Archive of Our Own

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Above Shady Belle, the moon was high and full, casting the swamps in an odd shade of yellow as the cicadas and alligators called out to one another. The air was thick, musky and humid, as you walked out of the remains of the once proud estate, your temper as clashing as the door as you swung it back against the frame. You were livid, and rightfully so. That bastard Micah was practically terrorizing you, smirking with nothing but teeth as he cornered you in your room, asking you about your ideas for partners with your upcoming heat. You had smacked him and rushed out of the house as quickly as you could before the man could gather himself enough to retaliate. Making quick work of the steps, you could hear him shouting inside, calling and slurring after you, his voice as shrill as your breathing as you ran into the thick swamp surrounding the place. You needed to hide from him now, to avoid him. It’s not that the other members wouldn’t protect you. You knew without a doubt that a few of them would sooner shoot Micah than defend him, but it didn’t matter. Not with most of them being gone and out of camp right now, unaware of your current predicament. Even Arthur, who’s been gone for almost a week now, has yet to return. You know Micah waited till now, till no one was around. Micah, he was growing brasher and more hateful than you’d ever seen, and Dutch was allowing it. In fact, he was encouraging it. Not once stopping Micah or asking him to reconsider his behavior, as it would only call out his own. It infuriated you, and it only drove the wedge further when Micah started to come after you without remorse, constantly pinning you against walls or wherever he could to try and assert himself, to get you to accept him, by either sheer relenting force, or by making you fearful of only offering him rejection. As you stumbled through the hundreds of roots and through the cloying mud at your feet, you hear Micah slam past the front door, shouting your name and cursing it in the same breath. He sounded enraged, angrier than he had ever been. And you’re positive his pride stings as much as his cheek after his latest attempt. Your fury quickly turns into fear as you hear him start after you, his footfalls as loud as they are damning. Working your way through the growths and mud, you push further into the swamp. It’s terrifying, as you see the glint of the eyes from the gators, watching you as you run headfirst into their territory with a creature just as terrifying coming after you. And whenever you stumble, or your feet slip, your adrenaline on pushes further. “Oh, you ain’t gettin’ away from me this time, omega!” Micah snarls, his voice echoing through the thick canopy of trees and hanging moss. You push harder, and soon, you end up crashing into the river nearby. The splashing of water from your feet is far more audible than you’d like, and you feel Micah’s sights on you the moment you begin to cross, the filthy, brown water soon soaking up your pants to your knees. “Either the gators get you, or I do,” Micah laughs manically, coming forward till he has you trapped between the bank of the river, and where you can see two glowing eyes across the way, “Best make your choice now. At least with me, you’ll live. Granted, it won’t be fun, for you that is.” Your breath shudders out of you, broken and panicked, and you try to finish crossing, but a hand snakes around your arm as a low rumble sounds nearby. “G-Get off me!” you shriek, but it does no good. Micah, even if he is a snake, is an alpha at the end of things. A slimy, bastard of an alpha, but one that easily drags you back to the bank of the river as that rumble grows in volume, almost vibrating in the air. His scent spikes, smelling even more rancid than before with his fury. “You’ve gone and pissed me off, baby,” he sneers, his upper lip pulling up over his teeth as his eyes flash red, “Makin’ me chase you like this after you hit me—” “I should’ve killed ya!” you try to pull his hand off of you, your nails sinking into his skin in an attempt to free yourself from his grip, “Let me go—” He hits you then, along your cheek just like you had him. It silences you, and you can feel the slight split on your skin from where his ring had cut you, and you wince, tears springing up in your eyes. “Oh no, I’m not lettin’ you go, not after all this,” he seethes, and he yanks you, causing you to lose your balance and fall to the ground roughly with a cry, “Tonight, I’m gonna get what I want. It’s what you owe me after all!” He zeroes in on you, coming down and gripping onto your body wherever he can find purchase as you thrash around in the mud. You scream, loud and piercing as Micah laughs, unbothered by your terror and struggle. In fact, he seems to enjoy it as he rips your shirt along the seam at your shoulder, exposing your neck. His eyes pin themselves on the skin there, and he licks his lips, looking far more animal than human. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this...” Nearby, a roar splits through the air, and you feel Micah still above you. Your breath catches in your throat, that sound being almost unnatural with the way it sets your hairs on your arms on end, as you turn your head to the opposite bank of the river. Something moves through the water, and you feel your heart ramming against your ribs as you spot those two reflections from before. But, to your immense horror, they are somehow glowing red. Micah curses, yanking you off the ground and pulling you back as he goes for his revolver, immediately firing towards the beast as he shoves you to the side. Once again, you fall into the mud from his rough handling, and you begin to crawl back after the creature yelps in pain, but continues its assault, now done with crossing the river. “You ain’t worth this, omega!” Micah yells, and he turns, running as fast as he can manage back towards Shady Belle. The creature growls, its breaths rough and ragged as it somewhat takes after him, its hulking form moving some, but in a pained way. Past the canopy of trees, bits of moonlight filter through, and your eyes catch onto where the beast has had its front leg shot by the alpha who ran away. You can barely make out the creature though, but there is no doubt in your mind that it does not belong here, and neither do you. On the air, the scent of blood is rich and heavy, and you swallow thickly as you go to move away slowly. But you are not as quiet as you’d like, as you see its ears prick at the sound of you moving, and its attention darts to you. Those eyes from earlier land back on you, their irises glowing a bright shade of crimson as you still. Slowly, it paces forward, and you can hear it scenting the air as it approaches you. Trembling, your heart races, and you close your eyes as it gets close enough to strike. You are to die here. At the hands of this unruly beast. But you’d much prefer this than to being taken by Micah. You only hope it is quick and painless. But that never comes. Instead, a whine sounds in your ear, and your eyes shoot open as you feel something warm and wet lap at your cheek. This... this creature. It’s— It stops as soon as it started, and you’re left staring with wide eyes at the beast before you. For some reason, you don’t feel like prey here, not when you would’ve been attacked already if you had been. Whatever this thing is, you feel... safe with it. Cautiously, you try to see what it is. Now that it’s closer, you can make out the faint outline of a muzzle, and the thick fur coming off of its body as it stares at you, unmoving. It doesn’t react, not even as you shuffle a little closer, your curiosity getting the better of you as you make out the rest of its form. Huge paws, a thick tail that is swaying slightly as you take in the sight of it. It’s... it’s a wolf. Far bigger than average size, and its coat a lighter color you can’t quite make out. Its eyes, though, are a piercing mixture of blue and hazel. Your terror quickly turns to apprehension, and you let out a shaky breath, your eyes locked with the ones in front of you. You stare, squinting in the dark as you lean in, finding them to be far too familiar. Reaching with your hand, you go to touch the wolf, you palm outstretched and undemanding as you bring it closer. The wolf offers a slight warning growl, and you pause, swallowing, but it doesn’t snap or pull away. If anything, it moves its muzzle closer to you, gently sniffing and taking a small step towards you as it investigates you as much as you do with it. It’s so close you’re both almost touching, and you can feel its soft breathing from its nose as it almost presses into your palm. But, the moment breaks. The wolf pulls back, growling, and at first, you think that you aren’t as safe as you though until it looks towards the tree line, its lips pulled back in a snarl. In the distance, you can hear others crashing through the swamp much as you had earlier, shouting and calling for you as their lanterns begin to illuminate the trees around them. The wolf steps back, limping and whining lightly from the bullet lodged in its leg, before looking to you. It stares, just for a moment, until it breaks away right as the others begin to come closer to where you lie on the riverbank. You watch, speechless as the wolf bounds over the river, using nearby rocks to create little noise as it disappears into the trees across the way. You’re still watching after it as Charles comes up to you, looking paled and worried as he drops down into the mud at your side. “Are you hurt?” he asks, looking all over you as he places a hand on your arm. “Just— shaken, m-mainly,” you shudder lightly then, and Charles removes his hand. “Come on... We can’t stay out here,” he helps you up, and he looks around the area as Dutch and a few others appear, “I don’t see anything. Not like what Micah described.” “After tonight, I don’t trust much of what that bastard says,” Hosea hisses, and he looks to Dutch, “This is the last goddamn thing he’ll do with us. He’s to be gone come sunrise.” A bit scandalized, Dutch narrows his gaze on the old man as Charles helps you walk past them, “Now, Hosea—” “No, you don’t get to defend him! Not this time!” the aged outlaw points a finger at Dutch then, accusing as he is demanding, “He’s done enough during his time here, and I don’t want him around if he’s just going to try and attack us and lie that animals are doin’ it! He waited till we were asleep and the others were gone to do this! It was planned and intentional! He’s packin’ and leavin’, and you are going to let that happen!” Darkly, Dutch pushes back, “And if I don’t?” “Then you can damn well leave with him.” The argument that you both leave behind is one you’re glad to be free of as Charles leads you back to Shady Belle, your adrenaline wearing off and leaving you feeling hollow and drained. The alpha at your side looks to you with worry, and his concern gets the better of him. “You alright?” “Told you... Just shaken.” He hums, looking in front of you both as Shady Belle comes back into view, “We’ll get you comfortable, and cleaned up... I promise that, after tonight, Micah won’t ever get near you again.” You shudder at the mention of the man, and Charles doesn’t miss that reaction. “If he does,” you breathe, your voice as empty as it is cold, “I’ll put a bullet in him myself.” Despite that though, you look back over your shoulder, thinking of the wolf who nearly did the honors for you. With the way you watch the trees, Charles asks you, “I’d understand if you don’t want to really think of that moment, but... was there an animal? Micah said something came out of the trees. Something big that tried to kill him, and he ran to us as shaken as I’ve ever seen.” You look back ahead, your voice dipping low as you make a decision. “Wasn’t nothin’ but me there.” Charles nods, leaving it at that as he takes you into Shady Belle.

