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Owen Grady never claimed to be a good man.
He tries his very best to always be a gentleman, the kind of polite Alpha who doesn’t throw his status around, never uses cologne or body wash to make his scent more potent, knows how to make himself look less threatening, treats everyone the same regardless of gender or sex.
But Owen’s never claimed to be a good man, and how could he be, the way he’s got one hand locked around the slim bicep he caught in an attempt to stop the omega who ran into him from falling, the way his nostrils are flaring and his blood is loud in his ears and he can just feel his pheromones rising -
The kid - and fuck, he does look like just a kid, adolescent-almost-man, the beginnings of facial hair present and signs of where the baby fat chub has started to give way to slim, lean muscle, hips rounding out and widening - this kid is dirty and sweaty and Owen shouldn’t be able to catch his scent under all that, but somehow he does. Somehow, underneath the dirt and the stinking mud and the fear-scent, there’s a hint of Omega burnt-sugar sweetness that makes Owen’s nostrils flare and his blood sings and he thinks, oh. Oh shit. Oh fuck. This kid is his mate.
“Alpha,” the kid says, and Owen’s world narrows to those plush lips as they gasp, the omega almost swooning in his hold as he scents Owen.
“Omega,” Owen replies. “What’s your name, kid?"
“I’m not a kid,” he snaps, and Owen can see himself falling in love with that attitude, that spark. “I’m eighteen."
Owen smirks, every inch of him a satisfied predator. “What’s your name, then, pretty eighteen?"
“Zach,” the omega says, straightening under Owen's regard even as his cheeks betray the smallest hint of a blush. “Gray!” he says a moment later, jerking his arm out of Owen’s grip to reach out to a kid sprawled on the ground that Owen hasn’t even noticed until now, that’s how dumb Owen’s alpha-brain has become in the last thirty seconds.
Zach pulls the kid to his feet, dusting him off and putting an arm around his shoulders. “This is my brother, Gray,” he tells Owen, pulling the kid into his side as he meets the alpha’s eyes. Gray studies Owen curiously. He’s a little scuffed and bloodied - they both are, Owen realises, with an inner growl, but Gray's posture says safe, no doubt influenced by his brother and Owen’s presence, the way Zach has positioned them both close to Owen, within his reach.
“Owen,” he says, introducing himself as it suddenly dawns that these are Claire Dearing’s missing nephews.
Gray looks up between the two of them as if puzzling out this new behaviour of his brother’s. “Are you two-"
“Oh Gods, you found them!” Suddenly Claire is there, pulling Gray and then Zach into an embrace, babbling at them a thousand words a minute, but Zach’s eyes are still locked on Owen. He can see the omega mouthing his name, repeating it to himself as if testing it out, rolling the taste of it in his mouth and goddamnit, brain, now is not the time to continue down that path.
The shrill scream of a flier snaps Owen out of it, and he turns, suddenly aware again, and his instincts kick into overdrive at the thought that they’re not safe here, not him not Claire not the pup not future-mate-mine -
“Come on,” he says, raising his rifle to fire at a great hulking pterodactyl that’s lining itself up for another run down Main Street. Flying prehistoric death-from-the-air is apparently still pretty damn susceptible to head-shots, though, and it goes down with an almighty thump into the awning of Starbucks, shattering the glass of the main window. Score, Owen thinks. Owen=1, Terrible Coffee=0. “We have to keep moving,” he says. “There’s an access gate-"
“Just behind Starbucks,” Claire finishes, and takes Gray’s hand, leading them across Main Street. Owen gestures for Zach to follow, puts himself in the rear. He’s walked enough patrols to know that by putting Zach in the rocking-chair, he’s put the omega in the safest position without even thinking, and shakes his head at his own instincts, eyes scanning the skies as he follows.
“We’re staying with you, right?” Zach asks, and Owen meets his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“I’m never leaving you again,” Claire promises; Zach and Gray trip over themselves trying to correct her.
“We meant Owen,” Zach says.
“Owen,” Claire repeats to herself, and Owen can see, out of the corner of his eye, the way she’s studying him, suspicious. Owen says nothing, and concentrates on driving. It’s hard, okay? There’s tourists everywhere. And, like, dinosaurs and shit.
*
The control room is a frantic, leaderless mass of panic.
