Archive of Our Own

Shane stands at the edge of his village. Behind him, logs form a simple wall that blocks anything safe or familiar from view. In front of him, the forest stretches in all its autumnal glory, reds and oranges twining together with flashes of lingering, pale green. On either side of him, men and women stand in clumps, barefoot, clad in only thin shifts. Shane wears the same outfit. He does his best to not shiver against the first chills of the season.

“Today,” says a deep, loud voice behind them that makes some of the assembled flinch, though Shane remains stoic, “marks the first day of the annual Chase. As you all know, any omega who presented within the past year is eligible to be mated. We follow in the traditions of our ancestors, who decreed that an omega who is Caught is an omega who is mated.” The voice continues, droning on about tradition and history and the sacred rights of alphas.

Shane turns his head to look back at the village. Within the gap in the log wall stands a crowd of Shane’s neighbors, friends, and family, all dressed in their finest clothes. They don’t meet his gaze when he stares at their faces. Before he presented, when he was one of the comfortable crowd inside instead of the shivering masses outside, he certainly never met the gazes of any omegas who were bold enough to look back before the Chase began. Between the crowd and the forest stands one of the village elders, his hands rhythmically tugging at his suspenders as he speaks. Were it not for this repetitive motion, he would appear completely calm and collected, but it seems that even an elder alpha feels the pull of so many unmated omegas before him. Lining the outside of the wall are the unmated alphas who will Chase.

Less than a year ago, Shane thought he would be among the final group, wearing a woolen shirt and thick boots instead of little more than a sack. Their eyes scan the crowd of omegas, hungry, waiting, already making their selections. Would Shane have been able to choose before the Chase began, or would he have let instinct guide him?

He’ll never know. He isn’t an alpha, he is an omega, and so he must Run.

“Oh, gods, protect us,” the girl to Shane’s right whimpers quietly as the elder’s speech winds down.

“And so, we remember today our ancestors, and we salute the alphas who allow their instincts to blossom. May their chosen mates cherish them.”

Chosen. Shane scans the forest as he crouches into a ready stance. The speech makes it sound so bland. So safe. As if it’s some great honor to be hunted like a wild animal. It’s the only truth those in the village allow themselves to believe about the Chase. The tangible omegan distress in the air won’t make it back to those who wait within the walls—while that same scent stirs hunger in every unmated alpha and almost suffocates Shane. He forces himself to breathe evenly. He can’t let himself become another member of this desperate crowd. He won’t.

A low howl sounds from the elder’s mouth. The signal to Run. Shane’s breath stutters as the howl is taken up by other alphas, a wall of sound, a wail of hunger that only an omega could sate—Shane hadn’t expected to feel so afraid, but the sound rattles through him, and he knows, suddenly, that they’re coming for him, every single alpha is looking at him—

A terrified omega yelps and takes off. Shane shuffles forward with the surge of the crowd, limbs numb with fear for a moment, before he darts into the forest.

Run. Run. Run.

The alphas whoop and cheer as the omegas scatter before them. Footsteps echo between the trees, light and nearly soundless at first, before the crashing of heavy boots follows, closer, closer.

There’s the snap of twine, and the girl beside Shane shrieks as she’s lifted into the air by a hidden net. Chosen. Alphas who have more intelligence than strength have the right to set up traps. That knowledge doesn’t make the reality less horrifying.

“Please!” the girl wails as she reaches a dirty hand out of a gap in the net. “Please!” Shane stumbles away from her, heart hammering in his chest. Her cries grow distant and quiet.

Behind him, beside him, omegas are chosen.

“No, no!”

Another snap of twine, followed by a keening cry.

“Get off me! Not here, don’t—!”

A yelp that dissolves into whimpers.

Happiness is quieter, he tells himself. Any omegas who are pleased with their new alpha wouldn’t need to announce it to the world. It should soothe him. He doesn’t need to become one of the chorus of despair.

“Oh, gods, oh, gods, OH GO—!” His mind must be playing tricks on him, because he thinks—but alphas wouldn’t intentionally hurt their chosen omegas, not when they’re so vulnerable to the forest. One or two already die of exertion every year. An alpha wouldn’t add to those numbers.

Do they really die of exertion?

“Oh, fuck,” Shane bursts out as icy dread numbs his fingers. His mind narrows to a single point: run. They’ll mate him if they catch him. They’ll hurt him if they catch him.

But first they have to catch him.

The forest grows quiet. There are still a handful of omegas who Run nearby, but most have either been Caught or peeled away to evade their pursuers. A lone omega can mostly hide their scent, but a pack will always be found. Shane ducks his head and breathes.

Outlast. Outmaneuver. Cross the nearest creek. Double back. Slip through narrow gaps.

The sun sets, and rises, and sets, and rises.

He doesn’t hear the light footsteps of other omegas anymore, only the heavy stomp of alpha boots.

He dozes when he can, when the scent on the wind grows dull and distant.

His bare feet pound against the earth. He can’t stop. Footsteps follow him. He doesn’t know how many. His lungs ache. His head spins. His feet are covered in bruises and cuts.

He’s so tired.

The sun sets, and rises.

His foot catches on a root. He barely manages to turn and land on his shoulder instead of his chest, and his arms shake when he hauls himself back to his feet. Behind him, the whoops of alphas echo through the trees.

He breathes hard and Runs.

Something in the air calls him onward.

A new scent—smoke and spice and comfort—breaks through the endless trees. He doesn’t think before he turns towards it. There’s nothing left in his mind except escape, nothing that might give him misgivings about this strange, new scent. He follows the scent to the entrance of a cave.

A distant part of him knows that entering a cave without a clear exit is dangerous, but that heady scent pulls him in, soothes his racing heart. He barely recognizes the objects around him as piles of crates and barrels. His hitched breaths bounce off the stone surrounding him.

The chill of the season is stronger in the cave. It settles into his skin and saps the final dregs of energy from his limbs. His body lurches towards where the scent is strongest. Between one blink and the next, he collapses onto a pile of soft furs.

He’s so tired.

He fades in and out, his heart pounding too harshly for true rest, his head swimming with exhaustion and instinct.

The smell is what snaps him back into wakefulness.

Roiling anger pierces the air, and he gasps awake, his legs already spasming in an attempt to force him upright, to get him moving again, but days of running without proper rest have left him weak and trembling. He’s forced to lay still while his scrambled mind tries to make sense of the smell at the mouth of the cave.

