Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Papa, are we almost there?”

A drowsy little voice drifts from the back of the wagon. Ilya’s daughter, Liya, stretches beneath the blankets, all warm limbs and sleep-heavy sighs. She’s barely thirty moons old and already stubborn about staying awake. Curled beside her, Irinei, her brother, leans into her equally drowsy, his body tucked close under the same woolen cover.

Liya and Irinei were born of the same litter. Only two pups, and yet when Ilya first learned of them, he had felt as though the world had handed him something vast and impossible to hold.

Ilya and his omega had celebrated the news together, bright with a happiness that had felt endless at the time. They had been together since their teenage years, growing up in each other’s orbit until their lives moved along the same path.

They lived through their first heats and ruts together, discovering each other slowly in the privacy of long nights and quiet mornings. Anyone who saw them back then could tell how naturally their love came, as though the world had always meant for them to find their way into the same life.

Woefully, Ilya’s omega had always been delicate, their health too easily shaken, and the pregnancy demanded more from them than it ever should have. The labor proved worse. Complications came swiftly and without mercy, first for the pups, then for the omega.

Both Liya and Irinei had suffered a prolapsed cord. The cord slipped ahead of them and compressed during delivery, cutting off their air before they had even taken their first breath. Their mother endured their own ordeal: shock at the sight of their struggling babies, with panic that hollowed them out from the inside, and then a severe hemorrhage that followed the birth. The healers managed to stop the bleeding, but they could not quiet the storm that settled over the omega in the weeks that followed.

They withdrew into themselves until silence became the only language they spoke. The pups’ nearness agitated them in ways they could neither explain nor control. A low growl would rise in the omega’s throat before they realized it, their canines bared, their claws unsheathed as though they faced a threat instead of their own children. Shame consumed them.

The omega swept often, asking what flaw in their nature had twisted something so fundamental and good. In the end, despair answered more loudly than love ever could. They chose suicide, leaving behind twelve-week-old pups, and an alpha who had barely finished mourning his own mother before grief demanded another sacrifice.

Ilya glances at his pups over his shoulder. The sun hangs low behind him, heavy and amber, promising the day’s end within the next hour. Late winter lingers stubbornly across the land; snow still stretches over the fields, though the road has begun to break through in dark, damp patches where the thaw slowly wakes beneath the surface.

Three days and two nights have passed on the road. The journey began when the sky shed its deep blue cloak, and the last stars faded beneath streaks of pink and orange. Ilya took his pup and set out as the sun rose red and sharp over the horizon, determined to put distance between himself and the doubts that might otherwise follow.

In a few weeks, Liya and Irinei will begin nursery school, and Ilya wants to start anew with a place that does not echo with memory, work that keeps his hands busy and his thoughts from wandering where they should not. Above all, he wants a life where he can watch his pups grow without the past looming over their shoulders.

“Soon, little one” Ilya answers.

“When is soon?” Liya asks.

“Before the sun goes to sleep,” Ilya says, shifting his focus back to the road stretching out before him.

From behind, Liya lets out a long, exaggerated yawn. “I want to sleep too,” she murmurs.

“You’ve been doing that for most of the journey already,” Ilya replies, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No!” Liya protests at once, the indignant denial of a pup who knows she has been caught and refuses to admit it. Ilya can’t hold back a quiet, warm laugh.

“It’s alright, my life. You’re still small, and pups your age need plenty of sleep. Is your brother still sleeping?” he asks, glancing back just enough to see her curl closer to Irinei. 

Liya gives a simple yes before nestling against her brother, who has already slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“Go back to sleep,” Ilya says. “When you wake up, we’ll be there.”

The words leave his mouth with the quiet certainty of a promise.

Liya wakes in her father’s arms as he lifts her from the back of the wagon. The sky has deepened into a darker shade of blue now, the last traces of evening fading as the minutes pass.

She rubs at her eyes before blinking sleepily around her. “Did the sun go to sleep?” she asks, her voice thick with drowsiness.

Ilya presses a kiss to her cheek. “Yes, little bee. And you’re going to bed soon too. But first, you and your brother are going to eat.” 

He gathers Liya against one arm, and lifts Irinei with the other. The boy has woken as well, though he says nothing, simply resting his head against the curve of his father’s neck.

Irinei is not as talkative as his sister, Ilya noticed it early on. He speaks when spoken to, answers when his name is called, but he rarely joins a conversation on his own. Ilya hopes that once nursery school begins and Irinei spends his days among other pups, some of that quiet reserve will loosen.

With both pups balanced in his arms, Ilya pushes open the door to their new den and steps inside. The space greets them with the quiet stillness of a place that has not yet learned their voices. It is not large, but it is comfortable enough. A single main room, with low wooden beams, thick walls built to keep the warmth in when winter turns cruel, and to preserve the cool air during the long, hot summer days.

Pelts hang along them, with others spread across the floor as thick rugs to soften the cold boards. A large stone hearth dominates the far wall, meant to warm the den once a fire is lit, and to cook the sort of hot meals that chase away the evening chill. To their left sits the kitchen space, where a wide round table stands surrounded by sturdy wooden chairs.

The air inside carries the faint chill of a home long left empty. Ilya pauses just long enough to take it in again. Nearly one moon ago, he had come ahead alone to make sure everything would be ready for their arrival, entrusting the pups to his friend Svetlana while he prepared the den. He knew the journey would leave them exhausted– especially the little ones, and wanted the change to feel as gentle as possible.

Svetlana had been Ilya’s closest friend since they were pups themselves, the sort of bond that time never truly loosens. She’s the only person Ilya trusts without hesitation. With her watching over them, Ilya had known Liya and Irinei would be safe until he returned.

His gaze drifts briefly toward the hearth. He will start a fire soon, Ilya decides. A little warmth will help the place feel lived in before the night settles properly. For now, he sets his pups down on two chairs at the kitchen table before moving toward the pantry at the back, where a beige curtain hangs instead of a door.

Ilya had packed provisions for the journey, of course: a variety of dried meat, fruit, and handfuls of nuts carefully wrapped for the road. Yet both of his children are alphas– and of northern stock at that, which means their appetites already rival those of pups three times their age. Ilya watches them for a moment as he searches the pantry, the dim blue light from the windows brushing over their pale hair.

When he last visited the den, he made sure to stock the pantry well. Sacks of rice and oats, jars of dried beans, sausages and jerky hanging from hooks, wheels of waxed cheese, baskets of potatoes and onions, crocks of sauerkraut, a few jars of honey, dried fruit, and other canned goods fill the shelves now. The sight makes his own stomach growl, and Ilya silently thanks his past self for the foresight.

He takes a little of everything, though he makes sure to include plenty of dried meat and sausages, so the pups will have enough protein before going to sleep, and won’t wake hungry in the middle of the night. When he returns from the pantry, he sets the food down across the table.

Liya dives for the food placed in front of her without hesitation, while Irinei studies the spread for a moment before finally reaching for a sausage. Their teeth are still small at only two years old, but their canines have already grown sharp enough to tear easily through whatever they are given.

“Chew slowly before you swallow, understood?” Ilya reminds them.

“Yes, Papa,” Liya answers, her mouth already full. Irinei simply nods.

Ilya crosses the room toward the hearth. Again, he had made sure there would be wood ready and waiting for when they arrived. The firewood sits stacked on a raised rack beside the hearth, the pile covered to keep it from damp. Ilya knocks two logs together, and the hollow crack tells him they are still dry enough to burn.

He opens his supply bag slung across his shoulder, and pulls out pine needles, dry grass, and a handful of small twigs– enough kindling to help the fire catch quickly. After arranging three logs in the hearth, he tucks the kindling beneath them and strikes a match. Ilya waits until the fire begins to take before straightening.

“I’m going to take care of the horse outside. There's a run-in shelter at the back of the yard for him,” he says as he looks at his children. “I’ll bring him in and make sure he has something to eat as well. You two stay here. Don’t touch anything. And don’t go too close to the fire. Is that clear?”

Both pups nod. “Mhm,” Liya mumbles through her chewing. The two siblings are far too busy with their food and filling their bellies to pay him much attention.

Ilya casts them one last glance before stepping back outside to remove the horse’s harness. He leads the animal toward the run-in shelter at the edge of the clearing, and shakes out a generous pile of hay before leaving him to settle for the night.

At first light tomorrow, Ilya will walk down to the river behind the clearing to fetch fresh water– for himself and the pups, but also for the horse, who has carried the greatest burden these past few days, pulling the wagon loaded with their belongings and the three of them besides.

When Ilya returns to the den, Irinei is still eating, carefully chewing each bite the way he was told. Liya, on the other hand, is losing her battle with sleep. Her eyes droop and her head begins to nod; every time she dips forward, she startles slightly and forces them open again, only for them to fall shut moments later. The sight draws a quiet smile from Ilya.

He steps closer to his pups and nudges them both with a soft breath, scenting them briefly to make sure everything is well. Liya still has food in her mouth.

“Little one, you can’t fall asleep with food in your mouth. Finish chewing, come on,” he encourages gently. 