Operators, clearly lost, are clustered around their desks, most visibly upset. Hoskins and a group of In-Gen flunkies are squaring off with Team Three of the Asset Containment Unit. Hoskins is the worst kind of alpha - the kind of man who walks with his chest pushed out, the kind of idiot who gets off on the dick-swinging of mine-is-bigger-than-yours. Owen doesn’t like the man around his raptors, absolutely loathes the thought that his future-mate is currently in the same room as the other alpha. It doesn’t take long for the situation to get even worse.
Simon Masrani was injured when his chopper crashed, trying to shoot down as many fliers as possible. With him unconscious, In-Gen have claimed responsibility for resolving the situation, and Hoskins is being head prick. See, buoyed by the grisly failure of ACU’s non-lethal capture attempt, Hoskins has a grand plan. A team of In-Gen troops (the kind of mercenary private security who shoot anything in their way) are going after the Indominus. With Owen’s raptors.
*
Zach and Gray really shouldn’t be here, Owen knows logically, but with the danger of a rampaging predator, there’s nowhere he’d rather them be than near him, and Claire clearly feels the same, even if it’s for slightly different reasons. The two Mitchells crowd close on the outside of the way-cage as Owen introduces his girls, explains the difference between human hierarchy and raptor hierarchy.
“Who’s the alpha?” Gray asks, all curiosity and awe, and Owen can’t help himself, can’t help his traitorous eyes that stray to Zach even as he replies, voice rough and lower than he’d like.
“You’re lookin’ at him, kid."
Zach shivers.
The raptors in their head-cages chitter excitedly behind him, and Owen knows what they’re reacting to. “C’mere,” he says, leaning over to punch the code into the keypad. “Come say hi."
Zach throws a look at his little brother, clearly torn between his own curiosity, Owen’s request, and the urge to keep the pup safe, and damn if Owen can’t feel a lazy, satisfied predator-smile threatening to break across his face at Zach’s instincts. Going to be a fierce little Oma one day, Zach is, and Owen has to steer his brain away from that thought fast, because fuck, he doesn’t have the time to think about this little omega all glowing and pupped. “It’s okay,” Owen says. “I just want to introduce you two to my best girls."
“Yes!” Gray exclaims, shifting his weight excitedly as the way-cage door slowly opens. He doesn’t dart forward, though, looks up at Owen, waiting for his cue.
“Wait right there, little man,” Owen tells Gray. “Gotta introduce your brother first.” He looks to Zach. “Come on."
Zach’s first step into the way-cage is hesitant, but as soon as he clears the door, Owen steps in behind, a hand on Zach’s shoulder to guide him, and the omega straightens at his touch, steps more confidently forward.
“Here,” Owen says, taking Zach’s right hand in his, shamelessly close, the omega’s back to his front as they reach Blue. “Hey, Blue,” he says. “This here is Zach.” Owen holds their twined fingers inches from Blue’s nose, and it’s not until she huffs her permission and chitters at him twice that Owen reaches out to touch.
Zach’s fingers trail gently over the leathery hide of Blue’s snout, and the beta goes very still, but Owen’s not worried. This isn’t predatory, about-to-strike body language. It’s an attempt, on Blue’s part, not to spook their new pack member. Owen has no doubts that Blue can scent the same thing he can - Zach’s pheromones and Owen's calling out omega-mate-fertile-mine.
“Good,” Owen says, praising them both, and then eases his hand away. “There you go."
Zach spreads his fingers, laying his palm flat on Blue’s snout, her eyes fixed on him. “Hi,” Zach says softly. “Hi Blue."
“Whoa,” Gray says from behind them. “Awesome."
“You can go on down the line,” Owen says, and watches as Zach steps up to Charlie, stroking her snout gently.
“Hey Charlie,” he says, and Owen is proud of them both, the way his girls are so very well behaved, and his little future-mate, who steps up to Owen's prehistoric predators to introduce himself with no hesitation.
Owen guides Gray forward to introduce him to Blue.
“She’s so beautiful,” Gray says, voice light with wonder.
“And very, very dangerous,” Owen reminds. Gray seems like a smart kid, but it’s important he knows that even in a head-cage, the girls aren’t safe. “My best girl, pretty and dangerous."
“Time to go,” Barry says. “They're ready. ACU and the In-Gen Idiot Brigade both."
“Right,” Owen says, and nudges Gray towards the door to the outside of the cage. “Go find your aunt.” Gray turns and runs off, but Zach is slow to follow, pausing at Owen’s side.
