Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John had always been too curious for his own good. From the moment he was a pup, his family had made sure to remind him of that fact. His mother, especially, had often scolded him for poking around places he wasn’t supposed to be, or for sneaking off to watch things he had no business observing. 

“Curiosity killed the wolf,” she'd say, always with a knowing look that carried the weight of generations before her. But even then, as a young pup, Soap had never been able to shake that insatiable need to know, to understand the world around him.

John's family—his father, mother, and younger sister, Lyla—had lived a simple life in the dense forests of the north, away from human settlements. They didn’t meddle in human affairs, but they weren’t afraid to cross paths with them from time to time, as long as they kept their distance. 

One night, everything changed.

It had been a calm evening, with the scent of rain in the air, when disaster struck. John and his father had been out hunting, with Lyla trailing behind, collecting herbs. They’d caught wind of smoke in the distance.

 His father had grown immediately cautious, whispering about human settlements nearby. "We need to head back," he’d said, his voice tense, but John had begged him to investigate, to find out what was happening.

Reluctantly his father agreed knowing John would have gone out on his own if they didn’t.

As they neared the source of the smoke, John’s stomach twisted in fear. They had found the remains of a small human settlement—smoldering, burning to the ground. 

“Stay close,” his father had warned, his tone sharp.

They searched through the wreckage, hoping to find survivors, but there was no one. The fire had already claimed everything, leaving only scorched earth behind.

The next moment, John's worst nightmare became a cruel reality. His mother, who must have gone to warn the humans, had been caught in the flames. They found her, her body badly burned, her face barely recognizable.

John’s world fractured in an instant. His mother, the only one who had always known how to calm his restless spirit, was gone. His father, devastated, growled in grief and fury, and John could do nothing but stand there, helpless.

But the tragedy didn’t stop there. The fire hadn’t just claimed his mother—it had taken everything. In the madness of the moment, John’s father failed to notice the shadows closing in around them— humans, armed with torches and hatred. 

The humans were fast, ruthless. John’s father fought back, but it was futile. In a matter of moments, they were both gone—his father and Lyla, his little sister who had always been full of laughter, now silenced forever.

Soap had barely managed to escape, running through the forest with nothing but the crushing weight of his loss and the fear of what was to come.

—-

10 years later:

Simon stood up, his knees cracking as he did so. His knees not quite comprehending he hasn’t quite reached an age where they should be doing that yet.

He glanced down at the tent he'd just finished setting up. Finally, the campsite was ready. The sun had a few hours left before it dipped below the horizon—plenty of time to start a fire.

It wasn’t easy for Simon to admit it, but his boss had been right: he needed this. Needed to get away.

The past month had stretched him thin. His job—one that had once been fulfilling—had become an endless cycle of stress. The company’s expansion project had taken over every waking moment. He’d been the one to untangle the mess, the one to handle all the little details. 

Now that it was finally over, his boss had insisted he take a week off to “reset.” Or, as his boss put it more bluntly, “Go out and have fun. Try to get laid.”

So, Simon packed up his old camping gear—unused for years—and drove 200 miles to a secluded spot in the mountains. A place so far from the city, no one would bother him.

The last time he'd been camping was before Joseph was born. He used to go all the time with his brother, Tommy. But once he and Beth had a child, Tommy’s life had become consumed by fatherhood, leaving no time for wilderness trips.

Simon hadn’t realized just how much he'd missed this. In the city, there’s never real silence. The relentless honking of car horns, the music blaring from the streets, the thumping of his neighbor's heavy footsteps above him. Noise, everywhere. 

But here—out in nature—the only sounds were birds chirping, the breeze rustling through the trees. It felt like breathing for the first time in months.

Simon chopped some wood, carefully stacking it in a dry spot—just in case the rain came, even though the weather report said otherwise. He could smell it, though. A scent of impending rain that only someone who’d grown up around these kinds of weather patterns could recognize. The city folk called it an old wives' tale, but Simon trusted his instincts more than technology.

Old-fashioned, some might call him. He didn’t care. His phone only buzzed with messages from four people: Tommy, Beth, his mom, and his boss. Maybe one day Joseph would join the list, but for now, that was enough.

He didn’t chase after friendships. It was too much work. People never understood why he didn’t go out of his way to meet new people. His blunt nature turned most away, but Simon didn’t mind. He enjoyed listening—really listening—but he never knew how to keep the conversation going. And besides, he was fine with solitude.

Once the fire was crackling, Simon pulled out the hot dogs he’d brought. Tomorrow, he’d fish. But for tonight, he wanted something easy. He roasted the hot dogs until they were slightly charred, the smell of them mingling with the wood smoke in the cool evening air. When he was done, he made sure the fire was completely out and crawled into his tent for the night. Unaware that he was being watched.

—-

Most packs were not welcoming and would send a stray wolf away on sight, but there were still some that wouldn’t think twice about ending an invader's life. It was a dangerous world for a lone wolf, and trust was hard to come by.

Almost ten years ago, John got lucky enough to run into Gaz—another pup about his age—who told him about a pack where the alpha welcomed strays. In fact, Gaz explained, the entire pack was made up of wolves from different bloodlines, each one having found their way to the pack in their own time.

When John was first introduced to the pack, he was surprised to learn that the pack’s alpha was only a decade older than him. Price was young but wise beyond his years, and his leadership had already earned the respect of the pack. 

John hadn’t expected to find someone like that so soon. A part of him had thought any alpha he met would be intimidating, distant, maybe even unapproachable, but Price was different. There was something about the way he carried himself that put others at ease, despite the weight of his position.

As Gaz had promised, John was welcomed into the pack immediately after sharing his story about the tragic loss of his family. The pack gave him a place, a sense of belonging. That was when he was given the nickname Soap, a reminder of the difficult past he had scrubbed away in order to start fresh.

He had grown up with Gaz and Roach, who was a year younger than them, and the three had become close over the years. As the time passed, the pups matured, and they began to present their secondary genders. Gaz became a Beta, while Soap and Roach both presented as Omegas. 

At first, Soap had struggled with this. He had always looked up to his father, who had been an alpha. Soap had expected to be the same, but he was not. It was a blow to his pride.

However, his worries were quickly soothed by Ava—an Omega who was mated to the only other Alpha in the pack, Kate. Ava had seen Soap’s discomfort and taken him under her wing, helping him understand that being an Omega didn’t make him less than anyone else in the pack. She showed him that strength came in many forms, and it wasn’t defined by rank or title.

About a year ago, Rudy and Alejandro became the newest members of the pack. They had met each other as pups, growing up together before being welcomed into the pack. When they joined, they were already mated, and their bond was as strong as any.

Despite Alejandro being an Alpha, he never once challenged Price’s position, which some might have expected, given Alejandro's strong nature. But Alejandro wasn’t interested in leadership. He had no desire to take over the pack. Instead, he was content taking care of his Beta, Rudy, and didn’t want the added weight of overseeing a pack's responsibilities.

Price, for his part, led with fairness and wisdom, never asserting dominance unless it was absolutely necessary. His leadership was calm and steady, and he mostly left the pack members to their own devices. As long as no one did anything excessively stupid, he trusted them to make their own decisions.

Something so excessively stupid, like what Soap was currently doing. A human had entered their territory—an unusual occurrence, as it rarely happened. When it did, the humans typically passed through, not stopping for long. They were transient, just a fleeting presence that didn’t warrant much attention from the pack.

But this one... this one had made camp. And to make matters worse, he was starting a fire. The smoke rose in the air, thick and curling in the stillness of the evening, drawing Soap in with a strange sense of curiosity. He couldn’t help it—there was something in him, a deep, primal urge, that wanted to know where that smoke was coming from, what the human was doing.

The smell of burning wood brought back memories Soap had long tried to bury. The crackling of flames was a sound that once filled his childhood, a sound that haunted him.

Soap crouched low behind the treeline, his form shifted into that of a wolf, his muscles taut with restraint. He pressed himself into the shadows, making sure his dark fur blended with the undergrowth. His eyes were fixed on the human, his ears pricked and alert, every muscle in his body ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

When the human tossed something into the fire, the aroma that followed was intoxicating. A mix of spices and roasting meat filled the air, teasing Soap’s senses. His stomach growled involuntarily, the sound soft but unmistakable.

Lucky for him, the human was too far away to hear it—too focused on his fire and the food to notice the wolf watching him from the dark. But the scent... it was enough to make Soap’s mouth water. It had been a long time since he’d smelled anything so rich. His pack typically ate what they hunted, raw and unseasoned. While that was the way of things, it didn’t compare to the cooked food the human had.

Soap tried to quell the rising hunger inside him, focusing on the task at hand. The human was oblivious, the fire crackling softly in the distance as it slowly started to die down. Eventually, the man extinguished the flames, and the warmth of the fire faded into the coolness of the night. The human retreated into his shelter, leaving the camp behind.

Soap waited, his patience stretching thin as he kept his watch. The night grew darker, and still, the man did not emerge. That was when Soap decided it was time to move. He slinked from his position, creeping closer to the human’s camp with the stealth of a shadow. He knew this was risky—what he was about to do was foolish, but the temptation was too great.

Soap moved quietly, making sure not to make a sound as he neared the table where the human had placed his food. There, a plastic box sat, filled with ice, preserving whatever food the human had left. It wasn’t much, but Soap wasn’t looking for a feast—he just wanted a taste, something to satisfy the growing hunger gnawing at him.

Shifting into his human form, he opened the box with gentle hands, his senses sharp as he sifted through the contents. The ice had begun to melt, and the food inside had a slight chill to it. After a moment of rummaging, his fingers brushed against the strange, stick-like objects the human had eaten earlier. They were unlike anything Soap had ever encountered. Without hesitation, he took one and brought it to his mouth.