Three distinct angry scents. Familiar. Alphas from his village. They’re speaking, but their voices are muffled, as if he’s underwater. Another scent. Gentler. Comforting. He inhales a lungful of scent from the furs beneath him. The same scent emanates from the mouth of the cave.

He sinks back with a sigh, instinctually soothed.

There’s a sharp growl, then the three familiar scents retreat. After a moment, the final scent grows stronger. He peels his eyes open to watch as a new alpha steps closer.

“You are awake,” the alpha says with a little quirk to his lips. His accent is thick and foreign, yet somehow… familiar.

A memory: a packless alpha waits outside the village with a cart of furs, his golden curls shining in the midday sun. Shane’s neighbors trade with him, clothes and preserves and rumors, and he tells them of distant villages and dangers deep in the forest.

“You’re Ilya, right?” Shane croaks out, throat sore and parched. “You sold my dad two deerskins last spring.” The alpha—Ilya—crouches down beside Shane. Shane never spoke to this packless alpha himself, but he caught many glimpses of golden curls on warmer days.

“And you are a Chased omega,” Ilya murmurs. “They tell me it is four days since the Chase began, and you are not Caught.” Shane’s legs kick out weakly as his heart rate spikes. He isn’t Caught. He can still Run. “What is your name?”

“Shane Hollander of Voyageur,” Shane whispers. His entire body protests as he shuffles to get his arms under him. Ilya lets out a soft noise when he forces himself upward. His body trembles. He leans against the wall of the cave. “I—I need to go.”

“Go?” Ilya asks incredulously. “Those alphas will not Chase if you stay here. Rest. Eat.”

Shane shakes his head desperately, then manages to say, “I need to—to go home. My parents will—they’ll choose an alpha for me.” His mother promised she would. He just had to outlast the alphas and find his way home to her, and she would take care of the rest.

“You barely made it here,” Ilya scoffs. “You will collapse and die of exposure, or be Caught by one of the alphas still out there.”

“You can’t make me—”

“I am not trapping you, Shane Hollander!” Ilya exclaims. “Recover first, and then you can Run, okay?”

Shane’s head spins. Delirium clouds his judgement. His instincts scream at him to Run, that he is still Chased and will be Chased until he is Caught. He surges away from the wall, eyes locked on the sunlight beyond the cave, but Ilya wraps an arm around his waist before he can take more than a step.

“You want to be Caught so badly?” Ilya asks, exasperated. “There. Now you are Caught. Now will you sit and….” Shane’s ears ring, blocking out Ilya’s words. Caught. He is Caught. Ilya is his new alpha.

He failed.

His knees give out. Ilya’s other arm wraps around his back, and his head slumps against Ilya’s shoulder. When he inhales, Ilya’s scent smothers him. His alpha. His mate.

“Please….” he slurs out, desperate, terrified, before the last of his strength gives out and he slips into darkness.

---

When Ilya went down to his cold storage to check his supplies for the winter, he hadn’t expected to find a half-conscious omega.

He knows, of course, that the annual Chase takes place around this time of the season. The days are getting longer and colder, which means that any eligible omegas will be mated, preferably before the first frost. Ilya never understood the appeal. The year he presented, he set off on his own and hasn’t looked back, so he never participated in the Chase. From the stories he heard before he presented and the few details he’s collected over the years… injuries are terrifyingly common for omegas, and alphas have been known to injure themselves and each other in their pursuit of the most desirable omegas. The risk of losing vital members of a village to what is, in essence, a glorified foreplay ritual is insanity.

Still, despite his opinions, it’s the business of packs and villages, so Ilya does his best to stay out of it. He keeps to his territory for the week before and after the Chase is held in neighboring villages, which typically means that he spends all his time either crafting more traps in his cabin or taking inventory of the cave he uses for storage: barrels of pickles and preserves, crates of fabric, a collection of the most necessary replacement tools and the supplies to make more, furs laid out dry….

And, today, an omega, carelessly slumped over a pile of furs.

The omega is larger than most omegas Ilya has met. He wears only a simple, ratty shift—for easier access, according to the villages who hold this particular tradition—which does nothing to truly protect his body from the cold or the forest itself. Cuts and bruises litter his skin, and the skin from his feet to halfway up his calves is little more than a patchwork of bruises and blood. His dark eyes roll, unseeing, behind fluttering lashes, and his breath hitches with each spasm of his muscles.

Ilya might have mistaken him for a small alpha, but one inhale reveals a grassy, medicinal scent, distinctly omegan. The closest village is over a day’s walk from Ilya’s cabin, which means this poor omega likely ran through the night just to collapse here.

This is another aspect to the Chase that curdles Ilya’s stomach: the fear. The omega’s chest rises and falls with quick, strained pants, and even the clear exhaustion in his body is unable to pull him into a proper slumber.

With all luck, this limited rest will strengthen him enough that he can return home safely.

Shouts echo through the forest, and Ilya looks up. The scent that hits his nose moments later is almost painful in the strength of emotion it carries. The omega twitches and gasps fitfully, but doesn’t wake.

If the alphas who Chased him here were permitted to enter the cave, would he wake before he was claimed? Or would his body pull him deeper into slumber, instinctually submitting to whichever alpha gets to him first?

Ilya wanders to the entrance of the cave. Three alphas appear from between the trees: a younger man, an older man, and an older woman.

“Ilya!” the older man calls with a grin. “This is a surprise. How are you, son? Trapping going well?”

“It is,” Ilya says as he leans against the entrance of the cave. The younger man steps forward, as if to bully past him, but is swiftly pulled back by the older woman. The thought of these alphas stomping all over the forest, likely scaring away any animals and ruining the traps Ilya set, makes his teeth grind. “There was agreement to stay away from my territory, yes?”

“Ah, that agreement was made by alphas,” the older man scoffs. “Seems you’ve got no problem with omegas breaking it, unless my nose betrays me.”

“We Chased this one all the way from Voyageur, so it’s no wonder we found you eventually,” the older woman grumbles. Ilya carefully schools his expression even as his heart skips with shock. Voyageur is almost a week away on foot. The omega in his cave Ran for days, and likely would have gone for longer if he hadn’t collapsed here. “Forgive us for the intrusion, but we really would like to get home to our families.”

“Could we trouble you for some food?” the younger man asks before he’s shaken by the older woman.