“You’ll be careful, right?” Zach asks, and Owen feels powerless in the gaze of those anxious eyes.
“I promise,” Owen says.
“Good,” Zach says, cheeks heating up under Owen’s gaze. Owen smirks, and ducks in to press a kiss to the omega’s cheek before he turns and heads back to the paddock.
*
The raptors chitter excitedly in their release pens, and Owen revs his bike, builds their anticipation. This is a supremely bad idea, but they apparently haven’t got a better one. He’s given the ACU and the troops his own version of a briefing, which basically boiled down to “when we stop, be ready, and when I say, don’t hesitate,” and he hopes it’ll be enough.
Owen revs once more, nods to the intern zookeeper, and they’re off. The pens open and the girls race out, Owen gunning his engine behind them to keep up. Visibility is for shit, the lights of the vehicles following bouncing wildly, and fuck, Owen should’ve brought his night-vision goggles. It’s all he can do to follow the raptor pack as they hunt and not run straight into a tree. The jungle gets more and more dense the further they travel, the girls clearing fallen trees easily and dodging around low branches, but luckily for Owen, it isn’t long before they slow down.
They come to a dead stop that has the humans following them frantically braking, and Owen flips his kickstand down for balance as he swings his rifle around. Something is definitely wrong. He moves a few feet forward, crouching in the long grass, watching as the girls chitter to each other. Something has them spooked. “Steady,” he says. “Steady, girls."
The Indominus steps out of the dense jungle right in front of them, melting into view. Damn, but that camouflage deal is impressive. She roars at the assembled humans, and Owen hears the rack of a shotgun behind him. He hopes everyone is ready.
Blue hisses, Charlie snarls, and his girls look up at this new threat, assessing, heads cocked to the side.
“They’re… communicating,” Barry says, confused.
Owen feels a sudden sense of dread. “I know why they didn’t want to tell us what it was made of,” he says. Fucking fuck fuckity damn.
“RPGs on my mark,” Owen says into his walkie, knowing they’re only going to have seconds to act. His girls are - they’re communicating with the Indominus. Raptors don’t do that, not with any other species in the park.
“Shit,” Barry says from beside him, swearing as he figures out what Owen already has.
“That thing's part raptor,” Owen confirms, even as his left hand is making a steady click-click-click, the one he uses on his girls to show his dominance, immutable even in the face of this new threat, the noise they’ve associated with Owen since the egg.
The Indominus Rex looks straight at him, picking him out easily. She knows where the sound is coming from, and roars at him, this new threat. Owen doesn’t blink, knows that if he seems weak, there’s every chance his girls will abandon him for this new, stronger predator.
Twenty feet in front of him, Blue plants her tail, crouches low, and roars back.
“Now!” Owen yells, standing up even as rockets breeze past, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder.
Two of the missiles hit; the third goes wide, and his girls chitter and snarl at the heat and the noise, the smell of sulfur and the bellow of the bigger dinosaur as she falls. The Indominus roars, going down, and Owen knows the men behind him are moving, scrambling for position -
“Hold!” he yells.
“What are you doing?” Hoskins yells in his ear. Whoever let that man on comms should be shot.
“Shut the fuck up,” Owen snarls as he steps forward, and Blue circles around to his shoulder, a step behind and off to his right, flanking him as Charlie and Echo and Delta fan out around the Indominus. “Good girls,” Owen says, voice as steady as he can make it. The air is thick with the smell of burning flesh; off to the right, a tree crackles as fire licks at its branches thanks to the fucker who couldn’t manage to aim at the thirty foot dinosaur in front of them.
Owen stalks forward, unsurprised when the Indominus lifts her head to turn and roar at him from where she’s sprawled on her side, injured and downed but still determined to tear his throat out. Owen doesn’t hesitate, fires once, below the lip of her skull where her brain is unprotected, the dinosaur jerking at the impact, head crashing down so her the side of her snout lies flat in the dirt. He follows it up with another shot, and another, his girls stepping forward to follow him as he moves closer.
The Indominus shudders and twitches, intelligent eyes still looking at Owen, even though she can’t raise her head. Owen feels a terrible pity for the beautiful, intelligent predator kept in a tiny cage. She’s not to blame here, he knows, even as he curls his tongue and whistles, and the raptor pack leaps forward.
