Chapter Text
The rain came down in a steady, miserable slant, turning the whole battlefield camp into a slick mess of mud and half-buried tents. Smoke from dying fires mixed with the thick, heady stink of too many alphas in one place—sweat, leather, blood, and that sharp edge of dominance that made the air feel heavier than it should. Shane kept his head down as the soldiers dragged him through the gates, wrists raw under the iron cuffs. He’d let them catch him two days back, walking right into their patrol like a lost healer with just enough power to be useful but not enough to be a threat. Ash. That was the name he’d chosen. Ash, with medium healing, no family, no history worth mentioning. The real him—Shane Hollander—stayed buried deep, locked behind teeth he ground together so hard his jaw ached.
He scanned the chaos without lifting his eyes too much: rows of patched tents sagging under the downpour, soldiers sharpening blades or shouting over maps, the distant groan of wounded men. And healers. Too many healers already looking half-dead, their shoulders slumped as they moved between cots. One of them, a thin man with sunken cheeks, stumbled near a puddle and dropped to his knees, hands sinking into the mud. Shane’s body reacted before his brain caught up. He lunged forward, chains rattling.
A rough yank on his wrists jerked him back so hard he nearly lost his footing. The soldier holding the chain snarled, “Stay put, healer.”
Shane pulled harder, muscles burning with the effort. The soldier staggered, boots sliding in the slick mud, and cursed loudly. Before Shane could reach the collapsed man, a heavy fist cracked across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Pain bloomed hot and sharp, but he stayed on his feet, spitting blood into the mud.
“Learn your fucking place,” the soldier growled. “You’re here to serve the army, not play hero. Keep acting up and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Shane straightened slowly, eyes flashing despite the role he was supposed to play. “The Shadow Army’s supposed to be unstoppable, right? So why can’t you heal yourselves and stop breaking the ones who can?”
The soldier’s face twisted with rage and he raised his hand again, ready to swing. A firm grip caught his arm mid-air.
“Enough of this shit,” a deep voice cut in. A tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and an easy kind of confidence stepped between them. His dark hair was plastered down by the rain, but it didn’t hide the authority in his stance. He was clearly high up. “Drop the commotion, soldier. Go find something useful to do.”
The man lowered his head fast. “Sorry, General Hunter.”
Shane stayed silent, breathing through the sting on his face. The general offered a hand to help him up from the slight crouch he’d fallen into. Shane ignored it and pushed himself upright on his own, chains clinking.
A low chuckle escaped the general. “Got some fire in you, huh? Not many new ones mouth off on day one.” He studied Shane for a beat, then added, “I’m General Scott Hunter. You’ll be working under my watch for now. What’s your name, healer?”
Shane looked him over, head to toe with open suspicion. No high-ranking alpha acted this decent without an angle. They were all the same underneath. Cruel when it counted. “Ash,” he answered flatly.
Before anything else could be said, a commanding voice boomed from across the muddy path, cutting through the rain like a whip. “What the hell is all this noise? Why aren’t you bastards working?”
Shane’s stomach twisted violently as the speaker strode closer. The man was tall and powerfully built, with messy curls that looked almost blond under the gray sky, soaked and clinging to his forehead. His presence hit like a storm front, broad shoulders under a dark cloak, sharp jaw clenched in irritation, blue eyes scanning the scene with cold authority. This was him. The monster from the nightmares. The one who’d stood over his parents’ bodies all those years ago. Ilya Rozanov.
Shane’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard it hurt. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms and bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting fresh blood. Keep it together. Stick to the plan.
Scott waved a hand casually. “Nothing serious. Just a new healer being a bit mouthy with one of the guards.”
Ilya’s gaze slid over Shane with clear disdain, like he was sizing up a half-broken tool. He looked back at Scott and snorted. “You’re too soft with these healers. Cut that shit out before it spreads.”
Scott shrugged, unfazed, the easy grin still tugging at his mouth. “Being decent to the people who keep our men alive isn’t soft. It’s practical.”
Ilya exhaled sharply, clearly not in the mood for debate with his general.“Run the standard checks on the new one. Get him assigned and put to work immediately. If he causes any more trouble, chain him to the post. No food and no water until he learns how things run here.” He turned on his heel, already shouting at a cluster of nearby soldiers. “And someone drag that useless body out of the mud before he drowns like an idiot! We don’t have time for this.”
