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“This is where you grew up?” Derrick’s displeasure is clear in his tone, though when you look at him sharply, he dials it back. “I mean, it’s just so… small.” He wrinkles his nose as he opens the truck door, hopping down into the dusty dirt below.
“Really small.”
Dell’s Tow and Gas sits just at the edge of town, and you can see the town center in the distance, beyond the poorly fenced in field where Mr. Lowe still grazes his cows. In the other direction, miles and miles of fields, and the rolling mountains that made up the view from here to Portland.
You hop out of his truck, your sneakers crunching in the dirt as you land. The sky stretches clear, blue and unbroken above you, and even as the sun beats down on your bare shoulders, you can’t deny it feels good to be home. The air is clean and sweet here, a sharp contrast to the thick, congested smog of the city.
“There’s more people now than there were when I grew up here,” you quip, laughing as you walk around the side of his pickup to the gas tank. You open it, and screw off the cap. “There were only like… 700 people when I left. Two thousand’s nothing to sneeze at.” You waggle a finger jokingly at your city-slicker boyfriend, whose sour expression doesn’t seem to be moving from his face at all. “Weren’t you just saying how L.A.’s too big? Too noisy?”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think the boonies would be this… boon-y.” He made a face, and you giggled. “You want me to get the gas?” Derrick asked, and you shook your head.
“Nah, they only take cash here. I got it.” You shove your hands into your pockets and head into the store, the little bell on top of the door jingling as you open it. The fluorescent lights buzz and flicker above you as you head for the counter, fishing a twenty out of your pocket. You slap it onto the worn counter, clearing your throat as you do.
There’s a man seated there, his gnarled old fingers wrapped tightly around today’s newspaper. Slowly, he peers over the top, his eyes narrowing and then widening in surprise.
“Well I’ll be good and goddamned.”
“Hey there, Dell.” You grin. “Long time no-see.” Dell folds the paper up before going for the glasses that hang on a frayed cord around his neck. His smile is missing a few more teeth than you remember, and Dell himself looks a little worse for wear.
“And here I thought they got rid of all the troublemakers in town.” He rasps, chuckling. You lean over the counter to hug him, and the familiar smell of Beta is comforting in your nostrils. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you around here at all, I mean, since your folks sold the house.”
“They sold it to me,” you point out quickly, unable to keep the proud smile off of your face. “It’s mine now.” His bushy eyebrows rise in shock.
“Oh?” He nods slowly, processing the information. “Good. I mean, with all the Stark offers, I thought he’d bought ‘em out. Good to see it stay in the family.”
Half the town had been bought up by the Starks, most of the farmers either being subsidized by them, or selling their land outright. Your parents had been one of the last few hanging on.
“They’re still doing that, huh?”
The bell dings again, and you turn, thinking Derrick must be getting impatient—but the man in the doorway isn’t Derrick at all. The man standing in the doorway is tall, taller than Derrick by at least a head, and burly—large enough to bench press your truck outside if he wanted to. Long blond hair and a beard that strangely manages to be both scruffy and well maintained.
There’s a familiarity in his gaze you can’t place, and it’s why you stand there, stock still and staring at one another. And his scent… like the air before a thunderstorm, tense and electric— Alpha.
“Oh, Thor. I got your jars right here, Marna dropped ‘em off.” Dell greets him with a nod and a cough, before standing up on wobbly legs to grope underneath the counter.
That’s Thor?
He’s still standing in the doorway, his eyes moving rapidly over your form like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he’s mapping out each and every difference, every discrepancy. Thor’s gaze lingers on the diamond solitaire gracing your left hand, and you move it behind your leg, clasping your hands together behind your back.
“T-Thor?” You choke out, your face still colored in disbelief. The last time you’d seen him had been out of the rearview mirror of your Greyhound bus as you’d left Kinney for good—or well, you’d thought it had been for good at the time.
“Honeybee.” His voice is a deep rumble that vibrates in your own chest. You’d forgotten the nickname—no one called you that anymore, least of all Derrick, who was much too professional for pet names. “You’re… back.”
“I, um… yeah.” You hear the clink of glass as Dell sets the box on the counter behind you. You’re not sure what to say, how to bridge the ten year gap since the last time you’d been in a room together. “H-how are you?”
A small smile turns the corners of his mouth upward. “You know me. I’m not happy unless my hands are in the dirt.” He chuckles. “And you? How is the big city life?” You’re about to answer when the door slams back open a third time, the bell ringing violently.
“Babe, how long’s it take to pay for gas?” He jokes tersely, in a tone that tells you it really isn’t a joke, stepping around Thor like he doesn’t see him. You hated it when he did that—like it was better than criticism. You give him a small smile, and duck your head in apology.
“Sorry, got caught up.” You gesture between them. “Derrick, this is Dell, he owns the gas station. And this is Thor, we, um, we grew up together.”
“Oh.” He replies, the disinterest clear in his tone. “Hi, nice to meet you.” He halfheartedly shakes Thor’s hand. It’s awkward enough to make you stare down at your shoes, wishing you hadn’t stopped for gas in the first place.
“It’s been kind of a long drive, so…” He trails off, and you rush to cover for his rudeness.
“Yeah, no worries. I mean, we’ll catch up soon, right?” You’re talking more to Thor than Dell, and he nods at you, the smile in his eyes and not on his mouth.
“Of course, Honeybee.”
Back in the car, Derrick narrows his eyes at the gas station in the rearview as he pulls away. “You know that guy?”
“I grew up with him. Didn’t you hear me?” You reply, slightly exasperated. You know what it is—Derrick always got his back up around Alphas, like you were just going to wander away once you caught the right scent. You roll your eyes.
“Yeah, sorry. I did, I just—“ He releases an irritated puff of air, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nothing. Tired I guess.”
You’re more than happy to drop the argument—this is supposed to be a happy day. Coming in from a visit with your parents that was only slightly awkward, you wanted to keep the good mood rolling.
“I’m looking forward to seeing the house,” you say excitedly, hoping to entice him into conversation. Derrick “hmm”s, and you sigh, leaning your chin onto your fist as you stare out the window.
🍯
You don’t have much stuff—after all, it’s not like the house isn’t already furnished and waiting for you. The key is under the mat when you walk up the familiarly rickety porch stairs, and the door opens after a healthy jiggling of the handle.
There are a couple of boxes in the bed of the truck, but you’re too excited about giving Derrick the tour to worry about unloading them. You thread your fingers through his excitedly, and lead him through your mother’s prized kitchen—with her prized antique stove and retro fridge, the living room where you remembered your father building bookshelves into the wall from scratch.