The taste was unlike anything he could have imagined. Sweet, smoky, and savory all at once, it was an explosion of flavors that his wolfish instincts couldn’t fully comprehend but couldn’t help but enjoy. Soap chewed slowly, savoring the foreign delicacy. It was a strange sensation for him, eating something so... civilized. But it was good. It was more than good.

Just as he was about to take another bite, a sound came from the tent, a rustling that jolted Soap back into reality. Panic surged through him, and he quickly closed the lid of the cooler, his heart pounding in his chest. His ears strained to listen, but the sound of movement stopped. He had to act fast.

Without wasting another second, Soap darted back into the cover of the trees, his bare feet pounding against the soft earth. He didn’t dare look back, not until he had put enough distance between himself and the camp. When he finally slowed and glanced over his shoulder, he saw no one outside the tent. The man had remained inside.

Soap let out a quiet sigh of relief, his heart still racing. He finished the food in his hand, the taste lingering on his tongue. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and for a moment, he could almost forget the dangerous situation he had put himself in.

Once the last bite was gone, Soap shifted back into his wolf form, his body now more relaxed. He made his way back to his pack, moving through the trees with silent grace, the memory of the strange food staying with him as he headed toward familiar territory.

Chapter Text

Soap tried to slip quietly into camp, his heart pounding with the awareness that anyone seeing him return at this hour would ask too many questions. He needed to be as discreet as possible, or risk suspicion. His every movement was calculated, each step light and deliberate as he carefully avoided sticks and rocks on the ground. 

The cool night air brushed against his fur, heightening his senses. When he finally reached the small cave he, Gaz, and Roach shared, he allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, thinking he was in the clear.

Laying down on the familiar, slightly damp ground, Soap closed his eyes and let out a quiet, relieved breath. But the peace didn't last long. A sudden, soft nudge at his foot made him jump. He quickly turned his head, meeting the sharp gaze of Roach, who was staring back at him from the shadows.

“God, don’t scare me like that!” Soap growled under his breath, it was kept low but laced with annoyance. The last thing he needed was to be caught off guard at this hour.

Roach’s expression remained calm, but his eyes glinted with curiosity. "Where were you?" he asked casually, though there was a hint of concern as he moved closer, curling up beside Soap and resting his head gently on the older wolf's back.

Soap hesitated for a moment, glancing around the cave to ensure they weren’t disturbing Gaz, who was still soundly asleep. "I was... pissing in a bush." His words came out with a hint of uncertainty, even he wasn’t convinced by his own explanation. Roach caught on immediately, giving him a skeptical look.

"Soap," Roach said flatly, unimpressed. He shifted closer, not buying the story for a second. "You're lying."

Soap shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Roach's gaze. He had hoped his quick lie would pass. Looking toward Gaz once more to make sure his friend remained undisturbed, Soap finally sighed.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, voice low. "But you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you."

Roach’s expression turned serious, concern flickering across his features. "Soap—"

Before Roach could finish his sentence, Soap let out a soft whine, an almost pleading sound that stopped the younger wolf in his tracks. "Please, just for now. If it becomes an issue, I promise I’ll go straight to Price. But for tonight, please."

Roach huffed, clearly torn, but after a long moment, he relented with a resigned sigh. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong—"

"I know," Soap interrupted, giving him a soft lick on the nose, grateful for the trust. "Thank you."

"Now, what the hell were you doing?" Roach’s curiosity piqued, his eyes narrowed as he waited for the truth.

Soap shifted a little, settling more comfortably, before he began to explain. He told Roach about his solo venture into the woods, how he had wandered far from camp and encountered a human. 

His voice dropped to a whisper as he recalled the strange food that he stole, "It was... unlike anything I've ever smelled or tasted before. I don’t even know what it was, but it was so good, Roach."

Roach listened intently, his ears twitching with disbelief. When Soap finished, Roach stared at him in stunned silence. "There’s no way," he finally said, his mouth hanging open in awe.

Soap’s lips curled into a sly smile. "There is! If you want, when I go back tomorrow, I’ll grab you one of those... whatever they were."

Roach’s eyes lit up, the promise of food enough to make him forget everything else for the moment. He nodded eagerly, already imagining the taste of whatever strange thing Soap had eaten. "Hell yes! You better bring me one!"

Soap chuckled softly, nuzzling into the younger wolf happily . "It’s late, we should sleep."

Roach shifted closer, pressing his body against Soap’s as they both settled in for the night. The quiet sound of Gaz’s breathing filled the cave, and with the warmth of his packmate beside him, Soap finally allowed his own eyes to close. 

—- 

The morning light filtered through the trees as the soft sound of fur brushing against fur stirred Soap and Roach from their sleep. They groggily blinked their eyes open, only to be met with Ava’s gentle nuzzling against their necks, waking them from their slumber.

Gaz, the only one to have gotten a full night’s rest, immediately jumped to his feet with a quick, fluid motion, fully awake. He was the first to rise, clearly ready for the day ahead.

The two Omegas, however, groaned in protest, growling lowly at the unwelcome intrusion. The morning was still too early for them, and their bodies begged for more sleep. Ava, realizing that the gentle nudge wasn’t going to be enough, turned up the pressure with a quick nip to both of their ears. The sudden sting had both of them instantly on their feet, grumbling under their breath.

“Avaaaa...” Soap whined, his voice thick with sleep, “It’s too early…”

Ava’s ears flicked, unbothered by his complaint. “The hunting group’s back with food,” she said, gentilly.

With only a few more grumbles, Soap and Roach finally managed to drag themselves out of their cozy pile of fur and made their way to the large open wooded area where they gathered to enjoy their meals together. The sight of fresh food helped shake off the remaining fog of sleep.

Most Alpha wolves would eat their fill first, ensuring that they were well-fed before letting any other pack members take their share. But not Price. He was different. Price always made sure his pack was fed first, prioritizing their well-being over his own. 

As Soap approached, the Alpha nudged him gently with his body in greeting, his muzzle brushing against Soap’s neck in a gesture of familiarity. “You look tired,” Price commented, his concern evident. “Did you not sleep well?”

The question, though laced with care, made Soap stiffen slightly. It was endearing in the most innocent way, but Soap was painfully aware that if Price knew the truth, he’d be in for a long lecture. Thankfully, Roach was quick to cut in before Soap had to come up with another excuse.

“Soap’s got a really small bladder,” Roach said with a teasing smirk, “kept getting up every half hour.”

Soap would have been bright red if he were in his human form. As it was, his ears flicked back in irritation. There was no way he could hide his discomfort now.

Price let out a huff, the sound halfway between an amused laugh and a sigh. “Ah,” he said with a knowing look, before turning his attention to Kate, who had just returned from another part of the camp. Soap exhaled in relief, grateful the conversation had moved on.

Gaz, who had been watching from the sidelines, seized the opportunity to slide between Soap and Roach. He gave Soap a side-eye, his expression knowing. “You’re hiding something,” Gaz muttered, his tone flat but amused. “I don’t wanna know what, ‘cause I refuse to be involved, but you need to come up with better excuses. Seriously.”

Soap huffed loudly, while Roach joined in with a playful snort. “Sure thing! Thanks for the heads up, Gaz!” Roach said with mock sincerity.

As he spoke, Roach took a step back, deliberately placing his paw on Gaz’s foot. The Beta yelped in surprise, hopping back with an exaggerated wince. “Hey!” Gaz barked, his tail flicking in mock irritation.

Roach just grinned, not the least bit sorry. Soap, despite his embarrassment, couldn’t help but snicker at the light-hearted exchange between the two.

The three of them slipped into their usual playful banter, their laughter filling the air as they finished their meal. 

Soon enough, the meal was over, and the time came to head off in different directions. Each wolf had their own tasks for the day—chores, scouting, or training. They exchanged quick, knowing looks, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared before they broke off to tackle their duties.

—

Simon woke up with the first light of dawn, the sun’s rays casting long shadows through the trees. It was still chilly outside, the early morning air biting at his skin, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for the warmth to spread across the forest. He stretched and yawned, his breath forming little clouds in the cool air.

After taking a moment to shake off the sleep from his limbs, Simon left the confines of his tent, moving to prepare for the day's task— a short hike to the lake to fish. But as soon as he stepped into camp, his eyes immediately went to the cooler, which was sitting oddly out of place. It had been moved, and more concerning, it wasn’t properly closed.

Simon frowned, walking over to the cooler and lifting the lid. As he dug through the contents, he couldn’t find anything missing at first. It was only when his eyes landed on the package of hot dogs that a strange suspicion rose within him. He distinctly remembered only having three last night, but four were now gone. That didn’t sit right with him.

He examined the package more closely—there was no sign of an animal breaking it open, and only one hot dog was missing. He didn’t think an animal could be so precise, especially when the package hadn’t been ripped open or chewed on. The only thing that could possibly have done this was a squirrel, perhaps?

Simon let out a soft sigh, rubbing his temples in frustration. There was no clear explanation, and with no more evidence to go on, he decided to set the thought aside.

 He wasn’t going to waste more time on the mystery when he had a whole day ahead of him. The unease lingered at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand.

Strapping his fishing gear over his shoulder, Simon set off for the lake, the chill of the morning air still prickling his skin. As he walked through the dense forest, the sounds of the world waking up surrounded him. 

Birds began to sing, their calls echoing through the trees, and the dew on the grass sparkled like tiny diamonds in the sunlight. The air was refreshing, and Simon took a deep breath, feeling the calm of nature settle over him.

When he arrived at the lake, he took a moment to appreciate the stillness of the water, the surface reflecting the sky like a mirror. He wasn’t after any trophies or huge catches—he just needed something to feed him for the night. As he set up his rod and cast the line into the cool water, he settled back, letting the quiet soothe his mind.