Blue is the first to attack, a clean swipe of her sickle-claw at the Indominus’ throat that she follows up with a full-jawed bite and twist of her head. The Indominus is far too large for the move to break her neck, but the massive dinosaur is finally dead. Delta and Charlie slice open the larger predator’s belly as Echo darts forward to take her own bite at the Rex’s neck.
“Good girls,” Owen says, hand going to his comm. “The Indominus is down. I repeat, the Indominus is down."
Blue chitters at him, every raptor’s gaze firmly on Owen. “Go on,” he says, motions them forward even as the metal in his hand goes click-click. With his permission, now, his girls tear into the Indominus’ belly. “Don’t say I never take you anywhere,” he mutters. “Most expensive meal you’ll ever eat."
When Owen turns around, the In-Gen troops and what’s left of Asset Containment are looking at him in a mixture of awe and fear.
A particularly dumb fucker in In-Gen grey pipes up. “What about the little ones?”
Owen narrows his eyes. “You shoot at my raptors, and I’ll shoot you.”
At the word raptor, the vaguely unpleasant sounds of feeding behind Owen go silent. The man’s eyes widen, and Owen knows Blue is at his back, head probably cocked in classic assessing body language. “Move out,” Owen says. “Job done. The girls and I can find our own way home."
*
By the time the girls have had their share, under the watchful eyes of Asset Containment (and fuck knows how they’re going to get the Indominus carcass out of the dense jungle, but that’s not Owen’s problem), by the time they’ve all lined up and had snout scritches (and now Owen is a little bloody, too) for a job well done, and they’re ready to head back to the paddock, Owen is exhausted.
But when he revs his bike and the girls fan out beside him, when he takes off and the raptor pack follows, he feels the thrill tingle up his spine, instincts clamouring in his brain, ancient and primal. The hunt is done now, and Owen’s not heading home with a slab of meat over his shoulder but he’s returning successful nonetheless, enemy vanquished and danger mitigated, and Owen can feel it in his bones, in his damned alpha-hindbrain, in his blood -
- and it hits Owen in such a visceral way that he jerks the handlebars in his realisation that while he’s riding the high of returning successful, he’s thinking of returning successful to someone. To a mate.
Owen’s lived more than his age can betray, has fought and fucked and spent his time in far-flung deserts and humid jungles, has seen too much to be the kind of man who ends up with a gorgeous, young, untouched mate for his very own. Even now, Owen’s hands are bloody, literally, and he lives a dangerous life, even if it does come with a generous salary and a gorgeous piece of paradise to call his own. Owen doesn’t deserve someone like Zach, but the omega seems to find him acceptable, so Owen’s not going to argue. He knows a good thing when he sees it.
*
The raptor paddock is still lit up like a beacon, ACU mobile response vehicles everywhere, even if there’s only a few In-Gen troops around. The ACU teams have worked with Owen before, have trained and drilled for nearly every scenario (admittedly, not one containing a raptor/T-Rex/chameleon/other-terrifying-things hybrid, but that one’s not on them, either) and know to keep their distance, to act as non-threatening as possible.
“Dearing’s gone back to the control room,” Barry says in greeting, not flinching as Delta steps in to inspect him. “But-"
“Owen!” A delighted voice crows, and Blue hisses and snarls at the man who steps out from behind the remaining In-Gen jeep. The worrying thing is that then she goes completely silent. Classic hunting behaviour.
“Fuck off,” Owen says in reply, trying to keep his body language as neutral as possible as he flicks the kickstand down and gets off his bike. The more he telegraphs threat, the more agitated his girls are going to become.
“Now that was a successful field test if I’ve ever seen one,” Hoskins starts, and Owen has had it. The rest of the man’s sentence is lost to the haze of red that sweeps across Owen’s vision. Not good. Owen blinks it away, and clenches his fists at his sides, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths.
“You stay away from my raptors,” Owen says, tone low. He feels like a raptor crouched and ready to strike, and it must show, because Hoskins moves back a step, hands raised as if to placate him.
“Now, Grady-"
“They’re still outside the cage, Vic,” Owen says, with a nasty smile. “And if I’m not too pleased with you, they’re not either. How many of them can you see, right now?"
Hoskins’ eyes widen and visibly move from where Blue is standing at Owen’s shoulder, to Delta over near Barry, and back to Echo, on Owen’s other side. The man pales. “I’ll - um, I have to get back to the control room,” he says, and flees to the waiting jeep.