Liya straightens in her chair and resumes chewing with exaggerated determination. “I’m not falling asleep!” she protests through a mouthful.

Ilya runs a hand through her hair, blond so light it almost looks white. “Yes, of course. And tomorrow, the sun will rise green.”

“Huh? Can the sun be green?” Liya asks, her brows knitting together.

A soft snort escapes Ilya. “It’s a way of saying that what you said isn’t true,” he explains.

“That doesn’t make sense, Papa.”

“Finish eating. I’ll explain another day.”

By now Irinei has stopped eating altogether. Ilya reaches over and strokes his hair as well.

“Have you had enough, little son?” 

“Yes, Papa. Thank you,” Irinei replies quietly.

Ilya can never quite stop the smile that comes whenever he hears his son speak. He presses a kiss to Irinei’s forehead before gently rubbing the tip of one ear between his fingers– a habit his own mother used when he was little. A simple gesture that used to calm him. Over the years it had become something he did for himself without thinking, and now that he has children, he finds his hands repeating the motion with them just as easily. Irinei leans into the touch.

Once Liya has swallowed the last of her food, Ilya guides them toward their bedroom. The two siblings have slept curled against one another since the day they were born. It is instinct for young pups to seek the warmth of their brothers and sisters as well as their mother during their first moons, pressing close through the night so they can stay warm and feel safe enough to sleep deeply.

Unfortunately, Irinei and Liya never truly had that with their mother. The omega preferred to sleep alone in a separate room, leaving the pups with Ilya as he did his best to comfort them, and feed them with the milk they expressed ahead of time so they would not need to approach their mother to nurse.

Ilya regrets deeply that his pups never had the chance to know their mother’s love. His own most precious memories are of his mom, and he would give anything to live them again. Yet he understood his late omega, and has never truly blamed them. It is the depression he resents– for taking his mother, the person he loved most in the world, and for taking the mother of his children as well, leaving his pups without so much they should have had.

Liya and Irinei’s bedroom lies in the room just behind the main one, close enough to the hearth that the warmth reaches them first without becoming stifling. Their bed is large for two adults to sleep comfortably, but pups grow quickly– especially alphas from the northern region, and Ilya wants them to have the best and softest place to rest while they still can.

The mattress is layered with thick furs and animal pelts to keep the cold from creeping up through the floor. Heavy woven blankets and a quilt lie over the top, their weight meant to trap warmth through the long nights. At the head of the bed, small pillows wait for their heads, arranged the way Ilya remembers his own mother doing when he was young.

In one corner of the room, a small lantern rests on a low wooden shelf. Its flame burns softly behind the glass, just bright enough to keep the darkness from swallowing the room entirely. The pups are still too young to sleep in complete darkness, and the faint glow paints the walls in gentle amber, steady and reassuring. It is simple but warm, and for tonight, that is enough.

Once the two pups are settled comfortably in their cozy bed, Ilya presses a tender kiss to each of their foreheads and nuzzles their cheeks one last time before leaving the room, pulling the thin curtain that serves as a door closed behind him.

Ilya returns to the kitchen and finishes the food Liya and Irinei left behind on the table, before stepping outside again to retrieve the last of their belongings from the wagon, bundled in cloth wraps tied neatly at the top. Most of their things had already been brought over during his earlier visit, so what remains now is simple enough: clothes, the pups’ toys, and a few small odds and ends.

As Ilya lifts the last two cloth-wrapped bundles, his gaze drifts to the neighboring den, where a faint light still glows. Few people are still awake at this hour, and he wonders what his neighbor might be doing. Then his thoughts shift to the coming days– soon it will be time to introduce himself to the rest of the pack.

Not just anyone is allowed to join a village overnight. When Ilya met the head alpha and told him of his two motherless pups, he agreed to take them in on the condition that they would be raised according to the pack’s laws. Ilya understands that the village will require new blood to thrive, and that his pups are a key part of that future.

When Ilya mentioned that they come from the North, the head alpha immediately recognized the value they brought. Northerners are trained from a young age in strength, endurance, and survive in bitter cold. They are skilled hunters and trackers, familiar with tools, and known for their reliability. Add to that the genetics of northern pups– resilient, fast-growing, and naturally strong, and it is clear that welcoming Ilya and his children would only strengthen the pack in the long term.

Ilya wants to make a good impression, so his children can grow up in a healthy environment, and be proud of their dad. It is a feeling Ilya himself never had the chance to know.

His own father is one of the main reasons– actually the reason behind his mother’s suicide. The man had married her when she was still far too young, while he himself was already far too old. They had their first son, Alexei, and a few years later, Ilya was born.

Alexei had always been closer to their father. In many ways, he resembled him: not only in appearance, but in temperament as well. Both carried the same sharp-edged alpha presence– cold, severe, strict, and authoritative.

Ilya, on the other hand, had been the very image of his mother, Irina. She had once been everything his father was not. Irina had been a beautiful young omega, full of warmth and life and love, her scent soft and comforting, the sort that drew pups close without effort. At least before she met Ilya’s father.

Over the years, that bright and sensitive part of her faded almost entirely. Little by little, she withdrew into herself. She stopped laughing so easily, she smiled less, and grew quieter with every passing season. Her friendships within the pack slowly disappeared as well, the result of Ilya’s father forbidding her from leaving the den for any reason at all. An omega isolated from the pack withers faster than anyone likes to admit.

The abuse worsened when his father began to drown himself in alcohol, perhaps the aftermath of his own past wounds and traumas, Ilya would later suppose. Drink sharpened the man’s cruelty. His words grew harsher, his temper shorter, and soon the violence followed. Ilya and his mother became the first to bear it. Even then, Irina tried to shield him. It was instinct as much as love– the deep-rooted omega urge to protect her pup, no matter the cost.

Ilya still remembers the night he had barely celebrated his one hundred and fiftieth moon. The pack had gathered in the center of the village for a small celebration, families sitting together beneath lantern light while music and laughter drifted through the evening air. For a while, the night had been pleasant. Ilya had run about with the other pups, Svetlana included, their games loud and careless, while his mother spoke and laughed with friends she rarely saw anymore.

His father had sat alone at one of the tables, shoulders rigid, a dark look on his face and a glass of alcohol clenched in his hand. Ilya hated when his father drank. It always meant something would follow. That night, even for his son’s celebration, the man made no exception.

When the families eventually returned to their dens, Ilya’s father seized Irina by the arm the moment they stepped inside and shoved Ilya through the doorway after them. Then, for no reason at all, he began to shout. The shouting turned to insults, and the insults to violence. The crack of his hand striking Irina echoed through their home.

Ilya remembers the feeling in his throat– the knot tightening so fiercely it nearly stole his breath. His eyes burned hotter and hotter with tears he refused to let fall. Even as a young alpha, instinct pulled him forward, small shoulders squared in defiance. He stepped between them anyway, pressing his father back. His father’s scent turned sharp with fury, and his rage fell on Ilya at once.

Behind him, Irina pleaded for him to stop. Panic crept into her voice, the way an omega sounds when her pup is threatened. She grabbed her husband by the arm and dragged him toward their bedroom, locking the door behind them so Ilya could not follow and throw himself between them again.

Only then did the tears finally break free. Ilya cried loudly. The sounds that tore from him were high, broken sobs that carried the desperate pitch of a wounded pup calling for its mother.

He pounded on the door with both fists, his voice cracking as he begged her to open.

Until Alexei appeared. Already taller and stronger, he lifted Ilya without effort and shut him inside a wardrobe. Ilya scratched and slammed his hands against the door, his voice raw from crying, until the shouting on the other side of the den finally fell silent. Some time later, he heard the key turn in the lock. The door of the wardrobe opened.

The den’s door slammed shut, and Ilya’s father and Alexei disappeared into the night. The moment they were gone, Ilya ran for his mother’s room. He found her there with her face swollen and bleeding, her clothes torn and hanging from her shoulders. She tried to hide behind the curtain of her long, golden hair, but Ilya was no longer a foolish child who failed to understand what happened around him.

At twelve years old, he realized the truth. His mother had locked herself in that room willingly. Every instinct she possessed had chosen to draw the violence toward herself so it would never reach her pup again.

Even now, Ilya remembers the pain in his hands as he tried to force the door open that night, throwing his weight against it again and again. He remembers the burning in his throat and eyes from crying so hard, begging them to open the door so he could help her, while feeling completely powerless.

In the days that followed, Irina and her son lived in even greater fear than usual. Neither Ilya’s father nor Alexei returned, which meant that at any moment the door of their den might open again. And neither of them knew what would step through it.

But Ilya noticed something else as well. His mother never quite recovered after that night. She tried to hide the swelling and bruises on her face, but she also avoided Ilya’s gaze and spoke less and less. And Ilya slowly convinced himself that she resented him for what had happened.

One night, Ilya believed he was dreaming. In the dream, his mother entered his room wearing a pale pink robe, a candle in her hand burned nearly down to the wick. She stepped quietly to his bedside and leaned over him. The candlelight revealed a face free of bruises, soft and gentle. In the dream, she kissed his forehead, and softly whispered I love you, Ilyushka, before she turned and left.