It took a while, but eventually, Simon’s patience paid off. His line tugged sharply, and with practiced hands, he set the hook. The fight was brief but satisfying, and soon enough, he had a sturdy, silver fish flopping on the shore. It wasn’t huge, but it was perfect for a meal. He admired the catch for a moment, then swiftly gutted it.

With the fish wrapped carefully in cloth, Simon began the walk back to camp. The morning chill had faded, and the sun now bathed the forest in a soft warmth. But the peaceful rhythm of his steps was interrupted as he neared his camp.

A truck was parked on his grounds. Immediately, Simon’s senses went on high alert, his hand instinctively resting near the knife in his pocket. His eyes scanned the area, assessing the situation, ready for anything.

One of the men noticed him approaching and gave him a crooked smile, showing off his yellowed teeth. There was no warmth in it, just a hint of something unsettling.

“I’m guessing this is your place?” the man asked, gesturing to the camp.

Simon’s gaze flicked over to the other two men, all of them dressed in hunting gear. His instincts told him something was off, but he kept his voice steady as he simply nodded. His eyes never left the men as he cautiously approached.

The man who had spoken, clearly the leader of the group, extended his hand with a smug grin. “I’m Richard, but my friends call me Rich.”

Simon’s eyes flicked down to the offered hand, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he narrowed his gaze, crossing his arms. “Why are you here?” The words came out sharp, his patience thinning. There was no reason for anyone to be bothering him in this isolated spot.

Richard’s smile remained, his eyes glinting with something Simon couldn’t quite place. “Oh, we just want to ask you a few questions about what you’ve noticed around here,” he said casually, as though it were just a friendly conversation.

Simon raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Why?”

At the question, Richard perked up, clearly pleased to have Simon’s attention. “Oh, you know… if there’s been any unusual activity around here?”

Simon’s confusion deepened. What kind of “unusual activity” could possibly happen out here in the mountains? The only thing around here was him, the wildlife, and the occasional hiker. He frowned, trying to make sense of it all.

One of Richard’s companions, a smaller man with a rough, unshaven face, suddenly spoke up, his voice low but clear. “Wolves.”

Simon blinked, taken aback. Wolves? He had done his research before coming out here, “There are no wolves native to this area,” he replied, his voice firm. “If you’re looking to hunt them, this is the wrong place. There haven’t been any wolves around here in over a hundred years.”

Richard’s smile twisted into something darker. “Maybe not regular ones,” he said, his tone implying something far more sinister.

Simon felt a chill run down his spine at the strange words, but he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t about to get into some ridiculous conversation with these men. His patience was already wearing thin. “No, I haven’t seen any predators in this area. Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Surprisingly, the men didn’t argue. After a few more moments of awkward silence, they seemed to take the hint and turned to leave, no fuss made. Simon watched them go, his hand still close to his knife until he was sure they were gone. The unsettling feeling lingered, but he shoved it aside.

Once they were finally out of sight, Simon turned back to his camp and began setting up to cook his meal. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the trees. His stomach growled, reminding him of the long day. The fish would be a welcome change after surviving on protein bars.

But as he prepared his meal, his mind couldn’t let go of Richard’s strange words, ‘Maybe not regular ones.’ The words echoed in his mind as he cooked, and the uneasy feeling returned with a vengeance.

 Wolves were wolves, weren’t they? He didn’t know of any that were classified as ‘special.’ And yet, something about the men’s presence, and their cryptic talk, made him uneasy.

–

Soap couldn't wait to finish up his duties and head back to the human’s camp. There was an excitement in him, a sense of anticipation that hadn’t faded since he first spotted the man. He trotted through the woods, tail wagging, practically itching to get there.

When he finally arrived, he spotted the human once again, crouched over a small fire. The familiar scent of something cooking reached Soap’s nose, and as his gaze locked onto the sizzling food, he immediately recognized it. It was a fish! 

His mouth watered at the thought. He had memories of his pack roasting fish over a fire during special occasions—it was always one of his favorites. The crispy, tender flesh, infused with the smoke of the fire. He could practically taste it already.

Soap's eyes narrowed as he observed the man, wondering if he had any leftovers. The thought of stealing a small piece crossed his mind, and while he knew it might raise suspicion, he reasoned that there were plenty of creatures around these parts that could have caused it.

 He could blame a passing animal if the human noticed. Plus, he had promised Roach he’d bring back a meat stick, and a little fish wouldn’t hurt.

As he was waiting to make his move, the first drops of rain began to fall. A light drizzle at first, just enough to cause the ground to grow slick beneath his paws. Soap hesitated. It wasn’t much, but he could tell it was only the beginning. His ears perked up as the rain began to fall heavier, pooling around his feet. He was no longer sure he’d be able to sneak anything from the human without being noticed.

And then, the thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that made Soap’s hackles stand on end. The sound reverberated through the forest, and before long, bright flashes of lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating the thickening storm clouds. The air became thick and heavy with the promise of a terrible storm.

Soap's instincts kicked in. The weather was turning violent, and he knew the pack needed to head back. Price wouldn’t want anyone caught out in this, especially not with the risk of the storm worsening. If it got too severe, they’d probably need to take shelter in one of the caves higher up in the mountains, where they could wait it out until the worst passed.

With a last glance at the human, who was now packing up supplies and putting them in his shelter, Soap made his decision. He couldn't risk being out in this storm. As much as he wanted to stay and try for the fish, the necessity of staying safe outweighed his desire.

Turning tail, Soap ran back into the forest, the rain now pouring down in sheets. The world around him was a blur of water, thunder, and darkening skies. 

—

Simon grumbled to himself, frustration thick in his voice as the storm worsened. He hadn’t expected it to get this bad—he’d prepared for some rain, but this was more than he had bargained for. The wind howled through the trees, and the thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, each crack of lightning lighting up the darkened sky like a flashbulb.

His gear was durable enough to withstand the elements, but there was no way it would survive in this downpour for long. So, with a sense of urgency, Simon moved quickly to gather everything he could and get it inside the relative safety of his tent. 

His hands worked faster than usual, his movements sharp and precise, trying to keep everything dry. The last thing he needed was for his equipment to get soaked and rendered useless.

By the time he was done, he was drenched from head to toe, water dripping from his hair and face. His clothes clung to his skin, and the dampness seemed to seep into his very bones. He quickly scrambled into his tent, feeling the cold air from the storm seeping in through the fabric. The smell of wet earth and pine mixed with the scent of rain that had soaked through his clothes.

Inside the tent, Simon moved swiftly, trying to keep his sleeping bag as dry as possible. He stripped off his wet clothes, tossing them aside and fumbling for something dry to put on. His hands were still a little shaky from the rush of getting everything inside, but he managed to pull on a fresh set of clothes, the fabric soft against his damp skin.

Sighing heavily, Simon sat down on the floor of the tent, leaning back against the fabric. He glanced out at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets, blurring everything outside. It was a little too late to do anything productive now. The storm had completely taken over the night.

Simon crawled into his sleeping bag, the warmth was comforting, and he finally allowed himself to relax, the sound of the rain pounding against the fabric of the tent acting like a lullaby.

His eyes fluttered shut as the storm raged on outside, the rhythmic sound of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder lulling him into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

When Soap made it back to his pack, Price had already instructed everyone to retreat to the higher caverns for the night. The lower caves, once safe and dry, were now starting to fill with water.

 It wasn’t a dangerous amount, but just enough to make things uncomfortable. It wasn’t ideal for a restful night’s sleep.

There were only two caves at the higher altitude, so they were forced to share the limited space. This meant that packmates who weren’t typically in the same sleeping arrangements found themselves huddled together in the smaller caves. Kate, Ava, Rudy, and Alejandro ended up in one of the caves while Price settled in with the younger wolves.

Price’s decision to sleep with the younger wolves was no surprise. He always insisted that mates should remain together whenever possible. He was a firm believer in the idea that mating bonds came first, and if that meant he had to sleep in a cave with pups, so be it.

The truth was, he didn't mind at all. If anything, he enjoyed the opportunity to be closer to them, especially since they had taken on more responsibilities within the pack. They were growing up quickly, and it felt as if they were slipping away from him.

Despite Soap’s insistence that they were grown, Price couldn’t help but see them as the little pups who had once followed him around like a gaggle of ducklings when they were bored or seeking attention. 

Those days felt like they happened just yesterday. Back then, they were so innocent, so endearing, and so full of energy. Now, they were a handful of troublemakers who had a knack for getting into mischief—especially Soap. 

That hybrid seemed to have a talent for getting himself into dangerous situations, something that made Price’s protective instincts flare up more than once.

Price knew Soap had been sneaking out during the night, spending hours somewhere, doing who knew what. The alpha understood that his pups were old enough to explore the world on their own, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry. 

Especially about Soap—accident-prone, reckless Soap, who seemed to always end up in one scrape or another. Price tried to keep his mind off it, but it lingered at the back of his thoughts, gnawing at him.

Once the pack was settled in for the night, Price made his way into the cave where his pups had curled up together. They were nestled tightly in a pile, their warmth a comforting sight in the dim light of the cave. Price’s heart softened at the sight of them.

It was such an innocent picture, one that never failed to stir something deep within him. He lowered himself carefully, settling just a few feet away from them, wanting to stay close but not wanting to disturb their peaceful sleep. He let out a long, deep huff as he laid his head down, eyes half-lidded as his mind wandered.

Hopefully, the rain slows by morning. If not, we’re going to have a hell of a time hunting anything. He sighed, contemplating their situation. If worse came to worst, he knew there was a small town about thirty miles away.

He had an automobile stashed away in the forest, hidden from the human eyes, that he could use if he really had to. He didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it. The pack had to stay away from humans, he always insisted. But if his pack were starving… Price knew he wouldn’t hesitate to risk it. His priority would always be his family.