“That was awesome,” a young voice says, and Owen whirls around to see Zach and Gray poking their heads out of the back of the ACU van. Charlie, who’s closest, is looking at them curiously, but her posture is non-threatening, and she chirrups at them.
“Hey, Charlie,” Zach says softly, and Owen feels a swell of pride that he can tell Owen’s girls apart already. Not many people can after just one meeting. Zach looks to Owen. “Can we come out now?"
“Sure,” Owen says, and whistles through his teeth. “Ho! Round up!"
“Go stand next to Barry,” Owen tells the Mitchells. His girls hop to, coming to stand in front of him in a close formation. “Good girls,” Owen says. “Very good.” He reaches out to rub Blue’s snout. She snaps at him, tossing her head, but lets him unbuckle the camera contraption. “Yeah, I wouldn’t like it either,” he says. “Good girl, Blue."
Delta, Charlie and Echo all stand still for him as well. They shake themselves out once the camera harnesses are gone, snap and chitter, but they’re still well-behaved. It’s like the events of tonight have once again solidified Owen’s Alpha status in their minds. The pack hunted and took down an enemy, together. Victory.
“C’mere,” Owen says, once he’s standing in front of them all again, eyes steady on his raptors even as he holds out a hand in Zach and Gray’s direction, struck by the sudden need for his pack to meet his future-mate with nothing between them, to show the girls he trusts them with his person most precious. “Come meet my girls properly."
Zach and Gray move to his side, slow and steady and perfect, no panic visible at all. Their eyes are wide, and they probably smell like uncertainty and fear to raptor noses, but Owen can only scent adrenaline and excitement. “Eyes on me,” he says to the raptors when the Mitchells are next to him. Zach has tucked Gray in between the two of them, slightly behind Owen and himself. The kid seems content to be half-hidden in the alpha’s shadow, but Zach isn’t hidden at all, out in the open. He’s breathing evenly, eyes trained on the raptors, and Owen is struck by how brave his little future-mate is. Not many keepers would step out into the open with his girls, let alone civvies.
“Blue,” Owen says, and his beta cocks her head at him. Owen puts his hand on Zach’s shoulder. “This is Zach."
Blue chitters at him, and steps forward.
“Blue,” Owen says, warning in his tone, but she steps forward again, until she’s only two feet away from them. “That’s far enough."
Blue stretches out her neck and inhales loudly, nostrils flaring as she scents Owen’s future-mate. Zach’s hand creeps up to tangle with Owen’s at his shoulder, but other than that he doesn’t move.
“Zach,” Owen says again. “Mate.” It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, and Zach’s head whips around to look at him. It’s foolish, to take his eyes off Blue when she’s so close, but Owen can’t look away from the hope in Zach’s eyes, the longing. Zach rocks backward slightly, and it’s only when Blue huffs that Owen realises what’s happened. Blue’s headbutted him, gently, like she used to do to him when the raptors were little. Owen looks down, and watches as Blue sniffs again, this time at Zach’s belly. Or his crotch, Owen’s not sure. Either way, Blue’s sure scenting the difference between Owen and Zach. His future-mate blushes adorably.
“Can she - can she smell me?” Zach whispers.
“Of course,” Owen says. “She knows you’re omega.” He smiles. “She knows you’re mine."
“Gross,” Gray puts in, and Blue’s eyes are drawn to him suddenly.
“Gray,” Owen says, putting his hand on Gray’s mop of messy curls. “Pup."
“I’m not a pup,” Gray says, scowling up at him, and Blue huffs as if she’s laughing at him. Behind her, Charlie shifts and chitters.
“Okay,” Owen says. “Home, girls.” He clicks at them. “Home, Blue."
The raptors move in the direction of the pen, one by one stepping through the way-cage and into the paddock beyond. Blue is the last, pausing in the way-cage.
“Go on,” Owen says. “The hose is in there. Don’t you want to get all nice and clean?"
Blue cocks her head and chitters, once, then abruptly turns her back on him, trotting into the paddock proper, letting Barry close the gate behind her.
Owen exhales heavily, feels Gray move away from him. He turns around. The two Mitchells look exhausted and filthy, like they’ve been running on adrenaline far too long, frayed and at the end of their rope, and there's a moment of awkward silence, like they're waiting to know what happens now.