“Don’t mind the little one,” the older man chuckles. “He presented only a week before the Chase. His poor mother nearly had a conniption when he insisted on joining.”

“I can imagine,” Ilya hums. There’s a moment of silence, then Ilya says, “I will say this once: go home.” The alpha scents spike in anger. Ilya hears a gasp behind him. The omega is awake.

“That’s our omega by rights!” the older woman snaps.

“This is kidnapping, you know,” the older man says sternly. “Omegas are meant to stay with their own villages.”

“And he will,” Ilya replies. “When he recovers, he will be returned. But he is in no state to be Caught after Running for a week without rest.”

“Four days,” the older woman clarifies. “And mind you, we weren’t slouches. We deserve our prize.”  The younger man bares his teeth angrily. Ilya stares him down before turning his gaze back to the older alphas.

The longer a Chase lasts, the worse the omegas who last that long will fare. These alphas have been running on adrenaline and instinct for long enough that they likely wouldn’t be able to control themselves if they got their hands on this omega, an omega who’s too exhausted to protect himself. He would if he had the opportunity, Ilya is sure. If one of these alphas had Caught this strong omega any sooner, when he still had the energy to fight back, he might have even overpowered them.

Was this their plan? Hunt him in shifts, tire him past the point of resistance, and have their way with him?

“Tell me his name, and I will give him to you.” Ilya can’t help the growl that escapes him when the alphas remain silent. “You are nothing. Wild animals with no respect. You are afraid of what I will say to your neighbors, hm? That you planned to abuse and discard this omega? Do not make me repeat myself again. Go. Home.”

“This isn’t over,” the older woman snaps. The three alphas retreat back into the forest, and he watches the empty space they leave behind until even their scents have faded away.

When he turns back to the cave, he finds that the omega is watching him. He wanders closer, keeping his movements slow and careful.

“You are awake,” he says, unable to help the small smile that comes to his face when the omega’s hazy eyes find his.

“You’re Ilya, right?” the omega asks, voice hoarse and wobbly. “You sold my dad two deerskins last spring.” Ilya crouches down to get a better look at the omega. Two deerskins… yes, he remembers the man who bought those skins from him, remembers tales of a son who would one day be an alpha. Seems he took after his father instead.

“And you are a Chased omega,” Ilya murmurs, newly awed at the courage and strength of this omega. It must have been a shock when he presented. The fact that he was able to keep his head when his instincts were screaming at him to submit for four days… it’s a marvel that he’s even alive. “They tell me it is four days since the Chase began, and you are not Caught.” The omega’s eyes widen, and his legs twitch, as if to start running again. “What is your name?”

“Shane Hollander of Voyageur,” the omega whispers. So the alphas weren’t lying about their home village. Ilya will need to contact the village soon, or take this omega back himself—

Shane whines as he rolls over, his entire body trembling with effort. A noise punches out of Ilya’s throat as Shane manages to haul himself to his feet, though he can’t hold his own weight for more than a moment and soon sags against the wall of the cave.

“I—I need to go.”

“Go?” Ilya asks incredulously. Shane can barely stand, and he wants to go? “Those alphas will not Chase if you stay here. Rest. Eat.”

Shane shakes his head, tears springing to his eyes. His mouth works soundlessly for a moment before he stutters out, “I need to—to go home. My parents will—they’ll choose an alpha for me.” He sways on his feet. Ilya itches to reach out and steady him, but his chest heaves with every breath, as if preparing to bolt. Ilya can’t risk startling him.

“You barely made it here,” Ilya insists. “You will collapse and die of exposure, or be Caught by one of the alphas still out there.”

“You can’t make me—”

“I am not trapping you, Shane Hollander!” Ilya exclaims desperately as Shane tilts dangerously towards the floor, righting himself at the last moment. “Recover first, and then you can Run, okay?”

For a moment, Shane sways, no longer looking directly at Ilya, before he stumbles forward. Ilya would almost believe that he just lost his balance, were it not for the way his eyes brighten when the light outside reflects against them. He’s still trying to Run.

Ilya grabs for him, anxiety and exasperation twining in his chest. Shane leans against his chest, breathing heavily, soft whimpers escaping him.

“You want to be Caught so badly?” Ilya blurts. “There. Now you are Caught. Now sit down and wait while I find you something to eat, okay? Your parents will not miss you for the time it takes you to—”

Shane’s knees suddenly give out, and Ilya clutches him closer, his other arm snapping around Shane’s back.

“Shane?” he asks. Shane’s lashes flutter against his neck. “Shane, are you okay?”

“Please….” That one, quiet word seems to sap the last of Shane’s strength. He slumps fully against Ilya, and Ilya quickly adjusts his grip to keep Shane from sliding to the floor.

“Fuck,” Ilya mutters. He bends to wrap an arm under Shane’s knees, making sure to keep Shane’s upper body secure, then steps forward to lay Shane back on the furs.

As Shane settles, his scent changes, becoming almost cloying in its intensity. Ilya jerks back with a wrinkled nose—not disgusted, but far too tempted by a body that can’t possibly respond to him, a body that has fought past its limits—

A body that opens instinctively to the close presence of an alpha at the end of a Chase. Ilya stands to his full height and watches, transfixed, as Shane’s head lolls back, exposing his scent gland, and a moan falls from his lips, soft and sweet and instinctual. Ilya’s breath quickens. Every instinct within him tells him to bite, to claim, but—

He inhales deeply, until his lungs are filled with Shane’s scent, and then exhales. This strong omega did not escape every alpha who would dare to touch him for four whole days just to be claimed at his weakest moment. Instead, Ilya shucks his outer shirt and drapes it over Shane.

“I will be right back,” he whispers. He needs to find food, blankets, proper clothes, anything that would be a comfort. Shane snuffles, shifting until his nose buries in Ilya’s shirt, then he sighs and relaxes deeper into unconsciousness.

Ilya sighs as his heart pangs. He’s already far too attached. He just needs to keep Shane safe until they can get him back to Voyageur, and then… then Ilya will let him go.

---

Awareness comes back to Shane in snatches of sensation.

A smell that grows stronger at times, weaker at others. His body aches for it. Other smells drift past him—dead leaves, smoke, spices, cooked meat—all unimportant.

Light, once, piercing his closed eyelids. When he tries to shift away, the light instantly dims, and he slips back into a dreamless sleep.

The taste of river water and warm broth slides easily past his lips and down his throat.