When Ilya woke the next morning, the den felt strangely quiet. He called for his mother, but no answer came. He walked slowly to her room and found her lying in bed, wearing the same pale pink robe from his dream. The candle had burned out beside her, melted almost entirely into the holder.

As he approached, Ilya noticed the greyish color of her skin. Her face was uncovered for the first time in days. Her eyes remained swollen, her skin mottled with bruises, and dark, dried blood lingered at the corner of her mouth. Ilya tried to wake her for a few minutes. When she did not move, he pressed his ear against the cold, cold skin of her chest to listen for the rhythm of her heart. Dead.

The healers concluded that Irina had died from the injuries inflicted upon her. Ilya’s father and his brother were forbidden from ever setting foot on the pack’s territory again, banished for life under penalty of death by quartering if they returned. The head alpha also sent word to neighboring packs, ordering that neither man be welcomed under any circumstances.

In the village, few crimes were judged more severely than harming an omega. They carry the heart of their family, they’re the ones who nurture pups and steady the pack. To raise a hand against one is already a grave offense, but to kill an omega– especially a mother, was considered a betrayal of the pack itself. And no pack would shelter a male capable of such a crime.

Ilya buried his mother and never saw his father or brother again. At twelve years old, he had to learn how to survive on his own by finding food, maintaining the den, and helping with the collective duties of the pack. It took him weeks before he could bring himself to enter his mother’s room again to clean it. Sleep abandoned him, and his appetite nearly vanished.

Svetlana visited him every day, sometimes accompanied by her parents. They frequently invited Ilya to spend time at their den, sometimes to play, sometimes to stay the night– especially during the harsh winters, when families were ordered to remain indoors and leaving the den was forbidden.

He shared many warm moments with them, but a quiet ache lingered in the depth of his chest. A constant envy stirred within him whenever he watched that family: so kind, so whole, so effortlessly happy. More than once, he blamed himself for feeling jealous of his own best friend.

As he grew older, Ilya began to question many things– especially the circumstances of his mother’s death. It seemed strange to him that she would die from her injuries nearly fifteen days later, when the bruises had already begun to heal, however slowly. Only much later did one of the healers finally confess the truth. His mother had taken her own life.

She had swallowed a large quantity of wolfsbane, enough to kill two male alphas. The healer told him how much agony such a death must have caused, yet insisted that Irina had been anything but weak. A letter had been found in her tightly clenched fist that only the healer knew about. It had been addressed to Ilya. She had kept it a secret all those years, and at first, Ilya resented her deeply for keeping it from him for so long.

But now, with time and perspective, Ilya no longer holds resentment toward anyone,  except his father and his brother, of course. After all, they– well, his father above all remained the reason Irina was gone. Even if he had not taken her life with his bare hands that night, he had been killing her slowly for years. That night had merely been the final blow, the last cruelty that pushed Irina to end her life.

The outcome remained the same.

Ilya finishes setting the pups’ toys down in the main room, his mind unsettled by the memories he had stirred. He does his best to focus on what he is doing and on what comes next: crawling into his bed and getting some rest.

Beneath the heavy pelts and thick quilt of his bed, Ilya glances toward the small window where the pale glow of the moon slips through. From where he lies, he can see it clearly. He watches it in silence, his thoughts drifting back to his mother.

“Gods,” he murmurs quietly, his voice rough with sleep and memory. “If you can hear me…watch over my pups. Help us settle here,” he pauses, his gaze still fixed on the pale disc hanging in the sky. “And…if it please you, let me see Mom again tonight. Just for a little while.”

Ilya blows out the candle on the small table beside his bed, and soon after, sleep finally takes him.

The first few days in the village pass rather smoothly. The morning after their arrival, Ilya went to introduce himself to the head alpha, Yuna, and presented his pups to her. Liya and Irinei do not yet speak the pack’s language very well, despite Ilya’s efforts to teach them both the northern and southern languages since birth. He apologized for it, but Yuna reassured him immediately, saying they’ll have plenty of time to learn properly once they start attending the nursery school. Then, with a small smile, she complimented him on how well he speaks their language– a skill he rarely gets to practice, seeming to notice, perhaps for the first time, that the otherwise reserved alpha has a subtle awkward charm.

Today, Ilya sets out to return to the creek behind the clearing, carrying water back to the den in a pair of buckets. The last patches of snow have melted completely now, and the air has settled into a steady warmth, a quiet promise that winter is soon over.

He makes several trips between the den and the creek, making sure there will be enough water for himself and the pups for at least the next few days. He fills basins in the kitchen, in his own room, and in the pups’ room, so they can wash their hands and take care of themselves. The rest is for drinking. Ilya boils it over the hearth fire first, then lets it cool before straining it through a clean cloth.

In the afternoon, Ilya finally decides to go introduce himself to the neighbors. He chooses to go alone, leaving Liya and Irinei napping on the pelts near the fire. He also tells himself that by the end of the week, he will likely need to leave for hunting. The food in the pantry will last them a few more days, but by the time the next half-moon passes, they’ll be left with nothing to eat. He can drop Liya and Irinei off at the nursery den for the day, hoping that if he cannot return in time for the night, responsible people will look after them.

Ilya had shared his concerns with Yuna, speaking carefully about the trust he would need to place in the omegas running the nursery. He emphasized that his pups were the most precious thing in his life, and that he could not bear for anything to happen to them. Yuna, always smiling but with quiet firmness, reassured him that the omegas chosen for the post were all under her supervision and personally selected. She also made it clear that if he wanted to build a place for himself in the village, he would need to set aside his doubts and personal fears– otherwise, he and his children risked being isolated, cut off from the community they hoped to belong to. Ilya concluded that she wasn't wrong, but he still doesn’t trust anyone just like that.

He turns his head left, then right, before letting his gaze settle on the den across the way. Starting his visits in the direction of the rising sun seems easier, a way to make sure he doesn’t lose track of which houses he’s already been to. Ilya isn’t usually nervous or anxious, but introducing himself to strangers in a village that isn’t his own, and in a language he hasn’t yet fully mastered carries its own tension. He hopes that none of his unease carries on his scent, and that the people inside won’t be able to tell how much this small act of courtesy rattles him. His palms are a little clammy at his sides, and his pulse ticks faster with each knock at a door.

The first door he knocks on opens after a few seconds. A couple, visibly older than him, stands on the other side.

“Hello,” Ilya greets them, his voice surprisingly steady. “I’m your new neighbor. I live just over there.” He tilts his head slightly, pointing toward his den. “I thought it would be good to come and introduce myself.”

The couple returns his greeting, exchanging a brief look before inviting him inside. Ilya hesitates at first, almost considering declining. Then he remembers Yuna’s words from a few days ago. He does not want to isolate himself, and in doing so, isolate his children from a village they need to become a part of. With a quiet nod, he follows them into their den.

By the time he has visited most of the neighboring dens, Ilya is quietly surprised. Everyone has been welcoming, some even offering food to take back for him and his pups. He makes sure to thank each of them properly, hoping his gratitude feels sincere.

The sun slowly begins to dip lower in the sky, and only one den remains for Ilya to visit– the one to his right, where the light had still shone through on the evening of his arrival, and had piqued his curiosity. 

Ilya is about to repeat the same introduction he has delivered all afternoon when the door opens, but the sight before him steals his breath away.

The man standing in the doorway appears close to Ilya’s age. His eyes are a warm brown, framed by long dark lashes, and freckles scatter over softly flushed cheeks, trailing across the bridge of his nose. His black hair spikes every which way, giving him a cute boyish style.

A simple apron covers his clothes, and flour dusts one cheek, a pale mark against his golden and flushed skin.

A pleasant, familiar scent of raspberries and powdered sugar drifts into Ilya’s nose, but he cannot tell whether it comes from the man standing before him, or from whatever he might be baking inside the den. All he knows is that the smell reminds him of the raspberry pies his mother used to bake, always dusted generously with powdered sugar. The scent is exactly the same.

Several long seconds pass in silence. His neighbor’s brows lift slightly, and Ilya clears his throat.

“Oh– uh, hello. I’ve just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ilya,” he says, offering his hand as his mouth turns unexpectedly dry.

The man smiles and extends his wrist instead, his fingers sticky with dough. “Nice to meet you! I’m Shane. Actually, I’m in the middle of baking a pie, but it’s way too much for just one person. I was planning to share it with the other neighbors– would you like some as well?”

Ilya blinks. “Uh– well, I mean, yes, but–”

“Perfect!” Shane chirps brightly, already beginning to close the door. “See you in a bit!”

The door shuts before Ilya can say anything else. He remains standing in front of Shane’s den, completely stunned. It takes him a few moments to gather himself again before finally turning and making his way back toward his own den. 

During the few steps it takes Ilya to walk back home, his thoughts race faster than he can keep hold of them. Who is Shane? What family does he belong to? And why does his face feel both so striking, so unexpectedly beautiful, and strangely familiar at the same time? For a fleeting moment, Ilya has the unsettling impression that he has seen those features somewhere before, as though he should know the man already. But that is impossible. Shane is clearly from the South. Their paths could never have crossed. Yet the feeling lingers. A warmth settles in Ilya’s stomach, something that feels suspiciously like…butterflies?