“Babe, babe, this is nice, but… maybe you can give me the tour tomorrow? I’m totally wiped.” Derrick replies, kissing your forehead. You feel embarrassment heat your face.
“No, of course. Sorry, I just got really excited. I grew up here.” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. “Why don’t you go get settled and I’ll order some pizza or something?” He kisses your lips gratefully. You return it, and try not to be disappointed as he climbs the stairs in search of the master bed and bathrooms.
You play absently with the ring on your finger as you call in the order. You’re still not used to its weight, the feel of it on your finger. In all honesty… you hadn’t expected Derrick to propose. In fact, you hadn’t expected the relationship to make it another two months—but relationships take work. You remind yourself, admiring the stone in the light.
You’d chosen each other, and that was what was important.
“What kind of pie?”
The order placed, you stand alone in the kitchen. Everywhere you look, memory threatens to overtake you. There are so many of them, impossible to count and just as difficult to stop. Most are pleasant—baking with your mother, getting in your father’s way while he attempted to repair old farm machinery, looking after chickens. Less pleasant ones too, but those are more recent, and less difficult to draw from the depths of your mind.
You’d never thought you’d see this place again—well, it was more you’d never thought you’d actually want to. Not after… everything.
You begin pushing what boxes and meager furniture you brought with you over to the tailgate, and open it. Most of them are books, Derrick’s and yours. It was one of the things you’d bonded over, your love of reading. You puff as you heft the heavy box, almost tripping as you set it onto the porch. Sweat beads on your brow, and as you lean back with your hand on your hip, the other fanning your face, the sound of a car draws your attention back towards the road.
You squint in the pre-evening twilight as the headlights trundle forward, two bright points in the coming dark. The big black pickup pauses in front of your yard, idling for a moment and then shutting off. The door opens, and Thor steps out, a wooden box in his hands.
“A little late for unpacking, don’t you think, Honeybee?” He says teasingly, and somehow you think he senses the heat rising to your face and chest.
“I-um. I didn’t have anything else to do.” You shrug, shoving your hands into your pockets. It’s a nervous gesture, one you see him follow with a keen eye.
“Oh? Not sightseeing with…sorry.” He chuckles. “I’m bad at names.” Thor actually looks apologetic, and you laugh.
“No, no, it’s okay. That wasn’t really much of an introduction. Derrick, his
name is Derrick. My fiancé.” Thor closes the door, and he crosses the small front yard in long strides.
“Is he… not helping?” There was no hiding the displeasure in Thor’s voice, and you scramble to defend him.
“Oh, well, we agreed to do it tomorrow, I was, um, just bored. He’s already asleep, you know it’s like a ten hour drive from L.A.” You reason, and Thor simply nods, his expression unreadable. “I just get antsy, you know, at night.”
“Of course. Well, let me help, at least. Make both your lives a little easier.”
You’re relieved you don’t have to do all the heavy lifting by yourself, and by the time the sun’s fully down, you’re done. You lean against the porch, looking up at the crystal clear sky.
“Oh, before I forget. I brought this for you both.”
“Aww, a housewarming gift?” You ask teasingly, and he grins, rolling his eyes.
“Well if you don’t want it—”
“No, no, I love free stuff.” You hold your hands out expectantly, and he laughs at your antics. It’s easy to remember when it was just the two of you, even though it seems like a lifetime ago.
It is, though, isn’t it? A lifetime.
A different person, a different you. So much had happened between then and now, a long line of events creating a dotted line from your past self to the person who stood in front of him now.
You slide the lid off, and inside—
“Did you…grow all of this? You’re still—”
“On the farm, yes,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a neatly bound bunch of greens, perfectly orange carrots, some scallions, and a nicely sized jar of honey. You picked it up, admiring the smooth amber liquid.
“Wow. I guess the bees really took off, huh?” You remember young Thor doing his damndest to convince his father not to get rid of the wild hives on their land, watching anxiously from a distance as he spoke gently to them as he moved the log they were in. “You always were good with them.”
“Eight-hundred hives,” he says proudly, and your eyebrows shoot up in shock.
“Jesus! That’s… a lot of bees.” You don’t try to hide the awe. “That’s really cool, Thor.”
“Thank you.” He smiles at you, and the whites of his teeth are dazzling. “Do you need some help moving all of this inside?” He gestures at the boxes and furniture behind you. “It wouldn’t be a bother.”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
As you’re showing Thor into the house, arms laden with boxes, you almost run over Derrick, glowering at you from the kitchen as you set them down. He’s got a slice of pizza in his hand, and his eyes narrow as he chews.
“Evening, Derrick.” Thor greets easily. You can’t help but notice the way he looms over your Beta boyfriend. “Just stopped by with this.” He holds out the housewarming box, the jars of honey clinking together.
“It all came from his farm,” you add, hoping Derrick’s sour expression will lighten. It doesn’t.
“How nice. Thank you.” He says, his words short and clipped. The silence is tense and awkward, but luckily you don’t have to endure it for long.
“I should find my way home.” You walk Thor out to his truck, but Derrick doesn’t follow, only eyeing your back jealously.
“Thank you, for everything. It was really lovely.” You assure him. “Sorry about D. He’s kind of…”
“It’s not his fault,” Thor replies, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “It is a… Beta thing.” You roll your eyes.
“Whatever you say.” You hug him goodbye, and the scratch of his beard is pleasant against your cheek. “See you soon.”
“Indeed, Honeybee.” Your cheeks flush hot at the nickname. “Soon.”
Thor’s headlights fade into the distance, and when you head back inside, Derrick is glaring at the box, as though the goodies inside had personally offended him. You reach for it, and he scoffs.
“You’re keeping this?” He asks incredulously, stalking into the kitchen after you.
“What’s wrong with it? It’s vegetables, D.” You place the box a little too hard against the counter in your frustration, and the jars rattle. “You loved getting that farm fresh box in L.A. What’s different about this?”
“This is a fucking courting gift!” He blurts angrily, his cheeks red. “And—” Derrick leans forward, inhaling deeply. “Are you serious? He scent marked you!” He points an accusing finger at you. Anger settles like lead in the pit of your stomach.
This shit again.
“Oh here we go,” you snap. “We hugged. He’s my friend. Thor’s practically my brother, Derrick.” He throws his hands up, exasperated.
“You’re so goddamn blind!”
You hadn’t even been in the house a single night and your problems had already caught up with you. You suppose it was foolish to think that you could have left them back in California, but still, you’d hoped. Maybe they caught a flight and ditched the drive, you think wryly, eyes narrowed at Derrick’s retreating back. He stomped up the stairs to the master bedroom, and you didn’t stop him.
