Theirs To Tend (BL Poly Omegaverse #1)

1

The spring gathering filled the longhall with the smells of roasting venison and pine sap candles.

Scott stood near the back wall, where the shadows made it easier to pretend he couldn’t hear the whispers.

His brother Troy remained at his side like a stone pillar, arms crossed over a chest that had once seemed impossibly broad and now just looked tired.

"Maren's boy presented last week," someone murmured behind a clay cup of mead. "Just seventeen."

"And here we are," another voice answered, "watching Troy's brother still wait."

Scott's jaw tightened. A third voice, softer and kinder in a way that somehow cut deeper, added, "Poor thing. Maybe the Moon just skipped him."

Near the fire, Old Mera lifted her head and sang a line from the prime song, her voice thin but clear.

"Honey and moonflower and earth after rain.

" A few nearby wolves hummed along. Troy muttered, "That song always comes before change.

" Scott pressed his thumb against the rim of his cup and said nothing.

Troy's hand found Scott's shoulder and squeezed. "You want to get some air?"

"I'm fine," Scott said, and he almost meant it.

The longhall felt warm with spring's first true night, and the press of pack bodies should have been a comfort.

It was a comfort, even if his skin prickled every time someone's gaze lingered a heartbeat too long.

He looked across the fire toward the benches where the younger unmated wolves sat.

Fynn was already watching him.

Fynn had presented as alpha at sixteen, and his scent carried the clean, sharp edge of cedar and cold streams. That was the thing about Fynn.

He never looked away first. His eyes were light gray, and right now they held a quiet question Scott couldn't answer.

Scott's hand tightened on his cup. He managed a small wave.

Fynn rose from his bench and crossed the hall in a few easy strides.

Everything about Fynn moved without effort, from the way he slipped between conversations to the way he smiled.

"You're hiding," Fynn said, stopping close enough that Scott could smell the soap on his skin.

"You always stand behind Troy when you're hiding. "

"I'm not hiding," Scott said. "I'm standing."

"Behind your brother. Who blocks the whole corner." Fynn's mouth twitched. "That's hiding."

Troy gave a low chuckle and stepped aside with exaggerated obedience. "I know when I'm being used. Go on, then. Stand in the open and be brave."

Scott glared at his brother, but Troy was already making his way toward the drink table. That left Scott and Fynn in the little pocket of shadow, and suddenly the longhall felt much smaller.

Fynn tilted his head. "So. Any new theories? I heard Old Mera say something about a late-blooming bloodline in the northern packs. Maybe you're part northern wolf."

"I'm not northern," Scott said. "My grandmother was from three valleys over."

"Three valleys is practically foreign."

"It's a morning's run."

"A long morning." Fynn's grin was the kind that reached his eyes. "Besides, I'm running out of explanations, and you know how I hate not having answers."

Scott's lips tugged upward despite himself.

This was how it always went. Fynn would find him in the corner, tease him out of his mood, and the evening would feel easier.

It was the best part of every gathering.

It was also the part that left Scott lying awake later, staring at the ceiling, asking himself questions he refused to put into words.

"Maybe you'll present tonight," Fynn said, his voice dropping into something softer. "Then we can stop all this waiting and wondering."

"Maybe I will," Scott said, and he tried to sound hopeful.

Fynn's shoulder bumped his. "When you do, we'll celebrate. Just you and me. I'll steal one of Cook's berry pies and we'll eat the whole thing by the river, the way we did when we were kids."

Scott's breath caught. He looked at Fynn's smile and thought about berry-stained fingers and summer evenings when they were still young enough that nothing mattered but the next adventure.

He wanted the pie and the river and Fynn's laugh.

He also wanted something he couldn't name, and it made his chest feel tight.

"Sounds perfect," Scott managed.

Fynn's expression flickered. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something more. Then a voice cut through the hall's warm noise, and the moment dissolved.

"Scott! There you are."

Hope moved through the crowd with quick, sure steps.

Her hair was pale gold, pulled back with a leather cord, and her dress was the soft green of new leaves.

She smiled at Scott, and it was the kind of smile that made him want to stand straighter.

He had spent most of the past year convincing himself that Hope was exactly what he wanted.

She was beautiful, an omega, and kind to him.

She also made his stomach tighten in a way that felt nothing like the flutter Fynn caused.

He told himself that was a good thing, a normal thing.

"I was hoping you'd be here," Hope said, stopping beside Fynn with a polite nod. Her attention settled fully on Scott. "You look well. Stronger than last moon."

"Thank you," Scott said. He felt Fynn shift beside him, just slightly, putting a fraction more distance between them.

Hope touched Scott's arm, her fingers light.

"The spring gathering always makes me think about new beginnings.

I was just telling Rukheim's council that the pack needs stability right now, especially with all the border tensions.

A strong, uncomplicated omega at the alpha's side would settle so many nerves. "

She said it with a sweet, practical sigh, looking toward the high table where Rukheim sat.

Scott followed her gaze. Rukheim was speaking with two elders, his face hard, his presence filling the space around him without effort.

He was forty-one, old enough to have led the pack through two wars, young enough to command decades more.

Scott had never spoken to him directly. He'd only felt the alpha's attention a few times, there and gone before Scott could confirm it.

"I'm sure the alpha knows what he needs," Fynn said, his tone perfectly pleasant.

Hope smiled at him. "Of course he does. But sometimes the people around him need reminding too.

