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abovethesmokestacks · 6 years

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Bonfire Heart (1/2)

Title: Bonfire Heart Pairing: alpha!Hal Carter x omega!reader Characters: Hal Carter, reader, unnamed parents for reader Rating: this chapter is sfw, but the next part will be nsfw Word count: 5.3k

Inspired by an anonymous ask sent to @bucky-plums-barnes. I was fortunate to be allowed to write a fic for it, and I apologize for taking so long, and for getting so carried away it turned into a multipart story. I am a wordy bitch who apparently loves build-up more than anything, sue me. Huge thanks to my weird sisters Brooke, Eris and Kati for input and patiently listening to me bitch and moan through writer’s block and more than a little despair.

It’s a rare occurrence getting drifters passing through the pack. Most often, it’s Betas or Omegas travelling through the pack’s turf, and then it’s only for a night, a few days tops. Even rarer are the Alphas that come through looking for a place to stay for a while. It creates tension, an Alpha stranger most often means a challenger, someone seeking to take over.

Not Hal.

There’s no mistaking his presentation when he arrives, duffel hanging jauntily off his shoulder, his scent pulling at you, begging for you when he passes you by in search of the pack Alpha. It’s intoxicating, warm and woodsy, a bonfire at night. Hidden underneath is an undertone of engine oil, sharp in contrast but perfectly balanced. You almost miss the way his nose twitches, how his eyes flit around before they land on you, the quick smile before being pulled back when your pack alpha calls for his attention.

Later, you hear a few of the other omegas titter about the handsome Alpha, how he’s gonna be staying, helping out, how he’s been offered a place on the outskirts.

“They wanna be sure he doesn’t try anything.”

“He can try me whenever he wants to!”

“You have no shame!”

“As if you wouldn’t present for him!”

It makes jealousy flare up in you, sudden and followed by shame and defeat as you turn on your heel to hurry home. There’s no reason for the sudden spike in your emotions. He’s barely laid eyes on you, and in comparison to the giggling omegas, you’re far from the grand prize. Your parents keep expecting you to find someone, if not a mate, then at least a heat partner, nursing some small hope that an arrangement would spark something more. You tell them you’re fine on your own, the suppressants take the edge off, too self-conscious and scared to voice your fear that maybe you’ll never find anyone.

Coming home, you’re all but equipped with your own personal rain cloud over your head. You’re ready to call it a day, to trudge into your room and torture yourself with silly daydreams. His scent still lingers in your nose, teasing you with scenarios that could easily turn your defeat to desire. You’re surprised to find your father home already, rummaging through the linen closet, picking out towels and sheets.

“Dad?”

“Peanut!” You scrunched your nose at the name, managing to disguise it as a smile. “Didn’t think you’d be home already.”

Of course he didn’t. Nodding to the stack in his arms, you deflect the attention, “What’s going on? Are we having guests over?”

“Sort of,” you father replies, turning back to reach for the stack of pillow cases. “Got a visitor passing through, needed a place to stay, some work. Told the Alpha the boy could stay in our cabin, do a couple of odd jobs for me if he was okay with it. Seemed a decent enough fella.”

Your heart skips a beat. The new Alpha would live in your family’s cabin? It’s a small, modest thing, more of a shack that has been used as everything as an escape for rutting alphas to hunting trips. During your early teenage years, you and your friends would sometimes have sleepovers there, pushing the narrow beds together and build a messy nest that you’d cosy down in and play silly games and tell each other horror stories that had all of you sleeping with one eye open. Now he would be there.

“Peanut?”

“Hmm?” You look up, finding your father looking at you, holding out the stack in his arms.

“I said, would you mind coming with me? No one’s been in that cabin for a while, we might need to fix up a coupla things.”

Come with? Possibly see the handsome Alpha again? Containing your excitement is hard, but you manage a small nod, taking the bedding and the towels to put them in a bag. The cupboard is right outside your bedroom, and when you pull out a suitably-sized bag for the bedding, you see your own bed, made up with all the fluffy pillows and blankets. You worry your lower lip. The cabin has the bare essentials. Small kitchen with a mini fridge. Cots, a couple of scratchy blankets and, in your memory, the lumpiest pillows in existence. Last time you and your friends had gone there, you’d brought your own.