Instead, you carefully put away the bounty Thor had given you—at least a week’s worth of groceries. You carefully removed the honey jars from the box, admiring the smooth, clear amber liquid. Unable to resist, you popped the top on one of them, inhaling the scent deeply. God that brings me back.
Before you can really think about it, you dig the tip of your finger into the honey, scooping out a generous morsel and popping your finger into your mouth. Warm sweetness spreads across your tongue, and you close your eyes to savor it.
Delicious.
Guiltily, you scoop another finger-full of honey into your mouth before closing the jar, and placing it in the fridge. Thor really knows what he’s doing. You unpack a little to give Derrick time to cool off, taking down some of your parents things to make room for your own. When you finally do make it up to bed, Derrick is already snoring. You try to get comfortable but you can’t, tossing and turning next to him.
There’s something unpleasant tickling the inside of your nostrils, a sour scent that’s so light you can’t quite place it. You stare at the ceiling for hours until finally you fall asleep, the taste of honey still on your tongue.
🍯
Derrick is short with you all morning, his answers to all your questions consisting of one, two words at most. You make coffee the way he likes it in hopes of placating him, digging out the pour-over coffee contraption he loved so much. His expression brightens just a bit at the sight of it.
“You sleep okay?”
“Yeah.”
You dug a spoon into the honey you’d opened the night before, depositing two fat dollops in each mug. “Here you go, babe.” You say, handing him his mug. “Look, I don’t want to fight. Can we just call a truce?” You ask, a small smile on your lips.
Derrick sighs, before taking a sip. “I just… I don’t like him.” You knew without his saying so that he’s talking about Thor. “Something about him just… feels off.” He takes another swallow of coffee before wrinkling his nose. Derrick looks down at the coffee with a frown, and then back up at you. “Is the milk bad, or something?” You’re startled by the sudden change in topic, and you lean down to your mug, sniffing it.
“No, I don’t think so.” You’d just bought that milk, so it wasn’t as though it could have turned that quickly. Just to be sure, you take a swallow of your own coffee. It’s good—better than you usually made. “Mine’s fine.”
Derrick grimaces, but says nothing, placing his mug down on the counter after another furtive sip.
“Look. I just… I need to know you trust me,” you say, reaching for his hand. Derrick shakes you off with a deep sigh.
“Of course I trust you.” He narrows his eyes in the direction of the front door like Thor is going to walk through any minute. “It’s other people I don’t trust.” You begin to protest, but he charges forward. “No, no, you don’t get it. You didn’t see his face—like you were already his. Like I was the problem. I don’t want you alone with him.”
You don’t want to acquiesce to this ridiculous demand, not when it’s born of pure jealousy. There’s no truth in it—none. It’s not you Thor’s pining for—you know that for a fact.
“Fine. If I can help it, I won’t be alone with him, okay? Jesus, D.” Derrick visibly deflates at this, and you see shame in his eyes, though he says nothing. What good is it being ashamed if you keep doing it? The silence between you is awkward, and Derrick heaves a put upon sigh to end it.
“Thanks for the coffee, babe. I have some articles to look over, Harry sent them last night. I’ll be in the office. It’s okay if I move out your dad’s old computer, right?” He asks, but he doesn’t really wait for your terse nod before trundling down the hallway.
His mug sits on the counter, growing cooler by the second, so you pour it down the drain after finishing yours.
It’s like you’re home alone as you begin unpacking again, the sound of Derrick’s laptop keyboard too far away to annoy you. You don’t touch his books, leaving those to him. You know he’ll want to turn the office into his office, stacking his books around him on the now vacant shelves so that even when you’re in there working, you’ll feel like an intruder.
You quickly grow bored with shuffling through boxes, however, and when you peek into the office, Derrick is squinting at the screen. The curtains are drawn tight, leaving the room in a gloomy sort of darkness that is only broken by the light shed from his laptop screen.
“I’m going to head into town. You want to come?” There’s still tension between you, and you watch Derrick’s eyes narrow before he shakes his head.
“No. I’m working,” he gestures at the desk. You honestly aren’t sure what you expected him to say, your fiancé has never been one to shirk business for pleasure, even when it means mending a broken bridge between the two of you, and this time is no different. “How’s your manuscript coming?” He asks, and you feel your jaw tighten. “Have you worked on it—”
“No,” you answer quickly, cutting him off as you cross your arms over your chest. “Not since we got here. You know, yesterday.” You sigh and turn on your heel. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Your engagement ring winks at you mockingly in the sun as you grip the steering wheel angrily. You’re tempted to take it off and shove it into your pocket but you don’t, settling instead for twisting it anxiously around your finger as you jam the key into the ignition. You’re not sure what you expected from Derrick—he’s still sore about Thor’s gift, and you’ve little desire to continue massaging his ego.
It’s a Beta thing, you hear Thor’s voice remind you, and you scoff.
More like an asshole thing.
It feels good, at least, to roll down the windows and bask in the summer afternoon sunlight as you drive into town. The roadside looks exactly the same, dusty, cracked asphalt and tall, golden grass, broken by houses, the old auto-parts store, and the occasional abandoned car.
You drive rather aimlessly through the small downtown area as your anger boils down to a low simmer, and then gradually peters out. It’s useless to hold onto it, you know—watching your own parents had taught you the futility of long grudges. So Derrick was jealous. That was an issue better tackled together, rather than the two of you sequestering yourselves from one another. He was still angry though, you knew that by his distance.
Perhaps it’s muscle memory that leads you down the road to the Deerman’s stables. Maybe it’s the desire to see if they’re still in business. You’d been this way many times in your father’s truck, when you were little. You loved the horses—at least, you used to.
It was another life.
To your surprise it’s open—the gates are spread wide, and there are cars in the parking lot. You pull in, and hop out. There are people on different tracks, but you’re more interested in watching the horses, not their riders as you approach the railing, leaning over the side. You wonder idly if old Mrs. Deerman is still running the joint, and you shudder as you recall her shrill voice and snooty manner.
I hope she’s kicked the bucket. The thought comes before you can temper it, and you feel guilty for it immediately. There’s no one to chastise you for it, but you take yourself to task over it anyway, shaking your head to clear it.
“I must admit, I was not expecting to see you here, honeybee.” Thor’s low voice makes you turn, hopping down from your place on the thick railing. His blue eyes twinkle as he grins at you. “It’s quite nice seeing you around town again.” Your face goes a little hot at his words.
“Oh. I was just, you know. Driving around, getting the lay of the land again.” You don’t want to tell him you ran from the tension building in the house like a scared child, avoiding your fiancé like you would a pissed tiger. Thor looks pointedly at the empty truck.
“No Derrick?”