The rain kept falling, as orders echoed across the camp and bodies moved to obey. Shane stood there in his chains, cheek throbbing, forcing his expression to stay neutral while everything inside him burned. The plan was in motion. He was inside. Now he just had to survive it.
Two soldiers finally moved in and hauled the collapsed healer up from the mud, his boots dragging limply behind him. They muttered complaints under their breath but got the job done, carting the man off toward a cluster of larger tents. Scott jerked his head at Shane.
“Come on, Ash. Let’s get you out of this mess before you cause any more headaches.”
Shane followed without a word, chains still biting into his wrists as they crossed the muddy ground. The general led him past rows of supply crates and sputtering torches until they reached a large, weathered tent set a little apart from the main chaos. Scott pushed the flap open and motioned him inside.
The air changed the second they stepped in. It smelled clean, herbs hanging in bundles from the ceiling beams, a sweet undercurrent of honey from the salves, and the faint damp earthiness of rain that had seeped through the fabric. The heavy, choking reek of alphas faded to almost nothing here, blocked by whatever wards or distance the healers had managed to set up. Only Scott’s scent lingered, close and subtle, because he was right beside him. It wasn’t aggressive like the others, just warm and steady, no aggressive pheromones pouring off him.
A woman looked up from where she was sorting bandages near a low table. She had sharp eyes and a tired but steady presence, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Scott smiled easily.
“Rose, this is the new arrival. She's one of the more experienced healers we’ve got around here, been keeping this place running longer than most.”
Rose turned fully toward them, a smile already forming on her lips as she opened her mouth. “Sh—”
Shane gave a tiny shake of his head, eyes widening in warning. Rose caught it instantly, the words dying before they left her. She recovered with a smooth blink and let the smile settle properly.
Scott didn’t seem to notice the split-second exchange. “This is Ash. He’ll be starting with the lower squad tomorrow. Take good care of him, get some food and water in him, let him clean up, and show him where the main infirmary is.”
Rose nodded, already moving toward a small stack of clean cloths. “Of course, General. I’ve got him.”
Scott gave Shane one last look, half amused, half serious. “Rest up tonight. You start at first light tomorrow, no excuses.” He turned to leave, ducking under the tent flap, but paused halfway out and glanced back over his shoulder. “And Ash… the commander wasn’t joking about the post. Watch your mouth around here. It’ll save you a lot of pain.”
With that, he slipped back into the rain, the flap falling shut behind him and leaving the tent quiet except for the soft patter overhead. Rose waited a beat, listening to his footsteps fade, before she let out a long breath and turned to Shane with wide eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest like she was trying to calm her racing heart, eyes still wide with disbelief.
“Gods, I almost died right there. Seeing you walk in like this… I thought my stomach was going to drop out of my body. Shane, what the hell are you—”
“Ash,” he cut in sharply, voice low but firm, stepping closer so only she could hear. “I’m Ash now. Never forget that. Not even for a second, if you slip up once we’re both dead.”
Rose swallowed hard, nodding quickly as the reality settled over her. She turned away and busied her hands, pouring water from a clay jug into a wooden cup. She crushed a pinch of dried green herb between her fingers and stirred it in, the liquid taking on a faint earthy scent. “Here. Drink this. It’ll help with the dehydration from the march. You look like you’ve been dragged through hell.”
Shane, took the cup without argument and drunk it in slow, steady gulps. The cool liquid soothed his raw throat, and he could already feel the herb working, easing the tight ache behind his eyes.
Rose watched him closely, her gaze dropping to the fresh bruise blooming across his cheek. She reached out and gently tilted his chin toward the lantern light. “They hit you already? That didn’t take long.”
He handed the empty cup back and shrugged, the chains on his wrists clinking softly. “I was impulsive. One of the soldiers was yanking me around and I pulled back harder than I should’ve. He wanted to show how big and strong he was in front of everyone. Nothing I can’t handle.”
She sighed, already moving to a small basin to wet a clean cloth. The rain continued its steady rhythm on the tent roof above them, muffling the sounds of the camp outside. Rose dabbed carefully at the cut on his lip, her touch practiced and gentle after years of patching up worse. For a moment the tent felt almost safe, wrapped in the smell of herbs and honey, far from the worst of the alpha stink that clung to the rest of the camp. But both of them knew the safety was paper-thin.
The next morning came too soon, gray light filtering through the tent fabric while the rain had eased into a cold drizzle. Shane woke before dawn, muscles stiff from the hard cot and the weight of the chains they’d left on overnight. Rose was already up, moving quietly as she handed him a set of simple healer’s clothes, loose tunic, trousers, and a worn cloak.
