like…
home? That would be unreasonable if it weren’t for the soft undertones of lavender and the gentle scents of wildflowers.
I am… at Amberwood ranch? No, no, I can’t smell my pack, there’s no salty brine, Lucas, or whiskey Fury.
My comfort isn’t here. What happened? I was in the bar, and I had just finished several hours of work with two of my Alphas.
Warm fur brushed my legs as Atlas rubbed his damp nose against my calves.
Fury danced around me, pressing his hips against my ass as he squeezed past me.
Going into the office with Atlas. Then, into the staff room to collect clothes for my Alpha when somebody stuck me with a needle.
Shaking my head, I try to clear the fog, but only whimper again as it feels like I’m shaking a box full of rocks, and throw myself off balance.
There's an undertone of wolf, but I don’t know if that's just because these woods are full of shifters like my guys and… Brynn.
Fuck me.
Brynn, the psycho wolf Alpha, whose lackeys licked my slick from the dirt for just a taste of what they wanted.
And of course, the nice Omega wolf just so happens to fall right into their laps on the edge of their territory, with a pack that they outnumber two to one.
And I’ve been fighting my heat so hard that I haven’t even had the chance to spike and bond one of my Alphas yet.
Maybe if I had more sense, realized how I feel, I’d have a bite on me already, protecting me from being stolen away from them.
Pain overwhelms me again, and the first tears drip down my face as I let the darkness take me back.
In my dreams, I’m free from all this. Free from the current pain in my brain as it feels like it’s trying to break out of my skull, from the rawness of my bound wrists, and the ache against my back from the uncomfortable chair.
Instead, my paws are digging into the dirt near the ravine edge, West of the house.
Away from the hustle and bustle of the ranch, I’m looking down at deer drinking from the creek, hunting til I find all the rabbit warrens that scatter the landscape here.
I can’t help but wonder how many of the bunnies that have been brought home for pack dinners have been found right around here.
The thought of Lucas hunting rabbits just seems absurd, and I know he’d raise one big golden eyebrow at me and go back to cleaning his claws.
He’d hunt something bigger, maybe the deer, or even elk.
I’m alone here for now, and my claws dig in as I turn back to the clearing around this part, where my pack has set up a little campsite.
There’s enough space for a bench, and blankets spread across the freshly sprouted grass.
Luc had promised to bring me here on our date, before we’d been interrupted—and I can see why.
The stars are incredible against the velvet blanket of night, so far from the city.
The small bright smudge of the Andromeda galaxy is a lamplight against the speckling, and I follow the constellations I know.
My mom used to bring me out when she could, when my father was out late for business.
Just like I am now, we’d lie in the grass and watch the stars.
She’d tell me all these stupid little stories that kids love, and ask me if I thought that Orion was running around with his pants around his ankles because his belt is in the sky.
At the time, I thought she’d be here forever, telling me her stories and teaching me the world.
Then I shifted for the first time, and just like that, Mom wasn’t sure what to do with me anymore.
Who teaches humans how to deal with shifter kids when the one they inherited it from is already gone?
She did as much as she could preparing me, but there’s only so much…
We are made to be in packs, made to run with our aunts, our uncles, grandparents, and I see it now with my own pack, how different life would have been.
Nothing would change my mind on bringing pups into the world; it’s just not for me, but the support, the love is so much more.
I love coming down to someone cooking breakfast in the morning, the wafting warmth of fresh pancakes if Fury’s up first, his black hair in a tangled bun as he cooks.
If it's a full breakfast, I know I’ll find Clay and Theo in the room, sometimes both cooking, sometimes one or the other, and occasionally the burnt black smoke in the pan as one of them pins the other to the sideboards.
I want that.
I want to feel my pack around our home, I want to be able to love them with the easy, casual touches that exist between those two.
Hell, even Atlas is touchy-feely for such a big guy, his hands always busy as he moves around a room, making sure he doesn’t bump things in a clumsy rush.
Love. This is what love is, right? It’s not always the big gestures, the proposals, the dates…
Sometimes it’s just knowing that the snoring bodies in the bed mean everyone’s home safe after a long shift.
I want that, I want to be able to relax in the big back garden with burgers on the barbecue, and the soft swishing of horses' tails as they swat flies.
A picture builds of the six of us then, Atlas out in the pool, Clay and Theo at the barbecue, Fury and Luc sipping beers whilst I relax in the big chunky Adirondack; bond marks peek from my bikini in their respective places.
Digging my paws into the dirt beneath me, I let it stick between the pads before lifting my head and calling a mournful howl out over the forest.
Waking once more, I can tell that it's maybe late afternoon. There are a few cracks in wherever I’m being held that let the low amber light in, and the chill in the air brings fresh scents with it.
There’s an overwhelming stench of wolves now, and it most certainly isn’t my pack.
I can hear the paws around the outside of the outbuilding that I’m in, a little single-room wooden hut, now that my eyes aren’t trying to claw their way out of my skull.
Snuffling follows at the door and the gaps in the beams, damp noses rooting for my scent.
I need to get out, need to escape, and find my way back to my pack.
Sawing at my hands, it takes me only seconds to realize that the rope is too thick and solid, and the more I move, the more it opens up the tender flesh of my wrists, and copper fills the air.
Escalating outside, the whines increase, and I wince as claws start digging at the dirt beneath the door.
I won’t have long before one of them moves enough dirt to get under, and honestly, I do not want to find out what they’ll do with me when they get in here.
Pulling on the ropes and kicking my feet out, I only succeed in toppling the chair and hitting the dirt with a huff of pain.
Fuck, that is unhelpful. Spitting out the dust and dirt that I had eaten on the way down, I push myself towards the middle of the hut, away from the entry points, and lay my head down to think.
I’m a small wolf, no match for a big, long-legged Alpha, and I’m definitely not fit enough to outrun them over distance. Not to mention, I have no idea what direction I need to run in, and there are too many scents all mixed together to be able to figure out where to run.
“Fuck off, Ryder, go sniff around your wife, this one is mine.” As soon as I hear the voice, I tense.
My body freezes as the wolf at the door scampers off with a growl.
Jingling keys and then the clicking of the lock herald the arrival of the one person I was worried about.
Brynn. His handsome face and dark hair flopping over his forehead don’t distract from the feral, lascivious way his eyes rake over me.
“Little wolf… Skye, is it? You look good there, down in the dirt.” He crouches next to me, his joints clicking as he winces a little.
“Forgive an old wolf his aches, it’s pretty cold out here in our pack lands, and my bed is chilly at night. ”
Glaring up at him, I wish I could pull together the saliva to spit at him, but whatever they’ve drugged me with has made me feel like I’m chewing cotton.
I don’t say a word; he doesn’t deserve it, and I’m fairly certain that the only things that would come out of my mouth right now are “fuck,” and “off,” and that won’t get me anywhere.
So, with a low grumble in my chest, I just watch him.
Brynn might have been a catch if he were even a half-decent human, but I dread to imagine what else he’s willing to do when Omega trafficking seems like his pretty regular weekday activity.
Eyes pinned on me, he follows the lines of my clothing, hunger burning in them as he catches on the bared skin around my midsection, my shirt pulling up.
“You’re not… you’re a bigger girl than I usually like, not as easy to toss around, but Omega wolves are harder to find than hen's teeth these days, so I can’t really complain.
” He hums thoughtfully, reaching out to touch the skin there, his fingers cool against me.
“Good, your heat is progressing wonderfully, you’ll hit the haze in the next couple of hours, I think.
Do you know why shifter Omegas are so sought after? Why we don’t just mate human Omegas?”