Ilya shakes his head. The thought alone is ridiculous. One cannot feel butterflies for someone after barely thirty seconds of conversation. Still, the strange flutter refuses to disappear. Ilya tries to ignore it as he walks, though he cannot deny that he has never felt anything quite like it before, and he finds himself wondering, despite his efforts, what could possibly have stirred it.

As he steps inside, Ilya first notices Liya and Irinei playing with their toys in the main room. 

“Puppies, I’m home.”

“Papa! You’re back!” Liya jumps to her feet and runs to him, wrapping her arms around his leg. Ilya rests a hand on her head, gently stroking her hair.

“How was your afternoon?” he asks.

“Boring,” Liya complains. “When we woke up from our nap, we heard other pups playing outside. We want to go play with them, Papa!” She tilts her head up at him, wide-eyed in that way that usually melts Ilya without effort. Usually. Except when it comes to his pups’ safety.

“If they’re allowed to play outside, it’s because they’re older,” Ilya reminds her gently. “You’re still too small for that.”

He slips his hands under Liya’s arms and lifts her easily against his side. Carrying her with him, he walks over to the couch covered in thick pelts where Irinei sits, and lowers himself beside him, settling Liya on his knees.

“However,” Ilya continues, glancing between the two of them, “I will have to leave in a few days to go hunting. I was thinking of dropping you off at the nursery den for the day. What do you think?”

“What’s a nursery?” Liya asks.

“It’s a place where lots of other pups like you stay during the day,” Ilya explains patiently. “Sometimes their parents are busy, or out hunting, or sick and can’t look after them. You can play, eat, nap– whatever you like. But you won’t be alone, and kind omegas will be there to take care of you.”

“I want to go!” Liya exclaims immediately, her voice bright with excitement.

Ilya turns his gaze toward his son who is turning a small wooden toy in his hands. “Irinei, little sun, how do you feel about it, hm?” 

Irinei lifts his eyes toward his father. “Can’t we go to aunt Sveta’s?”

Ilya studies him for a moment, searching for the right words before answering. “No, sunray. We can’t go to aunt Sveta’s anymore. We live here now, far away from her. Too far for me to take you there.” 

“And she can’t come here?” Irinei asks, a small spark of hope lighting his mismatched eyes.

“No,” Ilya says, a little more dryly than he intends. “We can’t go to her, and she can’t come to us. Not in a single day, at least. And the village doesn’t allow outsiders to enter just like that. Yuna did us a great kindness by letting us stay here– mostly thanks to you two. I can’t start bending the rules already.”

He sees the disappointment settle across Irinei’s face, though the boy nods anyway. Ilya reaches out and brushes his knuckles gently along his son’s round, pink cheek. “You’ll be able to make friends there, hm, little son? You can play with them.”

“Mhm,” Irinei murmurs simply. He slips down from the couch and returns to the cluster of toys scattered across the floor.

Liya eventually slips down from Ilya’s lap and joins her brother on the floor, leaving him alone on the couch. The alpha leans back against the cushions and watches his pups play.

For a moment, he simply takes it in– their small voices, the careless way they scatter toys across the floor. Ilya savors it, these quiet fragments of innocence, knowing all too well that one day they will grow older and this softness will fade.

Three knocks sound against the door. Both pups look toward their father at once, suddenly wary. Liya edges closer to her brother, and hides partly behind him.

Ilya rises and walks to the door, opening it just a fraction so he can see who stands outside. The same warmth settles low in his stomach the moment he recognizes Shane standing there, a plate balanced carefully in his hands. Through the narrow opening, Shane catches sight of him. “Hey,” he says, sounding a little shy this time.

Ilya opens the door the rest of the way, and the scent of raspberries and powdered sugar greets him again, warm and sweet. “Hi.”

“I brought the pie,” Shane lifts the plate slightly as proof. That must be where the scent is coming from, Ilya realizes.

Before Ilya can answer, a small voice pipes up behind him. “Papa, who is that?”

Ilya glances over his shoulder. His pups have curled themselves into a corner of the room, watching cautiously. It is normal for young pups to react this way with strangers. Instinct tells them to be careful, and it is a parent’s duty not only to protect them, but to teach them who can be trusted.

“It’s one of our neighbors– Shane. Be polite and come say hi.”

The pups hurry over, each wrapping their arms around one of Ilya’s legs before peeking out to greet the stranger in their native tongue.

“No,” Ilya corrects gently. “How do we say hello in the other language? The way I taught you, hm?”

“Hello, Shane,” Liya says first, followed by Irinei and his shy voice, “Hello.”

Shane quickly presses the dish into Ilya’s chest. Ilya barely manages to catch it against his before Shane crouches down to the pups’ level, smiling warmly at them.

“Privetik,” heya, Shane greets them. 

Ilya’s brows draw together. “You speak our language?” he asks, clearly surprised by what he has just heard.

“Mhm, well, I learned it a long time ago,” Shane replies as if it were the most ordinary piece of information in the world. Then, he adds, “They look so much like you.” He glances up at Ilya.

“Well, yeah, I’d hope so,” Ilya chuckles softly.

Shane straightens up. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze drifting past Ilya into the den.

“I hope your…wife won’t find this rude or inappropriate,” he says, nodding toward the slice of pie now resting in Ilya’s hands.

Ilya lifts his eyebrows. “My wife?”

“Or husband!” Shane corrects himself quickly, his face flushing a little. “Partner, mate– whoever shares your–”

“Oh,” Ilya cuts in, understanding now. “No, there’s no one.”

This time Shane blinks. “No one?” he echoes.

“Yes. No one,” Ilya confirms. After a brief pause, he adds, “Would you like to come in?”

Shane had made a pear pie, the crust sculpted into delicate little flowers, baked just long enough to turn a perfect golden brown. Which meant the scent of raspberries and powdered sugar wasn’t coming from the pie at all.

It was coming from Shane. And Ilya didn’t quite know what to make of that. He didn’t remember ever noticing any particular scent from his late omega when they were together, and because of that he never put much stock in the stories people told about recognizing your mate through scent alone, as if fate itself lingered in the air around them. 

Still, he tries to reason it away. It must be…an oil, perhaps. Or some kind of perfume Shane uses and spritzes onto himself. Besides, Ilya doesn’t even know Shane’s status, whether he is an omega or not. 

And yet, Ilya’s inner alpha stirs restlessly in his chest, unsettled by Shane’s presence. The scent lingering around Shane is the very scent Ilya loved most as a child. He tries to ignore the pull, but it’s difficult when someone whose scent feels that comforting sits right beside you at the same table, making your stomach flip and a warm, unfamiliar heat bloom in your chest, and your first instinct is to pull them closer and scent them.

Out of politeness, Ilya tries to bring out four plates so he can serve Shane a slice of the pie as well, even though he made it. But Shane refuses, insisting that the pups and Ilya should eat all of it themselves. Ilya watches him with a doubtful look.

“You didn’t poison it, did you?” he asks, half jokingly.

“Of course not!” Shane protests quickly, his cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of pink. “It’s just… It’s the only welcome gift I can really offer you, so… I’d like you to be the ones who enjoy it,” he admits sincerely.

Yuna’s words echo in Ilya’s mind again, and he decides to take Shane at his word. Besides, his gut wants to believe him. And the pie looks fucking delicious, too. 

After serving the pie onto three little clay plates, Ilya calls his pups over so they can eat it together. He makes sure that before they begin, Liya and Irinei thank Shane for the offering. Shane beams so widely that his teeth show.

The pie is excellent. Truly delicious. Ilya hasn’t tasted a dessert this good– one he didn’t make himself, in what feels like ages. The pups devour their portions, and Shane can’t stop smiling one second.

“It’s always reassuring when the pups enjoy it and eat their fill,” Shane admits.

The conversation drifts easily, touching on everyday things. Shane mentions his love for baking and cooking, and lets Ilya know he shouldn’t be surprised if he often shows up at the door with a dish in hand. Living alone, sharing with neighbors has simply become part of Shane’s routine. Ilya also learns that Shane loves knitting, and that nearly every piece of clothing he wears is made by his own hands.

Once both Liya and Irinei finish their slices, they ask to leave the table, and Ilya allows it– manners in front of a guest matter. The two pups run to their room to play.

“You enjoy…domestic things? Is that the right word?” Ilya asks cautiously, trying to frame his question without sounding too forward.

“Yes, very much,” Shane replies. “It relaxes me. I tend to be a little stressed by nature, so I try to find things that don’t require much heavy thinking and that help clear my mind.”

Ilya nods. He could use something like that too, a way to switch off his brain. The only comfort he finds comes from his pups…and right now, from that ever-present scent of raspberries.

“So,” Ilya ventures, “hunting, for example…is not exactly your favorite?”

