3
Hope arrived in the soft light of late afternoon, a clay teapot cradled in both hands and her expression arranged into careful sympathy.
She set the pot on the small table in Scott’s guest room and poured him a cup before he could protest, the steam curling upward with the scent of chamomile and honey.
"I've been thinking about you all day," she said, settling onto the bench across from him.
Her dress was pale blue, the color of a clear morning sky, and her hair caught the light from the window.
"It must be so overwhelming. One moment you're just Scott, the sweet boy who hasn't presented, and the next the pack alpha is carrying you through the longhall and everyone's whispering about ancient legends.
" She wrapped her fingers around her own cup and sighed. "I can't imagine how heavy that feels."
Scott lifted his tea and took a sip he couldn't taste. "I'm managing."
"Of course you are." Hope's smile was gentle and warm.
"You've always been so strong. But you don't have to manage alone.
I know we're not close, not really, but I'd like to be.
Another omega who understands the pressure.
" She leaned forward, lowering her voice.
"Rukheim is a good alpha, everyone knows that, but he can be intense.
Demanding. The whole pack watches everything he does, and now they're watching you too.
If you ever need to just talk to someone who won't judge... "
She let the sentence hang, her eyes wide and sincere.
Scott felt the familiar urge to thank her, to reassure her that her kindness meant something, and the words stuck in his throat.
He didn't know how to explain that her sympathy felt like a mirror held up to a version of himself he no longer recognized.
He didn't know how to say that every time she mentioned Rukheim, something hot and tangled twisted in his chest.
"Thank you," he managed. "That's kind of you."
She stayed for another cup, filling the silence with gentle observations about the pack and the spring weather and how nice it was to finally have someone interesting to talk to.
When she left, pressing a light kiss to his cheek that smelled of lavender, Scott sat alone in the quiet room and stared at the empty cups until the light outside the window began to fade.
The healer came at dusk.
Her name was Mera, an older wolf with silver-streaked hair and hands that had delivered half the pack's children.
She set her leather kit on the table, took Scott's pulse, checked his temperature with the back of her hand against his forehead, and asked him to describe exactly how he felt.
He told her about the low throb in his belly, the way his skin had started to prickle again, the occasional cramp that made his breath catch.
She listened without interruption, then sat back with a grim set to her mouth.
"It's another wave building. Milder than the first one, which is normal, but you need to understand something.
We have ancient medical records about prime omegas.
A prime omega's first-year heats are unstable.
Even a mild wave can cascade into a fatal spike within hours if there's no alpha presence to regulate it.
" She began packing her kit, movements brisk.
"Your body already knows who answered the first call.
It will keep reaching for him until the bond stabilizes, and that could take months. "
Scott's hands had gone cold. "What does that mean for me? What happens next?"
Mera paused and turned back to face him fully.
"The full protocol for a prime omega involves multiple anchors.
Rukheim is your first because he answered the initial call, but your body will need more than one alpha to stabilize long term.
The ancient records are clear on this. With multiple anchors, the heat cycles spread across several partners, and no single alpha bears the full burden.
Each anchor forms through repeated contact during your waves, always while you're clearheaded enough to consent. The bond grows over time."
"How many anchors?" Scott's voice came out thin.
"Three at minimum, sometimes more. The records mention four in extreme cases.
" Mera's expression softened slightly. "You'll stay in the healer's wing during active waves so I can monitor you.
If Rukheim is away on pack business, another designated alpha can step in temporarily, but the bond won't deepen without repeated contact.
The temporary help only manages the immediate crisis. "
Scott swallowed hard. "Can another alpha help me instead of Rukheim? What if I don't want him as my anchor?"
Mera's eyes held his for a long moment. "You can refuse any alpha, including Rukheim.
The choice belongs to you while you're clearheaded.
But refusing him means your body will still reach for him because he answered the first call.
That pull will make your waves harder to manage, and we'd need to find new anchors quickly.
It's possible, but it's dangerous. The longer a prime omega goes without a stable anchor, the higher the risk of organ failure. "
Scott pressed his palms flat against his thighs. "And what are the warning signs I should watch for?"
"Fever above what you're feeling now, dizziness, blurred vision, pain in your lower back or sides, and any difficulty breathing.
" Mera counted them off on her fingers. "If you feel any of those, you come to the healer's wing immediately.
Don't wait. Don't try to push through it alone.
We've lost omegas who thought they could manage. "
Scott nodded slowly, the weight of it settling into his chest. "What if Rukheim is away when a wave hits?"
"Then we use a temporary alpha from the approved list. Usually an older, bonded alpha who can provide release without forming a new anchor.
It's not ideal, but it keeps you alive until Rukheim returns or a new anchor is established.
" Mera pulled the door open and added, quieter, "He's already sent word. He's expecting you."
The corridor to Rukheim's private chambers felt longer than it ever had before.
Scott walked it with his heart beating too fast and the heat already beginning to coil low in his gut, a familiar and unwelcome pressure that made his thighs brush together with every step.
By the time he reached the heavy wooden door, his skin was flushed and his scent had begun to deepen, honey and moonflower bleeding into the air around him.
Rukheim opened the door before Scott could knock.
The alpha stood bare to the waist, the same as before, but this time he wasn't wearing the clinical mask. His dark eyes moved over Scott's face, reading the flush on his cheeks and the slight tremor in his hands, and something raw flickered behind his composure. He stepped back to let Scott enter.
"The healer sent word," Rukheim said, closing the door. The lamps were low, the nest already turned down, and the whole room smelled of pine and leather and the deep, grounding musk that Scott's body had learned to associate with relief. "She said the wave is building. That it could spike."
"She said I should come." Scott's voice sounded thin in his own ears. He stood just inside the door, his arms wrapped around himself, and forced himself to meet Rukheim's eyes. "What does 'mine' mean? You said it before. I need to understand."
Rukheim crossed to him slowly, each step deliberate.
"It means I'm your anchor. Your body chose me when I answered the first call, and now it will keep reaching for me until the bond stabilizes.
I called you here because the crisis is still real.
" He stopped close enough that Scott had to tilt his head up.
"But I won't lie to you tonight. I want you under me.
I want my knot locked inside you while you come apart.
The medical necessity and my own desire are tangled together now, and that frightens you. I can smell it."
Scott's throat closed. His body was already responding to the alpha's nearness, his cock thickening against his thigh, slick beginning to gather in a warm, insistent pulse.
Every instinct he had was pulling him toward Rukheim's warmth, and the terror of how much he wanted it pressed hard beneath his ribs.
"I don't know how to do this," Scott whispered.
"You don't have to know." Rukheim lifted a hand and cupped Scott's jaw, his palm rough and warm. "But I need to hear you say it. Do you want this? Do you want me to take you through this wave?"
Scott's breath shuddered out of him. The heat was climbing now, and his body answered before his mind could catch up. "Yes," he said, the word barely audible. "Yes, I want this."
Rukheim kissed him slow and deep, his mouth tasting of black tea and something darker. Scott's hands came up without his permission, fingers curling against the scarred planes of Rukheim's chest, and the alpha made a low sound of approval.
"On the nest," Rukheim said against his lips. "On your back. I want to see your face."
Scott obeyed because his body remembered the only anchor that had ever stopped the fire.
The pelts were warm from the alpha's body heat, and they smelled so strongly of Rukheim that Scott's head swam with it.
Rukheim stripped him with unhurried hands, folding each piece of clothing and setting it aside, until Scott lay bare and trembling in the nest. Then the alpha settled between his thighs, broad shoulders pushing his legs wide, and took Scott's cock into his mouth.