“Stay still then, you big oaf.” Thomas leans forward slowly, brushing his lips against Adam’s slowly with a closed mouth, rubbing them back and forth.
Adam suppresses a very unalpha-like giggle. “What are you doing?”
“Going slow so you don’t eat me alive,” Thomas murmurs. His hand slides ever-so-slowly up Adam’s inner thigh.
“That’s too slow,” Adam mumbles, grabbing Thomas’ hand and placing it firmly on his dick which has been rock hard since he arrived.
He’s immediately rewarded by the rich scent of slick as it runs between Thomas’ thighs.
Thomas sticks his tongue in Adam’s mouth by way of answer. He leans forward, leaning his bare chest against Adam’s.
Thomas might be going slow, but Adam has had months of practice learning just how to press every single one of Thomas Warwick’s buttons.
He dips his mouth, pressing kisses into the line of Thomas’ neck and then further down, pulling his body and dick away from Thomas who lets out a mumbled protest.
It’s not that much of a protest. They both know what Adam is planning to do next.
Go slow. Absolutely. Nothing but teasing for you, Thomas Warwick.
He dips his head down further, licking a line down Thomas’ chest, and then further down, until he’s running his tongue lightly around the head of Thomas’ dick.
He doesn’t dip further. Nothing but that same repetitive movement guaranteed to drive Thomas crazy over and over again.
Thomas reaches out and grips Adam’s head with both hands, trying to pull him down further.
“Nuh uh,” Adam murmurs against Thomas’ dick, rubbing it up against his cheek, and looking up. Thomas’ face is flushed, his pupils blown wide. Adam can feel his thighs trembling under Adam’s forearms. “You said we’re going slow.”
“Please,” Thomas begs. Adam’s dick twitches between his legs in response. This is his favorite part: Thomas all desperate and needy, begging for Adam to give him pleasure. It’s just as fun to draw it out.
“In a minute,” Adam promises, bending down again. He takes the tip in his mouth and sucks gently. Thomas lets out a deep groan, bucking his hips further. Adam holds his thighs down, stopping it going too deep. He rises up again. “Tell me why I should. What are you going to do for me?”
This is the part where Thomas tells him how well he is going to suck him in return. There will be extravagant promises of pleasure and inhuman feats of dick sucking that aren’t even possible to carry out in real life. The promises are all part of the fun.
Instead Thomas says, “You can fuck me.”
Adam stops. The world has gone really still. He looks up, meeting serious blue eyes. “Really?”
“I think it’s long past time, don’t you?”
“Oh my God, yes.” He dips his head again, determined to earn it better than he ever has before, but Thomas pulls him up.
“Now. I want it now.”
“Yeah.” Adam is so hard, he’s aching. He can’t count the number of times he’s dreamed of this. The whiskey is still coursing through his veins, dumbing down his thoughts and the world has suddenly narrowed to that single space between Thomas’ legs.
Thomas pulls away and lies back against the flat of the rock. It’s not ideal. They still have time to get to the cabin, but it feels like a million miles away.
There’s still enough thought left in Adam’s brain to tell him ‘go slow’, so he does.
He kneels between Thomas’ thighs, feeling as if the scent of his slick is driving him crazy, and lines up his dick.
“Just do it already,” Thomas orders.
Adam does. He sinks into warm, wet heat that expands to take the whole of him. His vision blurs and he’s only distantly aware of Thomas clinging to his back and rocking onto his dick.
There’s nothing but deep waves of pleasure and the burning heat of Thomas squeezing his dick tight, muscles clenching around Adam’s dick.
Adam presses down, pushing his nose against Thomas’ neck where the scent is strongest. Thomas keeps up the rhythm, fucking into Adam harder and harder.
Stars race across Adam’s vision as the pressure starts building harder and harder as he shoves harder, running on pure instinct and pleasure.
That’s why he doesn’t think about it at all. He just bends his mouth to that perfect scent spot on Thomas’ neck and bites down hard. The skin breaks and scent floods his mouth, making Thomas his forever.