You hesitate only for a second, glancing over your shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before ducking into your room, pulling one of the pillows from your bed and stuffing it in the bottom of the bag, piling on the sheets and pillowcases and towels to hide it, as if you were smuggling forbidden contraband. Your heart thunders when your father calls you from the other end of the house, asking if you’re ready. Clutching the bag tightly, you hurry out, climbing into the pickup, your breath catching when you’re asked to shift to the back of the cab.

“Promised we’d pick him up, can’t have him cramming into that tight space, Peanut,” your father jokes, and it’s all you can do to force a strained chuckle across your lips.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. Your father is there, you will have to restrain yourself. No, it won’t be so bad.

It’s downright horrible.

He’s so amicable, all pleases and thank you’s when he talks to your father, all too happy to show deference to a Beta and follow his lead. His face lights up, or so you imagine, scent mellowing when he spots you in the car, holding out his hand for you to shake when your father introduces you.

“Hal Carter, miss, how do you do? Hope I didn’t put you out too much having you tag along like this.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks as you demurely assure him it’s no trouble, none at all. Mercifully, your father takes charge of the conversation, allowing you to sit back and bask in the Alpha’s pleasant scent, listening to him answer your father’s questions. He’s just passing through, not sure for how long, but he’s real grateful for the roof over his head and the opportunity to help out wherever needed. He hasn’t really got a pack, never did find one where he felt he fit in, he can understand people are being suspicious. The car jostles, a bump in the small road sending you hurtling forward, bracing yourself on Hal’s shoulder. A hand comes up to cover yours, warm and with a steady grasp.

“You all right there, miss?” Hal’s looking at you, worry mixing with curiosity in his blue eyes.

A nod is all you manage, suddenly so close to him, his scent strong in your nostrils even though he clearly tries to tone it down, and suddenly you’re thankful you’ve already had your Heat. If he’s this intoxicating, suppressants might not matter much.

“You okay there, Peanut?” Your father, gods, you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for making you flinch away from Hal. “Better hold on, you know this road ain’t getting any better.”

Of course you know. You’ve travelled it enough times before, but now there’s a handsome Alpha in the same, confined space who smells delicious and the little cabin can’t come into view fast enough. By the time your father pulls up on the narrow driveway, you’re ready to claw your way out the back window.

“There you have it, son. It’s not much, but should keep you warm.”

He keeps talking to Hal, pointing and telling him just where to find the firewood and the kindling and where to meet up for the logging work tomorrow, all while your nerves are firing you and telling you to either jump out the window or jump Hal. It’s a sweet relief when the doors finally open, letting in a waft of fresh air. Your relief, however, is shortlived. The passenger seat is pulled forward, a tanned hand reaching in to help you out.

“Miss?”

You swallow, a wobbly smile on your lips while you climb out, pulling the bag behind you. Hal, insists on carrying it, despite your protests that it’s neither heavy, nor a nuisance for you. Something sparks low in your stomach when he tells you he wouldn’t be much of an Alpha, even less of a gentleman if he let such a pretty and gracious Omega carry a bag that should rightfully rest on his shoulder.

“I hope you don’t mind being a bit isolated like this,” your father interjects.

It is isolated, almost to the point where you wonder if it’s not excessively so.

“Not that there’s much happening around here, pretty quiet town,” he continues with a little chortle. “I’m sure you could hitch a ride back downtown for the weekends for the bars and dances if that’s your kinda thing…”

“I appreciate the offer, sir. Don’t wanna put you out more than I already have,” Hal replies diplomatically, swaying on the heels of his boots.

“It’s nothing, son, nothing at all.” That’s your father, the typical Beta, a great equalizer. “Now, there is a mini fridge inside, but it’s precious more than something to store drinks and maybe something small. I’ll get you the generator tomorrow so you can fire it up. You’ll get lunch at work, but unless you’re good with a wood burner, there’s not a lot of opportunity to fix an extravagant dinner.”

“As long as I get coffee, I’ll be fine, sir. Maybe I could trouble you to take me into town tomorrow so I can buy myself some food?”

“Oh, of course, of course! You might even find some coffee grounds in there. I’ve got you a coupla jugs of water on the flatbed, should see you through the next few days…”

Your father falls silent, his eyes flicking from Hal to you and back, a smile teasing at the corners of his lips. Hal might miss it, but you know your father. He’s up to something.