His thoughts were broken by a light flick against his paw. Looking over, he met the curious gaze of Roach, his youngest, who was eyeing him with a question in his eyes.

“Why are you so far away?” Roach asked softly, his voice still carrying a bit of sleep in it.

A warm, fond smile tugged at Price’s lips. He chuckled lightly, his tone teasing. “Didn’t want to disturb the puppy pile.”

Roach rolled his eyes in exasperation, and at the same moment, Gaz groaned loudly, his voice dripping with mock annoyance.

“For the last time,” Gaz muttered, “we’re not puppies. And we’re not piling! We’re… preserving our body heat.”

Price snorted, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. It was so typical of them to protest, but he couldn’t help it; it was adorable. He was surprised Soap was still sound asleep, though. Whatever he had been up to had clearly drained him.

Gaz gave Price a soft smack on the paw with his tail, then gestured for him to join them. Price hesitated for a moment, knowing how much he enjoyed these moments, but he wasn’t about to make a scene about it. It had been years since he’d had the chance to properly cuddle with all his pups, and the warmth of the pack, close-knit and together, was something he cherished.

Finally, he gave in and moved closer, snuggling up to them. His body relaxed as he settled into the pile of warmth, letting himself breathe in the familiar scent of his pups. For a moment, everything felt right. He closed his eyes, feeling his own exhaustion catch up with him as he allowed himself to simply enjoy the comfort of his pups.

The next morning, when the sun began to rise, the rain had slowed to a mere trickle. Price could feel a small sense of relief—perhaps he, Rudy, and Alejandro would be able to find something worth hunting despite the damp weather.

He rose carefully, mindful not to disturb the pups as they slept soundly beside him. He moved quietly through the cave and into the clearing in the low grounds, where the other shifters were already waiting.

Rudy and Alejandro were standing together, leaning into one another as they prepared for the hunt. Their eyes lit up with a quiet anticipation as they waited for Price to join them. When he stepped into their line of sight, both gave him a nod of greeting.

"I'm not sure we'll find much out here today," Rudy said, his voice thoughtful as he fell into step with Price.

Price nodded, “Doesn't hurt to try.”

The three of them moved with purpose, and without further conversation, they began their hunt.

Chapter Text

When Soap awoke, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, the steady pattern against the earth now little more than a faint whisper in the morning air. The dampness clung to his fur, but the worst of the storm had passed. He rose slowly, careful not to disturb the other two shifters who still slept nearby. Every movement was deliberate, silent as he crept out of the cave.

Once outside the nesting area, he made his way toward the human camp, the soft squelch of wet ground beneath his paws the only sound to accompany his thoughts. The landscape around him had changed overnight. 

The rain had wreaked havoc but the shelter stood largely unharmed. His eyes scanned the area, looking for any signs of life, but the human was nowhere to be seen. It was already fairly late in the morning—perhaps the human had gone off to tend to some task elsewhere.

Soap considered his next move. It would be best to survey the camp, make sure nothing was left behind that might be of use—or edible. He started walking, his paws light on the damp earth, circling the perimeter of the camp with careful steps. 

His gaze darted over the abandoned equipment. The remnants of the storm left the air thick with moisture, the smell of wet earth in his nostrils.

As he moved, his attention became fixed on the scattered items—a discarded pack here, a few pieces of equipment tossed haphazardly there. He was so absorbed in his observations that he failed to notice the glint of metal in the underbrush, not until it was too late.

A sharp snap cut through the quiet, and Soap's back right paw was caught in a cruel coil spring trap. The pain was instant, searing through his leg with a force that made his vision blur. His body tensed, every muscle screaming in agony. 

The high-pitched yelp escaped his throat and was quickly smothered. His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to breathe through the torment. The pain radiated outward, making every movement feel like an unbearable ordeal.

Panic bubbled up inside him as he struggled to free himself, tugging futilely at his trapped paw. Each attempt only worsened the pain. His thoughts raced—his options narrowing with every passing second. 

The trap had him, and escape was nearly impossible. If he shifted he knew the device would likely sever his foot. But if he remained in this form, vulnerable and helpless, there was no telling what might happen. If anyone found him like this, the consequences could be dire.

Soap knew what humans did to shifters who fell into their hands. He could be killed on the spot, captured and treated as nothing more than a pet for some wealthy snob, or worse, he could end up as an experiment, a lab rat in a sterile, cold cage.

His thoughts raced, adrenaline flooding his system, but before he could debate shifting, he heard something—bushes rustling nearby. The noise cut through the tension like a knife. His heart skipped, and his head snapped up, eyes wide. Through the misty haze of rain, he saw a figure emerging from the trees.

The human. He was approaching cautiously, his eyes widening as he noticed Soap trapped in the trap. Soap's fur bristled instinctively. His teeth bared in a low snarl, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. 

---

Simon was walking back from the river, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the wet earth beneath him, when a distressed animal cry pierced the air. It was sharp, pained—a sound that jolted through his chest. He wouldn’t tell anyone how it had made him jump. That little reaction? It was going straight to the grave.

Still, despite his initial shock, Simon quickly set down his gear at camp, every movement purposeful as he scanned the area. The cry had been urgent, and he had to find its source. He didn’t hesitate, following the sound until he was sure he was close.

Soon, he could hear the animal’s labored breathing, a clear sign of struggling. His steps slowed as he cautiously approached, his heart thudding in his chest. There, in the dense underbrush, he saw it—a medium-sized brown wolf, its fur wet from the rain, its body contorted in pain as it struggled against a cruel trap.

For a moment, Simon froze. It took him a beat to push past the shock of seeing a wolf in these woods. The men from the day before popped into his mind, and Simon’s gut clenched. There was no way it wasn’t them, those damn hunters. But that would be a problem for later. Right now, he couldn’t ignore the animal before him.

The wolf’s fur stuck up on its head having a peculiar Mohawk-like ridge, and Simon found the appearance amusing. He quickly shook off the thought. It wasn’t the time.

With a deep breath, Simon knelt down, careful not to make any sudden movements. He positioned himself just out of the wolf’s reach, hoping the distance would keep both of them safe. The animal’s blue eyes fixed on him with suspicion, its growl low but constant.

“Hey,” Simon spoke gently, his voice steady. It was the same tone he used with Joseph. He knew the wolf couldn’t understand his words, but he hoped the tone would have some effect. “You’ve really gotten yourself into a mess, haven’t you?”

The wolf didn’t stop growling, but the tension in its body eased slightly. It didn’t look ready to tear him apart yet.

Taking a deep breath, Simon moved a fraction closer, speaking softly all the while. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He was halfway closer when the wolf suddenly snapped. Its jaws closed around his forearm and Simon’s heart skipped a beat. He felt the pressure, but to his relief, there were no puncture wounds—just a firm, but restrained bite.

Simon’s pulse raced, but he forced himself to stay calm, speaking softly through clenched teeth. “There you go, you’re okay.”

He reached down and began to compress the springs of the trap. It was a difficult task, made even harder by the fact that he was using only one hand. The mechanism was stiff, but finally, the trap released with a sharp click.

Still, the wolf didn’t let go. Its mouth remained firmly around Simon’s forearm, the pressure steady but not too painful. Simon’s stomach tightened at the thought of how terrified the animal must be. It was in pain, and in a panic—he knew that feeling all too well. Gently, he stroked the wolf’s fur, trying to calm it.

At first, the wolf flinched at the touch, but then, as though it had resigned itself, it relaxed, leaning into Simon’s hand. The moment felt like a fragile truce.

Simon’s voice was soft as he spoke again, his words slow and measured. “You’ve got to let me go now, alright? I have to get stuff to help your leg.”

The wolf seemed to be considering something for a moment before it released its grip. Simon breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tension leave his arm as he pulled it free.

Without another word, he bolted back to camp, his thoughts racing ahead. He didn’t have the luxury of much time, but he had to get something—anything—to treat the wound.

When he returned, the wolf was already standing, though it was clearly struggling to move. Simon’s heart dropped.

“Hey, no, no,” he called out softly, rushing over. “Lay back down. You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

His words were gentle, coaxing. The wolf paused, then with a small huff, it finally lowered itself to the ground. Simon couldn’t help but smile slightly, murmuring, “Good puppy.”

For a fleeting moment, he could’ve sworn the wolf looked embarrassed, but it must’ve been his imagination. He quickly focused on the task at hand, inspecting the animal’s injured leg. Thankfully, the leg wasn’t fractured. Still, the gash was nasty, it definitely needed stitches.

“Dammit,” Simon muttered under his breath. He didn’t want to do this kind of work out here, not in the rain. It would only make everything more difficult, and have high chances of infection.

He looked down at the wolf and sighed, glancing back at the camp. “Are you going to bite me again if I pick you up?”

Without expecting an answer, Simon scooped the wolf into his arms. The animal didn’t resist, surprisingly, its body went limp against Sim on’s chest.

Chapter Text

Simon carefully set the wolf down inside the tent, making sure to shift his gear out of the way, mindful of the wolf’s soaking fur.

“Good pup,” he murmured, offering a gentle pat to the wolf’s head before gathering the supplies he’d need to stitch up the wound.

It struck Simon that, despite the wolf’s wildness, he had been thinking of it as “it.” A quick glance confirmed something: the wolf was definitely a male.

Taking a steadying breath, Simon began preparing the area. He cut the fur as low as possible, disinfected the wound, then applied numbing cream. It wouldn’t block out all the pain, but it was the best he could do with what he had.

He threaded the needle with practiced hands, then looked up at the wolf, whose blue eyes regarded him without flinching.

“I hope you know I’m trying to help,” He muttered, his voice soft but steady. “And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t try to maul me while I’m at it.”

