by Beast
He really was lovely, Ero thought. But it was less his appearance and more that touch of fire that had captured Ero’s attention; that had made him fear the spirit would be beaten out of him before long, if left behind with that fragmented and dysfunctional pack.
He’d only shanghaied the omega because of that, he told himself.
That, and no other reason.
He’d see him safely to the Silk Islands, where at least he’d have a chance to discover life on his own terms, and then Ero would be on his way.
Some time past noon, Wren’s restless sleep drifted into something deeper, and he lay quiet for the rest of the day. Ero lingered on him for a little white longer, then dug his maps out of his pack and studied them, plotting a route that would be easier for two. Were it just himself, he might be able to shift, lash his packs to his back, and cover more ground. With Wren in tow, though…he’d definitely need to find a vehicle, and a path along concrete roads that hadn’t been churned into peaks of asphalt or completely submerged in oceanic flooding with Discfall. It wasn’t far overland from their current location to the port at Meridian, where they could find a ferry to New Orleans and a larger ship heading south to the Silk Islands.
But Wren, inexperienced and sheltered as he was, would be a liability.
Ero would just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.
Toward sunset, he put the maps away and unfolded his camp cooking kit, a little wire grate on four folding legs that fit neatly over the flames, providing a stovetop he could use to put water on to boil for tea. He’d go hunt for their breakfast soon; there was still ample wildlife in these woods, at least, so no need to cut into their stores. He’d just wait, he thought, for Wren to wake—so the omega wouldn’t be frightened to discover himself alone. It wasn’t hard to see the little thing was still afraid…but underneath that fear was determination, curiosity.
He just had to shake off the conditioning that told him no one would ever bother caring for him unless he bought that care with his body.
Ero caught himself tracing the shape of that lithe, softly willowy body inside the sleeping bag, and forced himself to look away as Wren began to stir, sucking in a soft, sleepy breath and then rubbing at one long-lashed eye. He blinked himself awake, peering across the fire at Ero muzzily, his nostrils flaring—before his eyes sharpened, coming to with a wary alertness as he pushed himself up on his hands, watching Ero with clear uncertainty, his scent a riot of confusion.
“Good evening,” Ero said, planting two cups from his pack into the dirt and sprinkling a few tea leaves into them. “Sleep well?”
“Yes,” Wren said tentatively. “Better than I expected to with the sun up.”
“It’s not natural for us to sleep at night.” Ero fished in his pack until he came up with a few sweetener packets, so old the paper was nearly worn thin, the labels no longer legible. “We just remember when we were human, that’s all. And sleep lets us try to escape the Echo, when its voice is loudest in the dark.”
“But…I was never human,” Wren said. “I just look like it on the outside.” He sat up a bit more, pulling himself out of the sleeping bag nimbly and adjusting his robes around himself—just a flash of pale flesh, a hint of pink nipple, before it vanished as he wrapped himself up and settled on top of his bedding, hugging his knees to his chest. “You…you were born human?”
“I was,” Ero admitted.
“Someone bit you? And turned you?”
“No. Does anyone do that anymore, with how much humans hate us?” Not to mention how lowly turned wolves were treated, versus the natural born—kicked about as beggars, never fully accepted into packs, used as servants and frequently only escaping that if they were turned by a mate and ventured off on their own to form their own packs. “That’s not how I became a wolf, Wren.”
It wasn’t hard to tell when Wren realized what he meant; he sucked in a breath, pale green eyes widening. “Then you’re…” He pressed slim fingers over his mouth. “You were born before Discfall. You remember the world before the voice in the north. You…you call it the Echo?”
“I do,” Ero said simply, staring into the fire.
And hoping Wren would leave it at that.
He meant no harm by those innocent, naïve questions. Ero knew that, could read it in his scent.
But it didn’t change that sometimes, remembering things hurt deeper than he cared to admit.
