She was dressed like the walls, in a plain colour that blended and melted into the darkness. Like a ghost of his past, she was a Beta with no aura, no overpowering stink of an Alpha. Just a Beta. A beta like Euodia. He'd stiffened, hackles raised, but Betas weren't strong—Euodia was dead after all.
And Rowan had laughed, chuckled when she'd swayed towards the window with sass on his tongue. He would enjoy the sight of a woman toppling out of the window and would smile at the fall of her body. He'd grin to the squelch of her bones crumbling upon impact, her blood spilling open like a packet of juice. He didn't know what he said. But he'd growled, and then her fingers were on his, and his eyes were upon the warmest of gold.
And he melted. He couldn't quite describe how it felt, how his insides grew so warm, his cock so much needier. His everything was jerking, and she was flinching back. His eyes had been murky and grew dazed and dewy with tears. And suddenly, for fuck's sake it was everything Rowan hated. And yet the words poured out of his lips, blubbery and whispery: you might make me cum.
Fuck, he'd scream in his mind, but his conscience gone so quickly. Too quickly.
"A-Alpha, please," he'd begun to whimper, so easily on his knees, hands crawling to her, eyes wide. "Alpha, please, please. Please." He was pleading, praying, begging for salvation. And the Beta did nothing, strayed further. She said something, and he said something. But she was so far away he was almost sobbing, hips twisting upon the sheets so close to orgasm, too close. The closest he'd ever been.
How?
An Alpha.
His Alpha.
"Alpha," he repeated. He wanted her mouth on him, he wanted her taste on his tongue. He wanted her inside him. And that was all he remembered, the begging and then the anger. His nose had found her in the air, and he inhaled and exhaled. And he lived.
He shivered, and found phantom waves of memory flooding his mind, his mouth watering with what he imagined must be peach. And then his body was jerking. He couldn't remember the feeling, couldn't but he was close—too close. And the anger only ballooned, his rage spilling from his lips in twisted words that he couldn't quite remember, except there was something in her hands. Something long and thick, and decently warm-hued.
It was girthy, it was long, it seemed perfect.
It must have been her clit, so big and so thick for him. God, he couldn't see through the fucking haze. He'd lost his connection to reality, had dropped into nothingness, into the animal side that breathed wild and wanted everything. And he was on his knees, his ass in the air. The tip had nudged at his hole, circled his ass. A push, and then his mouth was open, tongue flopping to bodiless sound. The thing was thick, warm and it did something.
It fucking fluttered, like the hands of a fucking God. It seized.
It was screaming in him, buzzing like a bee, pulverising everything inside of him the way nothing else could. It was a stampede on his prostate, like fists punching upon the sensitive parts of him and refusing to let him go. And he was struggling, struggling not to cum. To cum. But, there was no choice in the matter because it took him by the wrist and pulled him up the mountain of pleasure.
He was a slave to its will.
The search for the top no longer existed, because he was pushed to the end. His body lurched and everything in him spilled free, his mind, his soul, his body. Someone was screaming, or was it him? He didn't know because the thing was pushed free from him. Three seconds was all it took, his body reminded him, his cock spewing so hard it felt as if it was melting. And his ass was swimming, slick pouring free that surely this wasn't healthy. Surely, this was just a dream.
Rowan couldn't cum.
He couldn't.
And yet, he did.
The number of fluids he was producing must not be healthy. But there was a smile on his face, a fucked-up smile that stretched and bubbled into a giggle. But the door was pushed open, and his pack entered. Helios and Icarus, rushed in with worry souring their scent. The smell of home wafting from their frames, the Omegas that must share such a delightful Alpha with him. He crooned, purred for them to join him, to raise themselves for the woman that must be theirs.
His pack must experience what he just felt. But his Omegas were not listening, there was a growl from Icarus, a harsh messy snap for the staff to retreat from Helios. A snap and the door closed. And he'd blubbered eyes darting as figures stumbled across his vision. He searched for that shade of warmth, the phallus that shone through in his vision. But it was gone. And she was going. But where was she—Where—
"Alpha," he began to whimper, "Alpha, where did you go? Mmm—My Alpha."
"There's no Alpha here, Row," Helios had ushered. "My little Omega, there is only us. We will take care of you, we're so sorry for being late. We know it hurts so much."
"But the Alpha," he turned his head to the door. "The Alpha—"
"Only Omegas," Icarus promised, raspy as his fingers cupped his cheeks. "Omegas."
"My darling," Helios cooed, fingers running up his skin, "there is no need for an Alpha we can take care of you. God, you can take care of yourself. Did you cum, baby? Did you cum so hard for us?" His hands were on his thighs, but Rowan was distracted, lost in his need to search.
Their Alpha was there. Their Alpha was right there. How could they not fucking see it? Or at the very least, they must have smelt her in the air. Must have smelt the peach—He blinked, overwhelmed by the scent of his mates. The burn of sweet, sweet dessert. Helios's hands in his hair. Icarus was on his knees, eyes burning crimson, his tongue wrapped around his cock.
Oh. There was fervour in their actions, a strange rush as they tasted him, tasted his cum, as rare as it was. They seemed set on licking him clean. Helios set his nose to the junction between his jaw and throat, nuzzling at the bite on his neck. His lips on his. Slick squelched free from him as Icarus settled himself between his thighs, and thrust forward, cock girthy and curved, ruddy red with a lewd thatch of curls.
His body accepted its stretch, and yet it was not enough—It was not—His mind dulled, lips parted. They fucked with wild abandon, their breaths hot, rutting like savages for a scent that lingered but did not exist. For the semen that stained his thighs, for the phantom touches of an Alpha that saturated their tongues. They licked him clean, then fed him their cocks, heavy, warm and sticky with their perfume on his tongue.
His wolf fed.
But it was not enough.
It took two days for Rowan to break his Heat, the peach rotting in its corner on the wood. The snow was icy on the wood, and by then his memory was muddled. And so was theirs. He'd scoffed to that at the end of it, weak as he searched his memory and scowled.
How fucking lucky.
In his anger, in his hatred, he decided not to search. He decided to shut up and continue life as if nothing had happened. But Rowan would regret it, God, he would come to regret it. Because he could have had her in his basement if he were smarter and needier.
He could have had her in his hands.
He could have had her in his ass.
He could have orgasmed daily.
But he did not.