“Say, my wife is one helluva cook. Makes the best mac’n’cheese you’ll ever taste. She cooks like it’s going out of style, you’d think we were feeding a whole platoon.”

Oh god.

Hal, bless his heart, hasn’t caught on, but you’re trying to stare panicky daggers at your scheming father.

“We could set aside a decent serving for you, Peanut here could bring it out for you in the afternoons.”

You both break into protest, you because it is so transparent and regardless of your feelings for the Alpha this was just blatantly pushy, and Hal because it would be another imposition. Hearing each other, you then turn to argue against your points, only for the whole thing to end with your father getting his way. Fifteen minutes later you leave, all of the supplies you’d brought unpacked, convinced Hal would be okay for the night.

“Dad…” you sigh, glaring at him and his pleased little smile.

“I did nothing!” He holds up his hands in defeat for a moment, quickly grabbing the wheel again when a bump in the road veers the car to the side. “I just thought you might like each other’s company! He’s a fine young alpha, polite as ever. We’re just being good hosts.”

You grumble under your breath, trying to fight the smug curling in your stomach, your wolf purring in agreement. Such a handsome man, a fine alpha indeed… Clenching your teeth, you push the thoughts away, trying to replace them with your father’s poor excuse. You’re being a good host. It’ll be fine. It’s just taking dinner to him. Five minutes of conversation, if that. You’ll be fine.

You’re not fine. Your knuckles pale as they grip the plastic container of meatloaf, mash and greens. Hal has swung the door open following your timid knock, jeans deliciously low-slung on his hips, a smudged wifebeater hanging from his hand. He is so gloriously Alpha, the scent strong now, a forest fire setting your instincts aflame as you try not to stare at his chiseled torso, the tanned skin and the small patch of hair, barely noticeable against his complexion, leading down and into his jeans.

“Oh, pardon me, miss, I just- It was-“

His eyes darken just a little, and you realize you must be projecting your desire, bringing a dark flush to your cheeks. You’re better than this, you berate yourself, you can keep your feelings in check. Hal swallows thickly, turning around and mumbling to just wait a second. He returns moments later with a clean shirt on, his scent muted once again, but his gaze never meets yours for longer than a fraction. When you hold out his dinner for him, he does his best to avoid touching, fingers gripping along the edges.

“Are… Did you sleep okay?” you flounder, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, desperate to restore some semblance of equilibrium.

Hal nods, offering a little hum in affirmation. The silence is suffocating, making you wish that you’d arrived later, or earlier, or maybe not at all. Mumbling your farewell, you walk back to the truck, feeling your stomach sink with every step. It’s a dreadful heaviness that pulls at every insecurity in you. Why would you ever entertain the thought that you could catch his attention? Why would your father ever think this stupid plan would work? Why would Hal ever look at you the way you want him to? You’re not the kind of Omega who turns heads wherever she goes.

“Miss?”

You’re seated by the wheel when he calls out, and though you want nothing more than to rev the engine and drive off, you can’t resist the pull of his voice, soft and sounding almost remorseful. Hal has followed you, still standing a respectable distance from you with the lid popped on the container. There’s a tentative smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Dinner smells delicious.”

Your cheeks heat up again, a silly response to a compliment that isn’t even truly directed at you. Still. It eases the churning glumness, makes breathing easier, your smile almost sincere.

“I’ll be sure to let my mother know.”

You turn the key in the ignition, the truck roaring to life before settling to an idle purr while you shift into reverse and check your sightlines. He moves quickly, one second keeping his distance, the next rushing to the driver side window, the closeness buzzing like a living thing between you.

“Thank you for bringing it out here.” His voice is soft smoke and warmth on a cold night, wrapping itself around your insecurities to hush them down. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

You nod, nostrils flaring as his scent spikes just a touch. Satisfied with your answer, Hal backs away, allowing you to reverse and drive off. Your stomach refuses to settle, your mind replaying his question over and over as you burrow into your nest that night.

Will I see you tomorrow?

You see him again. And again. And again. Each trip into the forest makes the awkwardness of that first dinner delivery slowly dissipate. By the second week, there’s an easy smile gracing his features as he comes to greet you. Conversations starts flowing beyond pleasantries, Hal all too eager to listen to your tales no matter the topic, laughing and asking questions in the right places.

