Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE: THE ROSE THAT HUNTS NO MORE
Dunk Natachai never imagined he’d be the one wearing silk.
He adjusted the thin gold sash across his shoulder with a glare sharp enough to cut diamonds. The Parlor, draped in royal blues and soft velvets, might as well have been a showroom for prized livestock. Omegas lounged on settees, soft music filtered in from overhead speakers, and the scent of pheromone suppressants laced the air like expensive perfume.
Above them, holograms of alpha participants flickered across a domed ceiling. Each name and current point count floated in real-time—scores rising and falling as the hunt progressed. Somewhere in the deep forest simulation, Joong Archen was probably stalking his fifth virtual snow stag. Dunk could almost hear his annoying, confident breathing in his mind.
He exhaled slowly. The silken robe pooled like water around his ankles. He tugged the slit higher up his thigh on principle.
Across the room, an omega sighed. “The Rose looks irritated today.”
“I heard he used to be an alpha,” another whispered.
“He used to win the Hunt.”
“I bet he misses killing things.”
Dunk clenched his jaw, gripping his goblet tighter than necessary. The “Rose”—him—was supposed to be the star attraction this year. Number one in beauty. Number one in net worth. Number one in danger level, if anyone still remembered he once made an entire rogue nest surrender with just a tactical plan and five bullets.
Now, he was in silk. With blush powder on his cheeks and a ceremonial blossom pinned to his hair.
He’d murdered the last person who’d dared call him “pretty boy” in a condescending tone.
He might’ve been forced into this role, but he’d be damned if he played it meekly.
A cluster of cameras hovered subtly in the corners. The entire ceremony was broadcasted, of course. The public adored a dramatic courtship. They wanted romance, a show of dominance, surprise confessions. What they’d never get was Dunk Natachai willingly looking at an alpha like he was desperate to be chosen.
He’d rather throw himself into the simulated wilds.
Which, unfortunately, he couldn’t. Because of the lab accident. Because of them.
A flicker of pain curled in his chest—he buried it. Dunk adjusted the ring on his finger, a silent reminder. They’d paid for what they did. Their names didn’t even exist in the registry anymore.
“Looking tense, Rose.”
He stiffened.
Joong’s voice was like warm whiskey laced with arrogance. Familiar. Too familiar. Too smooth.
Dunk turned slowly.
There he was—six-foot-two of smug, sun-kissed, post-war swagger. Dust still clung to his boots like he hadn’t even changed from the battlefield. Medals winked from his jacket like they were flirting with the cameras. His hair was tousled just right—either by combat or charm.
Dunk flipped him off, sharp and subtle beneath the fan he held.
Joong smirked like he’d just been flirted with.
“Charming as ever,” he said, stepping closer. The scent of gunpowder and wilderness clung to him under his cologne.
“What do you want,” Dunk snapped.
Joong didn’t answer. Instead, he extended his hand.
Dunk blinked. “What.”
“Brotherly ties,” Joong said, nodding at the crimson ribbon loosely wrapped around his wrist.
The ceremonial string. Meant to be tied by someone you trusted before the Hunt. A gesture of support. Respect. Camaraderie.
Most alphas tied theirs with a close friend or loyal sibling.
For the past three years, Joong had let Dunk tie it.
And Dunk had let him tie his.
Back then, they were rivals. Equals.
Now…
Dunk looked at the ribbon like it might bite him.
“I’m not your brother anymore,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t ask that,” Joong replied. “You still got hands, don’t you?”
There were murmurs around them now.
“So they’re still tying each other’s—?”
“Wait, does that mean Joong isn’t going for the Rose?”
“Joong could have anyone.”
Dunk’s fingers twitched.
This wasn’t just a string.
This was invitation. This was protection. This was Joong, once again, taking up all the space around him, like it was his right.
Dunk wanted to throw the ribbon in his face.
He also didn’t want to face the pack of alphas currently eyeing him like meat on ceremonial lace. And the thought of Joong picking anyone else—
He snatched the ribbon and tied it. Precise. Ruthless.
“You better win,” he muttered.
Joong’s grin turned feral. “Yes, princess.”
The way he said that word—like a secret only he got to keep—made Dunk's breath hitch.
Joong turned and walked away, back to the gates of the forest simulation. Dunk tried not to watch the way his shoulders moved. Or how others parted for him like he was already the champion.
“Princess?”
“You let him call you that?”
Dunk downed his drink. “Shut up.”
---
Three hours later, Joong was first to return.
Bloodied—fake, obviously—but with the highest score. Antlers slung over his shoulder, eyes blazing with triumph, sweat dripping down his temple like a war hero.
Dunk's stomach dropped.
The cameras shifted toward him.
This was it.
This was the moment when the winner made their choice.
He could refuse. The Rose had that right. But what came after? More hunting? More hungry-eyed alphas thinking they had a chance?
Joong approached.
He didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just looked at him, calm, like the chaos didn’t matter.
Then he reached out again.
A single hand, palm up.
Dunk could still reject him.
But then Joong leaned in, murmuring just for him.
“You’ll die without a mate, remember?”
Dunk flinched.
Joong’s voice turned softer. “Let me help you. Just once. No strings, if you don’t want them.”
Dunk’s fingers trembled. He stared at Joong’s hand like it was a trap. Maybe it was.
But his body was already hot with pre-heat. The suppressants wouldn’t hold forever. The ceremony was broadcasted, but the car would be private. He just needed the release. Just once.
He took Joong’s hand.
The Parlor exploded with noise.
---
The car was black. The windows tinted. The air-conditioning hummed like a lullaby.
Dunk didn’t remember who kissed first.
All he remembered was being shoved against the leather seat, Joong’s mouth devouring his like a man lost in a desert. Their matching heights pressed flush against each other, desperation tangible. The red string still tied around Joong’s wrist brushed against Dunk’s cheek as hands slid down his back.
Dunk arched with a groan, half-frustrated, half-needy. “You didn’t have to come back.”
“You’re all I see,” Joong whispered against his skin. “Even on the battlefield.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up,” Joong growled, biting gently at Dunk’s throat. “You think I’d let any of those bastards lay a hand on you?”
“I was an alpha,” Dunk said, trying to cling to pride. “I don’t need saving.”
Joong’s eyes darkened. “You were a beautiful alpha. Now you’re a fucking devastating omega. That doesn’t make you weaker.”
Dunk hated how much he wanted to believe that.
“Have you let anyone—?”
“No.” Dunk’s voice cracked. “No one. I didn’t want anyone.”
Joong pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Why?”
“Because they’d see me like this. Fragile. Owned.”
Joong kissed the corner of his eye, where tears had gathered. “Then let me be the only one who gets to see.”
Dunk choked out a laugh. “You’re such a bastard.”
“And you’re still my princess.”
Dunk glared—but then moaned when Joong’s hand slid between his thighs. His entire body trembled with the rising heat. He wanted to say something cruel, something clever.
Instead, he clung to Joong like a drowning man.
Everything else could wait.
---
End of Chapter One