Page 88 of Blood Fist

Brune might not have been aware, but his alpha certainly was. If last night was anything to go by, his alpha knew and was feeling territorial. And still was.

“Oh.” He fidgeted. “Is…um, is he all right?”

Jonen looked up at him shrewdly. “Corric is with him. And my mom.”

He nodded in relief. Ridan had certainly gone through heats before, but it was a vulnerable time for anyone. Being surrounded by pack would help.

He doesn’t need pack,his alpha sneered. Brune swallowed thickly, turning to look at Ridan’s tent. He promised to protect him. How could he do that if he wasn’t there? His feet stopped walking before his brain could catch up.

Jonen tugged his arm, nails digging into his skin. “C’mon, let’s wrestle. You need to let your alpha go.”

Brune wanted to jerk his arm away. He wanted to shove the smaller alpha to the ground and go back to Ridan. Just to make sure he was fine, nothing more. Maybe smell him. Just once would be enough.

The grip on his arm tightened. “You speaking from experience?” he snapped coldly, his gums itching to snap at Jonen.

Jonen stared up at him without flinching. “Yes.”

Theywrestled together until the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Until their arms shook, and their skin was so slick with sweat they could hardly grab onto each other. With weapons cast aside, it was nothing more than muscles and snapping teeth. Thick pheromones and grunts of frustration. Jonen was short, but he was strong and knew how to fight. He’d grown up fighting the quick Ridan, honed his skills with the graceful Corric, held his own against Osmond and Henroen—he was formidable.

And he was right.

As exhaustion from the fight took over, his anxiety waned. Brune stopped thinking about Ridan. The itchy feeling under his skin subsided, and he could focus.

They stopped as twilight took over. The final rays of sun dappled on their sweaty skin as they sat in a heaving mess, heads bowed, and arms resting on their knees. Jonen’s hair was so damp with sweat it looked black, and Brune’s was no better. His arms shook, and lungs burned.

Blinking sweat from his eyes, he looked over at his opponent. Did Jonen do this every time Corric went into heat? Is that how he knew what would help?

“You know he would accept you,” he rasped, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. “Why would you put yourself through this?”

Spitting grit from his mouth, Jonen lifted his head to squint at Brune. “Because he would accept me. And I don’t think he should.”

Surprisingly, Brune understood. He couldn’t imagine asking any omega to court—with no wealth to his name, it would be pathetic. Especially if he asked the one omega he wanted…

Because as much as he wanted to deny it, it was clear. Brune had feelings for Ridan. Big feelings. Maybethey started the first day he saw him, standing in front of his enemy with his head back and golden hair afire. Maybe it was when he bared his bloody teeth. Or when he taught him to ride.

Maybe it was just Ridan.

But Jonen wasn’t Brune. He had standing in the clan. Hell, Corric even fought for him.

“It’s his decision, isn’t it?” Jonen glanced at him sharply. “Corric is smart and strong. He knows what he wants.”

There was no response to that and rather than let it go, Brune struggled to his feet. Dusting as much sand off as he could, he helped Jonen up.

“In Kaldonea, they told me omegas were weak. That they couldn’t possibly make their own decisions.” He smiled wanly, lifting his eyebrows. “And look how that turned out?”

Brune left Jonen to think about that, aching to wash himself down. Niklas probably wouldn’t appreciate him stumbling into their shared tent without it.

As he passed, he looked toward Ridan’s tent and paused for a moment. His heart thudded against his chest, and he cursed it for wanting what he knew he didn’t deserve.

Ridan whined, pressing his face into the furs of his nest. They tickled his nose, stroked his cheeks, but he found no comfort in the familiar sensations and scents. Writhing, he kicked at the blankets, desperately trying to find a position that didn’t make his insides ache.

He wasn’t on fire—he wasinfire. It made little sense, but the heat was coming from within. It boiled his blood and made his skin too sensitive. Everythingwas too coarse, too constricting. Gasping, he clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. His mouth was dry, but the idea of swallowing anything made him want to retch. He knew his thighs were sticky with slick, but his skin quivered in sensitivity. The idea of wiping a coarse rag against his skin made him recoil.

Heats were, in general, unpleasant. And as much as Ridan didn’t look forward to three days of fever and embarrassment four times a year, it had never been like this. His nest usually provided all the comfort he needed. But now it felt like the soft fur was flaying him alive. The scents embedded into the furs and blankets were usually comforting, his pack wrapping themselves around him, keeping the cramps at bay. But now they were stale, wrong. Like there was something off about them and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make it right.

Momma Sehleh stroked his matted hair back from his head, welcoming him as he burrowed into her lap, trying to hide his shame.

“That’s my strong pup,” she cooed. As a beta, she couldn’t purr or rumble like an alpha or omega, but she was comforting all the same. Ridan grew up with her baked bread scent, her fingers running through his unruly hair. His father died before he presented, and alpha parents could comfort their omega pups through heat, but it was difficult for both parties. Without question, Sehleh stepped in. She took Ridan’s hand during his presentation and soothed him. Just as she did now.