“Man, I could eat a burger the size of my head right now,” he says, and Gray laughs. “Big, juicy burger. Lotsa mustard, extra cheese.” Zach rolls his eyes.
“Typical alpha,” he says, but he’s smiling, and Owen reaches out to pull him close, not missing the way Zach slumps into him, glad for the support and the safety, and damned if the younger man doesn’t feel right tucked under his arm.
“Come on,” Owen says. “Surely there’s a jeep around here somewhere we can steal.” He’s completely unprepared for the way Zach all but throws himself at him, arms wrapped around Owen’s waist, head pressed to Owen’s chest despite the fact that it’s damp with sweat.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, voice muffled by Owen’s shirt.
“Hey,” Owen says, tipping Zach’s chin up so they’re looking each other in the eyes. “I promised."
*
Eco-terrorists. The lie sits sour in Owen’s mouth, and he can tell by Claire’s expression when she’s going over the wording for a press release regarding the release of flying dinosaurs by eco-terrorists with a battered-looking (but now conscious) Simon Masrani that Claire’s not happy about it either, but it does make sense, from a business point of view. Sixty-eight injured (none dead, thank fuck), and it could’ve been so much worse, but the lawyers and the PR people in Claire’s office are focused on damage control, on downplaying the incident. Owen watches her through the glass, heels splattered with mud and hair mussed, and can see why he was attracted to her in the first place. She’s one badass of a woman, Claire Dearing, and one hell of an alpha, but she pales in comparison to his future-mate, the one true omega to his alpha.
Said omega is currently by Owen’s side, dirty and bloody but unbroken. Owen shudders to think how much worse it could’ve been, knows there’s a fair bit of yelling in his future, arguments about genetic manipulation and playing god and the necessity of lethal Asset Containment, now isn’t the time. Tomorrow, he’ll argue and beg and cash in all the favours he can to get Hoskins off the damn island, because Owen’s proven that he’s irreplaceable now, and surely that means he can make some demands. His girls saved fuck-knows-how-many lives. They deserve to be respected. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, he’s going to take care of his little future-mate, and then sleep.
Claire spots them outside of her glass-walled office, and, for once, is quick to emerge.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s get out of here."
Zach looks at Owen. “You’re staying, right?” He looks actually concerned that Owen might up and leave him now the danger has passed, and Owen rushes to disabuse him of the notion.
“Of course,” he says.
Gray, who lucked out and claimed a stash of powerbars he found in the ACU jeep they appropriated to get back to the tourist area, is swaying on his feet, and Owen swings him up into tired arms. He’s too big, really, to be perched on Owen’s hip, but it’s not far, and the kid can’t even muster more than one sleepy protest.
“Thanks,” Zach says with a tired smile. “He’s too big for me, these days."
“No problem,” Owen says, feeling a little silly at the way his chest warms at Zach’s appreciative glance. He doesn’t miss the way Claire looks between them, as if she’s figuring something out.
The four of them make their way out into the park proper. Main Street isn’t quite back to normal, but most of the restaurants are open, and there’s not an animal carcass in sight. Nearly everything is lit up and cheery, even if there’s way less of a human presence than there usually would be during a holiday season. Starbucks, Owen note with satisfaction, is not among the open and lit-up businesses.
“Partial evacuation,” Claire says, at Owen’s considering look. “About ten thousand chose to stay - there’s about four thousand still in the terminal waiting to evac. We’re scrambling extra ferry services."
“We got lucky,” Owen says, voice low, and Claire’s face agrees, but Owen feels exhausted at the argument they’ll be having tomorrow. Claire doesn’t understand, not really, because she thought the Indominus could be contained, could be captured instead of killed. They’re fucking lucky that the knockout gas at the aviary worked, that the only animals that got out of the enclosure before the breach-of-perimeter measure had finished deploying were small and few.
They weave their way through sparse tourists in the direction of the Lagoon Hotel, and Owen always thought the hoity-toity decor was a bit overdone, but today of all days, there’s something soothing about the quiet, marble-inlaid calm of the lobby. Claire has commandeered a penthouse for her nephews’ visit and Gray, who’s halfway to asleep, sways on his feet when Owen puts him down on the plush carpet of the living room.
“C’mon, bud,” Zach says, guiding his little brother towards a door. “Bedtime.” He opens the door and pauses, looking back at Owen. “Food?” he asks, tone plaintive.