“Sorry about these,” she said softly, eyes apologetic. “They might feel a bit tight around the waist, but I’ll take them in for you tonight when things quiet down.”
He shrugged it off, pulling the fabric on without complaint. “Doesn’t matter. The cloak will cover most of it anyway.”
A few minutes later he sat on the edge of the cot, tearing into a thick slice of dark bread and washing it down with hot tea laced with more of those herbs. The warmth settled in his stomach just as the tent flap opened and Scott Hunter stepped inside, shaking water from his dark hair.
“Morning, Ash. Ready to move?” Scott said, voice carrying that easy authority. “I’ll walk you over to the lower infirmary myself. Oh, and Rose, Princess Svetlana is asking for you personally in the commander’s tent. She came to see her brother last night and wants a familiar face handling things.”
Rose lowered her head in a quick, respectful bow. “Of course, General.” She gave Shane one last steady look, then slipped out into the drizzle without another word.
Scott jerked his chin toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
Shane followed him out into the damp camp, the cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. They walked side by side through rows of tents and muddy paths lined with soldiers already moving supplies and sharpening weapons. The infirmary for the lower battalion was a long, low structure made of patched canvas and wooden poles, bigger than the sleeping tent but just as worn. Scott pushed the flap open and led him inside.
The space smelled strongly of herbs and blood. Rows of cots stretched out under dim lantern light, most of them occupied by wounded soldiers groaning or staring blankly at the ceiling. Scott pointed to a heavy wooden rack against one wall.
“Herbs and salves are kept here, dried ones on the top shelf, fresh bundles below. Potions and tinctures are in the locked chest; only senior healers have the key, so ask before you touch anything strong. You start at this end of the tent. Always check the ones who still have a chance first, stop the bleeding, close the worst wounds, keep them breathing. Don’t waste your energy on the ones who are already slipping away. We can’t afford to lose more healers than we already do.”
Shane’s eyes moved across the room and landed on three healers collapsed on cots in the back corner, their faces pale and drawn, chests rising and falling in shallow rhythms. They looked completely drained.
He nodded toward them. “Can I take care of those ones too?”
Scott let out a low laugh, crossing his arms as he studied Shane. “Why the hell do you care so much about the other healers? Most new ones keep their heads down and just do their jobs.”
Shane met his gaze evenly. “They’re my people. We’re all the same in the end. We deserve at least a little dignity after what this war does to us.”
Scott’s expression shifted, something thoughtful flickering across his face before he shook his head. “The Emperor’s rules are clear. Healers don’t heal other healers, says it’s a waste of power. If one of you burns out and gets too weak, you’re considered useless and get discarded. That’s just how it works here. Keep that in mind if you want to last longer than a week.”
He clapped a hand on Shane’s shoulder, grip firm but not unkind, then stepped back toward the entrance. The camp noise outside filtered in, shouts, the clank of armor, the distant sound of horses. Shane stood there among the rows of suffering bodies, already feeling the pull of his magic stirring under his skin, ready to be used whether he wanted to or not.
Shane finished with the last soldier as the afternoon light outside started to fade into a dull gray, his hands steady even though the rest of him felt like it was running on empty. The new arrival had a nasty slash across his ribs that took longer than it should have, but he got it closed and stable before wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve and stepping back. Rose appeared at his side without a word, her own face tight with exhaustion after whatever she’d been dealing with in the commander’s tent. She gave him a small nod and they left the infirmary together, walking side by side through the camp’s muddy paths as the evening chill settled in.
Back in their quiet corner of the healers’ tent, the familiar mix of herbs and honey wrapped around them again like a thin shield. Shane dropped onto the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, and let out a heavy breath. “I’m drained, Rose. More than I should be after one day, and the worst part is how much I fucking hate every second of it. Every time I healed one of those bastards I wanted to throw up. They’re out there destroying everything we’ve ever known, marching under his orders, and I’m keeping them alive. Keeping the man who murdered my parents breathing so he can keep giving commands tomorrow. I feel disgusting. Like I’m betraying my own blood with every second I’m here.”
Rose sat across from him on a low stool, watching him carefully as she untied her apron. “It might not just be the work wearing you down. You’re pouring everything into hiding what you really are on top of all that healing. Being an omega in a place like this—”
“Don’t,” Shane cut in sharply, voice low and edged with warning as he looked up at her. “Don’t say it. Not here, not ever. I don’t have any other choice and you know it. Did you see how many alphas are crawling around out there? One wrong breath and it’s over for both of us.”