---

Micah is sent off by Hosea personally come sunrise.You stay up to witness it but from the safety of the house. Micah is livid, promising things that are about as vile as he is, and Hosea sends him off with his revolver pointed at the back of the man’s head. Dutch, he’s oddly quiet, staying back and not partaking or even viewing Micah being kicked out. It’s obvious that he doesn’t agree, that, despite all of the horrific signs of a monster living in that man, he didn’t want to make him leave. But you, for one, are glad, and once Micah is down the road and it has been a few hours since he left, that is when you finally emerge. You’ve been cleaned up since last night, missing both mud on your skin and ruined clothes. Even your face has two stitches, and you try not to focus on how stiff your cheek is from them as you exit the house. Thankfully, most of everyone is either inside, or still off on errands, and they do not see you slip into the woods with determination driving you full force. It’s weirder, seeing this all in the day. The swamp almost seems innocent, harmless, as you crawl your way back towards the river, your eyes set ahead till you see it through the trees. You start tracking, trying to find any paw prints and finding nothing. Everyone coming through here has ruined what would’ve been preserved with the mud, as nothing but the imprints of their shoes remain. It’s infuriating. All you want is proof. Proof that what you saw that night was real since Micah was the last thing you wanted to source from. You make a frustrated noise, and you look back to the other side of the woods, your eyes narrowing as your hopes for tracks leave you. But that’s when you see it. On one of the rocks in the river, it’s as plain as day. Drops of spattered scarlet stick out glaringly against the gray stone it’s against, and your breath leaves you. Setting off ahead, you move, crossing the river and uncaring for the way it soaks you, your eyes searching the banks. There are still no footprints, not even with from the others in camp. The mud looks oddly flattened, as though it’s been leveled as your eyes scan it for any impression, even if only partial. Cursing, you set ahead, your wet clothes clinging to your skin as you head further into the swamp. You swipe away branches and other foliage as you attempt to track the wolf from last night, but finding nothing immediate in the soil around. That is until you look harder. Again, droplets of blood have fallen into the earth here, and they’ve been absorbed into the dirt, something not so easily wiped away or covered up. Squinting, you make out a light but definite trail, and a grin pulls at your lips. You rush, following it as closely as you can manage until you reach the swamps near the edge of the Lannahechee River, where the tracks of blood stop completely. You keep moving forward some, slowly, so your eyes can try and pick up any shift in direction, but you do not find any more blood. But what you do find is even more damning. Footprints, but entirely human. Whoever they were, they were barefoot, and you can see the differences in the tracks from where they were stumbling, and at one point slipped. And there, in the dirt, is a pool of blood, dark and wept into the ground until it turned the rusty soil almost black. It’s still damp even, as you go to touch it and your fingers come back bloody. Your breath catches, and you wipe your hand on your pants fearfully. The wolf... Did it— A snap of a twig has your head moving upwards in seconds, your wide gaze pinned to where you heard the noise ahead in the trees. You stay stock still, your heart hammering as you expect the worst. But all that emerges is a deer, a doe whose ears turn back at the sight of you. And once she realizes you’re there, she leaps back, bounding back into the cover of the trees beyond where you tremble against the ground. You... you need to get out of here. You step back from the blood and the tracks left behind, your mouth going dry at the implications, and your mind wanting not to process them. But even with the lack, you make sure to have a grip on the handle of your pistol the entire trek back.

---

A few days have passed since that damning night, but it still lingers on your mind. Especially come nightfall, when the waning moon grows smaller and duller with each return to its place amid the stars.You stand on the upper balcony of Shady Belle, your arms crossed over the railing as you look up to it, your mind only on the red glow of those eyes, at the heat of its breath on your skin. The smell of blood that had been in the air. None of it bodes well. Not with the wolf lingering so close to camp, near the people you did care for in the gang, near Jack. You worry for their safety, especially since Hosea had sent Charles and a few others out to look for Arthur, who still had yet to return to camp after almost two weeks of being gone. Your heart aches at that, at the fact that Arthur still has yet to return. You miss the alpha— his wit, his smile, his heart. He’s been one of the few people who never treated you like a burden, or as anything lesser because of your omega designation. He’s also been one of the few who has spoken out against Micah, and he has fought back against the other alpha any time he gave you grief. You know without a doubt that, had Arthur been here that fateful night, he would’ve saved you from Micah. But he was missing. And you worried about him. What if... what if the wolf got him? On his way back to camp? What if Arthur tried to warn you all, or tried to kill the beast, and died while trying? But a part of you knows better... Knows that, deep down, Arthur is alive. But that blood... the trail of struggle. Where did it come from? Who did it come from? It worries you. Because what you had found... it didn’t look good. It’s almost as if your wolf... the wolf, attacked someone out in the swamps. A passerby from the road, maybe? A fisherman who got curious as to what was lurking between the tree trunks? Something doesn’t feel right about that. And you figure, if the wolf had a bloodlust enough to attack a stranger as it would appear, then... why didn’t it attack you? It’s an answerless question, and you drop your eyes down, looking over the entrance of Shady Belle as you give up for the night. You’re about to turn in and finally try and get some sleep, but you squint as a form seems to appear near the mouth of the road leading to and from camp. Leaning forward, you grip onto the rail, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s... It’s Arthur. He looks half-awake, slumping over his horse, that damned black Shire Hosea gave him while you were at Horseshoe a blessing to see as it dutifully leads him back into camp. You pull away from the balcony, rushing forward towards the stairs as Karen’s shrill voice rings out into the air. “Arthur!” Doors to multiple rooms in the house burst open as you run towards the door, and you shove the front one open and back out into the muggy air. Arthur’s Shire leads him up near the door, stopping finally as you reach its side, the man on its saddle barely alive. His body, it’s worse for wear. Bruised, torn up, bloody in some parts. He’s shirtless, and his pants are torn up all over from whatever had happened to him. For a moment, you fear that the wolf did in fact get him, but as you frantically look over his skin, you find nothing close to teeth marks marring his flesh. But you do find a bullet wound on his right shoulder, the skin ugly and ripped up. Your fingers brush against his skin then, and the man hisses. It’s the most consciousness you see out of him, and when he looks up to you, his eyes are blazing red. You swallow, knowing Arthur never flared his eyes up unless he could help it, and the sight of the shade had your blood about freezing in its veins as he rumbles. “Arthur?” you ask, your voice quiet as the door to Shady Belle is thrown open once more. “Y-You—” the man attempts to get out, his breathing rough as he blinks rapidly, “You got away...” “Arthur, you’re scaring me...” “I’m s-scarin' me too...” Your mouth sets into a fine scowl as John and Dutch rush up from behind you. “Arthur,” Dutch breathes, and he goes to help John as they pull the wounded man off of his horse, “dear god boy, what happened?” “Too... too much,” he breathes, and you watch as he falls unconscious the moment he lets go of the reigns. Dutch’s despair grows, and his booming voice echoes as he shouts to Javier and the others, “Get him inside! Grimshaw, I need you lookin’ over and tendin’ to Arthur as soon as we get him in there!” As Hosea rushes forward, his eyes grow grim at the state of Arthur as they carry him away, “Dear god... What happened?” “I don’t know,” Dutch grits out, his pace fast and heavy as he moves back towards Shady Belle with Arthur’s legs in his grasp, “He rode in like this, and passed out as soon as we got him off his horse.” Hosea’s face pulls in the worst of ways, and he looks to you as Dutch leaves, heading back into the house as John and maneuvers the poor bastard with him. “You— I saw you get to him before anyone else. He say anythin’?” “N-Nothin’ sensible,” you mutter, and you frown as Hosea narrows his eyes on you. Hosea looks back towards the house and shakes his head, already breaking off, “’Fraid that not much is makin’ sense these past few days...” You look back to the moon as he leaves, and you wonder if anything had ever really been sensible to begin with.

---

You stay by Arthur’s side for the few days he rests.He is out cold, sleeping and healing from whatever had happened to him. Grimshaw had managed to dig the bullet out of his shoulder and bandage him up where need be, and so, with you staying by his bedside, you monitor his wounds and tend to them when needed. They all look better day by day, and you’re about shocked at how well Arthur heals. In fact, even his bullet wound seems to be closing up, and most of his bruises have faded and gone by the time you arrive for the fourth day of keeping him company. But it’s as you are getting ready to clean up what was left that the most shocking thing happens— Arthur wakes. You come back with a bowl and rag in hand, prepared and expecting to find Arthur lying unconscious in bed; but instead, you find him standing near the mirror in the corner of his room, donning on his blue shirt and doing the buttons up. You drop the bowl, the metal clashing against the worn floorboards below as water splashes everywhere and onto your feet. Arthur’s head jolts to you and his fingers stop from where he was doing up the last buttons near his chest. He takes in the sight of you, paling. “You...” you start, your eyes narrowing, “You’re supposed to be asleep.” “Well,” his voice is scratchy from disuse, and he doesn’t bother with the last few buttons as he grabs onto his signature hat, “I’m not...” Your breathing picks up as Arthur awkwardly stares to the floor below, where all the water is pooled at your feet. As you take a deep breath, you can tell that his scent is different too... Normally, where it is light, with only hints of heat, it is now thick, and muskier than you remember. Narrowing your eyes, you voice your concern. “What happened to you?” “Got attacked,” he says evenly, and you eye him oddly at the way he sounds— at the way he seems... different. “By who?” “Dunno. Didn’t get a chance to see. Lot of enemies we have, in these parts,” he says, turning away and not facing you, “Doesn’t matter when they’re dead.” Frustrated with his nonchalance, you snap, “It matters because you almost died!” “I didn’t,” he growls, and you pale at the way it sounds with him, “So just lay off with it.” You go to snap again, to call out Arthur on his unusual behavior when you see it. There, in the mirror. His eyes are red, and his face is pinched in an ugly way with the way he tries to roll his shoulders. Like he’s in pain. “Arthur,” you breathe, and you move closer, setting a hand on his right shoulder, “Are you oka—” You yelp as you feel your back suddenly meet the wall, and you still as Arthur rumbles beside you. He’s pressed against you, hard and rough as your breath comes out in pants over your lips. He is looking downward, his face obscured by the brim of his hat, and you tremble against him as your heart thunders away in your chest. “A-Arthur...” “I—” his arms, the one the brace against the wall at either side of your head shake, and you hear a light crunching sound, as though he’s forcing them to remain there as he wars with himself, “I don’t. . .” You exhale sharply, feeling your throat go dry before you go to touch Arthur again. But before you can, the alpha rips himself away, looking like it both pains and relives him at the same time. He growls, his face still hidden under the brim of his hat as he stands there, his shoulders bunched and tight. “You... you need to stay away from me,” he hisses, unable to look you in the eye as his voice gets lower than you have ever heard it, gruff and broken as though he gargled broken glass. Before you can argue with him on that, he moves to leave, exiting his room in a blur and leaving you against the wall as your breath rushes out of you. You pull away from the wall, shaky on your feet. Especially when you look to it, and notice the nail marks gouging into the wood. And for the first time since that night, the wolf is the least of your worries.