Wren remained quiet for long moments, tilting his head to the side as if listening, his gaze roving the circle of dryads enclosing their little clearing. “They say you’re very old,” he whispered, a touch rapt, wondering, and Ero caught a breath.
“You can understand them?”
Wren worried at his lower lip with sharp little teeth, nodding, shrinking back as if expecting to be punished for that. “It’s quiet, but…yes.”
Ero frowned. Who was this little slip of an omega, that he could understand the dryads? “It’s a rare gift to be able to,” he said. “Only a few humans can. Fewer wolves.”
Brows knitting into a puzzled line, Wren shook his head. “Does that mean something?”
“It means you’re special, to hear the dryads. Humans who can hear them are known as Seers. The dryads remember the world before, and know things most of us can’t understand.”
“Dry…dryads.” Wren tried out the word tentatively, his husky voice rolling over it. “Is that what they are?”
“It’s what they are now.”
“Then what were they before?”
“Women.”
Wren blinked blankly. “What…what are women?”
Ero couldn’t answer, for a moment. Had Wren never met humans, even once? Never known anything of the world outside his pack and those keep walls?
Why?
Why would that alpha keep his pack in such ignorance?
“Oh, child,” he said softly. “You’ve truly been kept locked away, haven’t you?”
“I…yes, I…” Wren curled his hands against his chest, lowering his eyes, cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Ero assured. “It’s not your fault.” He stopped, considering how to explain to someone without even the slightest rudimentary knowledge of biology outside of men and omegas; someone who didn’t have the foundation in sciences and common knowledge that came from a life before the world had shattered. “Women are to humans what omegas are to wolves, in a way,” he said, slowly and carefully. “Gender is…complex. It always has been. It’s not easy to just divide it into two, or even three…but for a simple parallel, now, there are wolf men and wolf omegas…and human men and human women. It gets deeper than that, into cisgender, transgender, nonbinary, intersex, but…”
“Oh!” Wren perked. “I know transgender.”
“Do you?”
“Tala,” he answered, nodding. “Tala was a man, but he lives as an omega now. He can’t have babies, but he’s still an omega and helps with the pups and has a mate, but he’s not like the men who mate together. He doesn’t cut his hair—” An almost subconscious gesture, as Wren reached up to touch the mussed, heavy knot of thick black hair bound at the nape of his neck. “—just like us, and he dresses like we do. Connaught didn’t like it, though.”
“Connaught is the wolf I fought?”
Those flashing yellow eyes, hateful and hard, an unspoken promise…
Wren nodded—but just the mention of the wolf’s name seemed to cast a pall over him, and he lowered his eyes again. “He’s…he’s like that.”
“He seems like someone who adheres to an older, more black and white world.”
“It seems like the world before Discfall was strange.”
“It was.” Ero let his gaze shift to the horizon line above the trees, watching as the sky turned violet and gold. “It was an easier life, though.”
“There were no wolves before Discfall? No omegas?”
“No.” Ero shook his head. “Just men and women of every type, nonbinary people, intersex people
, two-spirit people.” He remembered the tea, then, and the sugar packets in his hand, and he ripped them open and emptied them all into one of the cups. The little omega looked like he’d have a sweet tooth. “All human, as far as I know.”
He’d thought Wren would let it drop, then…until the little omega hugged his knees closer to his chest, his expression troubled. “But then…how did the Disc make wolves?”
“I don’t know,” Ero said, and Wren let it lie.
The silence was almost comfortable, as Ero finished making tea. He wasn’t accustomed to having company on the road anymore, only briefly encountering others as he passed through pack territories to trade or stopped at the occasional human or hybrid settlement that wouldn’t shoot him on sight. But Wren’s presence was a quiet little bit of brightness, as the omega watched his every movement curiously and now and then drifted off, eyes unfocused, and it wasn’t hard to tell he was listening to the voices of the dryads with fascinated wonder.
What were they telling him, Ero wondered?