She winced, raising her hands in a quick apology. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. Let me make you some tea. It’ll mask your "problem" without you having to burn through your own power to do it. Give me a minute and it’ll be ready.”
Rose stood and moved to the small table in the corner, already reaching for the jar of dried leaves and the kettle, her movements quick and practiced while the rain started up again outside, tapping lightly against the canvas. She turned from the small table with the steaming cup in her hands and passed it over to him. The scent of honey and something faintly floral rose up as Shane took it carefully, the warmth seeping into his cold fingers.
“Drink it slow. You’ll need this twice a day, morning and night, if you want it to keep working properly,” she said quietly, settling back onto her stool.
He took a long sip. The tea tasted surprisingly good, warm and smooth with that gentle sweetness of honey cutting through the bitter herbs underneath. It settled in his stomach like a small comfort he hadn’t expected. After another swallow he lowered the cup a little and looked at her.
“What about the sick ones? The healers who end up too weak to work. What happens to them?”
Rose kept her eyes on the bundle of dried leaves she was sorting, fingers moving steadily. “Sometimes I manage to sneak help to one or two, especially if General Hunter turns a blind eye and gives me a little extra time. But the Emperor considers it straight-up betrayal. Wasting power on broken tools, he calls it. If they can’t pull their weight, they’re discarded. Simple as that.” She paused, glancing up at him. “And you… they’ll probably move you soon to the main healers’ tent with everyone else. It’s where all the new ones go after the first day or two.”
Shane shook his head, gripping the cup tighter. “I’d rather stay here with you. The others might talk. One wrong word and they could let slip who I really am, or my real name. I can’t risk that.”
Rose gave a small shrug as she went back to grinding something in a stone mortar, the soft crunch filling the tent. “Then you’d better get ready to suck some cock and make yourself real useful around here,” she said bluntly, voice flat but soft on the edges. “I can try telling the general you’re decent with potions and mixtures. Ask him to let you stay as my assistant instead of throwing you in with the rest. But I can’t promise it’ll work. He listens to me more than most, but the commander has final say on everything.”
She kept working, adding a few drops of dark liquid to the bowl, while outside the camp sounds slowly quieted into the damp evening.
Rose handed him the finished mixture and kept grinding the next batch while the lantern light flickered across the canvas walls. Shane took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through him before he spoke again, voice low and thoughtful.
“So what’s the deal with the general? He seems way too decent for a guy in this army. Doesn’t sit right with me.”
Rose let out a soft laugh, the sound tired but genuine as she wiped her hands on a cloth. “He’s been like that since the day I got here. Tough as old boots, sure, but never cruel just for the fun of it. Do your job clean and he won’t ride you for no reason. That’s rarer than you’d think around here.”
Shane sat quietly for a moment, turning the cup in his hands while he thought it over. “So I need to stay on his good side, then? Play nice and keep my head down?”
“You can be polite and pull your weight,” she said, not looking up from the mortar. “But don’t go trying to flirt your way into anything. He doesn’t mess around with healers. Keeps things strictly professional.”
Shane barked out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not even what I was thinking.”
Rose glanced over with a knowing grin, eyes sparkling for the first time all evening. “I know you too well, Ash. When I said make yourself useful I didn’t mean on your knees. Just figured I’d head that off before you got any ideas.”
He laughed again, the sound lighter than he’d expected, and set the empty cup aside. “I’ve got zero interest in anyone right now. All I want is to finish this, get my revenge, and take my people back to where they belong. That’s it.”
Rose’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, like she was afraid the rain itself might overhear. She leaned a little closer across the small table. “Speaking of people… how’s my boy? Does he still remember me at all?”
Shane’s face broke into a wide, real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes until they almost disappeared. “He’s doing great. Staying with Pike and Jackie and all their kids. Strong as hell, safe, and he asks about you every single night before bed. Wants to know when his mom’s coming home to tell him more stories.”
A single tear slipped down Rose’s cheek before she could stop it. She brushed it away quickly with the back of her hand, but her voice still cracked a little. “I can’t wait for this war to be over. Just want to hold him again, feel his little arms around my neck like he used to.”
Shane stood up without thinking, crossed the short space between them, and pulled her into a tight, friendly hug. She leaned into it, arms wrapping around his back for a second while the rain kept its steady rhythm overhead. “I’m gonna fight for that,” he murmured against her hair. “For you, for him, for all of us. I swear it.”