“N-no, just me,” you mumble. “He’s working.” Thor drops a comforting hand to your shoulder, and your skin practically buzzes from the contact. You don’t want to push his hand away, even though you know you should.
We’re just friends.
You don’t want to let Derrick’s jealousy taint the interaction without his presence, so you smile back up at Thor, even as the skin around the untouched 0gland in your throat grows warm and tight.
“Busy man,” Thor remarks, giving your shoulder a friendly squeeze before his hand falls to his side. “I hope he is in the habit of making time for you, honeybee.” Every time he calls you that, it makes you think of the summers you’d spent together. Sunburned cheeks and overripe watermelon stolen from the fields behind the high-school, cold creek water and muddy toes.
Before Liza got sick.
“He does.” The words come out forceful and defensive, and even though you try to temper it off with a smile, it’s clear Thor notices it too. He rests his back against the railing, before cocking his head to the side to look down at you. There’s something hard, unmovable in his gaze, something dark.
“He’d better. I know your sister would not be pleased to see you unhappy.” Your gut twists at the mention of her. “I’m sorry, I should not have—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” you wipe anxiously at your face, trying to catch the tears before they fall. “It’s fine.” You fold your fingers together over the railing and stare hard at the patchy grass in the field beyond. “I’m sure you… you miss her as much as I do.” The three of you had been inseparable—aptly called the Three Stooges by your disgruntled teachers all though elementary and high-school.
You’d sworn Thor and Liza would get together—the way she looked at him, even before he’d shown his designation, had told you everything. It’s easy to recall the nights you’d spent huddled under blankets, holding a flashlight to your faces as you gobbled stolen snacks from your mother’s kitchen while you described the lives you’d have, far, far away from Delphine, California.
You had held onto that dream as long as you could, until you found your hands full of Liza’s pills instead. Long summer nights spent under the stars became hospital visits spent listening to your parents argue about money, about treatments, about funeral arrangements.
“I do,” Thor says softly, folding his hand over yours. It’s warm and calloused, and he squeezes before letting go. “Liza was family.” The dam breaks despite your best efforts, tears flowing freely down your face as you sob. You press the heels of your palms into your puffy eyes, trying to stem the flow, but it doesn’t work, salty water leaking out around your hands.
You don’t have time to react as his arms encircle you, anchoring you tightly to his chest. Instinct and muscle memory combine, and you can’t help but press your face against him, your fingers curling in his work shirt. He smells like fresh cut grass and honey, like sun and sweat—familiar and comforting all at once.
“Shh, bee,” Thor’s low, rumbling voice is almost as soothing as the gentle hand he passes over your back. “I’m here.” When the tears finally stop, you step away from him, embarrassed—you haven’t cried like that since the funeral.
“God, I’m sorry,” you grit out the words through your tear-tight throat. “I think it’s just… being back, and everything—”
“I’ve no need for your apology, Honeybee.” Thor’s calloused thumb is gentle against your cheek as he wipes away your tears. You’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Thor. You suppose you’re just so used to Derrick’s brashness, you’d forgotten what it was like to talk to someone who actually cared to listen.
Cared to comfort.
“You know,” Thor says conspiratorially, “Pat Deerman still has that Arabian you liked so much.” You’re still wiping tears from your hot cheeks as you scoff. You’re glad for the change of subject—your dead sister’s memory lives in the very floorboards of the house you share with Derrick, you know this won’t be the last time you dredge it up, either. After all, that was the entire reason you’d moved back home in the first place. You couldn’t let your parents sell the house—if Lizzie couldn’t meet her nieces and nephews, at least they would play where she had.
“What? No way. He’d be like… twenty, now?” You do the math in your head. “He was a stubborn old thing.”
“Yes, indeed,” Thor laughs. “I would know, he keeps company with my Tanngrisnir. A rather unlikely pairing, if you ask me.” You don’t even notice his hand on the small of your back as he leads you towards the stables. “Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
🍯
You fall into an uneasy rhythm with Derrick. The sniping doesn’t stop, much to your chagrin, the two of you trading snide comments back and forth until they turn into full blown arguments that leave you winded and shaking. Mostly because they remind youremind in you of the ones your mother and father used to have in your same kitchen—and here you are, living in the skeleton of their marriage.
The fights are followed with equally frantic sex, his blunt teeth scraping against your throat longingly. The bite marks he leaves fade—the way an Alpha’s wouldn’t, and you know it makes him angry, though he says nothing about it when the bruising clears.
You write in the mornings, outside on the porch in the cool, wet air. Before Derrick wakes up and the both of you spoil the flatlands beauty with your bickering.
He doesn’t want to be here. It’s obvious, the way he plans for any excuse to flit back to L.A.. You haven’t even been in Delphine a month, but he’s already talking about going back for publisher’s meetings, clients. And what’s worse, you almost want him to go. Even your morning coffee, the routine the two of you shared every day, had been interrupted by his incessant need to nitpick—so you stopped making it.
Thus far, Derrick hasn’t noticed.
Today, you take your coffee on the back porch, watching the tall grass turn dark purple to green-gold with morning light. You rub absently at the ache in your lower back, a frown gracing your features. It’s a familiar sort of pain, like the kind that usually precludes your heat—but that’s impossible. You’re strict about your shots, and you have emergency suppressants, just in case.
I probably just slept on it wrong.
You plug away at your manuscript—the heroine is currently in the process of making a daring escape—but your fingers seem to freeze, hovering over the keys as the words fail to come. You type a few random letters and erase them, glaring frustratedly at the screen of your laptop before closing it.
Maybe another coffee.
You make your way into the kitchen, and Derrick greets you with a tired grunt.
“Morning,” he mumbles from behind his coffee. There’s a little left in the pot, and your pour it into your own mug. The last of the honey Thor had given you was in the fridge—you’d practically flown through it, using it in everything imaginable, plus the secret spoonfuls you tried to tell yourself were snacks between meals. Opening the fridge with one hand, you scanned the top shelf for the jar, only to find it missing, its space vacant.
You look for a few more seconds, before turning to Derrick. “Babe, have you seen the honey?” His answering grimace tells you he has.
“It was bad, I threw it out. It smelled awful.” You roll your eyes. “I think it was getting mold on the inside of the lid anyway.”
“It was fine. I used it just this morning.” Frustratedly, you remove the brown sugar from the cabinet. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t throw away my things.”
“I thought it was for both of us.” The childish, mocking tone in Derrick’s voice is almost bait enough for you to respond, but you decide to try, at least, to take the high road.
“Since you hated it, I assumed it was mine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” You release a deep breath and try to put your irritation aside. “What’s the plan for today? If you’re not doing anything, we could go see that antiques fair, thing. They’ve been setting up in that big warehouse—”
“Why?” Derrick asks, cutting you off as he shrugs. “It’s not like we need anything.”