TEN YEARS LATER
NOW
THOMAS
staff only signs and barrels of cider
Thomas is pouring out two drafts of Warwick cider when Lex leans over the counter at the Taproom and says, “We got a delivery. Two barrels.”
Thomas wipes his hands on a towel, and nods. “No prob. I’ll get it in now. Get this over to table nine, will you?”
Lex takes the tray, balancing it carefully as he makes his way across the bar floor.
Thomas keys in the code beside the door marked ‘Staff only’ and makes his way across the kitchen and through the door on the other side that leads out into the alleyway behind the Taproom.
There’s a drunk outside, pissing against the trash cans. He looks up as Thomas enters the alleyway and gives him a wide grin.
Thomas narrows his eyes and pulls down his collar, displaying the scar there. It’s not subtle but it does the trick.
The drunk stops grinning and pays attention to his dick instead.
Thomas grimaces and reminds himself that there’s a reason they let people do this, and don’t gate the alleyway off from the street. The constant stink of fresh alpha urine disguises the scent of almost everything else.
The drunk grunts and pulls up his zip, before staggering back out front.
Thomas watches the man leave and breathes out a heavy sigh. Thank God for the bite mark. It’s saved him a lot of hassle over the years.
He owes Adam that much at least.
There’s a Warwick Cider van parked in the alleyway, its rear doors aligned with the Taproom cellar doors for easy delivery. The driver rolls his window down when he sees Thomas approach.
“That guy gone?” he asks.
Thomas peers towards the street. There’s laughter and some singing, but no sounds of footsteps and the laughter doesn’t get louder.
“Yes, all clear. You got a delivery for us?”
The driver nods. He’s an elderly beta wearing green Warwick coveralls with the Warwick apple logo on the breast. A long gray ponytail hangs over one shoulder.
“Two barrels,” he says. “Special delivery. They’ll need to settle for maybe two or three weeks before they’re ready to go out.”
Thomas checks the alleyway again. It’s still empty and no sign of anyone coming.
He pulls out his keys from the chain at his belt and unlocks the cellar door, then punches in the code for the alarm.
“Good to go,” he says.
The driver presses a button inside the van and the rear doors unlock with a click.
Thomas looks left, then right, then pulls the doors open.
“Come on. Quickly.”
The van creaks as the omegas inside climb out as Thomas holds the doors open.
There are two of them: a middle-aged female and a male who can’t be older than twenty. The reek of fear follows them, even as they dart into the darkness of the cellar beyond.
Thomas shuts the cellar door behind them in a quick movement and turns the key in the lock.
He shuts the van doors and bangs on them. The driver waves acknowledgement from the window, then the engine turns over and he’s gone.
The whole operation has taken under a minute.
A burst of laughter sounds from the street. Thomas freezes. It’s nothing, he tells himself, but he stays still anyway until he is sure that the alphas have gone.
He heads back inside though the front of the Taproom. Friday evenings are always the busiest. The place is full of alpha stockbrokers from Fort Gosford’s financial di
strict slapping each other on the back and egging each other on to drink far more than is good for them.
He gives Lex a nod as he crosses the bar floor, smiling politely at the occasional crass comment, even as he dodges drunk alpha hands.
On the other side, he keys in the code by the staff door and makes his way across the kitchen, passing the door to the alleyway, and towards the door to the cellar where he keys in another code and descends the steps.
At first glance, the place is empty. Multiple rows of ale and cider barrels are stacked on one side, crates of bottles against the other. The ramp up to the outside door is veiled in darkness, away from the single overhanging light in the center of the cellar.
“I’m Thomas Warwick,” he says softly to the darkness. “You’re safe here. It’s okay to come out.”
Two figures emerge slowly from the shadows and Thomas has the chance to get a better look at them.