And always,

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay, miss? I swear, your mother must think me an insatiable beast, there’s plenty for both of us.”

Every day, you coyly beg off, sometimes even managing to hide the blush at being asked. Every day, Hal will give a laugh, mumble “more for me then I s’pose” and walk you to the truck. And every day, you imagine your parents looking a little disappointed to see you home so soon.

Some days, when your father tarries, and it means Hal will be back late too, your mother sends you off to leave dinner for the alpha. These days, you bring something extra. It won’t do to leave the food outside, and even though you feel like you’re intruding, you bring the spare key to the cabin, sneaking in to leave dinner in the mini fridge. When he gets home, he’ll find food ready to reheat, and a little something to make up for the missed opportunity to spend time together. Flowers waiting in a tin cup on the small table. A parcel of cookies next to the boxed lunch. A book you had told him about. The first time, you feared he would be upset you had gone into his den without express permission. But then, the next day, he greeted you just as warmly, a daisy from your little bouquet tucked behind his ear.

It’s a strange companionship that you try not to linger on too much. Of course you still think he’s handsome. Your heart still stutters when he opens the door, shirt unbuttoned and all that gorgeous skin on display. Warmth still blooms in your chest every time you feel his light touch on the small of your back when he follows you back to the truck. Your tummy does a flip every time he’ll playfully call you “omega” when you talk.

But if you linger-

If you think about it too much, it starts feeling like courtship. His touches start feeling like they’re aching for more, and you would be all too happy to allow them. Calling you by your presentation will make your stomach swoop, a liquid pull teasing at scenarios you scarcely dare dream about.

You try not to linger, but you can’t deny the fact that you now long for the ride out to the cabin, for the time you get to spend with him. It makes a smug little flame flare in you when you hear other omegas titter and fawn over him, having seen him briefly in town over the weekends and gotten a smile and a polite “hello”. It’s a greedy, possessive monster that never gloats openly, simply feeding your addiction, thinking about how you will see him tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day-

“Sweetheart, why don’t I take dinner duty tonight?”

The suggestion has your head whipping around, the lid for the container dropping from your hands. Your mother’s voice is calm, her body language easy and open where she stands. It still raises your suspicions. For weeks now, they have been all too happy with the arrangement, what’s changed now?

“It’s okay, I can do it,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral. Two can play this game.

“We don’t wanna put you out, darling. Besides, you’ve been driving out there every day for a while now. You deserve a break. A little time to yourself.”

In the end, she is your mother, and well, she’s right. You begrudgingly hand over the container, telling her to send Hal your regards and that you’ll see him tomorrow. Her smile is a bit tight around the edges, a curious thing that you don’t understand until the next day, when you’re once again coaxed into staying home. It’s never said, but you still understand.

You’re not kept home to give you a rest. You’re kept home because Hal has gone into his Rut.

It claws at that raging part of you that has come to crave and love his company. You want to be there, should be there. It throws grand and foolish scenarios at you of sneaking out at night, taking the truck and driving out there, rosetinted dreams of helping him out. It tugs at dreams of being claimed, of not being alone anymore.

It tugs and tugs, never succeeding, tempered by your own self-deprecation and the tension around your mother’s eyes that she almost manages to hide when she gets home. Biting down, you tell yourself it’s only temporary. Your parents don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger. It’ll only be a few more days.

When days turn into a week, you start to worry. Hal should be okay now, his Rut would have ended days ago even if it was a long one. Your nerves spike every day, sinking low into your stomach when your mother once again bids you goodbye and drives off. You can’t help wondering if you’d done something wrong, something to deter him? Should you have defied your parents and still gone out to see him?

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that one day you almost miss your mother calling your attention.

“Sweetheart? You better hurry up, or that poor man will starve.”

Furrowing your brow, you look over your shoulder, finding your mother holding out a familiar container. “Mom?”

“I believe he’s expecting you.”

You don’t want to boast, but you’re pretty sure you broke some kind of speeding record driving out to the cabin, only slowing down as you turned onto the narrow trail that led up to it. He’s waiting, and for a moment, the greedy thing insides you turns joyous and elated, wanting to run up to him and jump into his arms and bask in that wonderful smile for days. Reining yourself in feels like pulling at the leash of your wolf, the whining it gives reverberating through you.