What did they know of Ero, knowledge soaked into their roots and traded through touching tendrils and floating leaves and pollen on the wind, until what one knew, all knew, shared through the strange and venous root network that held their world together?
Did they whisper of his crimes, and tell Wren what a monster Ero truly was?
If they did, the omega gave no sign of it as Ero pressed a mug of tea into his hands. Wren only sipped it tentatively, then made a pleased, almost kittenish sound and took a deeper sip, watching Ero over the rim of it, tracking his every movement. Ero sank back on his haunches, sipping his own bitter herbal tea, turning over his thoughts.
“If your pack hasn’t followed us by now, they probably won’t,” he said. “They’ll likely destabilize, unless a clear leader rises to establish order. They may drift apart and join other packs. Your alpha won’t be able to make them respect him anymore, and I doubt you have any left who’ll remember what it was like to define relationships as anything other than strongest to weakest.”
Do you even remember what that’s like?
Do you remember bonds of mutual affection, shared interests, the warmth of a loving touch?
He pushed those thoughts away, glowering into the fire, and continued, “They’ll branch out, searching for someone stronger. Your alpha will likely become someone’s second, or lower, in another pack. If the loss of face doesn’t drive him over the edge.”
Wren bowed his head, staring down into his cup, and murmured something so low and garbled that not even Ero’s hearing could pick it out.
“What was that?” Ero asked.
“I…I said…” Wren’s voice firmed, even if his breaths were shaky. “He’s not my alpha. Not anymore.”
“Good,” Ero said.
And told himself he shouldn’t feel such satisfaction, to hear that.
He finished his tea in one more gulp, then set the cup aside and stood. “If I leave to hunt for about an hour, will you be safe on your own?”
Wren’s gaze flickered, before he nodded. “I think so…do you have to go far away to hunt?”
“Not far. I hear a warren of rabbits fairly close by, and they don’t seem to have caught our scent.” He frowned. “Have you never hunted?”
“No.” Wren shook his head quickly. “Connaught wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t let any of the omegas. He said it was…it was rough, and animal. And he didn’t want to see me like that.”
“He made you ashamed of who and what you are,” Ero said, and once again wished he’d made that arrogant wolf bleed. “You’re beautiful as a man, Wren. Why wouldn’t you be beautiful as a wolf?”
Wren sucked in a sharp breath, lifting his eyes to Ero’s, his cheeks a pretty, rosy crimson. “You…you think I’m beautiful?”
The vulnerable way the little omega watched him pulled on something hard inside Ero, something hungry and needy and lonely, but he forced it away. Forced it away, and answered only with a neutral, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just…” Wren swallowed, tongue darting over his soft little red mouth, leaving behind a wet sheen. “No one says things like that to me.”
They should, Ero thought, but kept that to himself.
After a moment, though, Wren continued, “Isn’t it bad, though? Doesn’t the blood make you change and lose control?”
“Is that what Connaught taught you?”
Wren nodded mutely.
“He lied,” Ero said.
For some reason, that made Wren flinch, fingers clenching around his mug. “…why would he do that?”
“Because he was a weak man. A weak wolf. A weak alpha,” Ero answered grimly. “And weak men have to keep people ignorant to maintain control.”
“But…without Connaught…”
“Without Connaught, you would have been better off.” Ero bit back curses; this wasn’t his business, but it made him so angry, to see wolves take the gifts they’d been given and use them to abuse others. “Do you even know why we have alphas?”
“It’s natural,” Wren answered immediately—again, with that sense of repeating something he’d been told. “It’s part of our nature, as wolves—”
“Real wolves don’t have alphas,” Ero said firmly, while Wren stared at him with widened eyes. “They have families. Families, Wren. What we thought were alphas in the wild were just parents with their children. They only formed what we thought was natural pack structure when we put them in cages.”
Wren made a soft, horrified sound, curling his knuckles against his mouth. “Humans kept wolves in cages?”