Fingers tilting his chin back. Soft furs under him, around him. A hand across his forehead. Weight holding him down so he doesn’t float away. Pain, constant but dull, easy to ignore.

The gentle crackle of a fire, the creak of floorboards. Metal against metal, wood against wood, wood against metal. A voice, mostly unintelligible, sometimes close enough to hear breath and heartbeat with every word.

“Rest, Shane. You were so brave. You are safe here.”

When those senses converge, he groans out something that he hopes sounds like words, something that he hopes will bring back that scent or those hands or some semblance of comfort from the pain that is now impossibly present.

“Ah, there you are.” A hand brushes over his forehead. He manages to crack his eyes open and immediately regrets it. There’s a gentle laugh when he whines against the light. “Poor thing. Slept so long and he still wants more.”

“What time is it?” Shane slurs, because he knows who that voice belongs to, which gives him a pretty good idea of where he is. His chest squirms with an emotion that he can’t identify.

“It is midmorning, two days after you came here,” Ilya replies, and Shane’s eyes shoot open again. Ilya grins down at him. It takes a moment too long for Shane to identify the fact that he isn’t in the cave anymore, and he glances around the room to confirm. He lays on a bed in a small, surprisingly cozy cabin. Herbs hang from the ceiling in bundles to dry. Blankets of all colors and patterns lay together in a large basket. A single chair sits near a table covered in cookware. A fire crackles from somewhere near his—his feet.

Shane curls his toes slowly, hidden beneath thick socks and a pair of fur slippers, and tears spring to his eyes as deeper pain shoots up his legs.

“You’ve done enough running, I think,” Ilya says. He drags the chair over and sits on it so he’s closer to eye level with Shane. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Shane croaks. He doesn’t feel a wound on his neck, which means Ilya didn’t claim him, which means he led alphas from his pack into the territory of another alpha. He desperately wants to look away as shame crawls up his throat, but Ilya’s gaze is so gentle, so comforting, that he can’t bear to turn away just yet. “I’m sorry for entering your territory.”

Ilya waves a hand dismissively. “Not your fault. They were the ones who chased you. You were just trying to get away.” He smiles at that, not the teasing grin from before, but something almost… proud. The flush on Shane’s cheeks deepens as Ilya continues, “Once you are feeling better, we will get you back to Voyageur.”

“Oh.” The relief comes first—a wave of emotion so powerful that it would knock him over even if he wasn’t too weak to stand—followed by a much smaller twinge of disappointment that he resolutely ignores. To be owned, to be chosen, are surely desires that some omegas experience, but less than a year ago, Shane was certain that he would be the one doing the choosing. Despite what his instincts tell him, he isn’t ready to submit to an alpha, even an alpha protected and sheltered him, even an alpha who Caught him.

Ilya raises his eyebrows at Shane’s continued silence.

“I mean, thank you,” Shane says flatly. “I only assumed….” Ilya blinks, before a laugh bursts from his mouth, more shocked than anything.

“Your parents will choose alpha for you, yes?” Ilya asks.

“Yes,” Shane repeats, more than a little put out by Ilya’s dismissiveness. So much for being protected—though at least Ilya has taken care of him so far. “They’re probably worried about me. It’s already been nearly a week. I need to—”

“What you need to do,” Ilya interrupts, voice firm, “is rest and heal. We will walk to Voyageur. Once you are well, we will go together. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shane repeats again. Ilya nods, satisfied, then stands and pulls the chair down the bed to Shane’s feet. If Shane had the strength for it, he would squirm with discomfort as Ilya probes at the slippers. “Is it bad?”

“Eh, not as bad as it could be,” Ilya muses.

“How long will I need to rest before I can walk again?” Shane asks. The question tastes like bile. He spent the last five years building up his strength for his presentation, since alphas who are already strong will only get stronger. He always pushed himself, but never to the point of such an intense injury. Never to the point where his ability to walk or care for himself was called into question.

He tilts his head back into the pillow under him and stares at the ceiling. His mind desperately searches for a line of thought that doesn’t bring him back to his injuries, and he eventually settles on the ceiling itself. Did Ilya build this cabin by himself? No one else lives here, and given the single chair, it’s likely that no one visits. And yet, the roof interior is swept clean, even into the corners. The thought of being so cared for despite the absence of any witnesses is terrifying, agonizing, beautiful.

“We will see,” Ilya hums. Shane sets his jaw against the emotion bubbling in his chest and nods. “For anyone else, maybe a month to go back to normal, but… you are different, Shane Hollander of Voyageur.” Shane looks down. Ilya doesn’t meet his eyes, too focused on the task of unwrapping Shane’s feet. “I hope that whatever alpha your parents choose respects your strength.”

“Thank you.” Shane hates that he sounds close to tears, hates that whatever strength Ilya sees within him has been smothered by exhaustion and injury. His eyes flutter shut again with his next inhale. He doesn’t know what sort of alpha his parents will choose, but he trusts his mother more than himself some days, so he’s sure she’ll choose someone who cares for him. Someone like the alpha currently unwrapping the bandages wound around his feet. “Do you have a mate?” Ilya’s hands still for a moment, but only a moment.

“I do not,” Ilya says carefully. “I left my pack after I presented.”

“You never Chased?” Shane asks, voice sharp with shock. Ilya isn’t even quiet for a moment before Shane sits up to look at him properly, to categorize the careful neutrality of his expression as he focuses on his work.

“I did not want to force,” Ilya manages. The restrained emotion in his voice makes Shane wilt, his instincts screaming at him to submit, but he fights against the urge—he isn’t some whimpering omega who submits to any alpha who crosses his path, and he refuses to bend under the pressure when this alpha isn’t even trying to claim him, doesn’t even seem to want him—

The final layer of bandages fall away under Ilya’s careful fingers. Shane has never thought of himself as squeamish, perfectly willing to assist his parents with the preparation of meat for meals, but the sight of his discolored flesh, deep cuts weeping pus and blood, even a missing toe….

He doesn’t notice that his vision has grayed out until the hands that suddenly clasp his shoulders are the only thing keeping him upright. He forces his breathing to slow as Ilya guides him back down onto the bed. The gentle care makes Shane’s stomach churn.