“It could be fun just to go. See stuff, you know. Look around.” You want him to say yes, to be interested in this life you’re building together, rather than just acting like a guard dog when another potential mate comes sniffing around. Instead, he shrugs noncommittally, and you abandon the thought. The ring on your finger glints in the light streaming in from the windows, and you chew your lip thoughtfully as you stare at it. You don’t understand Derrick at all.
You wonder if you ever will as you browse the aisles of the hastily erected antiques market. Without you telling them to, your fingers twist anxiously at the ring on your finger again, like you’ve been doing all week. What are we even doing? You pick up a porcelain teapot absently, turning it over in your hands but not really seeing it.
Why are we even together?
Your back twinges again, more powerfully, and you let out an exasperated, pained breath. Figuring that there might be an aspirin in your purse, you place your empty basket on the ground and begin digging through it. Your fingers brush across cool plastic, and you grab it, hauling it out—but it isn’t aspirin at all—it’s your suppressants. Even better, I guess.
Though you’re still doubtful that it’s a rogue heat— it can’t be— you twist open the bottle anyway, only to find it empty. The long, powder blue pills that had filled it were gone. You try to think back to the last time you got your script filled, but a wave of nausea distracts you, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead.
“Where are my pills?” You mutter, swallowing thickly against the bile in your throat. There are no strays in your purse, no explanation for the empty bottle in your hand, and worst of all, your stomach begins to knot into the telltale cramps that signal your heat is coming. It’s been so long since your last one, you scarcely remember what it feels like other than white hot pain.
Wiping sweat from your forehead, you try to straighten up. You grit your teeth against the pain and cast a nervous look around the store. There are already people turning their heads, noses lifted. You casually scent yourself, and your stomach tightens again, though this time with fear. The faint, cinnamon-spicy strains of your heat are already beginning to cloud the forced neutral smell of the suppressants.
There’s a bathroom, and you hurry over to it as fast as your stiff back and sore middle will allow, and lock yourself inside. With clammy fingers, you type out a text to Derrick.
Babe, I’m in trouble. I… I’m not sure what triggered it, I just, I think I’m going into heat somehow. Can you come get me?
It takes a few minutes for Derrick to respond, three dots disappearing and reappearing in the corner of the screen.
Derrick : You have the car. Can you drive? I’m sorry, sweetheart.
Derrick : Have you been taking your suppressants?
A cramp makes you double over, your stomach tightening and twisting painfully. It feels like someone’s grabbed hold of your insides and yanked them, and your knuckles go pale as you grip the counter. A muffled curse escapes your tight lips. Of course he’d think to ask if it was your ineptitude this was happening, you think to yourself as you grit your teeth against the pain.
Yes, I have been taking my suppressants. Could you call someone to drop you off? Dell? Harold from the shop? You’re pleading at this point, tears gathering in your eyes as feet shuffle outside of the bathroom. It’s not the eighteen hundreds anymore, Omegas aren’t just handed out to the first Alpha who could keep them, but you’re not stupid. You know how easy it is for instinct to kick in, take over—and you don’t want to run that risk.
Please, D.
Derrick : Babe, I can’t. You know no one around here likes me.
You want to scream. You’re tempted to shatter your phone against the oldagainst old tile floor, but you resist the urge, wiping angry tears from your eyes. You’re not sure why you text Thor—you’re not even sure you remember his number right—but you send off the text anyway, sniffling as another wave of pain washes over you.
Thor, can you come get me?
You send the text off with shaky fingers, and then huff out a frustrated sigh as you realize you hadn’t included any identifying information. You’re typing out a hasty apology when he replies.
Thor : Of course, bee. Where are you?
The Antiques show… I think my heat came early… I’m sorry.
Thor : There is nothing to apologize for. Wait for me.
You don’t have much of a choice.
The minutes are agonizing. Someone angrily bangs on the door, their voice muffled through the cheap wood, but you can tell they’re angry. What if they know I’m in here? You huddle there in the bathroom, rocking back and forth as you wait.
Another knock startles you, and you whimper, grabbing your knees and waiting for the person on the other side to go away. They don’t though, and the knock sounds again, but softer.
“Honeybee? You can open the door.” You pull yourself up using the sink, grimacing as your back protests. The lock clicks open easily, and you find yourself staring up at Thor with watery eyes. There’s a bolt of fear that lances straight through you as you watch his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare at the scent of you. You’re half expecting him to shove you back into the bathroom, lock himself in with you—but he doesn’t.
Thor cups your cheek softly, a low purr rumbling in his chest. “Oh, bee. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
You nod tearfully, pressing your face into his hand. He smells good— familiar . It’s more than familiar, it’s comforting. You don’t protest as Thor wraps his massive arms around you, hauling you up off of your feet and against his chest. There are two other Alphas sniffing around outside the bathroom, a balding, middle aged man and a tall blonde, but Thor bares his teeth at both of them, and they look away. You burrow against his chest, whimpering as he walks you out to his truck.
“I’m going to put you in the back, Honeybee,” he says lowly. “Okay?”
You don’t want to let go of him—just being near is enough to dim the pain, a little—but Thor gently peels your fingers from his shirt and places you in the back seat. You curl into a ball on the cushion, whimpering as he hops into the cab.
Every bump on the road makes you whine, your gut twisting painfully as your body reminds you over and over again that there is an Alpha nearby. One you like, one who could make it all go away—
“We’re here.” Through the feverish haze of hot pain, you feel his arms encircle you. Vaguely, you’re aware of the sound of gravel crunching under his feet, the familiar creak of the porch steps, and then—
“What the fuck? What did you do to her—” Derrick’s accusatory voice makes you whimper, fisting your hand in Thor’s shirt.
Loud.
“Nothing.” Thor replies, his voice considerably quieter than Derrick’s. “She’s hurting, in heat—”
“What, you think I don’t fucking know that? Give her here, now!” You can feel him pulling at you, his hands rough on your fever-sensitive skin. A whimper works its way out from between your lips, and you hear the low growl rumble in Thor’s chest before Derrick does.
“If you knew it, you would never have let her out alone. She had need of you, Derrick. As her mate you should have been there. Protecting her.”
“She’s an adult who can make her own choices,” Derrick snaps, wrestling you out of Thor’s grip. Reluctantly, you let go of him with stiff fingers. “And what were you doing? Sniffing around another man’s fucking mate.” He clutches you to his chest, and you grimace, pushing weakly at him.