“Natural wolves, yes. Not werewolves. Werewolves didn’t exist.” Ero clenched his jaw. “We kept them in zoos, and disrupted their lives. That’s when they turned dysfunctional, because wolves who weren’t family were enemies. But since they couldn’t kill each other, they formed packs where an alpha fought its way to the fore as a surrogate parent. They were never supposed to be like that.”
Wren bit his lower lip. That plush, pink lower lip that dragged Ero’s thoughts where they didn’t belong. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying that our packs are dysfunctional. That we’re unrelated wolves who’ve been thrown together and to keep from killing each other, we formed packs where alphas fought their way to the top.” Sighing, Ero dropped to a crouch once more and reached over to drag another branch onto the fire. “And we forgot that we were human, once. Human, and capable of choosing our families. Just a family, instead of this cutthroat cruelty of teeth at the throat and showing belly.”
Wren hesitated, practically hiding behind his tea mug, just a wide pair of eyes watching Ero with a mixture of confusion, apprehension, and fascination that reflected in his scent. Ero just stared into the fire; he needed to leave, to find food, but right now he was too tense, too conflicted, everything inside him twisting and roiling. He hadn’t meant to say so much to this strange little thing he’d somehow acquired; if he could help it, he didn’t speak at all, going miles and miles without encountering a single soul.
But seeing how the little omega had been treated, misled, so ignorant of what he even was…
It struck something hard and angry inside Ero, rousing sharp and frustrated words.
“…Ero?” Wren ventured tentatively.
Ero looked up, watching Wren past the flames. “Yes?”
“How old are you, really?”
That…that was quite the question, wasn’t it. If he told Wren…would he even understand? Or did he not know the significance of those years, of the time before?
“Nine hundred and seventy-two,” Ero answered slowly—and then, simply because it felt dishonest not to, added grudgingly, “I was one of the first alphas.”
He’d expected Wren’s scent, his voice, to reflect shock, horror, judgment…or maybe that was only what Ero expected of himself. But there was only gentle curiosity and a touch of concern, as the little omega asked softly, “What…what happened to your pack?”
blood soaking into soil, wide staring eyes, hide flayed open
“I treated them like family,” Ero said, throat tight. “And other, crueler packs came in and tore us apart.”
Silence, until Wren set his cup down carefully in the dirt and rose; his quiet steps were trailed by the soft shush of his robe against the ground as he circled the fire, then sank down to sit tentatively next to Ero: carefully not touching, his legs drawn up to his chest once more, delicate chin resting against folded forearms atop his knees. His warmth was as soft as feathers, brushing against Ero’s skin, and Wren looked at him sidelong with those wide, curious eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Ero looked down at Wren, and wondered that this little slip of a thing was trying to offer him comfort. Wondered, too, that in less than a day Wren had managed to slip through the cracks in Ero’s surface to touch the old, hurting things underneath.
“It’s not your fault,” he said after a moment. “It’s mine. I’m the one who let them die.” He shook his head, transferring his gaze to the flames. So like the flames that had consumed his home, their home, leaving nothing but death and ash. “I fought with everything in me. I let out every monster sleeping inside me, every demon. I tore blood from my enemies and devoured their flesh. It still wasn’t enough.” Nothing I did could ever be enough. “In the end…I think they left me alive so I would suffer. It would have been more of a mercy to let me die with my pack, rather than living with the shame of surviving them…but being too weak to save them.”
“…Ero,” Wren breathed.
And then his soft, living warmth pressed against Ero’s side, a slender hand against his arm, Wren’s face turned into his shoulder.
And Ero smelled the faint salt of brimming tears, and felt his heart wrench as he wondered if this was empathy, sympathy…
Or merely pity for the broken wolf who walked his road alone.
“Don’t,” he forced out thickly. “Don’t forgive me for it. I can’t forgive myself.”
“I’m just…” That warm hand on his arm tightened. “I’m glad you didn’t die, even if you aren’t. And I’m glad you took me away from my pack.”