“What can I do?” Shane begs before Ilya can say anything. Desperation bubbles up in his throat, but he manages to keep his voice level. “You’ve already done so much for me. What can I do to repay you?” Ilya shakes his head with a subdued smile, likely aiming for kindness, but all Shane can feel is shame. Frustrated tears sting his eyes. “You said I’m strong, right? You can’t treat me like a member of your pack and not let me repay you.” Some lonely, quiet part of Shane cries out at the thought of being packmates with Ilya, but Shane ruthlessly smothers it.

Ilya sighs and glances away, then murmurs, “It was not my intention to insult you.” When he looks back at Shane, he’s smiling again, though his eyes are dull. “Repay me by getting better trade deals with your pack, okay? Until then, let me take care of you, please.”

“Not good enough,” Shane snaps back. He hates that sadness in Ilya’s gaze. “How about I help you reset your traps before we go? You seem pretty particular.”

A spark of mirth brightens Ilya’s expression. “Particular?”

“Yeah,” Shane replies with a smirk. “This place is spotless. Even if I didn’t mess anything up myself, I know those knotheads who Chased me knocked something out of place.” The insult startles a short laugh out of Ilya, and Shane feels something loosen in his chest. “I’m injured, but I’m not useless. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ilya says. He sits back down in the chair, and Shane very carefully avoids the sight of his wounds. “I will hold you to that. Now rest. You must get better before I decide to work on them myself, or we will need to think of another way for you to repay me.” Shane’s heart thuds in his chest, and he nods before he can think better of it. Ilya hums in reply, then seems to lose himself in his work, and the hum continues, soft and melodic. Shane’s eyelids flutter.

“Ilya,” he whispers, “thank you.” If Ilya replies, he doesn’t hear it before his body drags him back into slumber.

---

Days pass slowly.

It’s rare that a day is slow around this time of year. There are always tasks to complete before the first frost: clearing the path to the river, shoring up the propped door for the cave, ensuring that there are no gaps in the walls or ceiling of the cabin, more and more and more. Usually, Ilya’s days are full until the first frost and for a week after, and then he calms as winter settles over him and the landscape.

Now, there is Shane.

He doesn’t move on his own. He wants to, clearly, but he listens to the ache in his body and Ilya’s worry. Instead, every morning, he directs Ilya to carry him to different parts of the cabin for his self-imposed chores. One day he sits on the floor and sands and scrubs and oils the planks until they’re smooth and shiny, then the next he sits on the chair beside the fireplace and cans pickles, and the day after he sits at the table and cleans the rust from Ilya’s tools. Some days he cooks, some days Ilya does, but they always sit on the floor side by side to enjoy their meal together.

Ilya offered for one of them to take the bed and the other the chair, once, but Shane gave him such a withering stare that he could do nothing except laugh in reply.

“I refuse to share my bed with crumbs,” Shane said. My bed. Ilya has slept on a pile of furs near the fireplace since Shane arrived—not unhappily, since it reminds him of the freedom he felt when he first left home. Hearing Shane refer to the bed as mine lights a fire in Ilya’s chest that he desperately tries to smother. To allow Shane to think of Ilya’s bed, Ilya’s cabin, Ilya’s territory, Ilya himself, as his means forcing Shane to either never again return to his pack, or irrevocably break Ilya’s heart.

Ilya tries. Gods above and below, how he tries to hold his heart in a firmer grip, but the universe seems to have conspired to attach Shane to him and him to Shane. As if meeting Shane at an immensely vulnerable moment wasn’t enough, as if the trust he places in Ilya beyond any instinct wasn’t enough, he’s also impossibly pleasant company. Being groomed for life as an alpha gives Shane a roughness to his manners that’s often absent in omegas, but his rearing by alpha mother and omega father smoothed away any knotheadedness—as Shane would call it—leaving him boyish and sarcastic but never cruel. He laughs at Ilya’s jokes and chirps back with his own, calls Ilya an asshole more often than his own name, talks about strength and hunting and life with such conviction that their conversations often last well past sunset.

It feels cruel to have this now, when Ilya knows it won’t last. At least he has a taste of it. He doesn’t deserve to keep Shane—no alpha of the Rozanov line deserves it—but at least he knows that someone like Shane Hollander of Voyageur is alive in this world. Maybe someday, after Shane’s parents have chosen an alpha for him, he’ll let Ilya be an uncle to his pups.

He doesn’t divulge this wish to Shane. Instead, he drinks in Shane’s light and watches him slowly heal.

It takes a few days for the worst of Shane’s infections to pass, then a few more for his swelling to go down. Shane is patient until he isn’t. One day, Ilya returns from checking on his traps to find Shane sitting at the table, when he’s sure he left him on the bed.

“What do you think?” Shane asks with a proud, determined smile. “Two days before I can help you with your traps?”

“Mmm, maybe,” Ilya hums.

“Maybe?” Shane asks, nearly incredulous, eyes sparking with joy. Ilya’s heart pangs at the sight.

“Will need to see you walk to prove it,” Ilya shrugs. Shane huffs and pushes back from the table. He winces as he stands, his legs unused to taking his weight, and his steps are slow, but he makes it back to the bed without stumbling. Ilya steps closer and looms over him, just long enough that Shane glances away with embarrassment, before he sits beside Shane and pulls him into a hug.

“Ilya?” Shane breathes.

I will miss you, Ilya thinks desperately.

“Only one more day,” Ilya promises. “I knew you were different, Shane.” Shane’s arms wrap around Ilya in return. His scent hasn’t grown any sweeter as he healed, but it’s brighter now, less earthy and more fresh stems. He smells like spring, like new beginnings.

Ilya can only hope that Shane’s eventual alpha loves this scent as much as he does.

Two mornings later, Shane walks around the small room, helping Ilya with breakfast. He sits occasionally, but he doesn’t seem winded or in pain, and that’s enough for Ilya.

“We will go slow,” he tells Shane as they get dressed. Shane has worn a rotation of Ilya’s most comfortable clothes while stuck inside, but he needs warmer layers for stepping out, especially so close to the first frost. Ilya tries to not let his eyes wander. Shane is smaller than him in some areas, but inexplicably broader in others. Even Ilya’s loosest pair of work pants strain ever so slightly against Shane’s thighs.

“You don’t need to go slow for me,” Shane insists. Ilya raises a brow at him. “Just show me what to do on the first one, and if I slow you down, move onto the next one. This is important work. I’ll sit down if I need to.”