---

You try to confront Arthur after whatever had happened in his room, but the man is nowhere to be seen.He had taken off afterward, picking up work from Hosea despite the man’s concern for him, insisting he was alright and ready. You know it was to avoid you, and the realization breaks your heart. Arthur, he had never done anything like this. Had never pushed you away. In fact, you two were quite close and always had been. He was even telling you of his doubts with Dutch, his concern for the gang, his goddamn desire to run away and live a life he had chosen against all those years ago when he first started running. He had even offered to take you with him, after the bank robbery in Saint Denis. To take your cuts and to leave once he made sure everyone else was alright. You were looking forward to that. You were just looking forward to having Arthur back. But all of that, it’s now seemingly gone because of whatever had happened. And it is agonizing, and you can’t help the tears that come when you break down on Hosea. You guess it is a combination of the horrid night you had with Micah, and how you felt like as helpless against Arthur when he pinned you against his bedroom wall. That fear, it was just the same, and you couldn’t believe Arthur was capable of making you feel that way. That he would ever be capable of something like this. “He is actin’ strange, that’s for damn sure,” Hosea sounds worn after you explain what had happened, “This ain’t the Arthur I know. Never has been.” You feel awful that it is only more strain on the man, especially when he doesn’t need it. But who else could you go to? Who else could help you? Dutch was barely back from Micah leaving, keeping to himself and feeling more like a stranger each day than the man you’ve come to know with your time in the gang. Everyone else, they were either looking to jump ship, or they were taking great glee in all of this suffering and unease among everyone. The gang, none of it was the same. No one was the same, and not for the better. All of this change, it’s terrifying, and only more so when it seems to be happening with Arthur, the one person you hoped it would never reach. And only more so when you had no idea what to do about any of it.

---

He comes back after a few days.You aren’t there when he initially arrives, as you’d gone out with Jack in an attempt to cheer the poor boy up while he was amidst all this misery in the gang, but you were sure as hell present for the way Hosea laid into him. The old man’s shouts were not quiet nor muffled as you returned Jack to his mother, and Abigail offered you a tight thanks before attempting to keep her son from hearing how Hosea railed into Arthur a few doors down. You swallow, heading to your room downstairs as you unintentionally overhear Hosea’s scolding words. “—you decide to go runnin’ off right after all that, and to what? Avoid them?” You slow some from where you go to move down the stairs, your hand gripping tightly onto the railing. “It isn’t— it’s more than just that!” Arthur says in defense. “Then what exactly is it, Arthur?” Hosea sneers, unusually barbed towards him them, “Because they came to me, cryin’ and worried because you took off as soon as you wake! You nearly died after bein’ gone for too long, and they spent every day you were out by your side! If you wanna thank someone for your speedy recovery, it’s them! And you should thank them, and not run off the first chance you get!” You hear something shift about in the room, and Arthur’s voice sounds tired and drained, “It ain’t that simple, Hosea! Things— they’re different now... I can’t explain it.” “You don’t have to explain it to me. You owe it to them,” Hosea grinds, “I know that right now, things aren’t lookin’ good. I’m fearin’ the worst, and nothin’ good is happenin’ for any of us. This— all of this— it’s comin’ to an end, Arthur.” “I know...” “I know you do, which is why I can’t seem to understand why you are treatin’ the one person who’s got your back as much as you have theirs this way,” Hosea’s voice quiets some, but you are still able to make it out through the walls of Arthur’s room, “I know you care about them, Arthur. I haven’t raised you and been with you for these past twenty years to be unable to notice somethin’ like that.” Your heart picks up a bit at that, and you bite your lip. “Don’t start,” Arthur warns, sounding hurt, “That’s somethin’ else entirely... It ain’t— it ain’t relative to this—” “Like hell it isn’t,” Hosea snaps, “I told you, I know how you are. You push people away, especially when they matter to ya because that’s easier than gettin' them hurt. You did it to Mary and anyone else who came close. And now, you’re doin’ it to them like the damn fool you are.” “They don’t deserve what’ll come to them if they keep on with me, especially now... They deserve better.” “Then they deserve the truth. Not just you closin’ them out and treatin’ them like they don’t exist, or worse like you don’t want them to.” Your eyes sting as Arthur mutters his reply, “I don’t know how I can, Hosea.” “Then damn well learn how,” seeing the knob turn, you duck, going to move back down the stairs as Arthur’s door opens, and Hosea’s voice rings out in the air, “Because I told you, Arthur, this is endin’, one way or another. You can either have this be on your terms, or you can let this destroy the one thing you can still have once this is over.” Hosea all about slams the door as you reach the bottom of the stairs. As you hear him start to descend himself, you rush, heading into your room and quickly shutting the door. Tears streak down your cheeks as you sit on the edge of your bed, and you breathe deeply as you hear a slight knock on your door. You don’t make an attempt to hide, not when you know that it would be more obvious than your crying as Hosea comes into the room. At the sight of you, he sighs and shuts your door behind him softly. The older man comes over, and the mattress dips beside you as he takes a seat. Wordlessly, he sets an arm on your shoulder and lets you lean against him. “It’ll be alright,” he tells you, rubbing up and down your forearm, “We’ll be alright.” And as you cry into him, you can’t find it in yourself to argue just how wrong that seems.