The wolf only stared back, as if silently acknowledging the request. Simon took that as agreement.

Sewing up the wound was surprisingly easy, given that the wolf barely moved. His focus stayed sharp, even as the minutes ticked by. Once the stitching was done, Simon cleaned the area one last time and carefully wrapped it. 

He didn’t even realize how stiff his body had gotten until he finally allowed himself to relax.

A loud growl from his stomach broke the silence, reminding Simon that he hadn’t eaten all day. The hours had slipped by faster than he realized while he was preoccupied with the wolf. He stood, stretching with a groan, his joints protesting the movement.

The wolf’s watchful eyes never left him, but it remained where it lay, too exhausted from the injury to do anything else. Simon knew how draining an injury like that could be, so he didn’t blame the animal for staying still.

“You want food?” The question seemed to click, and Simon noticed the wolf’s ears perk up in instant interest. He was pretty sure the wolf understood.

With a smile, Simon stood and walked out of the tent, retrieving the pack of hot dogs, buns, and a few protein bars.

—

Simon returned to the tent, holding the food. He tossed the buns aside and opened up the hot dogs. The smell wafted through the air, the wolf still lying on the ground, looking at Simon with those bright, curious eyes and gave a low whine, clearly eager.

“You really love food, huh?” Simon chuckled, amused. 

After a few moments, he sat back down beside the animal, carefully placing a hot dog in front of him. The wolf wasted no time, sniffing it and devouring it in a few quick bites. Simon laughed, watching with an amused grin.

“You could at least chew it,” he joked, shaking his head. “But I guess I’m not here to tell you how to eat.”

As the other ate, he quickly finished his own protein bar. His body was still stiff, sore from the hike up and the work of stitching up the wound, but now that he had a chance to sit still, he could feel the exhaustion taking over. 

His stomach settled with the food, but his mind was still buzzing. What was he supposed to do now? He wasn’t even sure if the pup would be able to travel on his own again anytime soon.

He glanced over at the wolf, who was now licking the last bit of hot dog from his muzzle.

“You’re a strange one,” He murmured as he scratched behind the ears, the wolf leaning into the touch like a dog would. “I never thought I’d be looking after a wolf.”

The wolf let out a low growl of contentment, his eyes closing in relaxation as the human hand moved to pet him more gently. Simon’s heart softened.

With a yawn, Simon grabbed his blanket and lay down on the air mattress in the tent. The wolf crawled closer, curling up against his legs.

“Guess I’ll have company tonight,” his voice tinged with amusement. It felt almost natural, having the wolf close to him. The heat from the others body made the cold of the evening seem far less harsh, and Simon found himself drifting off, his thoughts blurring together.

—

Price was angry—actually, no, scratch that—he was furious. Soap was supposed to be back by now. The night had already deepened, and Soap hadn’t been seen all day.

The entire pack was on edge. They all knew the omega had the tendency to wander off. Price had tried to reassure everyone—told them it was nothing, just Soap’s usual curiosity getting the better of him—but even with his calm assurances, the pack wasn’t fooled. 

Price had promised to stay up a little longer—just a few more hours. He told everyone to go to sleep, and they had.

But now, hours later, he was far from calm. He wasn’t angry anymore, not really. The anger was gone, replaced by a gnawing fear that refused to let go. Soap knew how to take care of himself—he always had—but the pup was far too curious for his own good.

What if something had happened to him?

Price pushed forward, moving faster now, tracking the trail by Soap’s scent. Price’s heart pounded in his chest as he quickened his pace, his muscles aching but driven by the need to find him. He couldn’t stop now—not when Soap might be out there, alone, hurt, and helpless.

He kept moving, and with each passing mile, his worry grew more suffocating.

Suddenly, his steps faltered. A new scent hit him. Iron. Blood. Soap’s blood.

His heart skipped, his focus narrowing to a singular, terrifying thought: Soap was hurt.

He took off, driven by the scent, fear now clawing at him from all sides. The farther he went, the more layers of scents he picked up, mingling with Soap’s. But there was something else—something new. A human.

Of course, a human had to be involved.

When he finally reached the clearing, the blood trail became more distinct. Price stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving with breath, his eyes scanning the area. The scent of Soap’s blood was thick here. 

A wolf trap covered in blood.

The alpha’s hackles rose, he knew what had happened. His pup had been caught. The question now was, where was Soap?

Price’s jaw clenched. The human had taken him somewhere. He only hoped the bastard hadn’t left yet; that way, it would be easier to get Soap back.

But even if they had gone, it wouldn’t matter. Price would track Soap to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took. The omega had been through too much already

As he moved forward, following the blood trail further, his eyes flicked from the ground to the scene around him. It was a campsite. A small one—nothing elaborate. But enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

The human. The bastard who had hurt Soap.

Price’s nostrils flared, his anger like fire in his veins. This human had touched his pup, had hurt him, and that would be the last mistake it ever made.

Chapter Text

Soap had only been asleep for about an hour when he felt something shift beneath him.

A small, frustrated huff escaped him as he was jostled again. Somehow, during the night, he’d crawled too close to the human and now found himself practically draped over him.

"Shh, you're okay. I’ll be right back. Go back to sleep," the man murmured, his voice soft, reassuring.

But the longer Soap stayed awake, the sharper the ache in his leg became, gnawing at him like a constant, dull throb. He didn’t want to deal with it now, so he gave in to the man’s words, letting his eyes flutter shut again. Slowly, he drifted back to sleep.

Then a gunshot shattered the quiet.

In a heartbeat, Soap was on his feet, adrenaline surging through him.

Exiting the tent he limped his way towards where he thought the shot came from, he spotted the familiar figure of Price standing over a body. A very still, probably lifeless one if the blood on the Alphas snout was anything to go by.

—

Simon felt a pang of guilt as he shifted, careful not to disturb the wolf snuggled up against him. It was adorable, but his bladder was screaming for attention, and wetting himself was not a situation Simon was eager to entertain.

It took some effort, but he finally managed to pry the stubborn wolf off of him. With a muttered curse, he made his way out of the tent, leaving the door ajar, and stumbled into the woods to relieve himself.

Just as he was zipping up his pants, he froze. The cold muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of his skull, and the world seemed to stop.

"Tell me where the Shifter is." The voice was low and menacing, and Simon immediately recognized it. The man from before… Micheal? No, Richard—that was it.

The words barely registered in his brain before he spoke, his voice laced with confusion. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." and it wasn't entirely false he had no idea what a Shifter was.

But this only seemed to infuriate Richard even more. "The wolf! Where is it? We know you have one, and you're going to tell us where it is if you want your brains to stay intact!" The man kicked the back of Simon's knees, sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud, barely inches from where he had just relieved himself.

Simon’s heart raced. Despite having only known the animal for a few hours, there was no way he was going to hand it over to this man—he could only imagine the horrors Richard would subject the wolf to.

He needed to get the man away from the camp. The wolf was still likely asleep in the tent, vulnerable, unable to protect itself, and unable to run away.

A gunshot suddenly rang through the wilderness, sharp and echoing. Simon’s stomach twisted in dread. Had Richard’s men shot the wolf? The man behind him flinched, clearly just as startled by the sound.

That was all the opening Simon needed.

Without thinking, he grabbed the gun and yanked it from Richard’s grasp, slamming his other hand into the man's wrist. Richard’s startled cry of pain was music to Simon’s ears as the gun slipped from his grip.

Before the man could recover, Simon swung the pistol's butt into his temple with a sickening thud. Richard crumpled to the ground, out cold.

Turning back to the direction of camp Simon ran, he needed to know if the wolf was okay. If the animal was injured Simon would do a lot more than just knock the other two men out cold.

—--

As Price moved silently into the camp, he saw a human emerging from the trees, gun in hand. The air was thick with the scent of Soap. He is nearby and Price was not going to take any chances of this human hurting his pup any further. Taking advantage of the humans inability to see in the dark the Alpha crouched down silently waiting for the man to walk past him.

Just as predicted the man had no clue on what was about to happen, unaware that the last few moments of his poor miserable life would be filled with suffering. This man had dared to touch his pup. He didn’t deserve mercy. 

Price’s breath was steady, controlled—his primal instincts clawing at him with each passing second. Humans were so damn arrogant, believing themselves to be at the top of the food chain, the dominant species. It was a laughable notion. They were nothing compared to beings like him.

He lunged at the human, went straight for its throat. As much as the alpha wanted to drag this out he doesn't have the time he needs to get Soap back home safely.

The man pulled the trigger in surprise causing a shot to ring out around them. The Shifter did not let that slow him down in the slightest. He quickly turned the man around on his back and sunk his teeth into the human’s larynx. 

The gurgling lasted only a few seconds before the struggling stopped, signaling that the man’s life had finally slipped away. Price pulled back, his blood still hot with the rush of the hunt. He didn’t have time to savor it.

The sound of uneven footsteps echoed from behind him, and he spun around in a flash, eyes locking on his pup.

Relief flooded him in waves. Soap was alive—limping, but alive. The injury was no surprise. Price had no doubt it was from the trap he’d seen earlier.

He moved toward the younger Shifter without hesitation, his massive form nuzzling Soap’s neck, the gesture rough but full of warmth. “I’m so glad you’re okay, pup.”

Soap cracked through the tension. “Price? How did you get here?” 

It was almost endearing that the pup thought for even a second that The Pack Alpha wouldn’t follow him, that he wouldn’t go wherever his pack went. Of course, he would. He would do anything to keep them safe, keep them together.

“We have to go,” Price growled, low and urgent. “I don’t know if there are more humans.”

At the mention of the humans, Soap seemed to snap back to reality, his eyes flickering toward the corpse on the ground. Without a second thought, he hobbled over, inspecting the body with frantic energy.