“Okay,” Ilya says, dubious, but if Shane is going to be stubborn about it, he knows there’s little he can do. After a moment, realization strikes him, along with no small amount of guilt. Shane has been saturated in his scent from the moment he arrived. Some fresh air and time alone will be good for him. As they step outside, Ilya inhales and stretches casually. “Is nice, yes?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighs. He stares out across the treeline, expression almost wistful. “Fuck, it’s nice to be able to walk.” After another moment, he turns to Ilya with a smile. “Where do we start?”

Ilya guides Shane through his trap setting process. He uses various sizes of leg hold traps, all toothless, all designed to spring shut with pressure. Shane watches carefully as he sets a trap and chains it to a tree, then ties a strip of fabric around the trunk.

“Is good to know which trees to be wary of,” Ilya explains. “If you are unsure, you can use stick to poke around the base.” Shane nods. He glances off into the forest with a sigh. Ilya’s chest pangs. “I will go ahead. You check traps close to the cabin, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane agrees. He looks back to Ilya with a smile, then treks off into the trees.

Ilya watches him go. It’s not goodbye, not yet, but it’s better for him to get used to the feeling now.

Ilya loses track of time as he works, carefully arranging and resetting traps that those three alphas disturbed when they Chased Shane. Their scent lingers in the forest even now, a testament to how intense their desire for Shane was. Ilya growls at the memory of their attempts to pressure him into letting them claim Shane while he was barely conscious. Monsters. When he takes Shane back to Voyageur, he’ll be sure to mention their behavior to the village elder.

The scent intensifies. For a split second, he wonders whether the mere memory of their presence could have tricked his mind into believing they were close, but a quick inhale reveals that the scent of the three alphas is stronger here. Recent.

Ilya’s heart doesn’t even have time to drop before he hears it.

“Ilya! Ilya! Ilya!”

Shane’s cries are terrified. Ilya’s Shane. He runs, heart pounding, the trap he was supposed to set clutched so tightly in his fist that he swears he feels the metal creak. He should have known that those monsters wouldn’t let Shane go so easily, that they would wait for him to be alone and vulnerable so they could finish what they started.

“Ilya! Ilya! ILYA! IL…!”

Shane’s scream doesn’t cut off violently, which only makes Ilya’s heart pound all the faster. They Caught him. They’re hurting him. Every instinct in his body screams in agony as he pushes himself faster, faster.

He stumbles into a clearing. His eyes lock onto two pairs, separated by a short distance.

One: the young male alpha stuck in a trap at the base of the tree, and the older woman trying to free him.

Two: the older man crouched on the forest floor, his body bracketing an entirely too still form.

No.

“SHANE!” Ilya roars. He crosses the distance to Shane’s side in an instant and swings, the metal trap in his hand screaming as it rips through the air to bash against the skull of the alpha who didn’t even have a chance to stand.

“Patrice!” the woman gasps as the man’s body slumps forward. Ilya drops the bloodied trap beside him and stalks forward. The woman growls as he approaches. “Stay the fuck back! Murderer! Monster!” Ilya snarls wordlessly. The woman tries to step back, to gain the advantage, but Ilya coils his legs and pounces on her, shoving her to the forest floor. His fists lash out once, twice, then she manages to spit, “That slut of an omega will never be welcome in Voyageur!”

Ilya sees red. When his vision clears, he’s gripping a fistful of hair attached to a face that is little more than a bloody smear. He drops her to the forest floor. Her inhale rattles. Still alive, then. Better than she deserves after what she tried to do. The young alpha chained to the tree wails and retches in fear, but Ilya pays him no mind. He isn’t going anywhere with his arm stuck as it is. Ilya has more important things to do.

He expected Shane to shove the man off the moment he was free, but they still lay in a tangled heap, blood seeping from the man’s head into Shane’s hair. Ilya shoves the man’s body away and gingerly turns Shane over, careful pulling his pants back up as he does.

Shane’s head lolls as Ilya pulls him close, eyes half-lidded, lips loosely parted. Ilya frantically brushes the dirt from Shane’s cheeks and pulls him closer. The man had been unable to touch Shane before Ilya intervened—he thanks the gods that he wasn’t farther away when he heard Shane’s cries—so the only visible injury is a thick ring of bruises around the back of Shane’s neck. 

He’s heard of omegas growing weak after being scruffed for too long. He expected exhaustion, not this, not… blankness. It’s as if everything that makes Shane Shane has been stripped away.

“Shane,” Ilya whispers. He brushes the omega’s hair out of his face with damp, shaking hands. “Come back. They did not touch you. I made sure they did not touch you. Come back to me, please….”

---

Shane spends his days alone.

It’s different from life in a village, where the most remote places to hide are the best places to find young couples sneaking away from their parents, where even the earliest morning or latest night was met with a greeting from some neighbor. With every passing day, Shane finds that he prefers the silence. He can do whatever he wants without the threat of gossip or prying eyes. It just so happens that whatever he wants is chores for Ilya, but it’s nice to not be criticised for his process.

Shane spends his days alone, blanketed in the scent of an alpha.

He’s not sure whether it’s instinct or simple proximity, but he grows to anticipate the sun passing its peak, when Ilya is most likely to step back into the cabin and see the results of Shane’s hard work. Every day, Ilya grows more comfortable with him, treating him less like a liability and more like a friend. A friend. Shane never thought he would have the opportunity to bond with alphas outside mating after he presented, but with Ilya, it feels so easy. They can talk for hours without growing bored, every topic feeling new and exciting. Even the silence is better, because it’s filled with the sound of Ilya’s breathing and soft hums. It must be instinct that makes Shane relax whenever he inhales and his lungs fill with smoke and molasses and spice, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Shane spends his days alone, blanketed in the scent of an alpha, wishing that alpha was his.

He still doesn’t want to be a traditional omega. The thought of spending his days rearing pups and caring for a household isn’t appealing in the slightest after a lifetime of promises that his duties wouldn’t begin and end at the front door. Ilya doesn’t expect him to be that traditional omega—he likes that Shane is blunt and careless and strong—but Ilya evidently doesn’t want a mate. He refused to Chase for his home pack. He had the chance to mate Shane and chose not to. So Shane will go back to Voyageur and be given to some other alpha who won’t befriend him like Ilya has, who won’t laugh with him like Ilya does, who wouldn’t care for an omega from outside his pack because it’s simply the right thing.

It’s painful. It’s terrifying. It’s all Shane can do, because Ilya has given him so much, and he can’t bring himself to ask for more.