Smells wrong. Smells sour… not like Alpha—
Derrick slams the door in Thor’s face, grunting as he marches into the bedroom. It’s not graceful when he deposits you on the mattress, and instantly you begin writhing with pain. You haven’t had a heat like this since you and Derrick had started dating, and it’s obvious he doesn’t really remember what to do. You curl into yourself, sinking your fingers into the mattress as you groan.
“Water…Derrick.”
“Right, right, I’ll be right back,” he rushes out to grab you a glass, and when he returns, you’re bundling blankets and pillows around yourself on the bed, burrowing deep inside the warm nest you’ve built for yourself. You’re still rational enough to understand that it isn’t logical when you recoil from Derrick, his Beta scent too strong in your nostrils. It never felt like this the other times your heat had managed to break through the cycle of hormones and suppressants, like Derrick was an invader, like he wasn’t supposed to be here.
That was entirely new.
You grit your teeth as he rubs your back in a manner you know is meant to be soothing, mumbling how sorry he is that you’re in pain.
Not sorry enough to come get me. The bitter thought is forced up from your hindbrain. Not enough to protect me, like Alpha. You almost choke on your water. Thor isn’t your Alpha—he isn’t even your boyfriend. In fact, you’re not sure why you’re thinking of him at all as Derrick begins kissing the side of your neck. His hands feel heavy and rough on your bare skin as he lays you down in the nest, his cock already hard in his jeans from the scent of you.
There’s a little relief to be found at his touch, and the pain becomes more of a mild annoyance as reluctantly, your body accepts that there is no Alpha available. You’re wet already—though more from function than legitimate arousal, and Derrick’s fingers slide through your folds, searching out your entrance.
Not enough! Not enough!
Derrick’s dispassionate, selfish thrusts don’t completely quell the ache inside, and every time he spills into you with a groan, there’s no relief. You just need more, more that Derrick can’t give you.
But Alpha could.
Derrick cums again with a stuttering moan, his hips tight against yours and his fingers digging in to the meat of your hips. But it’s not enough , and you whine, forcing your hips back against his.
“Please,” you whimper, fingers tangling in the sheets as you pant. Derrick mumbles out a curse behind you, and you hear him swallow loudly.
“Babe, I, I can’t. I’m trying.” The rational part of you, the part that loves Derrick, cares about him, that part wants to weep. But your hindbrain is running the show now, instinct demanding that he finish, that he knot you like you’re supposed to be.
“Please…”
🍯
You wake from your fever dreams with a groan, running your dry tongue across your equally parched lips. Hazily, you remember Derrick leaving, unable to cope with your heat driven libido.
“D?” You croak, and your voice doesn’t carry very far in the silence. After a few minutes of mental preparation, you drag your limp body from the nest. Your legs are shaky and weak, and your skin feels oversensitive and clammy. It’s a chore to get yourself into the shower, but the warm water helps ease your tired muscles, and you sit in the tub for a while, just letting the water beat down on your head.
When you emerge, Derrick is still nowhere to be seen. You dress yourself in the lightest clothes you can manage—an oversized linen blouse—and rummage through the sheets for your phone.
Derrick : Went for a grocery run, but there’s nothing in the general store. I drove to town, sweetheart. Left some soup for you in the microwave.
You suppose you can’t blame him for running away. The memory of you begging for a knot he doesn’t have is still fresh in your mind, and shame curdles your stomach. Downstairs, the soup Derrick had left for you is still in the can, the opener sitting in front of it on the counter. I don’t want this. With a grimace, you shut the microwave and begin rummaging through the fridge.
As you realize there’s nothing of substance there, the doorbell rings. It’s the same chime you remember eagerly running to answer when you were smaller. You’re still dizzy and out of sorts as you make your way to the door.
Maybe Derrick needs help with the bags.
The large shadow on the other side of the door is distinctly not Derrick, and it’s easy to see that through the frosted glass. You open the door a crack, but leave the screen locked, peeking through the sliver at your visitor.
“Shouldn’t you be nesting?” He rumbles, and your knees tremble at the sound of his voice. You hate the way that feral, animal part of you seems to perk up and stand at attention.
Alpha’s here.
“I…was…I don’t know, now,” you mumble, squinting at him through the daze. “Derrick’s not here.” You remember the text and add, “He’s at the store.”
“Oh is he?” Thor cocks his head. “I thought you might be hungry, Honeybee.” He brandishes a picnic basket, and flips the lid open. You sniff deeply, appreciatively.
Meat.
Part of you is aware of the way his nostrils flare, his grip tight on the handle of the basket—the opposite of the casual, polite tone in his voice.
“Open the door, Honeybee. How else are you going to take your gift from me?”
Your hands are on the handle, unlocking the screen door just as Thor asked you to—the subtle Alpha command completely lost on you.
He presses the basket into your hands. “This is for you, dove.”
Everything happens all at once—his large hands fold over yours, and it’s like electricity passes through your connected skin. Thor inhales your scent and groans audibly.
“Alpha…” You don’t even realize you’ve said it. Your entire body is trembling with his nearness, and then—
He’s all around you.
Thor’s mouth is on yours and— yes, Alpha!— it feels like your blood is singing. Because you know he can make it stop. And not just stop, but feel good. Thor walks you backwards into the house, stepping over the threshold and kicking the door closed behind him.
His arms encircle you, and you don’t ask how he knows which bedroom you sleep in as he half carries you back to your bed. You’re practically crawling out of your skin, tangling your fingers in his shirt as you drag your teeth down his throat. It feels right when you wrap your legs around his waist as your back hits the mattress. Thor practically shreds his shirt in his desire to rid himself of it, a frustrated growl rumbling in his throat as he throws it to the floor.
“You’ve no idea how long I waited for this,” he says lowly, his eyes dark as he takes you in. You’re spread out in front of him deliciously, your shirt rolled up, thighs spread open around his hips, and the puffy, swollen lips of your cunt glistening and exposed. He mutters something under his breath you don’t catch.
“What I’ve done for it…”
He drags his fingers up your slit, and you squeak, your hips bucking. Thor chuckles. “You’d think with how long I waited, I’d be the impatient one.” Even his thick fingers fill you better than Derrick’s cock the night before, and your thought of him is fleeting as Thor’s fingers pop into you with just a little force. He moans appreciatively low in his throat.
“Oh, Honeybee…” he groans. “You’re like a vise.” You’re too gone in your heat to feel embarrassment at the noise of his fingers in you, and you mewl as he wiggles them. No, what you do feel is impatient. You buck your hips up towards his hand, thinking of nothing other that finding a way to be filled, to have more—
“Greedy,” he teases, and you watch him palm the thick weight of his cock through his jeans. Thor chuckles. “I had a feeling you might be.”