Shane shakes his head. “Not really. I can hunt, of course, but it’s never been my favorite. If I go out, I prefer gathering plants and berries. When I was little, I spent a lot of time at our healer’s den because I kept falling over,” Shane laughs softly, recalling the memories, and Ilya can’t help the small smile tugging at his own lips. “As I grew older, I found their work fascinating, so I started paying more attention. I now know nearly all of the medicinal plants in our territory and how our healer uses them. I know their properties and which ones are dangerous.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Ilya asks, clearly impressed, intending it as a compliment.

The tips of Shane’s ears redden faintly, subtle enough that someone not paying attention might miss it. He shakes his head again. “It’s nothing really special,” Shane chuckles softly. “Plants, maybe– I admit not everyone has an interest in them. But the rest…they’re just normal omega things, nothing extraordinary,” he says, offering a shy, modest smile.

Well, there it is. Shane is undeniably an omega. The alpha in Ilya urges him to reach out, to pull Shane close, to scent him. To claim him. But Ilya forces himself to push the feeling aside. After all, the scent radiating from Shane could still be just his perfume.

He decides to change the subject. “I’ll be taking the pups to the nursery den by the end of the week. I have to leave and go hunting.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll love it!” Shane exclaims. “The omegas who run the nursery are the kindest, most attentive people you could hope for.”

“Mhm,” Ilya murmurs, his tone thoughtful. “Li­ya… she’s fine, very sociable. But Irinei…I’m a bit more concerned about him,” he admits. “He’s not much of a talker. When I mentioned the nursery before you arrived, Liya was obviously excited. But Irinei asked if they could go to my best friend’s place instead– she’s like their aunt, who of course still lives in our old village. I told him no, because it’s just… impossible.”

Shane listens closely to Ilya’s sudden confession. He places a reassuring hand on Ilya’s forearm resting on the table. His skin is warm, radiating through Ilya’s clothes, and Ilya can feel the heat seep into him.

“Your pups are very smart and well-behaved,” Shane says. “I’m sure they understand what’s going on. But Irinei might probably need a bit more time to adjust? And that’s perfectly fine. He must miss his old surroundings a lot.” Shane offers him a small, gentle smile.

Ilya can’t tear his gaze away from Shane’s warm eyes– not until he feels Shane’s hand press lightly on his forearm in a soft, reassuring gesture.

“I think–”

“Papa, when do we eat?” Liya’s voice echoes from her room, soon followed by the soft patter of little feet as she reappears in the kitchen. Ilya glances out the window, and notices the sun is already nearing the horizon. At the same time, Shane withdraws his hand, and Ilya already mourns its absence.

Shane had left their den shortly after, and Ilya noticed a subtle shift in his scent. Regret.

The days pass, and sure enough, Shane stops by quite often to bring them dishes he’s cooked. Sometimes, he arrives with his apron still tied around him, his face flushed from the heat of the kitchen, as if he has stepped straight out of it. At first, he knocks only once a day, around lunchtime, and it is always a pleasure for Ilya to open the door and find Shane’s beautiful face standing just inches away from him, along with that scent of his that still sparks something in Ilya he cannot quite name.

But very quickly, the visits increase to twice a day. Ilya feels somewhat embarrassed– not because he dislikes or refuses Shane’s food, which is absolutely divine. He is embarrassed because he still has nothing to give in return. For now, at least, though that should soon change since he will leave for hunting really soon. Shane, for his part, insists it is simply because he worries the pups might run out of food until Ilya goes hunting, and because he knows people from the North tend to have hearty appetites. Liya and Irinei, who grow more accustomed to Shane’s visits with each passing day, are delighted whenever he brings different and delicious dishes, of course. They always make sure to thank him– at one point, Irinei even goes so far as to hug Shane, leaving Ilya completely dumbfounded, given how reserved his son is.

Come the end of the week, Ilya wakes his pups at dawn and dresses them warmly, while they are hardly fighting the pull of sleep. Even as the days grow warmer, the mornings remain sharp with cold. Stepping outside, Ilya almost instinctively glances toward Shane’s den. A light burns inside, and Ilya wonders if he left it on all night.

He shuts the door behind him and takes his pups’ hands in each of his own. Ilya drops them off at the nursery den and meets Rose and Jackie, the two omegas who oversee it. They welcome Liya and Irinei without hesitation, assuring Ilya that several omega mothers will also be there throughout the day. The nursery den is where many of them gather with their infants, helping the little ones grow used to different scents from an early age, as well as the presence of other pups besides their siblings and adults other than their parents.

Ilya still insists that the pups not be allowed outside unsupervised. Rose, whom Ilya learns is the healer’s daughter, promises him that no pup is permitted to leave the den without at least one of their parents present. All activities take place indoors. With that reassurance, Ilya leaves with his heart and mind a little lighter.

He walks for a long time, likely the whole morning, because by the time he finally stops, the sun already sits at its highest point in the sky. He has passed the clearing, and ventured onto one of the mountains surrounding the village. Ilya halts when he notices a wild boar not far from him. The boar is large, easily around Ilya’s own weight, and Ilya is well over two hundred and twenty pounds himself. That will be enough to feed him and his children for weeks if he smokes the meat properly, far more than the three of them could ever eat fresh.

The boar has its snout buried in the ground, likely searching for food. Ilya takes advantage of the moment to reach into the deerskin satchel slung across his shoulder and pull out his hunting knife. Then, Ilya approaches quietly, circling carefully and keeping the animal between himself and the tree line so it has nowhere to escape.

He waits for what his instincts judge to be the perfect moment, and slashes at one of its hind legs. The boar stumbles, its hooves scraping against the rocky mountain ground as it tries to flee. Ilya lunges forward, knife poised, and plunges it deep behind the shoulder. The boar twists violently, its sharp tusks grazing Ilya’s thigh. But Ilya holds firm until the animal finally collapses.

The initial stab weakened the boar, and Ilya is now able to deliver the final, precise blows. With a grunt, he holds the massive body pinned against a fallen log and drives the knife in again, this time into the chest and the neck. The thrashing slows, then finally ceases.

With the hardest part done, Ilya now has to work quickly before other predators arrive. As the adrenaline begins to ebb, the gash in his thigh makes itself known. He feels it– and sees it too, his trousers torn open, blood soaking the fabric and running down his leg, leaving raw, pink flesh exposed. Ilya reaches into his satchel for some cloth he brought with him and tears off a strip, tying it tightly around his thigh to make a temporary tourniquet, enough to slow the bleeding so he can work efficiently on the boar.

Ilya kneels in the moss, slipping the knife along the boar’s belly. The smell of iron hangs sharp in the cool mountain air. He makes sure to remove the digestive tract and throws it far from the carcass, then wraps the heart and liver in the remaining cloth he tore earlier. He drains the blood and wipes the cavity clean with handfuls of grass. Ilya works methodically. He cuts along the thick hide and peels it away, careful not to damage the meat he will need for the pups. When he is done, he begins packing what he can carry. The haunches are wrapped in canvas and slung over his shoulder, while the shoulders are tied at his belt. The weight pulls at him, but Ilya is used to carrying far heavier loads.

The journey back is manageable, and Ilya thanks the gods for it. He really isn’t in any condition to fight off any other predator. Not with a boar that weighs about as much as he does strapped to his body, and a leg he can barely put weight on with each step. Every movement sends a dull throb up his thigh, but he keeps walking, jaw clenched, shifting the weight when he has to.

Back in the village, Ilya hangs the meat outside the den for the time being, letting the late-afternoon air cool it until he can bring it inside to finish butchering for cooking and smoking. In the meantime, he also needs to deal with his thigh before going to pick up his pups at the nursery den. But Ilya refuses to go to the healer. He plans to treat the gash himself, the way he always does. He searches for a needle and thread in his room.

Sitting on a chair in the kitchen, Ilya strikes a match and holds the flame beneath the needle to sterilize it. When he judges the metal is hot enough, he blows out the match, and tries to thread the needle. For some reason, though, his hands tremble. They tremble badly, with cold sweat pouring down his face and clinging to his skin, and his mouth feels dry.

“Come on, focus,” Ilya mutters to himself. He presses the thread between his lips just as someone knocks at the door. Ilya closes his eyes and lets out an irritated grunt. He struggles to his feet and opens the door, frowning. Shane stands there, and Ilya’s expression softens instantly.

“Shane–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish before Shane rushes inside and shuts the door behind him.

“Is someone chasing you?” Ilya asks, managing a weak attempt at humor despite the situation.

Shane scowls. “I saw you coming back,” he says, eyes dropping to the wound on Ilya’s thigh. He steps closer, scanning Ilya’s face. “You need to go to the healer.”

Ilya scoffs. “I’m good, I can handle it.”

“Handle it?” Shane huffs in disbelief, brows tightening. “Have you even looked at yourself?”

Ilya sits back down, striking another match to sterilize the needle again.

“The healer can’t do anything I don’t already know how to do myself,” he says, blowing the match out after a moment. “But thanks for your concern. You can go back. Will share some of the boar with you and other neighbors once I’ve smoked it.” He tries again to thread the needle, but his hands shake harder with every passing second.

“Ilya,” Shane murmurs, voice softening but firm.