Rukheim has been glancing this way all evening, Scott.

That kind of attention can be a good thing for the pack.

" She turned back to Scott. "You'll understand one day, when you finally present. Simple things matter most."

Scott's grip on his cup tightened. The words were gentle, and Hope was only trying to help. She always tried to help.

"I'm sure Scott will present exactly when the Moon intends," Fynn said. "And he'll be whatever he's meant to be. That's how it works."

"Of course," Hope said. "I only meant..."

"I know what you meant," Fynn said, and this time his smile didn't reach his eyes.

Before the tension could thicken further, a heavy hand landed on Scott's head and ruffled his hair with enough force to make him stumble. Scott spun around, already knowing who he'd find.

Norrix stood there, grinning. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow and the easy stance of someone who'd never lost a fight he cared about.

He and Troy had been friends since childhood, which meant Norrix had been around for every awkward stage of Scott's life. He never let Scott forget it.

"Still hiding in corners, little wolf?" Norrix said, his voice low and rough. "I'd have thought by twenty-three you'd learn to stand in the center and dare the world to say something."

Scott brushed his hair back into place, face heating. "I wasn't hiding."

"Sure you weren't." Norrix's eyes flicked to Fynn, then to Hope, and something knowing passed through them. "You've got quite the gathering around you. Popular tonight."

"I'm just standing here," Scott said.

"That's what I said." Norrix's grin widened. "Standing. In the corner. With half the young wolves in the pack circling. Nothing suspicious about that."

Hope laughed, a bright sound that drew a few glances. "Norrix, you tease him too much. He's going to think you're mean."

"I am mean," Norrix said, but his hand settled on Scott's shoulder for just a moment, warm and solid. "Someone's got to keep him humble. Can't have him getting a big head before he even presents."

Scott ducked out from under Norrix's hand. "I think I'm humble enough."

"Debatable," Fynn murmured, and Scott shot him a look of betrayal. Fynn's lips twitched, and suddenly they were both fighting grins, and the tightness in Scott's chest eased a little.

Then the atmosphere in the longhall shifted.

Scott felt it before he understood what was happening. The air grew heavy, pressing down on his skin with force. Conversations faltered. Wolves straightened from their benches, nostrils flaring. Norrix's hand dropped from Scott's shoulder, and his easy grin vanished, replaced by sharp alertness.

"Scott?" Fynn's voice came from very far away.

The first wave of heat hit Scott and doubled him over. It started deep in his belly and spread outward through his veins. His knees buckled. He heard someone gasp, and then a sound tore from his throat, and he was falling.

Fynn caught him before he hit the ground.

"Scott, look at me. Look at me." Fynn's hands were on his face, and Scott tried to focus, but the hall blurred into color and scent.

He smelled woodsmoke and pine and the deep, rich scent of the pack around him.

He smelled something else too, something that rolled off his own skin, honey and moonflower and wild, untamed earth.

The longhall fell silent.

Then the silence broke. A low murmur spread through the gathered wolves, and then voices rose with wonder and fear and something close to awe.

"That scent," an elder whispered. "Moon above, that scent."

Another voice, younger and trembling, said, "It matches the old stories. The words are exact. The honey and the night-blooming flowers and the earth after rain. It's the same."

Scott's body arched against Fynn's grip as a second wave of heat seared through him. His skin felt too tight, and his pulse hammered in his ears. Through blurred vision, he saw faces swimming above him.

Fynn, still holding his head, eyes wide with shock and something that looked like heartbreak waiting to be named. "You're going to be okay," Fynn said, his voice shaking. "I've got you. I'm right here."

Norrix had stepped in front of them, his body blocking Scott from the crowd. His posture had shifted into something primal, protective, the stance of a wolf guarding his own. When a young alpha tried to step closer, drawn by the scent, Norrix's growl sent him stumbling back.

Hope stood frozen a few paces away. Her sweet smile faltered, and beneath it Scott caught a flash of something raw and hungry and terrified before she smoothed her face into careful concern. Her hands were clenched at her sides.

And at the high table, Rukheim had risen.

The pack alpha moved through the crowd, and wolves parted around him. He was tall and broad and carried the weight of command with easy certainty. His eyes, dark and unreadable, fixed on Scott with an intensity that made Scott's heart stutter.

The heat surged again. Scott screamed. The sound ripped through the longhall, and the scent around him intensified until even the elders were bowing their heads. This was the prime, the legend made flesh, the omega whose scent matched the songs their ancestors had sung for generations.

Rukheim stopped a pace away. His nostrils flared once, drawing in the scent, and something shifted in his expression, recognition and possession and a thousand years of instinct awakening.

"Mine to tend," Rukheim said.

The words were low and calm, spoken with the absolute certainty of a man who had never needed to repeat himself.

Fynn's arms tightened around Scott. Norrix's growl faltered, caught between his protective fury and the authority of his alpha.

Scott stared up at Rukheim through a haze of fire and fear, and he knew, with a clarity that cut through the burning, that nothing in his life would ever be the same.

The pack alpha reached down. His hand, calloused and impossibly gentle, brushed the sweat-damp hair from Scott's forehead. Scott tried to speak, tried to ask what was happening to him, but only a broken sound escaped.

Rukheim's voice dropped to a rumble that seemed to vibrate in Scott's very bones. "You're safe now. I have you."

Scott's vision swam, and the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was Fynn's face, pale and stricken, watching Rukheim lift Scott from the ground with no effort.