He presses his thumb against your oversensitive clit as he curls his fingers against your pubic bone, and you whine and huff through your teeth as you cum around him. Thor groans as your walls squeeze around him, and when he pulls his fingers from you, he sucks them clean, gazing at you with lidded eyes.
“I knew you would be the best thing I ever tasted.” He barely moves to rid himself of his pants, stripping them off with one hand while he fists the thick weight of his cock in the other. “Present for me, bee. Like you’re meant to.”
You’re not sure if it’s a command or if it’s because you just want to , but you instinctually scramble into position, resting your head on top of your hands and spreading your thighs apart as you raise your hips invitingly. Thor caresses the swell of your ass appreciatively, spreading you apart to admire his prize. He presses on the tight ring of your asshole with his thumb, and he chuckles at your whine.
“It’s alright, Honeybee. You won’t have to take my knot in here.” He presses more firmly against you, and you squeal as his thumb sinks in a few centimeters. “Not yet.” Thor slots his hips against yours, and the thick, throbbing head of his cock slides through your folds, delicious pleasure shooting up your spine from the contact. So good—
“Please,” you plead, as you had the night before so many times. Thor leans down to brush his lips affectionately against your shoulder.
“You beg so beautifully.” He reaches forward to drag his finger in an electric circle around your clit. “I’ve longed to hear it.” Your needy whine seems to please him even more, and when he presses his cock to the entrance of your cunt, you buck your hips. You hiss with pleasure as he slides in a full inch, and he looses a raspy chuckle, the palm of his hand cracking across your ass.
“My greedy little Honeybee,” he growls, and you feel yourself clamp down around him as his hand grips the back of your neck in warning. “What ever will I do with you?”
“Alpha, please, I need—”
“I know what you need, Omega.” Thor draws out just a bit before sinking in all the way to the hilt. You let out a shrill cry at the stretch of it, and your partner allows you no quarter. Thor presses in until his hips are tight against yours, his weighty balls warm against your slick skin. “There,” he says, the mocking note evident in his voice. “All yours.”
Your mouth is open in a silent O as you stare sightlessly at the wall across from your bed. He’s so thick you doubt you’ll ever be used to the stretch, and the head of him presses against your cervix in a way that’s more than snug when he’s seated all the way inside. All you can answer him with is a gurgling moan, your fingers tangling in the sheets beside your head.
His hands caress your hips with a reverent appreciation, and you keen as he pulls out a little only to sink all the way back in.
“Perfect,” he mumbles. “Fucking perfect—” It’s delicious, the feeling of being split wide open by him, his cock throbbing almost as needily as your cunt. This is what was missing last night, from Derrick’s frantic touches. You can’t really think about that though, not when your brain is chanting Thor’s name with dark appreciation, your pussy squeezing down on him like a fist.
Yes, yes, yes—
He draws out until only the thick, pulsing head of his cock remains inside you, and when he drives home, he chuckles at your whimper.
“A-Alpha,” you mumble into the sheets. “So good, f-full.” It’s like there’s no space left in your head for anything other than this, his cock pushing deeper and deeper until he’s in as far as he can go. You feel his fingers on the back of your neck, tangling in the loose hair as he holds you still.
The sound of the front door is lost on both of you, as is the sound of Derrick calling your name, his muffled curses traveling up the stairs and down the hall only to fall on deaf ears. You only see him when the door flies open, the handle banging hard against the wall.
“What the fuck is going on here? You, you—” Derrick sputters, his eyes wide.
Thor doesn’t stop, driving his hips into yours with hard thrusts. “Derrick,” he greets him with a little wave that you spy over your shoulder. “I’m so glad you could join us.” His cock punches the air from your lungs, and you feel grateful, pleased tears gathering in your eyes at the feel of it. You hadn’t known it could feel this good, this right—
“I thought perhaps you might need a demonstration, Beta. See how your Omega should be taken care of.” Thor’s words are punctuated by the wet noise of your cunt, and your pleading, breathy cries. His fingers trail silk-soft up the skin of your back, and you shudder.
Derrick looses an angry growl, and you see Thor’s lip curl in irritation and disgust. He tightens his grip on the back of your neck and you squeak.
“Fucking whore, ” he hisses through his teeth at you. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it, he’s been sniffing your fucking panties since high-school,” Derrick spits. The acid drips from his words, burning through the cock-drunk haze to make you feel shame. “Is that the only reason you came back? To get a whiff of the dick you’ve been dying for since graduation?” You press your face into the mattress, a distressed noise escaping your throat as Thor’s hands tighten around your hips before he begins to pull back.
Derrick doesn’t stop—like he’s been waiting to lose this stream of insults for weeks. “And I suppose I can’t blame you, Thor,” he sneers. “The one you want’s got a cunt full of fucking worms, second best is better than nothing—”
Thor’s cock slides from the clenching, wet heat of your pussy as he gets to his feet, towering over Derrick. You hear the blow before you see it, the loud thud signifying Thor’s fist meeting the hard bone of Derrick’s cheek. He hits the wall with a sick sounding crack, but has no time to slump low as Thor lifts him by his collar like a wet kitten. You scramble up the bed, huddling in the middle of the nest as you watch the scene unfold.
“Repeat it.” He says lowly. When Derrick doesn’t respond, Thor shakes him like a rag doll, before slamming him back into the wall. “What you said. Repeat it.”
“F-fuck you!”
Thor sighs, and grips the back of Derrick’s head, walking him over to the foot of the bed like an unruly child. His face is red, and his left eye is puffy and swelling fast where Thor had gotten him. Derrick’s nose is running, and he lets out a pathetic whimper as Thor forces him to stare at you.
“I want you to look,” His voice is quiet, but somehow, it still manages to carry over the thunderous rush of your own heartbeat. “and look well, because you won’t ever see her again.” Thor’s icy blue eyes meet yours. “Open for me, dove.” You don’t feel embarrassment or shame as you spread your thighs wide. The both of them eye your glistening folds, Derrick with no small amount of rage written on his contorted features.
“See how wet she is?” Thor asks softly, dragging his fingers up your slit while you hiss and whine. “I had thought to ask if you’d ever seen her so soaked—but I know the answer is no.” He sinks it inside of you with a wet squelch, and you keen. You buck your hips towards his hand, and he chuckles.
“Tell us what you want, Honeybee.”
“I, I want Alpha’s knot,” you say, squirming as Thor pumps his finger gently in and out of your cunt. “Please.” It comes out as a petulant whine, and Thor hums in response.
“You see?” He murmurs to Derrick. “You never would have been enough.” Thor tosses Derrick out into the hallway, and he staggers over to the railing. “Should I catch you sticking your neck into our business again, I won’t hesitate to break it.”