---

Arthur still avoids you, but now at least, he stays in camp. Which, you’re unsure if that makes things better, or worse.He mainly keeps to himself though, and he doesn’t come to visit you like he used to. And you, any time you do go upstairs, his door is always pointedly shut, something that you’re not used to. He would always leave it cracked for you, and you’d come inside to spend the night with him, talking softly in the candlelight until you fell asleep, and woke up in your bed downstairs. You miss that. You miss getting to talk to him, getting to have him talk to you. How open he would be, how sweet. How he made you think that all alphas were like this, that there was still a little hope left in the world, especially with yours in the gang growing darker and darker with each passing day. But now, you are kept away at arm’s length, with you being able to see Arthur, but not do anything more than to long for what you once had. You can tell Hosea is growing impatient with Arthur, especially when he sees how much it’s hurting you, and the fights are about as endless as they are constant. It’s gotten to the point where, one night, as Hosea yells at Arthur for botching a job alongside everything else, you grab your camping kit and your bag, and head outside. You take one of the random horses kept at the side of camp, hoping to keep up a slight façade of being in camp when you’re not as you head out. A part of you knows this is idiotic. An omega, going out on their own in god damn Lemoyne during the night no less— it’s downright foolish. But you can’t take it anymore, you can’t stay here. And so, you ride forth, keeping the horse quiet until you near the main road, and spur it into a gallop. You make sure to try and keep your tracks confusing, as to buy you some time for when they come to look for you, and the Walker underneath you throws its head back as you guide it in all sorts of directions. After a while of crisscrossing and running in loops, you finally head in the direction you want, further up northwest. You aim in the direction of Valentine, of simpler times long since passed. You’re not sure how long you ride, but the moon hangs overhead despite the storm clouds rolling in, only a small sliver in the sky now compared to before. It barely illuminates the road and the signs here in the dead of night, and it sure as shit doesn’t let you see the raiders the line the bridge you attempt to cross. You see their wagon there, its lanterns snuffed and hidden behind a tree beside the bridge, and your heart sinks. You force the Walker into an abrupt stop, its hooves digging into the orange soil below as you yank back on the reins, your eyes locked onto where a few men appear from behind bushes and the tree that obscures the wagon. Their guns are all aimed at you, and your breath is quick as it rushes out of you. “Oh, look at this,” one of them sneers as the wind changes direction and blows your scent towards them, “An omega? All by themselves?” “My alpha is right behind me,” you lie, your voice kept even as they come to circle you in, your hand reaching you’re your revolver at your side as thunder crackles above you. The Walker underneath you moves unsteadily, not used to any of this as they chuckle and trap you. “Sure they is,” the main raider tells you, and he brings his lantern up, illuminating your face, “Damn. Looks like we’re gettin' a fine take tonight, boys!” They all whoop and holler, and as you go to unholster your gun, one of them reaches you with blinding speed, grabbing you off of your horse from behind. You yell as the Walker bucks, only throwing you off as one of the raiders smacks its flank to make it flee. You watch helplessly as it gallops off, leaving you stranded as they all grab ahold of you. The main raider’s dark eyes flick to you as he removes your pistol casually, smiling with his teeth as he drops the gun onto the ground with a heavy thud, only further announcing your helplessness. Thunder rolls again overhead, the faint flicker of lightening a blinding light off some miles away. “You should think twice before passin’ through this kind of country,” the main one purrs, moving the hand that had your gun towards you, “There’s a lot of monsters out here.” As the man goes to rip your boots off, a roar from further down the road shrills up into the air. It almost sounds like it is from the storm, but. . . but a part of you knows better. You all look down the way, your eyes locked in the direction of the sound. The men at first ignore it, believing it to be a part of the incoming weather, but as another sound announces itself, they quickly follow your gaze. “What in the hell? . . .” Galloping can be heard, and your eyes widen as you see the Walker you had ridden here on is running in your direction. It’s spooked, crying a warning to the other horses nearby, who all begin to shift and move away themselves, their ears flattened to their heads as they sense whatever had scared your horse. The roar repeats itself again, and this time, it’s much closer, and definitely from no storm. “Fuck this,” one of the men lets go of you, running towards his horse. A few others leave, instantly driven by their fear as they saddle up and run. The main raider, the one giving you so much trouble, only glares, standing and leaving you against the road as he and the last few look down it expectantly. “Ready the guns,” he tells them. The night grows eerily quiet after the others run off, the distant sound of their horses galloping away from the only other sound you can hear apart from the chirping of crickets. Your breath stalls in your throat and you look around, feeling that same sensation from the swamps at Shady Belle wash over you. “There!” Before you can turn your eyes to it, there is a snarl, and the raiders around you begin firing before you even see anything. Beside you, one of the men falls to the ground as something heavy lands against them, his lantern falling to the ground and shattering, and the grass now aflame as his scream is soon silenced. Rolling away from the fire that is soon growing, you huddle against yourself on the ground. The other men curse, losing their bravado as a familiar rumble vibrates in the air. You look then, seeing that familiar, hulking form as it moves in front of you and between the two men that aim directly at you both. The flames light its coat an orange hue, but it does not compare to the fire in its eyes as it lowers itself and shows its white teeth. The wolf — it came back... It snarls, loud and cracking, and the two men beside their leader appear shaken as the wolf hunkers down on its haunches, and leaps forth. It tackles one of the men to the right, the light from their bullet fire sparking and splitting into the air, almost as loud as the roar the wolf offers as it sinks its teeth into the man’s neck. You hear the snap of bone, and the other man beside his leader grows pale and begins to back away as the wolf finishes mauling his fellow raider. The leader of the dismantled troop looks rabid with rage, spittle passing his lips as he raises his revolver as the wolf raises its head to him. Its ears lay flat against its thick skull, and it bares its teeth once more as it aggresses on the man. The leader rapidly fires his revolver into the wolf as it lands on him, his piercing shriek leaving you to shudder against the ground as the wolf finishes the man off as he did with the rest. The last raider is already running, having dropped his worn carbine onto the ground and hightailing it towards the bridge they had so foolishly guarded tonight. You move, the air growing thick and hazy with smoke as the flames consume the dry grass. Standing unsteadily, your eyes immediately move to the wolf, the sharp cry of its whine as stinging as the bullet wounds lining its body. Its fur is thick and soaked in blood all over as it looks to you, its eyes a distinct shade of red. Your breath catches as you watch it fade, slowly turning to the beautiful mixture of blue and green you had seen that night in the swamps. The fire picks up around you, but the clouds overhead rumble with the promise of rain as you move towards the wolf, moving on instinct. Despite what you had found after you looked in the swamps, you know the wolf isn’t going to hurt you. That it already would’ve at this point, and it sure as hell wouldn’t have killed the raiders that attempted to... well, it killed them before they could. The wolf is still whining, the sound dying into a miserable whimper as you approach it. “It’s— it’s okay,” you hold your hands out, steady and slow as you approach while the land around you both burns, the smoke in the air singeing your throat and lungs as you cough, “I’m n-not here to hurt you...” The wolf eyes you a little warily, but it doesn’t stop you as you come close. It’s far too large to carry, you know this. It is tall enough to come up to the flanks on your horse, and you’re sure its large, muscular form would be too heavy for you to manage. It makes you curse, and you look around, hoping to find something that could help you both. As you turn towards the bridge, your eyes land on it — the wagon. The flames have grown too large and too encompassing to try and drive the wagon over to the wolf, as the flames lick at the edges of the road, trying to find something to spread onto as the dirt separates its path of destruction. As you glance back to the wolf, you swallow thickly, taking in all that has happened to it as you finally set a hand on its neck. The wolf rumbles, its eyes fluttering closed as your fingers seep into its dense coat. To your surprise, the hair isn’t wiry or rough, but soft and warm. Granted, there is some blood that you pick up against your fingertips from where a bullet grazed by its ear, but you still find yourself surprised. Not even the best of wolf pelts felt like this... Shaking your head, you refocus, and you look back towards the wagon with determination. “You may not be able to understand me, but I gotta get you outta here... See that wagon over there? That’s what we’re aimin’ for. I—'m going to try and get you on it, and we’re gonna leave before the smoke or the flames get us, okay?” The wolf splits its eyes open just barely, and you can see the fatigue that plagues it. “Come on, don’t give up on me,” you huff, and you wrap an arm under its belly in an attempt to lift it to its legs. The wolf makes a noise, one of both irritation and pain, but it doesn’t snap at you. Instead, it tries to stand, its stance shaky and weak as you lean back. Your shirt is coated in blood now, and you can feel the heat of it against your skin and smell its sickly copper scent as you scruff the wolf some. “I’ll lead, just w-walk with me,” you cough out. The wolf does follow, although you can tell it’s a struggle. The entire time you pull it forward, you notice the flames growing closer and closer to the wagon. The sky crackles promisingly above you both, but you know that the rain will be a minute yet as the air grows heavy. Lightning strikes one of the trees in the distance as you pull the wolf forward, the flames down a distinct and dull roar as it begins to consume everything within its vicinity. Rabbits and other creatures flee, just as panicked as you as you glance back to the wolf. “Not much father!” The wolf winces with each step, and you can see it trying to avoid using its back-left leg, a bullet lodged deeply in its thigh. The blood almost appears black in the contrasting moonlight, the shade of blue pulling off of the orange of the flames as the clouds finally move over you both. Another ominous crackle sounds off from the storm, right as you reach the wagon. “Come on, get in the back!” The wolf attempts to jump up, but it fails. The sound it makes has your chest all about seizing as it attempts to get onto the back of the wagon but only falls against the edges of the wood boards before all about collapsing on the ground. You rush down to its side as the flames move closer, whishing hungrily towards the tree at your side. The wolf eyes them, growling as you get it to stand again, this time, trying your best to support all its weight. “Jump, I got ya!” The wolf struggles, its large paws scratching at the back of the wagon to find purchase there as you attempt to lift it as best you are able. Its whole form shudders, and you can tell just how much agony the wolf is in as it finally gets a good enough footing to haul itself into the back of the wagon. “Yes!” The wolf slips against the wood, falling against the back as you already rush to the driver’s seat. The poor draft horses at the front are crying out, stamping their feet, and they need no encouragement to move as you get ahold of their reins. You back the wagon up as the flames begin to catch onto the tree, and the wolf snarls as the back of the wagon is placed into the flames. But you’re as quick as the fire, having the draft horses already pull you forward now that you’ve cleared the angle, and you can pull forward towards the bridge. You can hear the wolf struggle and scratch at the wood of the wagon as you roughly handle it, and you whisper an apology as you drive the wagon away from the threat of the flames. Behind you, they wrap around the tree, growing until they whirlwind around its top as the wind whips them higher and higher. As you look back, you curse, before you face back towards the road and whip the reins harder. You ride on, heading down the road as your eyes search for any kind of place you can stop. As your eyes scan about, you laugh out of relief, spotting the poor Walker you had ridden all this way on grazing. You slow the cart down, and you bring your fingers up to whistle. The Walker lifts its head, its ears flicking. It steps forward, walking towards you from where it was standing next to a small alcove of trees. You move your attention to it, noticing there’s a gap and break enough between the trunks to slip the wagon into them. Whipping the reins, you spur the drafts forward, and your Walker comes to your side, throwing its head back some as it paces with you. The wagon fits in like a glove, slipping off of the road and into the shelter of trees right as you feel the first bits of rain fall onto your skin. The rest is a blur. You move quickly, parking the wagon and going to your Walker to remove your camping kit. Despite the whipping wind and the steady rain that begins to pick up, you set up your tent easily, the canvas blocking out the rain as you make a space large enough for what you’re about to do. Still rushing, you move towards the back of the wagon to where the wolf still lies. Its breathing is rough, each exhale sounded off with a light whimper as it turns its eyes to you. Its head is on its paws, and it looks pitiful as the rain soaks the last of its coat. “Come on, this is the last I’m gonna be movin’ ya.” The wolf goes to stand, its upper lip pulling a bit over its teeth as it moves, obviously pained. You hop into the back, going to help the wolf as the worst of the rain picks up. Your Walker eyes the wolf unsteadily, but you whisper a few calming words to it as you pass. You two get drenched, even though you manage to make it into the tent in a few moments. And you shudder at how cold it feels, especially since you won’t be able to make a fire now that anything you could’ve burnt is now soaked through and through. Moving to the hem of your shirt, you pull it up, peeling it off of yourself as the wolf looks to you. Its eyes are piercing as you undress, and an odd feeling creeps over you as you finish removing the soaked shirt off of you, your wet skin glistening in the lantern light. “Don’t judge,” you tell him as you move to your bag, already snaking out another dry shirt, “I’d rather not freeze to death than be modest. If it bothers ya, you can always look at somethin’ else.” The wolf, dare you to say, seems to understand some. It rips its gaze away, going to lick at its wounds as you change. You’re quick to also change out of your pants, making quick work of the sodden fabric before you grab your bag, turning to the wolf. Sensing your attention, the wolf glances to you, the tip of its muzzle reddened by its blood. “I have things that can help,” you explain, showing it your bag. The wolf blinks, lowering its head back down onto its paws and heaving a tired and heavy breath. As if it’s telling you to go ahead and get this over with. Now that you have the opportunity as you move to its side, dropping down to your knees as you go to work on all of its wounds, you begin to take the wolf in. Its coat is a sandy blonde, and despite its waterlogged state, you still can’t wrap your head around its texture as you go to work on the bullet wounds littering its form. The wolf growls a couple of times, its lip raising as you clean its wounds and remove what bullets or fragments you can. You hesitate each time, thinking the wolf has grown tired of you, but it never snaps at you. Instead, it’ll glance to you, and will thump its tail once as if to reassure you. “You know, for a massive wolf, you sure as hell act like a damn dog.” A sort of chuffed noise leaves the wolf then, but when you look to it, its eyes are closed as you go to dress the worst of them. In the end, you lean back, the wolf’s form covered in bandages as it breathes shallowly. Grabbing one of your blankets, you wrap it over the wolf, and it opens its eyes to look at you. There’s something in its gaze, something you can’t name as you pull close to it, wrapping your own blanket around yourself and trying not to shiver. It doesn’t pull away or growl at your for getting close to it. And, if anything, you’re positive it shuffles closer to you as you settle down. “Night,” you tell it. The wolf rumbles softly, and you soon let your fatigue take over, the world fading to black.

