Helios
Hungry.
Helios was hungry, always so damn fucking hungry that it burned — a deep inner curling pain that tore through his insides. The sensation warbled between nausea and pain; it ached in his belly, stretching taut to his throat. No one else understood hunger better than he did. For Helios had grown up starving, living on the scraps of the world, on rotting grain and fly-infested meat.
And later, when wealth arrived from his abilities as a famed escort, as a gorgeous sidepiece latched to an Alpha's arm, he had earned his gold with hunger. The thin dips of his waist, the Venus dimples on his lower back, the ribs that lined his body, the six packs chiselled on his belly—he stayed hungry for his beauty.
And then when life settled and finally the swell of his belly could grow with his coffers filled with the gold of the lands, he was hungry for the taste of her. It seemed that Helios was doomed to an eternity of starvation, and that had cultivated a boiling rage within him. A maddened finger pointed to the sky, because why the fuck did Helios have to go hungry? Why was he destined for hardship, for suffering, for starvation?
It wasn't fair, wasn't fucking fair that they deserved this after everything. And yet here they were, starving once again, hungry because no one had the gall to snatch the Beta up and devour her as they should.
Icarus had been the one to suggest the withdrawal, the need to step back and give their 'Alpha' time. He had whinged and squalled at the taste of her blood. Filth, he'd called it, oily and rotting. He said that she needed the time to grow plump, the time for her scent to sweeten from its rot. She needed the space to understand her place as a servant of their home. And it would do them no good to attempt swallowing down bile and acid from a female close to tears.
Besides, if they broke her too soon, then surely the process would lengthen, and their plans would fail.
After all, they had to be the first pack to succeed.
The rest had agreed. But the haughty sniffs around the room had seemed empty, emotions tasting strange, flavoured with trepidation. Helios claimed he despised the act of touching a female, that staying away from the bitch was the best news he'd heard in weeks. And they'd all laughed, ignored the burn in their bellies, the sunken dip of their cheeks, the ache in their chests. They'd descended upon each other as if to drown that need, fucking buttery rims and gagging on cock. Helios had swallowed down big fat mouthfuls of their lust and begged before sleep that it would be enough.
Even so, it was not enough, for they descended upon the remains of her, for the traces of her that lingered in their bodies. The vampires sank their fangs into one another, hoping for slivers of her flavour. The wolves slept with the scraps of her clothing pressed against their glands, allowing her scent to linger in their nest, allowing her perfume to wrap around their necks like invisible collars. He'd caught Solar with his eyes glazed and tongue out, body oozing with the taste of affection, attempting to feast on his memories of her.
The Alpha had poisoned them.
Hunger would always win.
And Helios would do everything to survive.
The fight with the Lonely had been difficult. The monsters had doubled in numbers: turned Omegas that did not believe in the truth, did not want the Alphas, and did not try to find their match. His pack had been exhausted from the destruction, from the uproar, from the panic induced by painful truths. The veracity of their words had been proven, and with it came a monsoon of fear from their people.
They needed Alphas, they needed to be nice to Alphas, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.
The kings had gnawed at one another, had stuffed their bellies full of meat, and had tried to quell their needs. Yet the hunger remained.
They were hungry for her.
Helios had slipped away on darkened wings at the crack of dawn. He had flown to their home as if in a trance, felt a tugging that pulled at his belly and dragged him towards the source of all their struggles. His Omega had whined, had hoped that she might be dressed in his clothes, that she might be soaked in pack scent and awaiting their arrival. That she might be eager for her Omegas. And she was sweetly dressed and cooking at the stove, smelling like all kinds of sin, looking mildly attractive.
Helios would lie to himself. But the truth was, she had seemed like a goddess, all warm and ripe, like summer carnations and puddling fruit. The dawn had a satin, velvety glow that clung to her curves, drenching her in drizzles of honey-spun gold. The sight of her had scalded him with a strange lust that had boiled, had his lips parted and his jaw slack. His body had burned for her, burned with a need that he could only liken to his very first Heat when he'd fucked his fist for the first time in his life; when his cock used to bounce with a teenager's enthusiasm at 16; and when he and his mates were deep in agony from Heat.
His mouth had watered, and oddly, his heart had stumbled, pounded so hard it almost hurt. And then he'd fluttered, perched close to the window, watching her with his palms against his chin and a sigh. Disgustingly, he found his palm over his cock, fantasies rotting through his soul, the yearning so awful it startled him. The friction felt too rough, the slide of his hips too dry, and yet pleasure rocked enough to heat at his frenulum and pull through his body. He muffled the whine against his palm, toes curling, spine arching.
Then the other Omega had entered the vicinity. The Omega that he should know never to hate—he'd known Carlos since he was a babe, knew that the boy idolised the seven like the sun, that the boy could never be competition for his Alpha. But the foreign Omega had entered the vicinity and Quinn had shot him a smile so vibrant it had shocked Helios, struck him like lightning upon his soul.
He broke.