The woman is slim and blonde. The haircut looks expensive but her eyes are wary. The male omega is wearing very little: nothing more than a tank top and a pair of high shorts. He must be able to scent that Thomas is an omega, but he hugs his arms to himself and keeps his eyes on the floor anyway.
“I’m Shannon and this is Cam,” the woman says. “He doesn’t say much.”
Thomas smiles. “That’s fine. He doesn’t need to. And you probably shouldn’t tell me much more about yourselves. The less I know, the better. This way.”
He leads them behind the cider barrels and to the hidden door behind. He keys in the code under the panel, then flicks the light switch when the door opens, lighting up a set of steep stairs that lead upward.
Cam leans over and whispers something to Shannon, too low for Thomas to hear. His face is white with fear.
“He doesn’t want to go up there,” Shannon says. Her voice is calm, but Thomas can see her hands shaking. She doesn’t want to go up either. “The alphas in the bar will scent us.”
Thomas shakes his head. “The whole place is scent-blocked. The excuse is that it stops the ales and the ciders from scent-contamination, but it means you won’t be detected either. We own the whole building, and everything is locked and key coded.
I won’t say we’ve never lost anyone because it won’t be true and you wouldn’t believe me anyway, but we’ve been doing this a long time. We’ve never lost anyone at this link in the chain. It’s as secure as this kind of thing can be. You’ll be safe here. I promise.”
The omegas glance at each other, then Shannon nods slowly.
They follow Thomas up the stairs in silence until they reach the door at the top which Thomas unlocks with another code then pushes open.
Shannon and Cam follow him in, and locks it behind them, while they look around.
“Whose apartment is this?” Shannon asks.
“Yours,” Thomas replies. “For now.”
“It’s amazing. I mean compared to some of the other places we’ve been in. Once, they put us in a—”
“Don’t tell me. The less I know, the less I can blab if anything does go wrong.”
“And ahead? Do you know where we’d go next?”
“Yes, some of it. There are a few options for you, but we’ll discuss that later. Let’s get you settled in first,” Thomas says. “Okay, first thing you need to know is how to get out. You shouldn’t need to. Like I said, we’ve never lost anyone here but you need to know just in case.”
He shows them the buttons they need to press to unlock the doors, and explains the routes out of each, then takes them through the rest of the apartment.
It’s perfectly equipped. There are spare clothes and toiletries, an extensive medical kit, children’s toys and books. The kitchen is fully stocked, as is the fridge.
By the time he’s finished, Shannon’s hands have stopped shaking. Cam is still pale, but he no longer looks as if he might keel over at any moment.
“Just a couple more things, then I’ll leave you to get settled in,” Thomas crosses the room, and opens the drawer underneath the TV table. He pulls out a photo printed on plain white paper and passes it over. “This is my cousin Lex. There are two of us responsible for you. You shouldn’t see anyone else. I’ll organize all the day to day stuff so you shouldn’t see him, but he’ll pop up if we need some alpha muscle. He’s responsible for protecting all of us if anything goes wrong. If he turns up at the door and tells you to run or to hide or do anything at all, you need to listen.”
Shannon studies the photo then passes it to Cam. “Got it.”
Thomas nods. “Excellent. The last thing is blockers. You’ll find a stash in the kitchen above the fridge. Everything is labelled and has clear instructions. I can’t make you take anything, and I wouldn’t try, but I highly recommend it. If we can get you both smelling like betas, it’ll be easier to move you and easier for us to set you up with a new life.”
Shannon’s mouth starts curling down at the corners as if she’s about to cry, then she darts forward and envelopes Thomas in a hug tight enough that it hurts.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Thomas pats her on the back, then gently removes her arms. “I’ve got to get back to work. If you need me, just pick up the phone in the corner. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be okay.”
He gives the apartment a last visual check and runs through a mental checklist to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, then presses the green button by the door to unlock it.
Thomas pulls it open. The exit is unexpectedly blocked by tall alpha with pitch-black hair and bright blue eyes
Lex looks past him into the apartment and the startled omegas inside, then turns back to Thomas.