The morning that they step outside to work on Ilya’s traps, Shane inhales gratefully. He spent so long greedily basking in Ilya’s scent that he feels its absence like a physical pain, but it’s better to feel that loss now instead of days into their travels back to Voyageur. Ilya seems more distant than usual this morning, which is also good. If Ilya doesn’t pull away now, Shane will manage to convince himself that Ilya could stay in Voyageur for a few days while he gets settled, which would only drive them apart in the long run. Shane still has a home waiting for him, despite how much he prefers his life out here, but Ilya is of the forest. He chose to spend his life outside of traditional pack structures, and he chose to spend it alone.

“Is nice, yes?” Ilya asks.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. He stares out across Ilya’s territory, this beautiful expanse of forest that he only got the chance to truly experience when he was lost to pain and fear, and mourns the gaps in his knowledge that will never be filled. He will never know this place like Ilya does. At least for today, he can walk among the trees and learn what he can. “Fuck, it’s nice to be able to walk again.” He keeps his eyes on the forest for a moment longer, then turns to Ilya with a smile. “Where do we start?” Ilya smiles back before leading him through the forest. In the short time that Shane has been healing, the final traces of green have been wiped away from the plantlife, and the gaps in the leaves are wider. Sunlight spills carelessly onto piles of leaves. Birds chirp in the trees. The wind carries the scent of gentle decay and… something sweeter, something that makes Shane’s heart kick.

He steps closer to Ilya and inhales. Smoke, molasses, spice.

Ilya walks him through the steps of setting up a trap, then watches him try the process. The mechanism is strong. After so many days of rest, Shane’s muscles strain against the springs and wires, but he manages to pry the jaws open and lock them in place. Ilya pats his shoulder proudly before stepping closer to the trunk of the tree that the trap is chained to and tying a strip of gray fabric around it.

“What’s that for?” Shane asks. “So you remember where the trap is, right?”

“Is good to know which trees to be wary of,” Ilya explains. “If you are unsure, you can use stick to poke around the base.” Shane nods. The image of Ilya’s cabin rises up in his mind, those swept-clean ceilings, the care and familiarity in a space that belongs to one man and one man alone. Shane turns to take in the forest. He doesn’t want to take any of it from Ilya, but he wishes somehow to become it, to become something that Ilya wants to care for and grow familiar with. “I will go ahead,” Ilya says after a moment of silence. “You check traps close to the cabin, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane repeats. He gives Ilya a smile and hopes that it doesn’t look too out of place. He certainly doesn’t feel like smiling right now. He walks away before he can do something foolish, like telling Ilya that he needs more time to recover, like delaying his departure until the first frost comes and forces him to stay.

He wanders around the exterior of the cabin. His memories of the day he arrived are blurry at best, but as he walks, he finds that more comes back to him. Here, the point where he turned towards Ilya’s cave. Here, a root he stumbled over. Here, a scent mark left by one of the alphas who Chased him.

He tries to focus on the task he and Ilya agreed on, but every step takes him back to those terrible days. Lingering fear churns anew in his stomach. Those scents follow him, sweet and overwhelming, strong enough that he would believe that the alphas are still here if Ilya hadn’t forbade them from his territory—

“Good morning, Shane.”

Shane’s fingertips go numb.

“What are you doing here?” he asks harshly. “This isn’t Voyageur’s territory.” The three alphas step out from between the trees. Hysteria rises in Shane’s chest as they stare at him hungrily. Gods, these are his neighbors. He trained with them, laughed with them, shared meals with them… but none of that matters, because they are alphas, and he is an omega.

“We’re here to end our Chase,” the oldest of them says.

“Patrice,” Shane says, practically begs—there are three of them and one of him, he can’t Run, he’s still injured—“we can talk about this.”

“No more talk,” the woman snaps, Gina, she lives near the wall, she shares vegetables from her garden with Shane’s family, “you lost the right to talk when you hid in the den of an alpha who won’t even claim you.”

“He’s no better than us.” And this voice hurts worse than any other. Michael. He was in Shane’s training group. They spent almost every day together. The undisguised need in his eyes as he looks at Shane feels almost worse than a physical blow. “He doesn’t want you.”

“But we do, Shane,” Patrice croons. He takes a step forward. “You can’t return to Voyageur unmated, not after spending time with that packless alpha. No other alpha would risk it. Your first pup might not even be theirs.”

“Ilya didn’t touch me,” Shane snaps. “He wouldn’t touch me and not mate me—”

“And how do we know that?” Patrice asks. “Who would believe you?” Shane’s resolve falters. It’s his word against theirs, since no one would believe an alpha from outside the pack. Gods, Ilya.

“Don’t be foolish, Shane,” Gina says. “We’re giving you a choice, even now.” Shane stumbles back against a tree as the truth washes over him. They won’t leave without their prize. One of them will make themselves his alpha, or they’ll tell the entire village that he allowed himself to be touched by an alpha outside the pack. He’ll be ostracised.

“I choose him,” Shane whispers. Ilya doesn’t want him, but he’s too proud to allow one of these alphas to coerce him. He’ll stay until spring, until he’s sure he’s healthy, and then… then he’ll leave. Ilya can make it on his own. Surely Shane can do the same. “Ilya. I choose him. Tell my parents whatever you want.”

Patrice sighs in pity, then gestures to Michael.

“Don’t get too excited now. Save some for the rest of us.”

“But I chose him,” Shane rasps as Michael stalks forward.

“You chose none of us,” Gina corrects. “We can’t allow an omega from our pack to continue to debase himself.” Shane’s heart pounds. He can’t run. Gods, he can’t Run, and an alpha is walking towards him, ready to claim him. His hands grasp at the tree behind him, bark scratching his fingers, cloth wrinkling against his palm.

As soon as Michael is within reach, Shane grabs his shoulder and shoves, toppling him to the forest floor. A loud metal clack sounds as Michael’s elbow hits the ground, and one of Ilya’s traps snaps closed around Michael’s arm, pinning him down as he shrieks in shock and pain.

“Get the fuck back,” Shane spits as he backs away from the tree, his eyes locked on Gina and Patrice. Gina growls, low and threatening, and everything within Shane begs him to shrink, to make himself less of a threat, but he plants his feet and snarls back. If these alphas want a sweet omega, they’ll have to look elsewhere.

