Rowan
There were traces of blue in his eyes.
He awoke feeling like absolute shit. Sweat spilt down his chest, his body burning and wrangling with pain. A dull fire twinged in every muscle. His breaths were hasty with the wrongness, of something that burnt in the air. It was not the smell of gas and smoke from their dead airship, but the crawling weight of a souring peach.
Peach.
The nectar of the Gods.
The dreams of ambrosia.
He'd spent forever longing for the source, for that wet pussy to squelch upon his hungry tongue. He daydreamed all the time, his thoughts like the dirtiest of sins. Rowan wished for slow tongue fucking, for a warm breeze and a small body nestled against his. He would have her cocooned in his arms, practically bathing him in the scent of Alpha.
In all his dreams, he'd trail shaky fingers to the bulge of her clit, thumb catching on the dip, cock slotted against her slit, throbbing for more, for a feeling he had yet to experience, for a question between her thighs. His lips on her neck, his nose on her skin, his hand in her hair. But it wasn't all just about the hindbrain tendencies of an Omega. Lust was easy, lust could be an excuse. Lust he could laugh off as a side effect of being an Omega. Lust was not from the heart.
What Rowan felt was not just lust.
Because in those dreams he wanted red on her cheeks, he wanted laughter on her tongue, he wanted warmth in her eyes. He wanted so much he could almost burst into tears. And he'd only learnt of his feelings when he'd seen her in that hall, with those handcuffs on skinny wrists, with fear on her face, with desperation in her eyes. Rowan, please, her eyes had said. Please help me.
His apology had been whimpered from his tongue, his wolf twitching under his skin. It itched like a thousand ants; his heart had pounded not from excitement but from doom. A doomed knowing that had him growing cold, nauseous, and feeling like shit. She'd look at him and the pain that had flooded his heart had almost had him pitched over. No one would know the decision in his head when they'd readied the button to kill her, the rise of his fingers, the moment when Rowan decided he couldn't fucking watch her die. He'd thought of sinking his teeth into Klaus's arm just to stop him.
Because God, no. He'd rather take a knife to the heart than watch her die.
Rowan was going to take her and run; he was going to turn into a fucking traitor. There was a lot a wolf could do, and Rowan had planned to take her to the wastelands. He'd plotted it all, hyperventilating behind the glass, ignoring his mates, forgetting that he had a pack and he was king. Fuck that. He'd repeated in his head, zeroed in on the look in her eyes. Fuck all of this. Fuck being Lonely. Fuck the world. Rowan was a wolf in the woods first, he was not meant for the royalty bullshit. He was not meant to sit on a throne soaked in the blood of his choices.
He would give her a chance.
And then Elysian beat him to it.
And Rowan was now a criminal.
An almost murderer.
She hated him.
He deserved to be hated.
Rowan was always a murderer.
He was also a goddamn son of a bitch. The sort of bastard to volunteer to act as a Lonely because he wanted to kiss her. The sort of bastard who longed for her while standing on the sidelines like a pussy. The sort of bastard who fucked his mates with dreams of another.
He was so fucking envious of Icarus and Elysian that he couldn't look at them for days. He'd hated the scent of peach on them, not because it was her, but because he was jealous. So, Rowan knew that smell. He knew it like he knew the back of his hand. It was his Alpha. His Alpha was in despair, and he cracked an eye open to find her standing before him in a land of golden dunes, destruction and despair.
The wastelands.
The airship.
The Lonely.
Quinn was trembling like a child, exhaustion twinging through every bone. Death approached her in the form of a twitching Hyon. The Lonely stumbled into the murky sea of his vision, forcing his heart into overdrive.
Their fucking commander turning into Lonely had not been in the fucking plans, and that had a jolt of rage whipping through him. A sigh shaking through his lungs. The little shit had lied, lied when Helios had pressed him right before the flight. Hyon had been a wreck of emotions and the guilt that swam from him was like a cesspool of depression. The signs were there.
Helios knew to corner him for answers.
The commander had replied that it was because his mates were turning one after another, excuses flying off his tongue with a salute. They knew his mates and that had Helios backing down with an apology. It was a fucking tragedy. The first had turned into a Lonely in the market, and the second exploded into a monster right in their bed. A happy pack of four had dwindled into two. They'd been trying to conceive their first pup and were just recently happily married.
Still, concern had wrenched through Rowan, gut instincts spinning with wrongness. But they had hundreds of soldiers with turned mates. Hell, Helios had almost transformed into a Lonely. There was no point cancelling the flight just because Hyon had the potential. A quick look at Zen embracing Hyon had ended all their fears. Hyon had a mate back home and he was Zen's best friend, so how could he do anything to jeopardise the safety of the people he loved? Plus, they needed someone on their side, someone who wouldn't hurt Quinn. Someone loyal. Someone they could trust.
Biggest fucking mistake.
It was a slap in the fucking face for Hyon of all people to have gone against their decree, to listen to a goddamn guidebook on the black market. Rowan had been cursing a storm on the sinking airship, his teeth tearing into the fucker's throat with a growl. The ink and blood wetting his tongue. That fucking guidebook was pure bullshit made from panic and paranoia. Some asshole had sold it right before his entire pack had transformed for quick coin, and now the rumours swam like a descending ghost.
The people would rather trust the dribbles of expensive hearsay, than words straight from their kings. They'd rather trust witch doctors and steaming bullshit than kings with teams of scientists and doctors. Gods, why the fuck would they try to kill their people? Kings were kings only because they had the people for it. And if everyone was dying because of their rules, they'd lose the fucking throne. All the goddamn idiots were speeding their way straight into their grave.
Rowan cursed.
Fucking idiots.
Weakly, with a swimming vision and a pulsing migraine, he watched his Alpha and wondered if she would leave them to die. Because if Rowan were in her position, he'd run, run with laughter on his tongue, and a finger in the air.
Quinn should run.
She must.
He'd trembled, watched her with acceptance of the truth. Run. He'd repeated in his mind, knowing it would be better for her to go. Quinn, who knew the ways to survive in the wastelands, could make it on her own. Run. He repeated as Hyon stalked closer. Run, goddamn it. And yet she stayed, placed herself in Hyon's path as the beast lunged for her.
FUCK!
Rowan had been ravaged by a strange pull, wrenched wide awake by a mysterious force that tugged at his soul. The pain that had ruined him had disappeared completely, his body invigorated, his limbs moving. His vision had focussed sharply upon a long single red line, twisting from his chest, pulled taut towards her. A connection, a path, an end. The monster that fought her had Rowan tearing through the sand on sprained limbs, jaws wide open.
Protect.
Protect.
Protect.
Protect our Alpha.
The fear pulsed in his throat and only grew.
Protect our girl.
The horror rose as the monster got closer, too fucking close. He wasn't going to make it.
Protect our mate.
She fought clumsily, too damn weak, and when the Lonely charged, collapsing into her shoulder. Rowan feared the worst with a gut-wrenching howl. His wolf had sobbed, sobbed like she was already mate, like she was already pack, like she was already his.
The awfulness grew, pain in his throat, his heart, his lungs, his mind, his soul. His vision swam black and red. Then cleared with his teeth in the Lonely's leg, wrenching it back, breaking through bone with a snarl. The body crumpled on his tongue, the force of his tug breaking Hyon into two.
He was panting right after, eyes searching Quinn's body for wounds, for blood. There were only bruises, marks on her skin. No torn throats, no fatal wounds, no crevice in her heart. His wolf relaxed, falling onto his ass. The events that had transpired swiftly swept through his mind.
Hyon had killed himself.