Ilya doesn’t respond, focusing on steadying his breath. Sweat makes his shirt cling to his back.

“Ilya,” Shane says again, and this time a hand slips beneath Ilya’s chin, gently tilting his head up until he has no choice but to look at him. Shane takes the needle and thread from Ilya’s hand. “You’re about to pass out. You’re not in any state to stitch up your own thigh,” he says, voice firm but not unkind. “Be reasonable. If you won’t go to the healer…” Shane pauses and sighs. “Then at least let me help you.”

Ilya blinks, the pain growing sharper, making it hard to stay fully lucid.

Shane had said he learned a lot from their healer and knows almost everything about plants. Ilya hates healers, but he doesn’t hate Shane. 

He gives a single nod.

“I’m going to fetch something to ease the pain and treat the wound at my place. It’ll only take a few minutes. Can you manage?” Shane asks, worry clear in his eyes and carried in his scent. Ilya nods again, letting out a soft hum of assent.

Shane helps Ilya lean back against the wooden chair. His eyes sweep the kitchen, searching for water. Spotting a full carafe, he grabs a mug, fills it, and lifts it to Ilya’s lips.

“When I come back, I want this mug empty. Understood? You stay awake and you drink, Ilya.”

The alpha doesn’t have the strength to reply, but he takes the mug and sips, letting the cool water slide down his dry throat. Everything blurs for him the moment Shane leaves the den to fetch what he needs. When he returns, Shane checks the mug, visibly relieved to see that Ilya listened to his command. But he can also see how hard it is for him to stay conscious. Ilya’s face is pale, too pale– the result of heavy bleeding.

Shane sets down all his supplies on the kitchen table. He kneels between Ilya’s legs and carefully unties the temporary tourniquet. “You did well with the tourniquet. It likely kept the bleeding from getting worse,” Shane notes, his voice gentle, trying to coax a reaction from Ilya to keep him conscious. The omega picks up a knife next. “I hope these aren’t pants you care about too much,” he says, “but since they’re already torn, I’ll rip the rest of the leg so I can work properly.” Ilya only hums.

He tries to stay awake, focusing on Shane between his legs, his expression serious and precise as he tends to Ilya. Ilya has never had anyone so devoted to caring for him– aside from his mother when he was a pup. After her death, he learned to treat his own wounds. Not as neatly or methodically as Shane does now, but he’s still alive and healthy, so it couldn’t have been that terrible.

“I’m using a mix of yarrow, great plantain, and comfrey. The yarrow will stop the bleeding immediately,” Shane explains, making sure Ilya knows what’s happening. Even if he understands nothing of herbs, and quite frankly doesn’t care about them. “The plantain soothes cuts, reduces inflammation, and protects against infection. Comfrey should help repair tissue.”

He then proceeds to apply the plant-based paste with his fingers, and Ilya hisses at the contact with his raw flesh. “Sorry,” the omega says, glancing up at him for a brief moment. “I promise I’ll be quick– you won’t feel anything for long.”

True to his word, Shane works swiftly, spreading a thick layer of greenish paste over the gash. Ilya can’t tear his eyes away. Shane’s brows are furrowed in concentration, a faint sheen of sweat across his forehead. His nose is slightly scrunched, freckles scattering over the bridge and onto his beautiful, rosy cheeks, and his full lips press together as he carefully winds a bandage around Ilya’s thigh, covering the paste and shielding the injury.

The omega then grabs a clean cloth, and dips it into the basin of cool water in the kitchen. He wrings it out, and presses it gently to Ilya’s face, wiping the sweat away. Shane carefully cups Ilya’s face in his hand, his thumb brushing against his pale cheek, and meets his half-lidded eyes. Shane gives a worried smile.

“How are you feeling?” Shane asks, dabbing at Ilya’s damp neck. Ilya’s pulse quickens under his touch. If Shane notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“ ‘M okay,” Ilya murmurs in a hoarse voice, his throat dry again.

“You’ve got blood all over yourself,” Shane notes. “You can’t stay like this, especially with your pups coming back soon.”

Ilya lets out a low, throaty sound. Shane studies him for a moment, then carefully guides Ilya’s shoulders into an upright position before saying, “Take off your clothes,” which seems to snap Ilya back to himself faster than any medicine could.

“Huh?” Ilya asks, confused, as if he misheard.

“Take off your clothes, Ilya,” Shane repeats. “I’m going to dab your body and clean the blood. You’re not going to stay like this and scare the pups, are you?” he insists, gesturing toward Ilya’s lower body. His pants– or what’s left of them, are soaked through with blood. His injured leg is crusted with blood along its length, and stains– either his own or the boar’s, mark his shirt and arms.

Shane helps Ilya take off his shirt. He dips the cloth back into the basin and begins cleaning Ilya’s body, starting at the arms, and working his way down his chest.

“Take off your pants,” Shane says when he reaches just above the waistband.

“No,” Ilya grunts, gripping Shane’s wrist. “Can’t.”

The omega raises an eyebrow, waiting for Ilya to explain.

“‘M not wearing anything underneath,” Ilya struggles to form a complete sentence, the herbs dulling the pain just enough to let him speak.

Shane’s face, just a few centimeters from Ilya’s, flushes, and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh,” he murmurs. “I-it’s fine, I mean– I don’t mind,” Shane says softly. “But…if it makes you uncomfortable, I–”

“You sure?” Ilya asks, his thumb brushing instinctively along the warm inside of Shane’s wrist, feeling his pulse. Shane meets his gaze and nods, his lips pressed together.

Ilya gathers what strength he can and tears his pants the rest of the way, letting them fall to the floor. His cock is half-hard, a stubborn reaction to the blood rushing down from the gash on his thigh. He catches Shane’s eyes on him, and the tips of Shane’s ears pink.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya murmurs, his voice low and rough. “Ignore it…should ease in a moment.”

Shane simply nods again. He wets the cloth in his hand before kneeling once more between Ilya’s legs. He carefully wipes the pale skin of all the blood. “I’ll have to rub a little to get it off– tell me if it’s too rough,” he says.

The omega’s touch does more for Ilya than any of the herbs in his system ever could. Bit by bit, color returns to his face; his lips, once blue, flush pink again like his cheeks, and the heat of his body begins to regulate. Shane rubs harder where the blood is more stubborn. Ilya feels the omega’s breath against the inside of his thigh, the warmth of Shane’s skin pressing against his own. 

“Ilya,” Shane says after a moment. Ilya only reacts when he realizes Shane has stopped moving, that he’s no longer touching him.

“Mhm?”

“You’re… purring,” Shane murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh,” Ilya says this time. “I didn’t notice. It’s probably–”

Shane props a hand on the table and leans in to press a quick, gentle kiss to Ilya’s cheek. When he sits back on his heels, Shane returns to his work, finishing the task of cleaning Ilya’s legs. Ilya blinks several times, feeling as if he’s dreamed the whole thing. Shane, the omega who’s obsessed him since the day he arrived, with his beauty, his scent, his warmth, and his kindness, just kissed him on the cheek?

Relief leaves Ilya in a quiet breath the moment Shane finishes and rises. Because instead of softening, Ilya’s cock has only grown harder. He’s a hair’s breadth from complete disaster.

“Do you have something comfortable you’d like to wear?” Shane asks, already heading toward Ilya’s bedroom. All the dens in the village are built the same way; it’s easy enough to find one’s bearings inside them.

“My robe. It’s on the bed,” Ilya calls from where he still sits in the kitchen. Shane returns with it and helps him slip it on.

“I only have a cut on my thigh. I’m not helpless, you know. I can stand,” Ilya says with a grin. “But I can’t say I mind the attention”

“Only a cut,” Shane huffs. He clears the table and gathers his things. At the same time, Ilya tries to push himself to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Shane asks, his brows drawing together.

Now Ilya frowns back at him. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

“What are you doing standing?”

“I have my pups to pick up, Shane.”

“Don’t even think about it, Ilya,” Shane says firmly. “You can’t walk with your leg like that,” he says as he nods toward the fresh bandage.

Shane helps Ilya over to the couch and eases him down onto it, making sure his injured leg stays elevated to help the blood circulate.

“I’m going to bring my things back to my den, and then go pick up Liya and Irinei, alright? I’ll explain the situation to Rose and Jackie. They’ll let them leave with me. And on the way, I’ll stop by the healer’s to get you a cane to help you move around.”

Ilya grumbles under his breath, but he can tell from the seriousness on Shane’s face that arguing would be pointless.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Shane’s expression softens into a smile, and he gives the top of Ilya’s head a gentle, almost fond pat. “See you later.”

The pot simmered above the fire, the smell of boar and herbs filling the den. Shane had taken care of everything– picking up the pups and bringing them back to the den, helping them wash up and change, and dealing with the meat Ilya had left outside. He had cut off a large piece for the broth and wrapped a few other cuts in cloth before hanging them in the pantry, where the air stayed cool. The rest could wait for Ilya to deal with in the coming days.

Before leaving, Shane had also made sure Ilya ate the boar’s liver he’d kept in his bag, so he could recover some of the iron he’d lost during the day from the gash in his thigh.