---

You’re not sure how long you are asleep for, but it is definitely some time, as when you wake, you see that the storm has broken, and the sun shines out onto the world. You stretch, popping your shoulder as you yawn, licking the taste of sleep out of your mouth as you look down to your side.Your eyes widen, and your heart drops. The wolf. It’s gone. You instantly get to your feet, your blanket falling off of you as you rush out into the small clearing you had settled in. Your eyes dart throughout the foliage, and they stop as soon as they see it. There, on one of the bushes, a length of bloodied bandage lifts leisurely with the breeze, and you frown at the implication. So the wolf left, again... As you go forward, grasping onto the crimson-stained cloth and sighing, you know there is one thing for certain. This wolf exists. And if there is one thing even more damning, it’s the feeling that you get at the confirmation.

---

You pack up and take the Walker back after clearing the wagon of any supplies, and cutting the drafts loose. You’re not sure what to tell Hosea or any others who ask where you took off to, especially with the bloodied shirt in your bag.How could you explain any of this? How could you tell them about the wolf and what it’s done without as sounding as crazy as Swanson and when he supposedly saw the ghost of a girl in the swamps? There couldn’t be a wolf this far south, let alone one befitting of the size and wit that this wolf possessed. It was almost unnatural — otherworldly. And all you have to prove it existed are goddamn bloodied bandages. You’re still stewing about the wolf as you slip back into camp, coming in on one of the separate trails leading in instead of taking the main path. You’re able to situate the Walker back with the rest of the other horses, and you go to head back once you’ve grabbed your things. Thankfully, no one notices you coming back in, with Karen being too drunk to realize what was happening, and the others too preoccupied as you move past them. You think, maybe you got off scot-free, until you open your bedroom door, and find Hosea sitting on the bed, looking mighty disappointed. “Next time you leave and take off on one of the horses, we would appreciate a bit of notice.” You try to not crumble under his scrutiny as you go over to your dresser, ignoring the way you know he is looking at you as you mumble, “I’m sorry, Hosea.” “You know, all I keep gettin' are apologies from everyone. Sorry this, sorry that. How about y’all change how you’re actin’, and then there won’t be any need and I can spare myself the repetition.” You shove your bag into the drawer, a bit of anger flaring in you as you face the older man, “I ain’t done much wrong since we got here. Not like a lot of other people.” “No, you haven’t,” Hosea agrees, but he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, “But what you did last night was rather foolish.” “I know it was,” you hiss, “But I needed to get out— I can’t stand it here... I feel like if I stay, I’m just gonna end up like Sean, or Kieran.” The sadness that pulls over Hosea drags you too, especially when the older man murmurs, “I know, kid, I know.” You sit down next to Hosea, and he places an arm on your back as you look to the floor. “What are we gonna do, Hosea?” “Ride this out as far as we can, I suppose. Either till it’s done, or we are,” he murmurs, “But this here, it’s comin’ to an end... Dutch doesn’t see it. Doesn’t want to see it. But it’s happening. And I’m afraid we’ll all end up dyin’ if we remain as blind as he is to it.” “I don’t wanna die,” you whisper brokenly, “At least, not like this...” “You’re a young omega, you have so much ahead of you. Sean and Kieran, their loss was only amplified by all that they didn’t get to do or have. Me, I’m an old coon. I’ve lived far longer than I ever should’ve. If there’s one thing I want to see before I go, however, or whichever way that is, it’s that you and the others are taken care of before that is taken from you too.” You swallow, looking to Hosea, “What... what about Arthur?” Hosea smiles softly at that, the expression as fond as his words as he replies, “I figure he’s going to be stubborn about this. Twenty years ain’t nothin’ light or easy to throw away, but I can tell that those gears in that thick head of his are turnin’, whether he wants them to or not. I can only tell him what’s right, but it’s his choice to listen.” “I think he has been. He... he told me he wanted to leave, too. After the robbery on the bank. Take his cut and run,” you pause, growing quieter, “He asked for me to go with him.” The admission has Hosea’s eyes widening, and he regards you in a new light. “Well...” he huffs, a smirk quirking the corner of his lips, “I’ll be...” You move some, looking away from Hosea as your cheeks heat, “It ain’t like that, old man.” “Then what is it like?” “I— I don’t know,” you mutter, and you put your face into your hands, “I thought I did, before all this. Before Arthur went missin’. But... he’s been actin’ strange. Not like himself. Not like how he usually is with me.” Hosea hums, rubbing at his chin, “I’ve noticed that too... He’s been worryin’ me. In fact, he took off sometime last night himself, offered no explanation. Just left. In fact, I was plannin’ on tearin’ him a new one after I found out you’d run off. You two are too much alike for me to be anythin’ but gray.” “Has he come back?” you ask, concerned. Hosea shakes his head, “No... But it’s not wholly unlike him. He used to do this when he was younger if something bad happened. And things have never been this bad. Especially with Dutch treatin’ all of this like it’s nothin’, and he’s expectin’ Arthur to hold everythin’ together.” You hum, looking back towards the floor. “He’ll come back,” Hosea sets his hand on your shoulder out of reassurance as he stands, “As for you, try and stay in camp if you can. But if you must leave, try and let me know before I think the worst has happened to you too.” Guiltily, you nod your head, “I will, Hosea.” The older outlaw hums in acknowledgment and leaves you to think.

---

Arthur doesn’t come back for another week.Each passing day has had you growing more and more restless, and the worry you had doesn’t shake as you look out to the swamps surrounding the camp, wondering if Arthur is going to weave his way back through on that massive shire of his. You’re like some lovesick omega, with the way you fret over him, and that doesn’t change when he finally decides to come back. You’re outside, near the edge of the river at the back of camp as you toss stones across the way. The air is hot and muggy, and both the frogs and cicadas sing in the heat as the sun because to set over the water, highlighting each curl along its surface a bright yellow or orange. You break the reflections, having the ripples disturb what peace remains as the stones skip. Right up until they lose speed, and they finally sink down into the water below. As you go to toss another, you hear a familiar drawl behind you. “Havin’ fun?” You turn instantly, your eyes moving to the outlaw that stands on the bank a few feet behind you. You breathe, already moving before you can truly think of what you’re doing, and you engulf Arthur into a tight embrace. It takes him a moment to react, but he slowly brings an arm around you, holding you close as much as you pull yourself against him. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, his voice low and pained as you press your face into his collar, “I— I’ve been awful to you, these past few weeks... There’s not much I can say or do to make up for them.” You pull back just enough to look at Arthur then, your eyes red and teary, “Then can you explain it to me?” His face crumples at your upset, and he sighs, putting distance between the two of you as he sets both of his hands on your shoulders. Your stomach twists, having a feeling that this isn’t the reunion you thought it’d be. “I know you want answers. That you want to know why I’ve been actin’ the way as I am. You have every right to look me and ask me what the hell I’m doin’,” his eyes lock on yours, as serious as he can be, “But I can’t tell you. At least... I’m not sure how I could.” “Not... not sure how?” you echo, your grimace only souring further. “Somethin’... Somethin’s changed,” he squeezes your shoulder then, “Things are different. I’m different.” Growing frustrated, “Arthur, you’re not makin’ any sense...” “I don’t know how I can tell you what’s happenin’ without you thinkin’ like I’m mad...” and, as he notices your glare setting in, he adds, “Or without you gettin' mad, apparently.” You pull his hands off of you, and you stomp past the alpha as you head back to camp. “Hey, wait!” Arthur calls to you, and you can hear him catch up to you, “Stop!” You feel him grab your wrist, and when he does, you whip around to face him. The man is a little caught off guard by the abrupt shift, and he looks at you worryingly as you snap. “I’ve ‘bout cried over you for the two weeks you up and disappear without a god damn word, or a god damn idea as to when you’ll be back,” you seethe, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You come back nearly dead the first time, and now, you’re just fine? What was it now? Debts for Strauss, errands for Dutch—” “Don’t mock me, omega,” he grits out. You smile hollowly, dropping your hand to ball into a fist at your side, “Don’t give me a reason to.” Arthur lets his rage subside a little, but his irritation is still present as he attempts to plead with you, “I had to leave. And I had to stay away. What’s goin’ on... you could get hurt.” “I can get hurt now!” you yell, raising your arms up as some birds take flight at your outcry, “I could die, Arthur!” The alpha’s eyes grow dark, “Don’t say that—” “People have died already! And more are goin’ to, because Dutch doesn’t want to admit that we are losin’ this war that he wants us to fight for him!” your voice breaks then, and you look away, your face pinched, “I— . . . When you came back that first night, and I saw your horse, the way you were on him... There was a moment... A moment that I thought you’d been sent back to us, like Kieran.” You feel a few fingers guide your chin as Arthur has you look to him, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes water up at the horrid memory. “Well, that didn’t happen.” “It did, to him. Somethin’ like that happened to Sean,” you mutter as Arthur cups your cheek, and you lean into the touch as your eyes meet his, “And all this time, I’ve been worried if somethin’ happened to you. You haven’t even told anyone what happened to you when you rode back, and all of this, it’s been drivin’ me loose, Arthur.” He says nothing, but you can see the guilt in his eyes. “I just want you to talk to me,” you tell him, his hand falling away, “You used to tell me everythin’, even up to just before all this... I haven’t forgotten what you did tell me, about wantin’ to run together after this.” Arthur ducks his head, looking sheepish at the reminder, “I haven’t forgotten about that either...” “Then quit actin’ like you’ve forgotten how to tell me what you want,” you hiss lightly. “It ain’t that simple...” “Nothin’ ever is,” you argue, and you look back out towards the lake, “But I’d appreciate if you’d at least try, ‘specially since this is all crashing around us sooner rather than later... I don’t want to lose myself in that.” The man in front of you sighs, and you can hear the weight in it. “I’m just tryin’ to keep you safe as I figure this out... I don’t know how to, with what’s goin’ on. Myself included.” At his words, you glance back to him, “You say that like I should be afraid of you.” “You probably should be.” You swallow at that, and you turn, going to leave as you begin walking back to camp, “The only thing I’m afraid of now is losin’ you too, Arthur.” He lets you go, and you walk away.