“Burgers,” Owen assures him.
“As big as your head,” Zach responds, with a smile that’s no less brilliant for the exhaustion that shines through.
The door shuts behind them quietly, and Owen plonks himself down on the nearest sofa. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way Claire is standing, hands on her hips, clearly spoiling for a fight.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Owen Grady, but if you think you’re somehow entitled to my nephew because you saved all our asses today-"
“Claire!” The tone of Owen’s voice pulls her up short. “Look,” Owen says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not going to - I wouldn’t force myself on anyone, Claire, you know that. But right now? My instincts are screaming at me. I’ve spent what has been an extremely stressful day first chasing after, then protecting, then introducing to my pack, then going hunting for and eliminating the danger to someone who I think of as future-pack. Who I think of as mate. Right now, I want to see Zach fed and rested and safe."
“Zach is a child-"
“Zach is eighteen,” Owen says, and sees the surprise show on Claire’s face at that, followed by the guilt of an absentee aunt. “That’s an adult by anyone’s definition. The omega who’s spent the entire day running from dinosaurs and protecting his brother isn’t a boy. He’s a man."
“And I’m old enough to know what I want,” Zach says, sounding exhausted, but determined still. “I know what I feel.” He moves further into the room, coming to stand beside Owen. “Gray’s sacked out. Probably won’t stay that way, but the door between our rooms is unlocked.” He looks up at Owen. “I’m exhausted,” he admits.
“I know,” Owen says, standing. “C’mon, shower time. Then dinner."
“Dinner,” Zach sighs, longing in his tone.
“I’m on it,” Owen promises. “Go on.”
Zach grins up at him, then, after a pause, darts up on his toes to kiss Owen on the cheek before pulling away and heading for his room.
Owen thinks he must look like he’s been hit like a truck, if Claire’s laugh is any indication. Owen turns his head to look at her, not entirely surprised he’s completely forgotten the other alpha was in the room.
“I think I see it,” she tells him. “But Owen-"
“I’d do anything to protect that man,” Owen says, voice soft and serious. “I mean it, Claire. He’s so damned strong, and smart, and for some reason he looks at me and thinks My Alpha, and I’m never, ever going to take that for granted."
Claire sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says.
“I haven’t steered you wrong yet,” Owen reminds, then winces, because now is probably not the time.
“You know,” she says, sly, “if you hurt him, that I’ll feed you to Rexy."
“Of course,” Owen says, grinning back at her.
“Also, his parents will be here in two days or so."
“Excellent,” Owen says, slumping back onto the couch. Parents. Luckily, his little mate is worth it.
*
Claire retires to her own bedroom before the food arrives, but not before she calls down for a set of Jurassic World branded pyjamas in Owen’s size.
“I expect, being the responsible adult you are, you’ll be needing these,” she says, and Owen wants to scoff, until he studies the pants more closely.
“Raptors!” he says. “Cool!"
Claire laughs at him, and leaves him be. Owen takes his own shower once Zach is done, and emerges to find his future-mate sprawled on the couch, hair damp and curling, food on the table (who puts burgers on plates, seriously, hoity-toity hotel indeed), and is hit by a sudden sense of contentment. This, just this, he hopes to see every day for the rest of his life. Zach starts to get up, but Owen waves him back down.
“Sit, sit,” he says. “I’ll get it."
Zach looks supremely happy to be waited on, and they practically inhale their burgers, Zach stealing Owen’s onion rings, even as he’s quick to share his curly fries in exchange. It’s only when they’re done eating and Zach starts to sprawl again that Owen realises he can smell blood.
“You’re hurt,” he says, sitting upright abruptly.
“It’s just a scratch,” Zach says, shifting so he can pull up the leg of his sweats to reveal a nasty-looking cut.
“That is not a scratch,” Owen says, and his voice is strangled. He gets to his feet, and calls reception for a first aid kit. The one they deliver is professional-grade, and despite Zach’s protests that he’s fine, Owen gets him positioned on the couch, leg propped up on Owen’s lap.
“Please,” Owen says, tracing the delicate bones of Zach’s ankle absently. He only notices a bit (okay, a lot, it’s hot as fuck) the way Zach shivers in response. “Let me take care of you."
“Not because I’m omega,” Zach says, narrowing his eyes. “Or because I’m eighteen."