“Your mother called. We have to go. Right now. We’ve been compromised.”
ADAM
weddings, christenings and a glass of apple juice
The whole of the room at the Foresters’ Inn is taken up by sliding doors that disappear into themselves so that one side of the space is completely exposed to the fresh air and open forest.
The doors are the reason that Adam chose it instead of going for a cheaper option.
The huge oak-lined ballroom is used mostly for weddings, christenings and the occasional wake, but today it has one purpose: to get all the leaders of the Aylewood packs in one room so they can make sure that the new leader of the wild wolves signs the alliance agreement.
That’s not going to happen if Ash panics like a cornered wolf in the smaller room that they usually hire.
Definitely the right choice, Adam thinks. Even the enormous space seems too much for wildling. He’s standing outside the venue stark naked, darting suspicious eyes inside as if Adam and the other packs are dogcatchers about to trick him into a van.
The old wild leader used to make an attempt to wear clothes for these things. Maybe in time, they can persuade Ash too, although Adam isn’t sure how much he cares.
As long as the wild pack signs their part of the agreement and sticks to it, Ash can wander around as nude as he likes.
Adam helps himself to a glass of apple juice from the bar – sourced from the Warwick orchards, of course – and surveys the room.
Almost everyone is here. Ash and his brother are outside. Max and Eli Foster are helping themselves to cupcakes and savories from the buffet. The Winterstoke pack is represented by himself.
Only the Warwicks haven’t arrived yet.
Adam ignores the sense of unease rising up from the pit of his stomach. The Warwicks will be here. Out of all the mountain packs, they’re the only ones who have never caused any trouble.
He walks over to the table where the papers are set out in four neat piles, doing his best to walk steadily as if both his legs work exactly the way they should. Pain spikes up with every step and makes him wish he wasn’t so stubborn.
He’s not worried about the signatures, or at least not much. All the packs are weaker than they were a couple of years ago, but there’s no real reason for anyone not to renew the alliances. They’re still strong
er together.
The only challenge is going to be persuading Ash to stay human-shaped, learn how to use a pen and get him to put an X on each page without him growling at anyone.
He’s just reading through the papers again for the third time, when his ears pick up the sound of a truck engine.
A sense of relief settles into his bones. That’ll be the Warwicks now. The sooner they can get this done, the better.
Adam steels himself and walks determinedly to the door to greet them, ignoring the spikes that run up his thigh with each step.
There’s no fool like a prideful fool. Leaving his cane at home was a stupid idea.
Barbara Warwick stalks into view, trailed by a pair of Warwick cousins. The cousins are made from Warwick stock: farm boys, thick as tree trunks and muscled from years of hard labor.
The lines around Barbara’s eyes have deepened since the last time that Adam saw her and there’s more gray in her hair, but she still has the same practical denim overalls, and long hair scraped back into a ponytail.
Let’s get this over with, Adam says silently.
“Let’s get this done then,” she says by way of greeting. “We’ve got work to do on the farm.”
Almost, Adam thinks. Barbara is as predictable as the seasons.
Adam waves Max Foster over from the buffet. The omega pack leader saunters over, paper plate in one hand. The wild wolves have seen the Warwicks arrive and are now approaching, Ash moving cautiously and sniffing the air as he does.
Max shakes hands with the Warwicks, then cautiously reaches out a free hand to Ash who shakes it vigorously.
“Has everyone read it?” Adam asks.
They all nod with the exception of Ash who growls.
“I’ll go through the details with you,” Adam tells him.
“Stay out,” Ash says, his voice deep and rough as if he’s not used to using it.
“That’s in there. No one is allowed in your territory. It’s part of the agreement. We’ll all stay out.”
“Stay out,” Ash nods.
“We’ll do that,” Adam promises, remembering the last summit. In that one, Isaiah paced the room for almost an hour shouting at them to stay out of the wild wolves territory before he was persuaded to sign the papers.
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