---

Things remain calm for another two weeks, which should’ve let you on to the peace breaking soon.But you were caught up, both in the upcoming robbery in Saint Denis and with other things... Your heat, it was coming up. You knew this, both with the way you’ve been feeling and with you counting back to when you last had it. Every three months, like clockwork it was. And as the full moon rose, you knew it was coming. The robbery was to happen tomorrow, and you grew only even more restless as it grew more and more impending, like a creature lurking in the shadows. You felt nothing good about it, despite all of Dutch’s enthusiasm. But he’s the only one feeling that way, in that regard. Not even Hosea could match him, looking as disgusted as he was distrustful as Dutch assured him things would be well come morning. As for Arthur, he’s kept his distance. Granted, not like he used to, but you can still tell there is a difference in the man. He’s a bit quicker to anger, despite being nowhere close to Bill’s length of fuse. He just gets snippier, more argumentized, and you’ve noticed that he has grown more into the habit of flashing his eyes and asserting himself like an alpha usually would. Especially towards Dutch. It’s shocking, to say the least, when Arthur first fights back at him. It’s not entirely unwarranted, as Dutch has been pushing and riding Arthur without break or ease since Clemens Point, or even as early as your time in Valentine, now that you think about it. He’s worn Arthur thin, and with his most recent disillusion that this bank robbery would set them right has Arthur snapping under the pressure. You saw how he flashed his eyes at Dutch, how he raised his shoulders and squared up to the man. It was nothing but pure posturing, and the expression on Dutch’s face spoke more words than he ever could have that night. Arthur was challenging him. Whether he realized it or not, Arthur was asserting himself, and you could tell how it affected their internal hierarchy. Dutch, who had run this outfit for twenty years, who had raised and crafted Arthur into the man that he is, who had always had him as a trusted second, was now facing a harsh reality. Arthur didn’t want to follow him anymore. Even if his posturing was subconscious and not intentional, there was no doubt what it meant. As to what Arthur felt towards the man. Nothing about it was submissive or accepting, and you had never seen Arthur do such a thing for the entire time you’ve run in this gang with him. It’s only made tensions worse, and you can see a distinct fracturing between the two men as Dutch pushes, and Arthur pushes back. And much to your dismay, you know that tonight, someone is going to crack. The full moon hangs brightly over Shady Belle, casting the decrepit estate in an eerie glow as you look out from the second story balcony. You can still smell the smoke in the air from where Dutch had smoked his cigar here earlier, and it lingers just like your distaste for the man as you stare out into the surrounding trees that rustle with the wind. You’re only biding time, feeling that familiar ache building within you. Your heat is coming, and for the first time since you’ve presented, you’re worried at the implications. Especially with the way Arthur had reacted to you, holding his breath and looking as though someone had shot him as soon as he caught your sweetening scent. He had even closed his eyes, refusing to look at you even as you called to him. And then, he had turned and left, ignoring you as he went, as though he wanted nothing more than to get away. Just like with Dutch, Arthur had never done that with you. He had always been sweet whenever your heats were nearing, offering to grab your supplies or find a place that made you feel safe and comfortable. He even told the others to fuck off, or helped keep detail on you when you managed to get out of camp before it hit. He was one of the few alphas that didn’t meet your heat with either hunger or irritation. He was one of the few you could count on. But now... now, you don’t know. Not with how he’s been. These past few days alone he’s reverted, acting much like he promised he wouldn’t as the days grew closer and closer to that of the robbery. You guess the stress was getting to him, that Dutch was only adding onto the strain. But there was something else. Something you hadn’t quite put your finger on yet. As your heat draws closer, you lean back from the railing, looking out towards the road with a sigh as you move to turn. But something catches your eye. At first, it is a small dot. Orange in color, and bright. You squint to try and make out what it is, only to watch as others slowly appear alongside it. They grow in number until a few dozen form a line from the main road and to the sides as they grow in size and strength. It’s then that you realize with horror, that they are all lanterns, held in the hands of men who come forth on their horses, with more following closely behind. The silhouettes of them and their guns are black outlines as they advance on Shady Belle — on you and the others. “A-Arthur!” you shout, scrambling away as the others down below take notice, going to move into the house. Before you can even make it back inside, Arthur crosses the threshold, his skin glistening with sweat as his eyes glow as brightly as the lanterns of the men surrounding the houses. “Arthur, are you—” You can see the moment he notices the men, and his lip pulls up in a snarl, over his canines that glint sharply. His shoulder tense and his scent is even thicker, almost vicious in the air as he grabs onto you. His nails dig into your skin a bit, and when you whimper, he looks to you, the red in his eyes as searing as his hold. “Get inside,” he growls, his voice low. “Ah, cowpoke, I’ve missed you!” You both turn your heads down to the main road into camp, and you feel your stomach fall as you see that familiar face grinning brightly up at you both. It’s... It’s Micah. You pale, knowing nothing good will come of this. “And you,” his eyes move to you, flashing red as he scents the air, “Oh how I’ve missed you too. Seems like I picked the right time to visit.” Arthur steps forward, putting himself in front of you as he snarls. “Ain’t no need to get like that, Arthur! We’re brothers still, aren’t we? I mean, once I’m done knottin’ that precious omega you’re keen on, I’d be willin’ to share.” “You’ll do no such thing,” Arthur growls, and you look to Arthur, at the way his body shakes with rage, “I’ll see you dead before you ever get a hand on them.” Micah laughs, mocking and mighty as you hear the door below you open, “We’ll see about that, cowpoke.” You watch as Dutch nears Micah, gesturing around them as his voice echoes out into the night. “Micah, what’s the meanin’ of all this?” He stops in front of the fountain, only a few feet away from Micah. “Oh, this just the new crew I run with, seein’ as you lot kicked me out over nothin’ more than a damned omega spewin’ lies about me,” Micah explains easily, looking back to the men that surround the camp, “Felt like I needed to make some introductions. Well, not all of them, since you’ve already known Colm.” Even from your place beside Arthur on the balcony, you can see the moment that Dutch’s blood turns to ice at that name. Dutch’s voice is just as cold as he asks, “You went. . . to the O’Driscolls?” Micah’s sneer is as callous as it is relishing in Dutch’s upset, “Seems fittin’ doesn’t it? ‘Sides, I couldn’t think of anyone more willin’ and befittin’ of helpin’ me take you down.” “Son, I fought to keep you,” Dutch shouts, growing livid, “I didn’t want to send you away! I never did, no matter how often the others begged of me to!” “Well, you didn’t fight hard enough, Dutch. And I told ya, I’m a survivor. And I gotta do what I can to survive,” he seethes, hissing through his teeth as he lowers his gaze under the brim of his hat, his eyes glowing red, “Especially if that means I gotta kill the competition.” Before anyone can react, Micah unholsters his pistol and fires directly into Dutch’s chest. Beside you, Arthur takes a step forward, his voice about breaking, “Dutch!” Dutch blinks, looking down to his chest. His vest hides most of it, but there is no doubt as to what has happened to him as he brings a hand up to his ribs, and pulls it back to reveal crimson soaking his fingertips. He looks back to Micah, his mouth opening and moving, but no words leave him. You watch, horrified, as he drops to his knees, coughing a sputtering before he falls back, his lifeless gaze now staring towards the moon. “You bastard!” Arthur roars as the girls scream, and Hosea rushes to Dutch’s side. And when Micah raises his gun to Hosea, all hell breaks loose. You feel something shift against you, and your eyes turn to Arthur. You fall back, seeing where his repeater and clothes have either ripped or fallen off of him. Gasping, you take in sight of him as his body reconstructs itself, disfigured until it morphs into something far too familiar. You blink, and in a moment, the man you’ve come to know has been replaced by a beast, one that you know well as he leaps forth, breaking through the railing and down below. “What in God’s name—” The large wolf you remember from the nearby swamps and that dreadful night in Lemoyne lands down onto the ground by the fountain, and the men seem shaken at the appearance of it. Hosea even scrambles away from Dutch, his eyes wide and unbelieving as he takes in the sight of the wolf. You blink, unbelieving as you realize... That. . . That’s— “You!” Micah raises his gun instantly, looking practically mad. “Kill that damn thing!” You even see Bill go to raise his gun, and the scream escapes you before you can think better of it. “Stop!” Everyone’s attention shifts to you, and you breathe, especially as the wolf’s ears flick to you, and you are met with those familiar blue and green eyes. Reaching out a hand, you call him. “Arthur...” The wolf whines, looking away from you as if in shame, and you feel your throat go dry. “Arthur, is that you?” Hosea asks, almost breathless. The wolf regards Hosea then, ducking its head. “My god...” The moment is broken as Micah snarls, his gun aiming directly for Arthur. He drops down, roaring right back at him. “You goddamn freak!” Micah clicks his revolver over, his barrel pointed between Arthur’s eyes, “If I did have any doubts to killin’ you before this, I wouldn’t need ‘em now!” Micah goes to pull the trigger. But you beat him to it. Your aim is off with how you shake, but with Arthur’s abandoned repeater, you manage to hit his pistol, knocking it out of his hand and making the man hiss. After that, it’s nothing but gunfire. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, leaping away as bullets pierce the ground around him, and you go to duck behind the large left pillar lining the side of the house. “Kill all of these sons of bitches!” Micah snarls out, “I want all of them but that damn omega dead by the end of this!” You swallow thickly, and you grip Arthur’s gun belt to you tightly as you go to load up on ammo. You can hear Charles barking out orders to Bill and Javier, all who try and suppress the onslaught of O’Driscolls as they swarm forward. There are dozens of them, and the idea of it makes your mouth go dry as you hear Arthur roaring to the right of you. You peek from behind your cover, aiming quickly and firing. You drop three men before they fire back, clipping the edge of the pillar right as you pull back behind it. “You damned fool, I just said I want them alive!” you hear Micah yell, and the distinct shot of his pistol has your veins running cold. Leaning back, you see a man fall to the ground dead as Micah runs towards the front of the house, and you can hear the moment that he breaks through the front door. Cursing, you grip Arthur’s carbine tightly, and you look towards the railing. The drop down below is steep, and with the wagon below, you figure you can make the jump. But it’s what you hear that stops you. “You damned rat, drop the gun!” It’s John, and you exhale sharply as you realize that he and his family are still inside. You hear something fall against the stairs, and your heart races. “Ah, Marston,” Micah laughs, and you begin to sneak towards the doorway, your eyes catching sight of the alpha holds his hands up to John who aims his shotgun at Micah’s chest, “Long time no see.” “Would’ve liked it if you stayed gone...” “And leave business unfinished? Now, that ain’t my style, Marston,” Micah licks his lips, scenting the air and grinning widely, “I’m just here for that omega. I’ll leave you and your family be if you let me pass.” John lifts his shotgun further, pumping it until it offers that familiar, damning click, “Not a chance.” Micah sighs, shaking his head as he lowers his arms slowly, “I never understood why you were Dutch’s favorite, even over Arthur... You always were a damn idiot, Marston.” John makes a face at that, but before he can say anything else, Micah grabs his knife and pushes into John. The man falls back, his shotgun firing, but only into the ceiling as Micah shoves it upward. The two fall to the floor and Micah soon rests atop of John, his knife glinting damningly as he raises it. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy guttin’ you as I’ve always wanted!” he hisses. “Stop!” Micah’s eyes dart to you as you come forward, and they widen as they take in the sight of Arthur’s repeater in your hands. You shake some, your skin sweaty and your eyes a bit hazed as you come forward, adjusting your hands on the gun as you approach. “My my,” Micah chuckles, his eyes raking over you, “What a sight you are...” You glare towards him, and you gesture with the gun, “Over there. Against the wall.” “Now, pet, there’s no need—” You fire a warning shot, all but grazing Micah’s side as you narrow your gaze. “You need to do what I fuckin’ say, or else I won’t aim elsewhere next time.” Micah swallows, but the fire in his eyes is far from scared as he stands. He moves as directed, going over to the wall as you look to John. The man rushes to his feet, grabbing his shotgun once more and aiming towards Micah. “John, get Abigail and Jack. Get them outta here.” “I ain’t leavin’ you with this son a bitch,” John grumbles, “Not with you in heat.” “Javier, Bill, and Charles are outside, and I got Arthur.” Micah spits then, looking at you in disgust then, “He’d much rather kill you than anythin’ else! You see him! He’s a god damn animal, and you want to go runnin’ back to him!” John looks between you two in confusion, “What is he on about?” Before you can answer, Micah shouts, “Arthur— he ain’t human! Not no more, at least! And they act like he’s still god sent!” “You damn well lost your mind!” John looks to his room then, to where the door is creaked and Abigail watches out of fear, “Are you sure you want me to go?” “John, I will hit you over the head with this if you don’t take them and run!” The door opens, and Abigail quickly moves forward. Jack is in her arms, and he cries into her shoulder as she reaches John. They both look to you, stricken as they are panicked. “T-Thank you,” Abigail says, her eyes red. “Get gone!” you shout. John nods in thanks to you, and he moves in front of Abigail and Jack, readying his shotgun as he descends the stairs. They pass quickly, and you let out a breath of relief as you hear Charles meet them at the door. All the while though, you keep Arthur’s repeater locked on Micah, even as you begin to sway on your feet. “Looks like your heat is really hittin’ ya now,” he purrs, his pupils dilated as he licks his lips, “You should just let me help you, pet. Things would be so much better for you then.” Shuddering, you glare at the alpha, “I ain’t— I ain’t lettin’ you touch me.” “But you need it, pet. I can tell you do,” he takes a step forward, and you unsteadily raise your gun, “I’d give you exactly what you’d need.” “I need to put a bullet in your ass, that’s what I need to do,” you hiss, and you feel the first start of your slick run down your thigh, “I don’t... I want you dead.” The alpha rumbles, and you breathe sharply, taking in his scent. It’s acidic, burning your nostrils and making you shake your head at the complete and utter way it smells wrong to you. “I can tell what you really want, omega. And I can give that to you,” Micah falsely promises, taking another step forward, “Just put the gun down, and I can make you feel so good...” “I may be in heat, but that doesn’t make me an easy fool,” you raise Arthur’s repeater, and Micah’s face falls, “You think I don’t know what would happen to me if I did do as you say? You’d use me, and then leave me for dead, just like everyone else. I matter nothin’ more to you than a way to ease your hurt pride and to wet your knot.” The alpha bares his teeth at you then, “Like I’d need you for either.” “And there he is,” you glare, readying your finger at the trigger, “The sadistic bastard that you really are.” “You’re nothin’ but a whore! A damn whore who would rather—” You pull the trigger. Micah’s words die in his throat, and he stumbles, his face going almost blank at that moment before some amount of understanding crosses his features. Blood soaks into his tan shirt, turning the fabric dark and red as you take another step forward. You fire again. And again. And again. Micah’s body is littered with bullets by the time you go to fire again and it clicks, your vision blurring with furious tears as you throw Arthur’s repeater to the ground as Micah stares at you. His eyes are wide, his shirt now entirely lurid and torn to shreds as a trickle of blood seeps past his lips. And then, his legs give out, and his body falls. You follow as he tumbles down the stairs, crashing into the railing until he smacks against the floor, his torso heaving and convulsing as he sputters. And with one last attempt at a breath, his chest stalls, deflating and stilling in a way that has you looking towards the ceiling in relief. It’s over. It’s all over. You make your way down the stairs, nearly tripping yourself from both your heat and the blood smeared on the steps as you work your way down. You pant, your eyes half-lidded as you head towards the door, and into the world beyond. The front of Shady Belle is littered with bodies, and you stumble out, trying to find any you recognize. It’s as you look for their bodies that you do find them, emerging from the woods, as shaken as they are alive. You see Hosea, the girls, John, Abigail, Jack, Swanson, Grimshaw— all of them. You breathe out in relief, all about crying as you look towards the moon. “You alright!?” It’s Charles, and he nears you first as the others surround you as you shudder. “F-Fine,” you breathe, ignoring the way that Bill growls as he scents you, “Arthur?” “We haven’t seen him, not yet...” Your heart sinks, and you push Charles off of you as you move forward, calling out into the night. “Arthur! Arthur, p-please!” You look around into the nearby trees, praying that he was still alive. For a few minutes, there is nothing but the sweet lullaby of the cicadas and crickets, and you feel dread begin to take hold within you. But then, to the side, you see it. Two red eyes, glowing in the dark as they had all those nights ago. “A-Arthur,” you breathe. He emerges from the tree line, and you can hear the others curse and take a few steps back as he approaches. Arthur nearly stops, sensing their fear and lowing his ears, whining until you take a step forward. “Are you insane?” Bill shouts to you. “He’s never tried to hurt me,” you murmur, and you keep walking forward. The last remaining gang members watch as you near the wolf, your hand stuck out expectantly. Unlike before, Arthur does not turn and run. He allows you to get close, to let your hand seep back into his hair. He rumbles, closing his eyes and headbutting you as you laugh, feeling as jovial as you are relieved. “Well, how about that then...” Uncle mutters. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you murmur, and you press your face between Arthur’s eyes, “I’m so glad this is over...” You feel rather than see Arthur change, and you smile lightly once hands cup your face, and you feel Arthur press his forehead against yours. When you open your eyes moments later, you find Arthur looking into yours, as human as he ever has been. “You... You’re not afraid of me?” he asks, looking confused. “I told you, I’ve only been afraid of losin’ you,” you murmur, and you hear the rest of the gang begin to leave, allowing you two to have your moment. Arthur huffs, smiling as he takes in your words, “You’re somethin’ else.” “No, I just love you,” you say, truthful as you are serious, “I’ll love you no matter what. Human, or wolf. As long as your Arthur, I don’t need anythin’ else.” His eyes are soft as they move to you, “God... You’re too good for me.” “Arthur, I—” You go to say something else, but you wince as you feel more slick run down your thigh, especially when Arthur rumbles. You feel his hands tighten on you, and when you meet his eyes, they burn red. “Sweetheart,” he licks his lips, “You’re—” “Yeah,” you breathe, and you glance back to the camp as everyone begins to clean up, “But...” “They’ll understand. They know we’ll come back. And if they go, let ‘em. All of this, it’s over now,” he says, grabbing onto your hand and pulling you towards the woods, “Everyone’s just gonna go where they want to now." You look around, your eyes adjusting further to the dark, “Where are you takin’ me?” “Someplace...” “We’re not takin’ the horses?” “Don’t need to.” Before you can ask what he means, Arthur shifts the transition almost seamless. He shakes his coat out before looking to you, wagging his tail as you laugh at him openly. “What a neat parlor trick,” you chide, and you hop onto his back, sinking your fingers into his fur. He starts with a brisk pace, and you hold onto him much like you do your horse. He bobs and weaves between the trees, his feet surprisingly light as he works his ways through the trees. You hold on for what feels like only moments, and soon, the trees break, and you find yourself on the main road, heading towards Catfish Jackson’s. As the abandoned cabin comes into view, you breathe, feeling your heat ramp up at the implications. Arthur slows, and once he stops outside of the cabin, you drop off of him, breathing roughly as he shifts back. You watch, mesmerized. But astonishment soon turns to hunger as you see Arthur shift back, his body as bare as could be as the moonlight catches on his skin. You take in the sight of his chest hair, the light definition of muscles along his stomach, the way his shoulders grow taught as he rolls them out. “Arthur,” you breathe, and you feel a twinge of want in your abdomen as he eyes you, just as wanting. “I got you, sweetheart,” he comes forward right as your legs grow weak, and he pulls you into his arms, “Ain’t much longer now.” You whine, feeling the ache from your heat pull at you as he moves you into the cabin. He growls lightly, sensing it growing as he moves you to the bed in the cabin. He shushes you as he sets you on the bed, his hand coming to cup your face, “I got ya.” You paw at your clothes, your skin now feeling like its aflame as you go to remove them. Arthur licks his lips, ripping your shirt apart to expose your chest to him. “Damn, sweetheart,” he grits out, and you moan as you feel his hands move to your pants. As he undoes them, he moves his mouth to your neck, suckling the skin there and nipping lightly. You shudder underneath him, moaning and throwing your head back as you grip onto the covers. He chuckles at your reaction, moving down your collar until he reaches your nipple, the flesh peaked and hard as he flicks his tongue around it. “Alpha,” you whimper, one of your hands snaking into his hair as you feel him begin sucking it into his mouth. He rumbles, his hand finishing with your pants as it sneaks past the separation in the fabric, and you feel the moment he brings his fingers to your hole, finding just how wet you are for him. He looks up from your chest, his eyes glowing red as your glow gold back at him. “Shit,” you breathe, feeling him pop his mouth off of you as he moves lower. “I’ve been able to smell you the entire time,” he breathes, moving his hands to lower your pants from your thighs and legs till he can spread them how he likes, “How wet you were for me... How much you wanted me... It’s only stronger now since I’ve changed.” You whimper, your eyes watching as Arthur lowers himself, scenting you and having his eyes flash in response. “Damn... Now you got me wonderin’, sweetheart,” he hums, moving your thighs further apart, “Just how much better will you taste?” You feel his tongue rather than see it, and you whimper at the heat of it. Especially when he growls, and digs his face in deep. You feel his nose alongside his scruff against your inner thighs as he works his tongue in, curving it into your hole as he lifts you off of the mattress. You tremble, gasping out loud and feeling the alpha eat you out with abandon. And as he moves one hand to hold you up, your eyes catch onto where he snakes the other one down to work his length. As you see it, you breathe roughly, noticing its girth and size and realizing that soon, it’s to be inside of you. Arthur pulls back for air, breathing roughly with his beard and mouth slick from you, and he notices here your eyes lay. He laughs, proud and heated as he grips his length tightly, making a show of how he works it as you feel your body pulse with want. “Oh, that ain’t the only thing that changed, sweetheart,” he tells you, his canines sharp as he grins at you. You watch as he works up his thick shaft, the length of it crisscrossed with veins as he works his pre-come over his cock, up and down, from its tip to where the wide base of it reaches his pubic hair. “See what you’ve gone and done to me, sweetheart,” he breathes, twisting his hand just right as he pulls up, hissing and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, “All of this, just for you...” You swallow, and you open your mouth, panting. “You ready to take it?” he asks, positioning himself to where his thick cock pressed against you, “Think you can?” You push back against him, moaning as you feel the tip breach you in such a teasing way. “God,” your eyes nearly roll back into your skull, and you look to the man then, your eyes blazing gold, “Just breed me already.” The alpha’s eyes grow dark, and you know you’re in for it. “Okay, sweetheart. If that’s what you want,” he edges. You narrow your eyes slightly, but before you can think on his words, he works his cock into you. Inch by glorious inch, he slides in, pushing back against any resistance, and stretching you wide. You breathe, your hand moving to your stomach to where you can feel him sinking into you. “Goddamn...” He sits in you, heavy and full, and you clench around him, shuddering at the feel of him hitting where you need it most. It takes a moment for you both to adjust, but as the initial shock of it wears off, you can see the want and hunger grow within Arthur. He starts slow, teasing with the gentle movement of his hips, until he’s rolling them, back and forth, in and out. You shiver, feeling him work himself into you over and over, soon creating a rhythm that deepens as it does pick up pace. The bed underneath you both creaks, and soon, you jolt with it each time that Arthur snaps his hips forward, your body jerking up the bed with each deep thrust he uses to sink into you. You cry out as he leans down, taking your nipple back into his mouth and sucking just as harshly. Your hands snake back into his hair, pushing over the cropped locks of it as your body vibrates with pleasure. Blinding and burning it is, as Arthur fucks you, and it comes nowhere close to the feeling of your heat. You feel him growl against your skin, his mouth breaking away from your chest as he breathes, the sound wet and heated as he is almost sloppy with it, pulling until the skin stings in the best way possible. One of his hands moves to your other one, grabbing it and tweaking in a way that makes you scream. Slick gushes out of you, pouring down the lower part of your thighs and onto the bed below as your thighs shake, and you shudder as you feel the beginnings of Arthur’s knot start to grow within you. He pops his mouth off again, just as obscene as he looks to you, his mouth wrecked and his hair falling into his face. “Get ready, sweetheart.” You nod to him, and he moves further up on top of you, his arms braced at either side of your head as he leans down, your lips meeting with his. He kisses you, sinking his tongue into your mouth where you can taste your own slick as he invades your mouth, his hips still rolling languidly into you. Holding onto his face, you feel his knot grow, his movements growing stiffer and less fluid inside of you as he works his mouth against yours. Once it’s almost fully formed, he pulls away, his teeth bared as he looks to your neck. “D-Do it,” you beg, your voice as broken and as wrecked as you feel, “Please—” “Sweetheart, I—” Arthur shudders, his knot inflating just a little more inside of you, and he shakes until he’s able to speak again, “If I bite you, I could— I could change you—” “I told you, I’m not afraid...” He looks to you, his eyes losing their red hue. You stare at one another until his gaze is what you’ve known for so long. “It’s not easy,” he tells you in warning, his hips giving an aborted thrust that has him holding back a grunt, “You... You’ll feel different. Things will be different. I don’t... I don’t know if I can promise that you won’t come to hate it or me if I do.” “I never could,” you breathe, “I want to be your mate, in whatever way that comes...” He growls, and he thrusts into you once more. “Shit, sweetheart... Are you sure?” “Please, Arthur,” you plead. It’s all he needs, as the alpha moves to your neck, and sinks his teeth into your flesh. You grip onto him, peaking as you feel his seed fill you as his knot locks in place, and you wrap both your arms and legs around him as he shudders against you. The bite has your eyes going wide, and your breath is as broken as your cry. The alpha almost goes limp against you, and you start to feel just as hot as when your heat started as it settles in. Your breath cuts off as Arthur looks to you knowingly, and he pulls you close as everything begins to burn. “I’m right here, sweetheart,” he promises as you gasp and writhe against him, kissing your forehead gently, “I’m not goin’ nowhere...”