Vaguely, you’re aware of the sound of Derrick’s frantic feet on the stairs, the slam of the front door as he passes through it—but more than anything, all you can focus on is the heat building unchecked under your skin. When Thor returns to the nest, he settles between your thighs with a pleased grunt.
“Where were we, bee?”
You writhe underneath him, sucking in a breath through your teeth as he pushes against you. The stretch is so good as he sinks back inside, and you moan, scoring your nails down his back. He groans, rutting into you with sharp, needy thrusts. One of his big hands rests on your hip, holding you steady as he lays into you, and he uses the other to push the loose fabric of your shirt up over your breasts.
Thor’s eyes bore down into you as he fucks you, like he’s trying to map every inch of your bare skin to memory. It’s certainly seared into yours, the way his calloused fingers dig into your hips, the way his cock sinks into you, stretching you open perfectly each time.
“You made me wait so long,” he rasps as your cunt clenches down hard around him. “But I can give you what you need now, dove,” your legs tremble and shake as he pushes you closer and closer to mindless, blissful oblivion. “What you crave.”
You mewl, words lost as you stare unseeingly up at him. The frayed rope of your self control snaps as you spiral under, your cunt gripping down on his cock like a fist. You’re practically sobbing as you cum, pleasure wringing you out like a wet rag, all while Thor fucks you through it. His thrusts grow short and frantic, the base of his cock thickening as his knot grows. He leans over your prone form, his sharp canines glinting in the low bedroom light.
“You wanted this knot, Omega,” he reminds you, cradling your limp body to his chest as he continues to thrust into your soaked, swollen cunt. “You should thank me for obliging.” His thumb presses between your lips, resting on your tongue. “Say thank you, Alpha.”
“Tank yoo Alpha,” spit dribbles out around his thumb as you follow his orders, and he groans, his cock pulsing inside of you. Thor locks his arms around your shoulders, bouncing you on his dick as he curses.
“Fuck, Omega,” his breath comes in short pants. “Always been mine, always —” Thor cums with a groan, holding your hips tight to his as sticky warmth seeps into you. You feel full to bursting, his knot stretching you further as it locks the two of you together. His face is pressed tight to your throat, teeth scraping over your gland while he hums with satisfaction.
“I’m going to mark you now, bee.” He tilts your head to the side, running his nose along the line of your throat. There are distant alarm bells ringing in your skull—something is wrong, but you’re not sure what it is. You shudder with pleasure as his canines break your skin, the coppery scent of your own blood strong in the air. He holds you like that until you slip into darkness, the echo of his voice carrying you into slumber.
“Mine.”
🍯
Hurts.
It’s the first thing you’re aware of as you claw your way back to consciousness, the pulsing ache between your thighs—
And at your throat.
You raise a hand to the juncture of your neck and shoulder and wince at the pain of your own touch. Your fingers come away stained rusty red with old, drying blood. The brief flashes of clear memories are enough to fill your stomach with hot, shameful lead. Thor’s hands on your body, his teeth in your neck, his knot splitting you open deliciously from the inside—
You groan, pressing your face into the cool pillows.
Derrick…
There’s no way to make this right, to take back what you’d done, what you’d said, and as you absently pick at the scabbing ring of teeth on your throat, you wonder if you even want to. But Thor… Your head feels full to bursting. The new bond hums in the back of your mind, buzzing with the echoes of his emotions.
It makes you feel off kilter, like putting two feet into one sock, and it doesn’t abate as you drag yourself through a shower, and then down into the kitchen. You’re glad Thor seems to be elsewhere—you need time to collect your thoughts. The evidence of his presence is hard to ignore, however—the plate of scrambled eggs and thick cut bacon on the stove that you set upon ravenously, along with a fresh jar of honey.
Nibbling on a slice of the bacon, you cast a guilty look around the kitchen before breaking the seal on the jar, your eyes rolling to half mast at the rich, warm scent. You dip your finger into the amber liquid and raise it to your lips—
Wait.
There’s something… beneath the summer-warm scent of the honey, something… familiar. Your brows knit together as you stand over the jar, wiping your fingers off on a nearby dishcloth. It smells like… rain, and thunder, electricity—
It smells like Thor.
Realization makes shards of pure ice bloom in your veins. It’s like you’re watching the rewind of an old tape in your mind’s eye. Thor dropping off the jars, Derrick refusing to try any of them, telling you they tasted sour and wrong—
What did he put in these?
“Honeybee. You’re awake.” You turn quickly at the sound of Thor’s voice, your elbow clipping the edge of the large mason jar and sending it crashing to the wood flooring. You stare at him, wide eyed. You’re still trying to make sense of it, to fit the pieces of the puzzle together in your post-heat brain. “Let me help, dove—”
“No!” It comes out more forcefully than you meant it to, and you hold your arms up as if to keep him at a distance. “J-just, just stay over there.” Pheromones. I’m smelling pheromones—
“You’re upset about last night.” He says quietly, sighing. “Honeybee, you were in heat, it isn’t your fault.” You let out a dry, weak laugh. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“I blame you,” you croak, your throat tight. “Y-you came here, knowing—” Thor heaves another put upon sigh.
“Enough.” The Alpha command locks your jaw and makes you cower in front of him. You’d never been afraid of Thor before, but this man…
You don’t know who he is.
“Oh, Honeybee. I never thought I would see you again.” Broken glass crunches under his boots as he crosses the mess you made. “But then you came back, and I knew I…” He runs a hand through his hair exasperatedly. “I knew I couldn’t just let go again.” The weeks play on a terrible loop behind your wide eyes; Thor delivering groceries, leaving spare jars for you on your porch, riding horses, watching you with those patient, knowing eyes—
“B-but Liza,” you mumble, choking back the bile in your throat. “You, you loved Liza.”
“Oh, dove,” he says, cupping your chin. “You never were very observant, were you?” You push at his arms, hysterical sobs working their way up out of your chest as you gasp.
“Let go, let go—!” He doesn’t, though, his arms encircling you as your traitorous hindbrain purrs with delight. His fingers are sticky with honey, and he presses one to your lips, dragging the sweetness across your mouth.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Honeybee.” He sits you on the counter, and a firm Stay locks you in-to place as you tremble.
“You took my suppressants,” you say, your voice tight with accusation, and he only shrugs.
“You don’t need them,” he quips. “Foul chemicals, destroying your body all for a Beta who couldn’t even mark you.” You hate the shudder that passes through you as he presses his finger against your mating gland, almost as much as you hate the grin he fixes you with at the uptick in your scent.
“Besides,” his hands roam appreciatively up your sides. “You know I only eat organic, Honeybee.”
fin?