Now Ilya lies alone in his bed, smoking his pipe. Liya and Irinei are asleep in their room. When they came back earlier in the evening, Liya had been practically glowing as she talked about her day at the nursery den. According to Rose, she had already made friends with a few other little girls, alphas and omegas alike, despite the language barrier still very much being there. As for Irinei, he had mostly kept to himself, though he did manage to talk with one pup, another alpha who turned out to be Jackie’s son. Ilya had hoped he might make more friends, but this is a good start, he thinks. At least his pups had a nice day, and for that, Ilya quietly thanked the gods.

Moonlight glints off the necklace resting against his chest– a polished bear tooth strung on a leather cord that his mother once wore around her own neck. Ilya took it after her death, and has never removed it since. He can’t imagine living without it and is convinced it brings him luck, no matter the circumstances.

Ilya thinks back over the day. The hunt had been successful, but the gash he earned in the fight– no matter how much he tries to downplay it, is deep enough to slow him considerably. True to his words, Shane had brought him a cane to help him get around and take some of the weight off his leg. He also forbade him from leaving the den for the next few days.

The alpha takes one last drag from his pipe before setting it on his bedside table. He sinks back into the pillows, shifting until he finds a comfortable position, and closes his eyes, letting sleep and the day’s exhaustion wash over him.

The days pass rather slowly when all you can do is rest. Shane shows up every day, several times a day– to change Ilya’s bandage and check on the progress of the wound, which has already begun to close, though not completely yet. Also to make sure he’s getting enough nutrients and eating enough iron to recover. He takes the pups to the nursery den in the mornings and brings them back in the evening, insisting that Ilya needs quiet and rest if he wants to heal properly. Liya, for her part, is thrilled at the idea of spending time with her new friends. Irinei, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to mind much one way or the other.

It’s the fifth day since his injury, and come afternoon, Ilya tries to nap on the couch after eating the lunch Shane brought him. But the scent of Shane still lingering in the den keeps sleep just out of reach. Today it seems stronger than usual, richer in a way that makes it impossible for Ilya to ignore, despite his usual efforts. Instead, it stirs something restless in him, awakening sensations that refuse to settle. It takes only a few minutes before he finds himself wanting to feel Shane’s warm hands on him again, the same way they move over him when Shane tends to his wound. He pictures those round eyes of his, warm and gentle, catching the light like polished glass.

Ilya thinks back to the kiss Shane pressed to his cheek when he realized Ilya had begun to purr in his presence. The fleeting brush of those full lips against his skin. The soft breath that followed, there and gone in the span of a heartbeat. Ilya turns from one side to the other, suddenly unable to get comfortable in any position. With a low groan, he pushes himself up onto his forearms and glances toward the hearth to make sure the fire has gone out, because he’s burning up. He pulls his shirt off, but it doesn’t help. The furs on the couch still feel too warm against his skin.

The alpha lets out an irritated huff before sitting upright. His head swims slightly, and his mouth floods with saliva. Ilya can feel his body temperature rising sharply, climbing higher by the second. The heat that had filled his chest until now shifts into something sharper, something uncomfortable, and begins to sink lower through his body. Ilya grips the couch hard, his knuckles whitening when he feels himself growing hard.

No. That can’t be happening. Not now.

Ilya tries to relax as best he can, even though the only thing that would truly ease him right now would be some warm, wet pussy. Shane’s face appears in his mind immediately, and Ilya hates himself for it. Shane has been nothing but a neighbor. An incredibly kind one, yes, doing him countless favors, such as tending to his wound, fussing over him, bringing meals for him and the pups, because he’s always worried they might run out of food…Shane is the perfect omega. Ilya feels it, the alpha in him feels it.

And it drives him fucking mad.

He spends an indeterminate amount of time in his den, trying at first to think of something else, anything that might distract him. But nothing, absolutely nothing works. Ilya is going into a fucking rut.

In the end, he resorts to using his hand. He pulls out his hard cock, so hard it aches, and wraps his fingers around it, stroking slowly at first. Ilya gives a few tentative pulls, then quickens the pace, but it does nothing. He can’t bring himself to orgasm. The alpha feels trapped inside his own body. He refuses to let his mind wander to Shane, refuses to picture him just to reach release, even though he knows perfectly well that’s exactly what it would take.

Ilya resists, and resists, and resists again. Until something in him finally snaps. He truly doesn’t want to leave his den, yet his body is already moving on its own, gathering his clothes from the floor and pulling them on. Ilya really doesn’t want to bother the poor omega any more than he already has. Shane has done so much for him and his pups since their arrival a few weeks ago, and the last thing Ilya wants is to trouble him with his rut like some inexperienced adolescent just discovering his own body. He doesn’t want to knock on the door of Shane’s den. But his body carries him there anyway, as if Ilya is no longer master of his own actions, as if his inner alpha has taken over entirely.

After knocking three times, the door opens.

“Good aft– Ilya?”

Shane stops short, clearly not expecting to find him standing practically pressed against the door. Their faces are barely a few inches apart. Close enough for Shane to feel the heat radiating from Ilya’s burning body.

Ilya starts purring the moment Shane’s scent reaches him from this close. He steps forward, towering over him without seeming to realize it.

“Ilya,” Shane tries again.

“You smell so good,” Ilya murmurs. “I tried, Shane. I promise I did.” He leans closer still, as if the space between them could shrink any further. “I tried so hard to resist, but I can’t. I can’t fight it anymore.”

His nose brushes against Shane’s, and Ilya begins to nuzzle his cheek, pressing just enough to feel the heat of the omega’s skin. Ilya clenches his fists against his sides, forcing himself not to collapse onto him the moment their bodies meet, the moment he feels Shane’s warmth soaking into him. He breathes in, slow and deep, drinking in Shane’s scent fully for the first time, letting it curl through him without any resistance, without trying to hold back the surge of need building in his chest.

Shane exhales softly, almost a sigh, “Alpha–”

Ilya lifts his head at that, “Hm?”

The omega murmurs something low in his throat, unintelligible to Ilya, before pulling him inside the den and carefully closing the door behind them.

Ilya’s scent fills Shane’s den completely. He growls, a deep rumble vibrating in his chest, and breathes heavily. He finally looks up at Shane, his pupils narrowing to slits, and his hazel eyes so dark they seem nearly black. Ilya sweats, his golden curls plastered to his forehead, and his scent deepens, growing more potent with every passing second.

“Ilya, are you going into rut?” Shane asks, almost in a whisper. Ilya simply nods, a low hum escaping his throat. Shane places a hand on his forehead, pushing his damp curls back. “You’re burning up,” he notes.

The alpha closes his eyes at the touch and rumbles even more.

“Come,” Shane says, taking his hand and guiding him toward his bedroom.

Everything shifts in an instant, barely giving Ilya time to process. Shane straddles him on the bed, pressing his hips against Ilya’s rock-hard length, and kissing him with a hungry, greedy intensity. The kiss is messy, Ilya barely clear-headed enough to kiss Shane back properly, and without literally turning into a drooling dog.

He instinctively wraps his hands around Shane’s waist, and slides them over the soft, rounded curves of his hips, gripping the flesh there. Shane is so warm and pliant under his touch that Ilya growls and, without thinking, bucks his hips upward, drawing a whimper from Shane. Ilya feels just how hot the omega is in that spot. Before he knows it, Shane ends up beneath him, pinned against the mattress.

“You smell so good,” Ilya breathes, trailing his tongue along Shane’s neck. “From the first day…” he slurs, struggling to form the words, “From the first day, Shane, I tried to ignore your scent.” The alpha slides a knee between Shane’s legs, nudging lightly against his clothed entrance. “I tried to ignore what it does to me when your hands touch me…when you tend to me. When you look at me with those eyes. Fuck, do you even know what it did to me when you kissed my cheek, hm?”

“Ilya,” Shane lets out a shaky breath, grinding tentatively against Ilya’s leg between his own.

Ilya shakes his head and shifts back slightly. “I want you…but not like this. Not– not when I wouldn’t remember the taste of your lips on mine after.”

Shane’s eyes widen with a sharp panic, and he shakes his head back in response, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s neck and pressing close.

“No,” he says, a tremor in his voice. “Ilya,” he pleads almost desperately, and Ilya feels his mind starting to spin. He struggles to stay reasonable, to hold himself together and not give in completely to the primal urge inside him. He fights himself so hard, but Shane makes it so difficult.

“Me too,” Shane says, his voice thin and ragged, as if running out of air. “Me too…from the first day. So please, let me help you,” He gazes into Ilya’s eyes, now glossy and wide. Ilya feels his heart skip a few beats.

The alpha presses his mouth to Shane’s neck, and tears his shirt open with both hands. Shane startles with a sharp gasp, clearly not expecting it. Ilya continues his way downward over his chest, leaving wet kisses in his wake, and nipping lightly at the omega’s nipples.

“Need to eat you,” he slurs, and Shane feels heat rush to his face.