---

The Van Der Linde gang, it is now a blip in the history of the everchanging country of America.A group of outlaws to the end, they were, attempting to live in a world that didn’t want them as they were anymore. It either cost those who didn’t accept it their lives or, it gave the chance for those who wanted out to have something new. You and Arthur, you split off from everyone else. At least, for the most part. Hosea and Grimshaw opted to stay with John and his family, alongside Uncle, who all planned on using what money Dutch had stashed away to buy farmland somewhere. Charles, he promised to swing by every now and then, but he and Sadie were more so ghosts than anything else, and you both knew they could never settle like everyone else. As for the others, they left, finding their own way, either on their own or with others. And as for you and Arthur, you remained close but distant. With Dutch dead, the Pinkertons stopped their search, satisfied enough when they were presented proof that the man they were mainly hunting was no more. They let everyone go, knowing that they all did not intend to follow in the footsteps of their fallen leader. It made it easy for you all to move back west, back into West Elizabeth. The Marstons and company, they bought a plot of land, one going by the name of Beecher’s Hope. When you had last visited, they were in the process of being their ranch there, and you all laughed as you ate around the fire, talking about the good times, and the ones to surely come. But you and Arthur, you moved a little further north, around Tall Trees. You mainly kept to yourselves, hunting game and living a simple, yet honest life after you and Arthur bought one of the cabins nearby, and you soon tried to begin your new life with him. Arthur, he taught you what he knew, all that he had done to try and keep what he was after being bitten. He explained how he had been attacked, that first time he went missing at Shady Belle, and how he'd come back a different man. He told you everything, from the night he was bitten, to the night where he stopped Micah. Arthur even laughed when you told him about the blood you found alongside human footprints and told you it was all him, through and through."To think, you thought I killed a fisherman," he had chuckled, "I prefer bass over human any time, sweetheart, of course, when I'm not preferin' you."Your blush hadn't been all from the embarrassment of your admission that day, and the alpha took great joy in that.He showed you how to cover your tracks, how to shift, among other things. He was proud to usher you into his life, especially when you took to it naturally and with ease.You enjoyed it all immensely, especially when rumors fluttered around like you both through the trees. “It was— I reckon, about the size of a damned bear!” the man shouts, gripping onto the bottle of his beer tightly as he talks to you about what he saw in the woods beyond, “And then, there was another one, almost just as large! Thinks they run together!” he takes a deep sip of his beer before turning to you, “Say, you and your mate go out in them woods?” You look over to Arthur as he finishes handing in the pelts you two had gathered, and he starts walking over to you. “We do, occasionally.” He looks to Arthur then, waving his arms as Arthur wraps one around your waist, “You best be careful, then! I... I know I sound mad, but I only tell the truth, as odd as it is.” “I don’t think it’s odd, friend,” Arthur reassures the man, and he looks to you, “Neither of us does.” “You... you don’t?” “Nah, we know about them wolves.” The man’s eyes go wide, and he looks to you both, his breath smelling only of beer, “You do?” “Well, I’d hope so!” Arthur jests, grinning till he shows teeth, “We are them, after all.” The man’s face falls, and he waves a hand of dismissal at you both, going back to drowning his sours with his drink. You chuckle, shaking your head as you and Arthur leave, going to where your horses wait outside. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” As he mounts up, Arthur smirks to you, his eyes red and his grin wolfish. “Oh, more than you'd ever know.”