“Soap! What are you doing? We need to go now, stop inspecting the thing!”

The Omega hesitated for a moment, then relaxed. Maybe Soap just needed reassurance that the threat was truly gone. Price understood. He would need the same confirmation if their roles were reversed.

"Did you see another human? A blonde one?" The elder threw him a confused look, the question barely registering before the air shifted.

A gunshot rang out, slicing through the tension. Price stumbled back with a sharp yelp of pain, the impact jolting him. He managed barely a step before his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, his vision blurred with the shock of it.

Soap tried to move toward him, his body moving in desperate urgency, but the heavy pull of a catch pole tightened around his neck, cutting off his air. His eyes bulged with the strain, but he couldn’t break free.

"Not one, but two Shifters. Must be my lucky day," a voice called from the shadows, dripping with cruel amusement. "And you even made it easy for me—only have to split the money in half." The man chuckled darkly. "I should buy a lottery ticket, but why bother when you two will make me the money instead."

The words slithered through the air, cold and mocking, as Price fought to regain his footing. His muscles screamed with the effort, but his rage pushed him forward. With a growl that reverberated through the night, he forced himself upright, hackles rising, his fur bristling as a warning.

The man just scoffed. “I really wouldn't, if I were you.” He then pointed the gun at the Omega, “Lay back down like a good dog or I'll shoot the little one.”

Despite Price following orders and laying back on the ground in his slowly pooling blood, another gunshot rang out.

Chapter Text

When Simon finally returned to camp, a flash of pure, seething anger gripped him. The last two hunters were still there, but only one of them remained alive.

The man who was still breathing had a gun trained on the smaller wolf, the barrel unwavering and threatening. The hunter was speaking to the other wolf—much larger and more intimidating than the first. The words were lost on him, but Simon didn’t need to hear them. The way the man’s finger tensed on the trigger told him everything he needed to know.

His blood boiled at the sight. The threat to his wolf was enough to snap Simon into action. Without a second thought, he raised his own gun and fired.

—-

Soap’s eyes met Price’s, and the fear on the other’s face was impossible to miss.

The omega wasn’t in pain. Was he in shock, the adrenaline masking any physical sensation? No, that didn’t make sense. He should have at least felt the bullet enter him.

But the Alpha hadn’t been struck again. Did the human miss?

His answer came quickly: the human collapsed to the ground behind him, his grip on the catch-pole released. Giving Soap the opening he needed to rush toward Price.

Just as he got close, Soap was shoved to the ground and stood over, exactly like a pup tucked between its parents’ legs for protection.

Price’s growl echoed in the air. Was there another hunter nearby? Soap wouldn’t be surprised if one of the humans had killed the other, driven by greed, hoping to claim more money.

Looking up from under the Alpha, Soap spotted the blonde human, and his tail wagged instinctively.

The human had saved him once again—and now it was Soap’s turn to return the favor.

He nuzzled against the Alpha’s neck, trying to get Price’s attention, wanting him to focus on him instead of the human.

“Price, it’s okay. This human is good.”

Despite the reassurance, the shifter didn’t stop growling at the man. Soap huffed in annoyance, squirming out from underneath the other.

Price clearly wasn’t pleased with Soap’s movements, but the Omega didn’t care. He nipped at Price’s ear, determined.

“This human saved me from the trap earlier,” Soap continued, “He stitched up my leg. He’s not bad. If you stop growling at him, he might even help with the wound in your shoulder.”

Price paused, considering the information for a moment before grumbling, “Fine. But if he does anything remotely provoking, it’ll be the last thing he does.”

The human, having put his gun down the moment he’d shot the other man, was standing quietly, observing the interaction between the two.

Soap limped towards the man, tail wagging, signaling that they were good now.

It would be easier if Soap just shifted to communicate directly with the man, but doing so would tear open his stitches, and he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with that.

Shifters healed quickly, and if his stitches stayed intact, he’d be able to shift without any issues by morning. The human will just have to wait until then to fully understand the situation.

For now, Soap needed to get the man to help Price. He carefully bit the edge of the human’s pant leg and tugged, pulling him toward the larger shifter.

Price tensed at the approach but otherwise remained still. The human seemed to understand and knelt down beside them, carefully inspecting the wound.

—--

Simon moved quickly, as he'd done with the smaller wolf, gathering the supplies he needed and carefully bringing the wounded animal back to his tent. Inside, the warm, lantern lit space seemed to settle around them as he worked, the familiar scent of antiseptic and gauze mingling with the earthy aroma of the wolves’ blood.

The bullet came out with a sickening scrape, but the wound itself was shallow—nothing Simon couldn’t handle. It would heal in time. The wolf’s breathing was slow but steady, and though it flinched slightly when Simon cleaned the injury, it didn’t growl or fight him.

He couldn’t help but notice how tame these creatures seemed compared to the wild animals he’d read about. They were intelligent, perhaps more so than he would have expected, and strangely trusting considering the situation.

Simon had never been around wolves long enough to truly understand their behavior, so he held his judgment. Who was he to decide what was normal when it came to animals like these?

—--

Once he was done he left the two in the tent, so he could go deal with the bodies– two soon to be three. After the injuries Richard and his team caused to the wolves Simon really didn't see a point of letting the last man waste any more oxygen.

He chopped them up, put the pieces into a net weighted down with rocks, and then threw it into the deepest part of the lake. 

It was a long, grueling task. The physical exertion drained him, each movement leaving him more tired than the last. By the time he finished, he was sore and spent, but the work had to be done.

When Simon finally made his way back to the tent, the sight of the two wolves sprawled across his bed made him stop in his tracks. The entire space was taken up, with not a single inch left for him to crawl into. He let out an exasperated huff, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the frustration.

The damned animals thought they owned the place.

Rather than bothering to wake them—after all, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with that—he nudged the smaller one gently to the side. 

With a resigned sigh, he curled up next to them, the warmth of their bodies against his providing a surprising comfort. It didn't take long for his exhaustion to catch up with him, and within moments, he was asleep, the quiet sounds of the camp and the rhythmic breathing of the wolves lulling him into much-needed rest.

–

When morning arrived, Simon stirred awake to the sensation of something stroking through his hair. It was gentle, soothing, and so pleasant that for a moment, he was half-tempted to simply drift back to sleep, to sink deeper into the warmth that surrounded him.

He leaned into the touch, his arms still draped around what he now realized was a bare torso, tightening instinctively. But then, his brain finally caught up with him. There was not supposed to be another human here.

A jolt of awareness hit him like a cold slap. In one swift motion, Simon had the other pinned to the ground, his hand gripping the man's throat.

His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced as he took a quick glance around the tent. The wolves were gone. Panic rose in his chest as adrenaline shot through his veins.

"What did you do with my wolves?" Simon’s voice was tight, barely controlled, the urgency clear in his tone.

The man beneath him didn’t flinch. Instead, he offered a lazy smile, one that was most definitely playful. It wasn’t until Simon fully took in his features, now visible in the morning light, that he noticed the ridiculous but somehow endearing mohawk on the man’s head.

“We’re your wolves now?” the man asked, still grinning. “You stake claim pretty quickly if that’s the case.”

The words left Simon more confused than anything. Before he could even process them, another man strode into the tent like he owned the place, his presence commanding attention.

Simon’s gaze snapped to the new arrival, and it was then, in the morning light hitting the tent, that the full reality of the situation hit him. He became painfully aware of the distinct lack of clothing on both men. His cheeks flushed with a mix of surprise and embarrassment, but there was no time to dwell on it.

“Soap,” the newcomer said, his voice calm but hinted at humor buried underneath. “You’re the one who wanted to tell the poor lad. Stop teasing him.”

Soap laughed at the other man’s reprimand but relented, his grin widening. He looked back up at Simon, completely unbothered by the hand still gripping his neck, seemingly dismissing it entirely.

“Okay, okay,” Soap said, amusement still in his voice. “I’m Soap, the first wolf you took in, and that’s Price, the other one. And as you might’ve figured out by now… we’re shifters.”

Simon’s hand on the other's throat loosened in surprise, and he sat back on his knees, his mind racing. He looked from one man to the other, trying to process the new reality he was suddenly faced with. Shifters? 

These two were wolves, capable of shifting into humans? Currently completely naked humans.

"Fuckin hell."

Chapter Text

Simon blinked, waiting for the punchline that never came. Shifters. Not werewolves - they'd made that distinction painfully clear when Price had growled about "Hollywood bullshit." Actual, honest-to-god wolf shifters currently taking up all the floor space in his tent. Naked.

His military training kicked in before his common sense could protest. Adapt. Assess. Survive.

"You two want..." Simon gestured vaguely at his spare clothes pile, suddenly hyper aware of his own layered flannel. "Pants? A shirt? A strategically placed dish towel?"

Soap stretched with feline grace, muscles rippling under tawny skin. "Tempting," he drawled, scratching at the dark trail of hair below his navel, "but clothes just slow us down when we shift." His grin turned wicked. "Problem, human?"

Price's nostrils flared - whether at Soap's antics or Simon's discomfort, it was hard to tell. 

"You staying?" Price's voice was soft

Soap's fingers dug into the sleeping bag, as he made eye contact with the alpha  "Just a few days."

Price's nostrils flared, taking in the scent of Soap's determination. For three heartbeats, the only sound was Simon's watch ticking on his discarded gear pile.

"Daily check-ins,"  Price hummed before ducking through the tent flaps, disappearing out of sight.

Soap looked back up at Simon with a huge grin, “So what do we have planned today?”

The human just sighed and threw the shifter an oversized shirt and a pair of boxers. 

—-

The forest air did little to cool the unease prickling beneath Price’s fur. 

He’ll be fine. The mantra did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest.