Hal doesn’t seem to have the same reservations. He sits down on the small porch, patting the space next to you and scoots in as close as he can when you join him. When he asks you if you would join him, courteous as ever, your resolve crumbles. So used to your polite declines, it takes Hal a few seconds to realize you finally said yes, nearly stumbling over himself to get plates and forks and drinks.

“I’m… sorry for… for last week,” he offers between bites of casserole, eyes seeking out yours.

“It’s okay, I understand.” You keep your gaze on the food, poking it around and trying to stay calm.

“No, I-” The consternated exhale pulls at your curiosity, and you look up in time to see him set down his fork. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Sure? What are you talking about, Hal?”

Without a word, he gets up, enters the cabin only to return a few seconds later with ripped shreds of fabric. Handing it to you, it takes you all of two seconds to recognize the delicate pattern, the faint scent of yourself that still lingered. The pillow you’d hidden away for him.

“It… took a few hits. Your scent, it’s… I thought because I’d seen you so much that it wouldn’t be a problem. I ripped this one the eve of the first day. I came in for my shift only to tell your daddy I would be out for the rest of the week, that it would be best if you didn’t bring me dinner. I missed you so much, omega, thought I’d go mad. I asked your mama to come a few extra days after it ended just to be sure I wouldn’t… that you wouldn’t be hurt.”

Separately, you understand each and every word, but put together, they spell a truth you can’t quite fathom. He wanted you safe, so he made sure that he was completely out of his Rut before asking you to resume your visits. He missed you. He missed you.

“…I’m only sad that we’ll have to do this again soon.”

You’ve missed a large chunk of the conversation, but even so, Hal’s last statement confounds you.

“We will?” Three months isn’t that soon, is it?

Hal gives a shy smile, picking a little at his food. “Yeah, when you- when it’s your time? It’s- Isn’t that… soon?”

He’s adorable when he’s flustered, and you can’t help but flush a little yourself. Speaking about Ruts and Heats isn’t exactly the most polite and obvious of topics, especially between unmated alphas and omegas without a partner arrangement. You pick at your nails, stomach fluttering at the idea of talking about this with him.

“Well, not really…” you begin, noticing Hal furrowing his brow.

“No?” He sniffs discreetly, your pulse racing minutely. “I could swear it’s coming. Is it not for another month?”

You blush in earnest now, the fact that Hal is trying to determine the exact arrival of your Heat setting a dull ache thudding low in your stomach. He’s looking at you like your scent and your very being is a puzzle to be solved, waiting patiently for your answer.

“It’s…” You bite your lower lip. “It’s not really going to come. Suppressants.”

The penny drops, Hal’s expression softening into quiet realization. “Why? I mean, I know it’s none’a my business, but you… You’re lovely, and- and kind, and I’m frankly amazed you keep coming out to me like this day after day. I’d’ve thought the other alphas here would be tripping all over themselves for your favour.”

“No. No, I…” It doesn’t matter that it’s Hal, that it’s this sweet man sitting next to you, embarrassment still burns through you having to admit this. “I’ve never had a partnered Heat. Thought I was gonna claw myself to death the first time. No one’s ever been tripping over themselves to even ask for a date, let alone… that.”

“Now that’s just a damn shame. I should be so low on your list of priorities because I can’t imagine someone so sweet wouldn’t be otherwise preoccupied most every weekend.” A smile tugged at his mouth, growing until he looked like the embodiment of sunshine. “Though I suppose their loss is my gain.”

“I’m sorry?”

Setting down his fork, he makes a big show of getting up, one arm behind his back, the other held out for you. Your stomach flips at his movements, his scent wafting in towards you when he leans down. What is he-

“I can’t treat you to a fancy restaurant, but if you’ll have me, I’d love to take you out.”

You hate that your first instinct is to turn him down, to wonder who set him up to prank you, to pull away because if he’s asking you out then there can only be one reason why. It sets something bubbling inside you, uneasy and gnawing. He’s handsome, he could have anyone. Discreetly, you draw a slow breath, tasting the air for any sign of lingering Rut scent. Nothing, just the soothing scent you have come to love and long for, fading back ever so slightly.

“I don’t expect anything from ya, scout’s honor.”