Ilya plants a kiss to his stomach before tugging his pants down in one rough pull, leaving Shane completely bare beneath him. Instinctively, Shane snaps his legs closed, but Ilya grips his knees firmly and pries them apart. The sight makes his mouth water, literally water. Saliva spills from his parted lips, a thick line of drool slipping from his chin and landing directly on Shane’s hairy, wet pussy.

“Don’t hide from me,” Ilya grunts. “Never from me.”

He lifts Shane’s legs onto his shoulders, and the omega turns his head away, flushed with embarrassment, just as Ilya dips down and inhales deeply, a low hum vibrating in his chest.

“You smell even better here,” Ilya mutters hoarsely. “Fuck, Shane.”

“Alpha–” Shane cuts himself off the moment Ilya’s tongue slides over his vulva, his breath catching as Ilya spreads his pussy apart with rough fingers.

Ilya draws slow circles over Shane’s clit with his tongue, then sucks lightly, humming against him so the vibrations ripple through Shane’s body. He dips his tongue lower, pushing into his hole and licking up the slick spilling from him as though it were some divine nectar, something the gods themselves placed here just for him.

His nose presses against Shane’s clit, and Shane’s hand tangles in his golden hair. The alpha moves his head slowly from side to side, grinding the bridge of his nose against the sensitive nub while his tongue works inside Shane’s pussy. Low breaths and rough growls rumble out of Ilya as he winds his arms around Shane’s thighs, holding him firmly in place. Shane couldn’t move even if he tried.

Shane lets out throaty whines and mewls as Ilya shakes his head between his thighs. The sounds the alpha makes are almost animalistic, his hot breath washing over Shane’s pulsing cunt. Ilya keeps his eyes closed while he devours him, his brows drawn together in fierce concentration. Shane’s clit throbs, aching for more, and the omega tugs lightly at Ilya’s hair, guiding him upward so he’ll focus on what he’s been neglecting.

At last, the alpha pulls back. He blows softly over Shane’s pussy, and the omega gasps, a broken moan slipping into a soft, helpless sob at the sudden cool breath against skin already flushed and sensitive.

Ilya straightens just enough to pull off his shirt and pants. His cock is painfully hard and huge, the tip flushed a vivid red. The vein beneath it pulses, aching to be inside Shane.

The omega pushes himself up onto his elbows, his eyes widening at the sheer size of him. When Ilya moves closer, Shane lifts an arm between them.

“I-Ilya, wait–” Shane says, a flicker of panic in his voice.

But Ilya wraps a hand around his large cock, and drags the tip through Shane’s slick folds instead, a rough groan spilling from his throat at the sensation.

“Oh,” Shane’s eyes immediately roll back, and he falls onto the mattress again, breath leaving him in a shaky gasp.

“Have you ever–?” Ilya asks, not quite finishing the question.

Shane nods, biting his lip, and Ilya shifts up onto his knees, lining up his cock.

“Please, fuck me,” Shane pants.

Ilya smirks. “Changed your mind? Not so scared anymore, hm? Don’t worry. It'll fit.”

Shane doesn’t reply to that, instead wraps his legs around Ilya’s hips, a soft purr rumbling in his throat when the tip finally slips inside.

“Oh, fuck,” Ilya breathes. “So fucking tight.”

Shane spreads himself wider with both hands, opening his slick pussy to make it easier for Ilya to push in– though he hardly needs the help with how much slick Shane is producing. Ilya hums low in his throat, and Shane’s eyes fall shut as Ilya pushes deeper inside him. Moisture gathers along the omega’s lashes, warm tears clinging to the edge of them.

‘’M going to get you pregnant with my pups,” the alpha slurs, completely lost in the rut now, his voice thick and rough with it. “You’ll be all round with my litter, hm?” he adds as he sinks all the way in.

Shane lets out a loud moan, color flooding his cheeks at the words. Ilya’s heart hammers in his chest, sweat beading across his brow before running down his temples and along the line of his jaw. It gathers beneath his chin, a few drops falling onto Shane’s skin. Shane catches one of them with his tongue, tasting the salt.

Ilya presses one hand against Shane’s stomach, pushing lightly as if to feel himself inside. White flashes behind both their eyelids, and Ilya throws his head back with a broken groan when Shane clenches around him. It feels like stepping straight into heaven.

“Oh, fuck– you’re so fucking warm, Shane. Feels so fucking good,” Ilya groans, shifting his hips and rolling the tip of his cock against a bundle of nerves that makes Shane cry out. “Such a pretty omega…you’re made for this, hm? Made to take Alpha’s cock.”

Shane nods quickly, his gaze fluttering as he tries to keep his eyes open. They’re glassy, unfocused. He’s completely cock-drunk. At the sight of it, Ilya exhales sharply through his nose and changes his rhythm, his thrusts turning deep and punishing, driving into Shane with insane force. Shane digs his nails into the thick muscles of Ilya’s back. He pants, breath ragged and uneven, and he's drooling. Suddenly, Ilya pulls out, leaving just the tip in, before shoving his cock back inside with brutal force, earning a near-shriek from Shane.

“Ilya!–”

“Hush, the pups might hear us,” Ilya murmurs into his ear. He’s completely lost in the daze of his rut, forgetting that Liya and Irinei are at the nursery den, and that they’re currently at Shane’s place, anyway. Shane doesn’t remind him.

Ilya fucks the omega so hard the bed rocks, wood banging against the wall with such force that the latter fears it might break. But the bed isn’t the only thing Shane is worried about.

“Your thigh, Ilya, you should s-slow down…you’re still– ah, mmf-fuck, still hurt,” Shane gasps shakily, voice strained. But Ilya ignores him.

Instead, he sits up, pulling Shane with him. He holds Shane close against him, like a ragdoll, and hammers into him, wet skin slapping together noisily. The omega tries to lift his hips to give Ilya better access. But Ilya’s grip on him is so strong he can barely move. It will surely leave bruises on his skin.

Ilya slows for a few strokes, only to fall back into that same unforgiving rhythm moments later. Shane is so soaked, fresh slick spilling freely from him, that Ilya’s cock slips out entirely, drawing a sharp gasp from both of them at the same time.

“Put it back in,” Shane blurts in a panic at the sudden emptiness. “Please, please put it back in–” Whatever words Shane had been about to say die on his tongue. Instead, what spills out are moans, each louder than the last when Ilya pushes back inside and grips him even tighter, before pounding into him again. 

After several thrusts, Ilya slides a hand between their bodies, placing it on Shane’s clit and rubbing it between his fingers.

“H-hah, ah…oh gods, Ilya, ‘s feels so good…”

His fingertips feel incredible on Shane’s swelling clit. “‘M gonna come. S-stop rubbing my cl–”

Ilya only chuckles, rubbing harder, and Shane wheezes, trying to push his arm away. But Ilya is far stronger, unmoving. He keeps pummeling into Shane, brutal and relentless, while continuing to stroke his swollen clit. He growls when Shane mewls into his neck, the endless stimulation of his g-spot and sensitive nub making him squirt hard and soaking them both. Shane’s orgasm robs him of breath. He hiccups through his sobs, clinging to Ilya for dear life. The alpha leans his head back, his adam’s apple bobbing against his throat, and his eyes squeezed shut. This is the best he’s ever felt.

Ilya groans through heavy pants, needing only a few more thrusts before he feels his knot start to swell, catching at Shane’s entrance almost painfully before he slides it fully home. It’s swollen enough to lock effortlessly. Selfishly, Ilya keeps moving in short strokes.

“Ilya– ah, ha…m-my pussy– you have to pull out…You’re going to b-break my pussy!” Shane lets out a choked cry into Ilya’s neck.

“Shh, you can take it sweetheart. Fucking take that knot.”

Shane melts against Ilya, crying from the overstimulation, until finally Ilya reaches his own climax with a loud, guttural moan.

They stay like that for several moments, silence surrounding them except for their breathing and Shane’s soft hiccups. Ilya gently strokes his back, rocking him slowly in his lap. After a while, the alpha carefully maneuvers them onto Shane’s bed, mindful of his knot, knowing that any sudden movement could hurt both of them. Ilya lies on his back, purring, with Shane curled up on his chest.

When Ilya begins to shiver, Shane sits up to grab the blanket, draping it over both their bodies. Ilya’s temperature slowly starts to stabilize now that he’s properly come and bred. But ruts are drawn-out and hit multiple times a day, so he knows it won’t be long before he overheats again.

“You okay? How’s your thigh?” Shane murmurs, lifting his head slightly from Ilya’s chest. His eyes are streaked with tears, lashes clumped together. Ilya has never seen anything so breathtaking.

He nods weakly. “Okay. You?”

Shane hesitates, just for a second, his fingers tightening slightly where they rest against Ilya. “You…you knotted me.” Ilya stills, but Shane continues before he can speak. “It’s okay,” he adds quickly, softer. “I just– wasn’t expecting it. And I’m not in heat, so I don’t think it’ll take, anyway.”

Ilya smiles faintly, his eyes closing on their own. Shane kisses his chin. “Rest until your knot goes down. I’ll wake you when it does.”

And with those words, Ilya lets himself sink into sleep, utterly spent and sated for now, feeling calmer than he has in what feels like a lifetime.