A familiar scent cut through the damp earth—pine and iron, sharp as a whetstone. Kate loped into view, her dark muzzle streaked with silver, ears pricked forward.

"You found him, " she said. Not a question. The relief in her voice was undercut by the way her ears swiveled backward, listening for the others.

Price grunted. "He's fine."

Kate's nostrils flared as she caught the unfamiliar scents clinging to him. "And the blood? The gunshots we heard?"

"Handled." Price angled his body slightly away, letting the wind carry Soap's mingled scents in the opposite direction. The fewer who knew about the human, the better.

A high-pitched howl cut through the night - Gaz. Kate's hackles rose. "They've formed a search party. Roach nearly took Alejandro's head off when he suggested waiting."

Price cursed low in his throat. The pack was already on edge from Soap's disappearance. If they caught wind of human involvement now...

He put on a burst of speed. "Come on. Before someone does something stupid."

The forest reeked of panic. Price's paws barely touched the ground before the chaos hit him –a whirlwind of snarls and snapping teeth at the heart of the clearing.

Gaz's gray wolf form crouched low, hackles raised at Alejandro's larger frame, while Roach circled them both with stiff-legged urgency. The beta's ears were pinned flat, his muzzle wrinkled in a continuous growl that vibrated through the damp air. Rudy paced behind his mate, tail lashing like a metronome gone haywire.

“ –trail goes cold up ahead!" Gaz's whined. "We have to–"

Alejandro snarls, ripping, cutting the other off. "Use your nose, pup! That much blood means they could already–"

"Enough."

Price's command wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.

The clearing froze. Gaz eyes locked onto his, his chest heaving. Roach's circling stopped dead. Even Alejandro's aggressive stance faltered as all eyes locked onto their Pack Alpha’s.

Price stepped forward, his tail held high –dominance without aggression. The scent of gunpowder and Soap's blood still clung to his fur, but there was no fresh wound on him. No limp in his stride.

"Soap is alive," he said, the words a blade through the tension. "Safe."

Gaz whimpered. "But the blood–"

"All wounds are healed." Price deliberately omitted the human's role in their survival. Not yet. "The threat is gone."

Alejandro's ears twitched. "Gone how?"

Price met his gaze, unflinching. "Permanently."

Roach, sat down with a huff. Rudy nipped at Alejandro's flank, a silent stand down. The older alpha hesitated, then dipped his head in reluctant acceptance.

Kate, who had been lurking at the edge of the clearing, finally stepped forward. "Home," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. "Now."

One by one, the pack fell into line behind Price–all but Gaz, who lingered, his ears still flattened with guilt.

"I should've been there," the beta sent, so quiet it was almost private.

Price nudged him forward with his muzzle. "Next time, pup."

And with that, the pack melted into the trees, leaving only the scent of rain and reconciliation behind.

—--

The tent flap hadn’t even settled behind Price before Soap snatched the clothes off the floor with a theatrical huff. "Fiiine. But only ‘cause it smells like you," he grumbled, yanking the fabric over his head with such force the seams creaked in protest. Simon caught a glimpse of the omega’s smirk before he ducked outside into the camp.

Simon gave it ten seconds of blessed silence before following.

He found Soap sprawled by the dying fire, poking at the embers with a stick. The Army logo stretched comically across his chest, the sleeves swallowing his hands whole. When he reached to adjust the neckline, his claws snagged the threadbare cotton.

"Damn it—"

"Those’ll be fingerless gloves by morning," Simon observed, crouching beside him.

Soap flipped him off without looking, then froze. His nose twitched. "…D’you smell that?"

Simon didn’t, but Soap was already up and vanishing into the treeline, shirt flapping around his thighs like a battle standard. By the time Simon caught up, the omega was knee-deep in leaf litter, triumphantly holding up a clump of neon-orange mushrooms.

"Jackpot!"

"Those’ll kill you."

Soap rolled his eyes. "Not for eating, genius." He crushed one in his fist, staining his fingers vivid orange.

The moment Soap's fingers smeared orange across his own face, Simon saw the challenge in his eyes. He barely had time to brace before 180 pounds of feral omega launched at him.

"Oi—!" Simon caught Soap's wrists just before neon mushroom gunk could paint his cheekbones. They hit the ground hard, leaves crunching beneath them as Soap straddled his hips with a laugh of victory.

"Hold still, human! This is a sacred shifter ritual!"

"Like hell it is," Simon grunted, bucking his hips to throw him off. Soap yelped as he lost balance, but twisted mid-fall like a cat, landing on all fours before pouncing again.

They rolled through the underbrush, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Soap's claws kept snagging in the oversized shirt as Simon exploited every distraction - a tickling jab to his ribs here, a pinch to his thigh there. The omega shrieked when Simon got a hand in his mohawk, yanking just hard enough to move.

"Cheater!" Soap gasped, kicking wildly.

"Tactics," Simon corrected, but his grip slipped when Soap suddenly went boneless beneath him. The omega took full advantage, flipping them with a move that absolutely shouldn't have worked. One knee pinned Simon's arm, the other trapping his legs, while Soap's free hand dove triumphantly into the crushed mushroom pile.

Simon's breath caught at the sudden proximity - Soap's chest heaving against his, orange-streaked hair haloed by sunlight, victorious grin showing just a hint of canine sharpness.

"Say mercy," the omega demanded, gloopy orange fingers poised above Simon's face.

"Never."

The first swipe across his cheekbone was cold and slimy. Simon grimaced as Soap added a second stripe over his brow with artistic flourish, thumbs rubbing the pigment into his stubble with far more care than necessary.

"There." Soap sat back, admiring his handiwork. "Now you're properly marked."

Simon could feel the paint drying tacky on his skin. "Marked as what? Your personal canvas?"

Soap's smile softened unexpectedly. "Mine," he agreed, simple as that, before flopping onto his back beside Simon, their shoulders pressing together in the leaf litter.

The silence stretched, comfortable and charged all at once. Simon stared up at the clouds, acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched.

—-

The creek water swirled orange around Simon's wrists as he scrubbed at his face, the mushroom paste stubborn as dried blood. Across from him, Soap sat cross-legged on a flat rock, examining his stained fingers with artistic pride.

"Stop rubbing at it," Soap chided, kicking water at Simon. The droplets caught moonlight as they arced between them. "It’s not gonna come off."

Simon growled, wiping his sopping sleeve across his cheekbone. The stain had set deep, the intricate whirls Soap had painted now looking like some ancient warrior's markings. "This better not be permanent."

Soap's grin showed too many teeth. "Two days. Maybe three." 

The omega pushed off the rock, water sluicing off him as he waded closer. Simon tensed, but Soap just grabbed his chin, turning his face to get a better look. His thumb brushed the darkest stain along Simon's jawline.

"Looks good on you," Soap murmured. His breath smelled of woodsmoke and wild mint. "Like battle marks."

Simon should've pulled away. Instead, he caught Soap's wrist, feeling the rabbit-quick pulse beneath orange-stained skin.

After a moment they broke apart, both aware of the sun  starting to set in the sky. 

—-

Smoke billowed from the campfire in thick, choking waves. Simon coughed, waving a hand in front of his face as he squinted at the charred lump impaled on Soap’s stick.

"That’s not food. That’s a war crime."

Soap grinned, utterly unrepentant, and proudly brandished the blackened remains of what once had been a hot dog. "It’s cooked, isn’t it?"

"Cooked implies it’s still edible." Simon snatched the stick and poked at the carbonized lump. It made a clink sound. "Christ. You’ve weaponized a sausage."

Shifter metabolism meant Soap could –and would– practically eat anything, but Simon drew the line at letting him ingest something that could chip a tooth. He tossed the atrocity into the bushes. A startled squirrel sniffed it, then kicked dirt over it in apparent disgust.

Soap gasped. "Rude! That took effort."

"Effort?" Simon arched a brow. "You held it directly in the flames for ten minutes while cackling like a horror movie villain."

"Exactly! Technique." Soap flopped onto his back, stretching like a sunbathing cat. "We usually eat meat raw. Besides, this ‘slow roasting’ thing is complicated."

With a long-suffering sigh, Simon speared a fresh hot dog and held it over the fire’s edge. "Watch and learn, fur ball.”

—-

The campfire popped between them, casting flickering light over Soap’s face. Simon studied the omega as he gnawed on his properly cooked hot dog–no thanks to his own efforts–noticing how his laughter from earlier had settled into something quieter.

"You’re staring," Soap said around a mouthful.

Simon poked the fire with a stick. "Just wondering how you’re still alive with those cooking skills."

Soap’s grin faltered, just for a second. "Got lucky, I guess."

The shift in tone was subtle, but Simon had spent enough years reading people in dark alleys and darker war zones to catch it. He waited.

The omega exhaled through his nose, fingers picking at a loose thread on Simon’s ruined shirt. "My family wasn’t so lucky."

Simon stilled.

Soap didn’t look up. "Ten years ago. Fire. Hunters." His claws pricked holes in the fabric. "I was the only one who got out."

The words hung in the smoky air, raw and unadorned.

"John," Soap added abruptly, as if offering a piece of himself to balance the scales. "My real name. Not that anyone calls me that anymore."

Simon turned the name over in his mind. John. A soldier’s name. A human name. He nudged Soap’s knee with his boot. "Johnny, then."

Soap–Johnny–blinked at him. "What?"

"Johnny." Simon shrugged. "Fits you better."

The omega’s cheeks pinked, but his voice was steady. "What about you, then? That stick up your ass issued, or did it come standard with the face?"

Simon snorted. "SAS. Seven years." He rotated his left forearm, letting the firelight catch the jagged scar running from wrist to elbow, even if it was covered up by his sleeve tattoo. "Got this, extracting a politician’s kid from a hostage situation. Little shit complained about the ride home."