Hal, it seems, is more perceptive than one would think. His scent is still muted, pleasant, not moving an inch to let you see exactly where you have him. It’s so tempting, the notion of being courted by an Alpha - by this Alpha - when the other omegas are falling all over themselves whenever he’s been in town. The gnawing worry in the pit of your stomach taunts you that it’s not a courting, not like what you’ve seen, what you’ve come to expect. He is asking you out on a date. His request tastes a little like pity, but the hungry thing inside you twists and turns and longs for the satisfaction of being his company.

“Then… I suppose it would be rude of me to turn you down,” you reply coyly, taking his hand and pressing it gently.

Like other alphas, he runs hot, but the warmth is pleasant against your skin. The palm of his hand is lightly calloused from long hours of hard labour, yet when he strokes over your knuckle with his thumb, it’s with a touch so light it sends shivers down your spine.

“Not at all, miss,” he all but husks out, a sweet little smile lighting up his features. “But I’ll be very happy if you’ll allow me to take you out.”

When you leave, it’s with butterflies in your stomach and a time and place set for tomorrow. It made his scent flare just a bit walking you to the truck, saying his usual goodbye like it now means something more. It has you driving just a little more reckless, giddiness bubbling through you. Your mother notices, of course, and you can’t even bring yourself to berate her for the smug expression on her face when you turn down dinner with the excuse, “I already ate.” as you bound up the stairs to your room.

In there, time moves slow, inching forward as slow as molasses in January. Every tick of the clock is sluggish, no matter how you try to ignore it or make time pass. Picking out a pretty dress to wear takes unusually little time, try as you might to drag it out by trying it on, complete with your prettiest garters and silkiest stockings, taking careful steps in your one good pair of heels. You play around with your hair, pick through your makeup box. No matter. Time doesn’t move any quicker just because you try to make it. Seconds tick by just as rhythmically as they’ve always done; a countdown of immeasurable quantity.

It makes sure you feel it, the width and length of it in the wee hours of the night when your eyes refuse to grow heavy and sleep evades you. It lingers in the hours leading up to your date, in the small menial errands you run and the chores you do. You’re dressed and primped with an hour to spare, and even with your slowest walk, you’d still be in town well ahead of time. Your father offers to give you a ride, adding more waiting to your deteriorating patience, but you still accept.

“Knock him dead, Peanut,” he tells you with a smile, pressing your hand in his before you exit the truck.

You give him a weak nod in return, waving him goodbye from the sidewalk. Knock him dead. It makes insecurity flicker to life again, swirling through you and setting your hands shaking. Knock him dead. As if you could. You walk the short distance to the meeting point, politely greeting friends and acquaintances when they pass you, trying to ignore the long glances as you wait. The tables have turned now, and time rushes, seconds slipping by you while you wait. Isn’t he coming? What time is it? Shouldn’t Hal be here by now? What if-

“I’m so sorry, darlin’, my ride got a flat tire, and we had to ch-”

Hal fall silent when you turn around, coming to an abrupt halt a couple of feet away. He looks dashing dressed up, a blue shirt tucked into darkwash jeans, sleeves rolled up to show tanned arms and the same almost-invisible smattering of hair you’d peeked during that first meeting. His hair is combed back, an errant curl hanging down his forehead that he tries to brush back stubbornly refusing to stay in place.

“Hal?”

“You… you look stunning, miss.”

Flustered, your gaze drops, fists clenching the material of the dress. Biting down, you refuse to voice any of the protests, fighting to accept his compliment. You do look good. Hal would never say such a thing just for the sake of saying it. You look good. Slowly, you raise your head, meeting his gaze and offering a trembling smile. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon, arms clasped behind his back.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you offer in return, surprised that your voice carries so evenly.

Hal smiles bashfully, holding a hand for you, “I tried my best,” he tells you, finding his way back to his usual charm as you hook your arm with his. “I believe we have a date, omega.”

Shivers roll down your spine hearing your presentation. “I believe we do.”

The warmth of him, the public display of desiring your company makes something flare in your stomach, further fueled by the poorly suppressed whispers of your omega acquaintances when they see you walk through town. You realize when you walk into the movie theater, sitting down and still holding his hand, that you want to call him yours. Glancing over at him while the screen flickers to life, your eyes lock, and your wolf claws at you.

You want him.

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