“Because I care about you,” Owen says honestly, “and the thought of you hurt makes my chest go all tight."
Zach goes quiet then, watching as Owen tends the cut with infinite care, applying antiseptic and a wound dressing, wrapping gauze around Zach’s calf to keep it in place.
“You a doctor, there, Owen?” Zach asks, watching his mate work quickly and efficiently, the ease of long practice in his movements.
"Nah," Owen says, eyes intent on his work. "Got some basic medic skills when I was with the SEALs, though."
“SEALs?!” Zach says, sounding disbelieving. He flops back on the couch with a soft thud. Owen worries at his reaction for a moment, before he hears, “My Alpha is a goddamn SEAL.” Zach gestures vaguely in the air above him. “Carry on, world, it’s fine, just found out my raptor-training mate is even more of a badass than I thought."
“That’s okay, right?” Owen leans over Zach’s body, making sure to keep his weight off the omega even as he moves over him, propping himself up on his hands, hips grounded in the vee of Zach’s spread legs.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” Zach says, voice soft, and his fingers trace the Jurassic World print on Owen’s shirt. “I mean, I’ve had a girlfriend, had boyfriends - nothing serious,” he rushes to say, curtailing Owen’s rising jealousy. He knows, logically, that Zach is untouched, can smell it, but the thought of anyone else’s hands on Zach’s skin makes his blood rise. “I was always looking, wherever I was, like there was something I was missing, but I didn’t know what."
The omega looks up. “Then I saw you,” Zach says, painfully earnest, honesty in every word. “And I knew. It was you."
“I’m going to do right by you,” Owen promises. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need. For the rest of my life.” He leans in, and finally, finally catches that lush mouth in a kiss, wet and deep. Zach moans into the kiss, letting himself be taken, open to Owen’s plundering mouth. For all that it’s claiming, Owen is gentle in his thoroughness, and he grins into the kiss when he feels Zach’s hands grip his shoulders, feels Zach’s knees press close against his ribcage, as if to hold him close.
When they break for oxygen, Owen rests the weight of his body down on Zach’s chest, revelling in the steady thump of his mate’s heart. Mate. That’s going to take some getting used to. Gentle fingers trace through Owen’s short hair, and he sighs in contentment. “I’m exhausted,” he says eventually, propping himself up again.
“Bed?” Zach asks, and his tone is hopeful, but he looks slightly nervous.
“Hell yes,” Owen says, heaving himself off the couch and reaching down to offer Zach his hand. “I can’t wait to sleep the sleep of the dead beside you."
Zach laughs, which is what Owen had been aiming for, and they make their way into the bedroom. With a furtive look at Owen, Zach strips off his sweatpants, but leaves his wifebeater and his briefs on before climbing in, throwing the fancy throw pillows aside. It’s the cue Owen needs to remove his own shirt (couldn’t take his pyjama pants off even if it wouldn’t seem like a step too far, with no clean underwear of his own) and slide into bed beside his future-mate. He bats the last of the throw pillows away and sinks down onto the plush bed with a groan.
“I’m never moving again,” he says.
“Me either,” Zach says, but shifts restlessly beside him.
“Hey,” Owen says softly, looking over. Zach is just visible in the dim glow from the lagoon lights outside the window. “You’re too far away."
Zach gives him another of those brilliant smiles, and as if he’d been waiting for permission, slides over to rest his head on Owen’s chest, curling into him. Owen settles an arm around his back, holding him close.
“That’s better,” he says, and cranes his head forward to kiss the top of Zach’s head. “Night, pretty."
“Night, alpha,” Zach says in reply, sounding half-asleep already.
Owen wakes an hour later when Gray slips through the door connecting the two bedrooms. The kid hesitates when he sees Owen’s head rise off the pillow, but Owen beckons him forward. “Come on,” he says. “Plenty of room.” Gray flashes him a tired smile, slides in next to his brother.
“Y’alright?” Zach mumbles, still half-asleep as he pulls his brother close against his back.
“Shhh,” Gray says. “Go back to sleep."
Owen reaches out and runs his fingers through the kid’s hair as he curls up against his brother, and Gray shuts his eyes and drops off to sleep.
Owen Grady isn’t a good man, per se. But as he watches as his mate-to-be curl up against his chest, a pup curled close and both of them safe in the shadow of Owen’s body, he doesn’t think he minds all that much. He may not deserve this, but he’s never letting it go.