Johnny’s fingers hovered over the raised skin, not quite touching. "You miss it?"

"Some days." The admission surprised him. "Not the people. Just the… purpose."

Johnny nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.

The fire crackled. Somewhere in the trees, an owl called.

Then Johnny snatched Simon’s last hot dog and bolted into the dark, cackling.

Simon sighed. Little shit.

–

The fire had burned down to embers, painting the campsite in flickering shadows. Simon stood frozen beside the tent, staring at the single sleeping bag rolled out on the floor like it was a live grenade.

Johnny yawned loudly and stretched, the hem of Simon’s ruined shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned stomach. "You gonna stand there all night, or…?"

Simon cleared his throat. "You usually slept as a wolf."

"And now I don’t." Johnny  removed the shirt and flopped onto the sleeping bag with deliberate casualness, sprawling across it like a starfish. "Problem?"

Yes. Very much yes.

Simon had spent days with a wolf curled against his back–warm, furry, uncomplicated. But this? A fully human Johnny with his knowing smirk and paint-streaked skin and the way his thighs spread just a little too wide across the fabric? That was… different.

Johnny rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. "Relax, Simon." He drew the name like a challenge. "I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely."

Simon yanked the sleeping bag’s edge hard enough to send Johnny tumbling into the tent wall with an oof.

"Dick," Johnny muttered, but he was already wriggling closer, his back pressing against Simon’s side like it belonged there.

Simon held his breath. Johnny smelled like pine and woodsmoke and that damn orange mushroom gunk. His hair tickled Simon’s jaw.

A cold foot wedged itself between Simon’s calves. "Jesus, Johnny."

The omega just hummed, nestling deeper. "Told you. Wolf, remember? We’re clingy."

Simon stared at the tent ceiling. He could shove him off. Should shove him off.

Instead, he adjusted his arm –just enough to stop the pins and needles–and let Johnny tuck his head against his shoulder.

Somewhere around midnight, Johnny’s leg hooked over Simon’s hip, the human pretended not to notice.

He definitely pretended not to notice how well they fit together.

Chapter Text

Simon's fingers froze on the truck's tailgate latch. Morning light fractured through the trees, glinting off the dirt like scattered diamonds—beautiful and sharp enough to draw blood. The keys in his other hand bit into his palm, the metal teeth leaving crescent moons in his skin.

A twig snapped behind him. Too loud. Too deliberate.

Simon didn't need to turn to know Soap had shifted. He could feel the omega's presence like static before a storm—that particular charge in the air when a lightning strike was inevitable. Pine needles should have crunched underfoot, but Soap moved silently even in human form, all predator grace and wounded pride.

"Don't," Simon warned, turning slowly.

The sight hit him like a kick to the ribs.

Soap crouched in the dappled shadows, knees drawn up under Simon's stolen shirt. The fabric hung loose around his shoulders, the collar stretched from where he'd worried at it with his teeth. A fresh scar carved a pale line down his calf.

But it was his eyes that undid Simon—blue as a gas flame and just as hot. That wounded, furious betrayal that made Simon's throat tighten with something dangerously close to guilt.

Christ. Like scolding a wolf for biting when you're the one who shoved your hand in its mouth.

Simon hurled his keys onto the driver's seat hard enough to leave a dent. "You know damn well I can't stay."

"Could if you wanted to." Soap's voice was all gravel and petulance, but his fingers dug into his own thighs hard enough to bruise. The scent of crushed ferns and omega distress thickened the air between them.

Simon crouched, bringing them eye-to-eye. Soap's breath hitched, his scent spiking with something raw beneath the usual cedar and woodsmoke. Up close, Simon could see the faint tremor in his hands — the one Soap would die before admitting to.

"One month," Simon said, pressing a finger to the hollow of Soap's throat where his pulse rabbited. "I'll bring-"

"Hot dogs. Yeah." Soap's hand shot out, calloused fingers circling Simon's wrist like a manacle. His thumb found the fragile skin of Simon's inner wrist, pressing just hard enough to feel the jump of his pulse. "Better make it good, or I'll track you down and piss on your polished city boots."

The threat should have been ridiculous. Instead, heat coiled low in Simon's gut at the possessive glint in Soap's eyes. He stood abruptly, the morning sun suddenly scorching against his neck.

"Keep the damn shirt," he huffed, slamming the truck door hard enough to rattle the windows. Through the glass, Soap's grin was all sharp canines and triumph—a wolf who knew the hunt was far from over.

–

The resignation letter sat on Simon's desk like an accusation, its crisp edges cutting across the mahogany grain. Effective immediately. No niceties. No regrets.

His boss turned the paper over twice, as if expecting to find some explanation on the back. "Forest Ranger? You?" The laugh lines around his eyes deepened. "Christ, Riley. Next you'll tell me you're taking up knitting."

Simon flexed his hand—the one that still remembered the weight of an omega's jaw resting in his palm. The office air smelled of stale coffee and toner ink, suddenly suffocating.

"Need a change," he muttered.

Across town, Tommy was already waiting at their usual dive bar when Simon arrived, two fingers of whiskey sweating rings into the scarred oak table. His brother took one look at the folded letter in Simon's breast pocket and smirked.

"Let me guess," Tommy drawled, pushing the glass forward. "You're either joining a monastery or chasing tail in the woods."

Simon knocked back the whiskey, letting it burn away the taste of corporate speeches and fluorescent lights. "Both," he lied.

Tommy's laughter turned heads. "Bullshit. You haven't voluntarily touched grass since basic training." He leaned in, elbows sticking to the table. "What's really out there that's got you ditching a six-figure salary?"

The image flashed unbidden—golden eyes reflecting firelight, laughter that sounded like a challenge, hands that knew both how to stitch wounds and steal sausages. Simon's fingers twitched toward his phone before he stopped himself.

Tommy caught the aborted movement. "Christ. It's a woman."

Simon nearly choked on his drink. "Not even close."

"Man then," Tommy shrugged, unfazed. "Same difference. Must be something special to make you trade Armani for flannel." He signaled the bartender for another round. "Beth owes me fifty quid. She said you'd last six weeks back here. I gave you two months."

The second whiskey arrived. Simon traced the rim, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. "Sold the apartment today."

Tommy's glass froze halfway to his lips. The bar noise faded around them—clinking glasses, the football match on the telly, someone's failed karaoke attempt.

"You're serious." Tommy studied him with new focus. "This isn't just some... what do they call it? Cottagecore phase?"

Simon thought of pre-dawn hikes with no set destination, of coffee brewed over an open flame, of the strange contentment he'd found in solitude that wasn't quite solitude.

"Needed a change," he said finally.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, then drained his drink. "Right." He slapped a crumpled fifty on the table. "Beth's winnings. Buy yourself a decent axe before you chop your foot off." A beat. "And for God's sake, call me before you adopt a bear or whatever the fuck people do in the woods."

–

3 weeks later:

The cabin's fresh pine scent still clung to Simon's clothes as he stacked firewood against the porch rail. The evening air carried the sharp tang of peppermint oil he'd used to line the foundations—and beneath it, something wilder. Something familiar.

A twig snapped in the gathering dusk.

Simon didn't pause in his work. "Took you long enough."

Claws clicked across weathered wood as Soap padded up the steps, his breath warm against Simon's neck. "Had to make sure you weren't gonna bolt again." A plastic bag rustled. "Brought you a housewarming present."

Turning slowly, Simon took in the sight: Soap gloriously bare except for Simon's old Army shirt now more hole than fabric, holding out a bulging grocery bag that clinked ominously.

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Rocks?"

"Better." With a showman's flourish, Soap upended the bag. Dented cans of baked beans tumbled out, followed by a cracked jar of pickles and a single, suspiciously discolored sausage that hit the porch with a concerning thud.

Simon stared. "You raided a fucking dumpster."

Soap's grin could have powered the entire national grid. "Town over's got primo trash days." He nudged the questionable sausage with his toe. "This one's only slightly lethal!"

They did not end up eating anything the omega brought as it was quickly put back where it belonged—the trash.

—

As twilight deepened, fireflies emerged like scattered embers—and Soap, in wolf form now, leapt after them with puppyish abandon, his dark fur silvered by moonlight.

Simon's phone buzzed. Tommy's name flashed on the screen.

"You surviving out there?" Tommy's voice crackled through the speaker. "Or has some bear adopted you already?"

Simon watched Soap's tail wag furiously as he chased luminescent bugs. "Something like that."

"Beth wants to visit next month. Bring Joseph." A pause filled with city noises—honking cars, a siren wailing. "That cabin of yours got room for civilized folk?"

Soap chose that moment to barrel into Simon's back, damp muzzle pressing against his neck. Simon grunted as teeth scraped playfully over his shoulder. "Yeah," he managed, voice rough. "We'll make it work."

Tommy's knowing chuckle followed them long after the call ended, mingling with the fire's crackle and Soap's happy chuffing as he stole the last bean from Simon's tin.

A distant but unmistakable—a howl cut through the night. Price's signature cadence, all authority and unspoken concern. Soap's ears pricked up, his entire body vibrating with the need to respond.

Simon nodded permission.

The answering howl that tore from Soap's throat shook the trees, a raw, beautiful sound that spoke of pack and belonging. When it faded, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.

Simon leaned back on his hands, gazing at the star-strewn sky. Behind them, the cabin door stood open in silent invitation, sheets still tangled from that morning.

Soap flopped onto his back, his head a warm weight on Simon's thigh.

"Told you I’d come back to you," The human murmured—the other nuzzled into touch as fingers carded through his fur.

In the firelight, Soap’s answering smile was a quiet, secret thing—mirrored perfectly in the gleam of wolfish teeth.