Patrice and Gina turn to each other. A silent conversation passes between them. Then, she darts forward. Shane stumbles back and ducks her reaching arms, then lurches around a tree. Jolts of pain shoot up his legs.

“Ilya!” he cries out. “Ilya!” He knows he won’t last. “Ilya!” Gina dives for him again and manages to catch his arm. He cries out as she drags him closer, his feet catching on the uneven ground.

“Hold him,” Patrice says from somewhere behind Shane as Gina’s hands wrap around his arm. His heart pounds. His limbs shake. No, please.

“Ilya!” he sobs as he claws at Gina’s arm. “Ilya! ILYA!” He draws in a breath so sharp that his vision goes fuzzy, but he only manages to scream the first syllable of Ilya’s name before a heavy hand clasps the back of his neck. A wave of horror rolls over him as his limbs give out, as his voice cuts off into a near-soundless whine.

An arm catches him around the waist as he falls. The hand remains in place on the back of his neck to scruff him.

“There we are,” Patrice hums. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You got him?” Gina asks before she releases his arm. The limb sways in front of his vision, lifeless, cut off from his control. “Don’t go too hard. Michael should have a good first time.” The scruffing keeps Shane limp. Pliant. His heart flutters gently instead of pounding out of his chest. His lungs inflate slowly, weakly, instead of gasping for air. Even his vocal cords are affected, only able to produce quiet whimpers instead of the scream that he wants.

Patrice kneels and lowers Shane onto the cold earth. His limbs splay awkwardly against the leaves. The hand around his waist shifts to pull his hips off the ground, pressing his face into the dirt with the loose weight of his body, then the hand fumbles for his belt buckle.

“Clothes not doing him any favors, eh?” Patrice asks conversationally. His hand squeezes tighter, just for a moment, when Shane lets out a low groan, and Shane’s body instinctually responds with a gentle flow of slick. Shane tries to clench his thighs, to keep the liquid inside, to keep Patrice out, but his body won’t respond to him anymore. It only responds to the alpha pinning him down.

A numb, instinctual blankness settles over his mind. His body is already detached from his will. Why should he fight to remain present when he can feel but not act? It would be so much easier to just… let it happen. Let the alphas who were once his packmates abuse and discard him. With any luck, Ilya won’t have to see the act itself. Maybe he’ll be kind enough to nurse Shane back to health again.

Shane’s thoughts narrow as his mind shuts off external stimulus for its own preservation. He goes somewhere warm and dark and quiet, where nothing can hurt him, where the scent of smoke and spice pulls him down, down, down….

He doesn’t hear Ilya scream his name.

He doesn’t hear metal connect with flesh, or feel the slump of a heavy body over his own.

He doesn’t hear a shriek of pain, or the following wail of fear.

He doesn’t feel the body being rolled off of him.

What he hears is this:

“Shane. Come back. They did not touch you. I made sure they did not touch you. Come back to me, please.”

He inhales deeply, then jolts as his mind realizes that his body is his own again. He buries his nose against a firm, strong chest and inhales again.

Smoke, spice, molasses.

“Ilya,” he slurs. Tears spring to his eyes. “I called for you….”

“I heard,” Ilya promises. His hand is wet when he cups Shane’s cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

“You stopped them, that’s enough.” Shane burrows deeper, a whine escaping his throat without his permission. He feels as though his chest was carved open, the raw wound spilling his heart into Ilya’s lap. “I didn’t want them. I don’t want any of them.”

“Shh, sweetheart, is okay,” Ilya murmurs. “They will not hurt you again.”

“I don’t want another alpha,” Shane cries. Ilya goes still, and Shane shifts in his arms, clinging as tightly as he’s able. “I want you. I want you, please.”

“Shane,” Ilya whispers. Shane presses closer, but Ilya pushes him back. When Shane opens his eyes, he gasps at the flecks of blood coating Ilya’s face and staining his hands. “Shane, I killed one of your packmates today. Another might die because of injuries I caused. My kin, they are all violent alphas who hurt their omegas. I cannot….” Shane feels him shiver. “I cannot do this to you. Okay? You must return to Voyageur. Your parents will choose an alpha for you, and they will not choose wrong.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Shane hiccups. He feels like a child begging for sweets, but he’s never been selfish, not once in his entire life. He deserves to speak his mind, even if Ilya turns him down. “You killed them to protect me. You took care of me when you could have hurt or used me. You’re kind. You make me laugh. Ilya….” Shane reaches out to cup Ilya’s cheek and feels another shudder run through him. “If you don’t want me because you don’t want an omega, or you don’t think I’m right for you, that’s okay. I’ll go home and I’ll take an alpha and I’ll become a perfect domesticated omega. I’ll see you every spring when you come to the village, and I’ll get you the best trade deals, and we never have to do more than that. But if you’re turning me away because of you… I want you, exactly as you are.”

A tear slips down Ilya’s cheek as he leans in to press his forehead to Shane’s.

“You do not know what you ask,” he insists. “You will grow lonely. You will miss your parents and your pack. There will be nowhere for you to escape if I try to—”

“You won’t hurt me,” Shane hisses. “I won’t let you.” Ilya, who makes Shane feel strong and safe and protected, who kills animals painlessly yet effortlessly murdered to save him, who would rather shatter his own heart than risk any harm to Shane… that same Ilya has seen Shane’s strength too, and if he truly believes in that strength, he knows that Shane wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Ilya gasps as more tears roll down his cheeks, then he presses closer, his nose rubbing over Shane’s mating gland. Shane sighs sweetly and twists his fingers into Ilya’s hair, silently giving permission.

“Not here,” Ilya murmurs. “There is still that little alpha to worry about.” Shane turns around and meets Michael’s eye. The poor man immediately yelps and tries to stumble away, but the chain on the trap holds fast. “Shall we set him free?” Shane hums in thought. Ilya pulls back and grins down at him. “You are so mean, Shane Hollander.”

“Shane Hollander of the forest,” Shane corrects. Ilya’s eyes sparkle with joy. “Will you….” He flushes and glances away. “Will you kiss me?” Ilya laughs, loud and bright and free, and Shane can’t help but laugh with him. The happiness within Shane fills him completely, impossibly large and lighter than air.

Their giggles aren’t yet silent before Ilya tilts his head and presses his lips to Shane’s. Shane moans as Ilya’s heady scent fills him up. For the first time since he began Running, he feels truly at home.