Chapter Text
That night, when the wind changed direction, something it had kept silent for eight years whispered his name from within the forest: Shane.
Shane Hollander startled in the cottage deep in the Ottawa woods. He felt his skin prickle.
After a long, exhausting hockey season, it was finally time for a break. He was so drained that he had told his family he wanted to be alone for two weeks. He would stop by now and then, but if possible, he preferred his own company. Yuna and David, who knew how withdrawn Shane could become, had accepted this without question. And so, on the fourth day of his vacation, he sat alone by the fireplace, watching the flames.
Sometimes Shane found silence unbearably loud and needed some kind of background noise to escape his own thoughts. But in moments like this, he surrendered to the quiet, allowing his mind to wander among the thoughts he let surface. Before the chill took hold of his body, some of the memories he had decided to bury years ago had already risen to the surface. Tonight, he had no intention of pushing them back down. On the contrary, he was making an effort to recall the face that stubbornly refused to appear before his eyes.
Blue eyes. A distinctive nose. Golden skin. And that scent.
Oakmoss, leather, spice.
Earth, skin, warmth.
Strong hands, an unrivalled smile, a touch that burned.
No. He could remember certain parts of that body with startling clarity, but the face would not come.
Just as he let out a breath, the same shiver ran through him again. His heart sped up.
Oakmoss. Leather. Spice.
He was blurring imagination and reality. And it was not the first time. With a quiet ache, he looked past the window into the darkness. The nocturnal animals had already begun to roam. He saw a small wild rabbit dart away, hopping in panic. Then a scream, probably the fox chasing it. They liked to hunt at this hour. Last summer he had seen one uncomfortably close to his door.
When the rabbit finally vanished from sight, another shape appeared in his field of vision. This one was too large to be a fox or anything it might be chasing. For a moment, Shane wondered if it could be a bear, but when they had first started building this place, they had been told there were no bears in the area.
Curiosity surged through him. He rose from his chair, fixing his full attention on the distant shape. It was not difficult to keep track of it. It was moving closer. His pulse quickened. He stepped toward the window. A few trees away, nearly human-sized now, the shadow was walking to the right, toward the cottage’s entrance path.
Shane moved without thinking. His heart hammered, his ears rang. It took only seconds to reach the door. Then, in a purely instinctive and foolish move, he opened it. The outdoor lights flicked on with the motion. For a brief moment he could no longer see the shape. He thought he had imagined it, that solitude had already driven him mad on the fourth day.
But no.
A few seconds later, a large figure emerged before him.
The man, clearly male, was about Shane’s height, though broader, wrapped in a torn, shabby jacket. His hair fell to his shoulders, his beard just as neglected. Panic rose in Shane’s chest. His first instinct should have been to retreat inside and lock the door. He was in a cottage in the middle of the forest. Aside from his family’s place miles away, there was not a single other house, not even a hut, nearby. Until now, he had seen nothing but animals. So where had this man come from?
Stupidly, Shane followed his instincts. Instead of fleeing, he took a few steps forward. That allowed him to see the man a little more clearly. Hair and beard still hid most of his face. Even his age was impossible to tell. But as he drew closer, Shane noticed he was staggering. One hand was clutched over the left side of his abdomen.
Was he injured?
Something tightened painfully inside Shane.
“Hello?” he said, forcing himself steady. “Do you need help?”
The man stopped about ten steps away. He tilted his head slightly. Then, just like Rose’s cat Nightmare always did, he sniffed the air.
It was not a human gesture. Shane took a step back. But then the man made a sound like a low growl. Shane could not understand what he was saying.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked.
This time the man reacted to his voice. He lifted his head. He brought both hands forward.
He took a few more steps and, in a thick, throaty voice that startled Shane, said, “Mine.”
Shane waited for him to continue. Even at this distance, he still could not see the man’s expression. But the rest never came. Instead, the man began to sway badly. Thinking he was about to collapse, Shane lunged forward and caught him by the arm. The man turned his chest toward him. His face hovered just inches from Shane’s neck. Shane thought he felt his nose brush his hair. Nothing made sense. He did not know what to do.
Then the man pressed his nose against the exposed skin of Shane’s neck.
Shane shuddered violently. He opened his mouth to protest when the man whispered again, “Mine,” this time much softer.
And then he let most of his weight fall onto Shane.
Shane had no choice but to bring the half-unconscious man inside. Even though it was summer, the air had suddenly turned cold and the wind had picked up. After laying the stranger down on the wide couch in the living room, he quickly fetched a glass of water. The man had not spoken again since Shane dragged him in.
When Shane pressed the glass to his lips, the man shifted from his half-lying, half-sitting position and straightened a little. His elbows came to rest on his knees. He lifted his head. As he looked into Shane’s eyes, it was as if he were trying to say something, or to understand. Shane offered the glass again. The man placed his hand over Shane’s, but instead of drinking, he kept holding it. His eyes followed Shane’s long, slender fingers. He laced his own fingers through them and made a strange sound Shane could not interpret.
Shane wanted to be cautious around this stranger, but ever since he had realized the man was not aggressive, he could not bring himself to push him away. So he sat quietly beside him. When he tried to pull his hand back, the man did not let go. He tightened his grip, rubbed his nose against the back of Shane’s hand, then fixed him with those blue-flame eyes.
“Water,” Shane said, confused. “You should drink.”
The man refused to let go. A moment later, Shane felt first his lips, then the tip of his tongue against his knuckles.
“Oh my God,” Shane groaned.
A heat flared in the center of his chest. His breath caught. He was frozen in place. Somehow he managed to pull himself together and set the glass down on the floor. Noticing the sudden movement, the man stopped and finally released his hand.
Now he was staring at Shane in confusion, his puppy-like blue eyes glowing in the dark.
Shane looked away. He lowered his head, fixing his gaze on a spot on the floor. The man reached out, clearly trying to take hold of Shane’s chin, but the motion made him groan in pain. That was when Shane remembered the wound in his abdomen. Yes, this wild-looking stranger was injured, badly enough that he could not even speak.
Shane dropped to his knees in front of him and tried again. He extended his hand gently. “May I look?” he asked, gesturing to the side of the man’s stomach.
The man accepted without hesitation. He might not have understood what Shane meant, but he had no intention of refusing his touch.
Shane first helped him out of his worn jacket, then gently lifted the long-sleeved shirt beneath it to expose the wound.
When he saw the dark red gash, he let out a quiet breath of relief. Thankfully it was not too deep, and it did not look infected. He reached for the first-aid kit he had brought with the water and got to work.
As he cleaned the wound with cotton, he could feel the man’s burning gaze on the back of his neck. He barely reacted to the sting of the antiseptic, but when Shane brushed the hair away from his eyes with his other hand, the man grabbed the fabric of the couch and brought his hands up to his head.
Shane felt his cheeks burn. That simple, unintended touch had stirred something he had kept buried for years. He pushed the sensation to the back of his mind and finished what he was doing.
“All done.” He forced a tense smile and prepared to stand. “Now, if you want, you can try to talk, or…”
He did not get to finish, because the man suddenly pulled him closer. Everything happened at once. Shane stumbled back toward the couch. The man caught him in his arms. He wrapped both hands around Shane’s waist, and Shane’s legs ended up in his lap. Then the man went back to making those sounds Shane could not understand.
Shane’s eyes were wide. Between the shock of the intimate position and his fear of startling the man, he stayed still for a moment.
The man pulled him closer and buried his face against the side of Shane’s neck. “Hmmh.”
Shane only panicked when he felt teeth against his scent gland. His mind was screaming No. Don't. Not that spot. Not his mark. No.
“Mine.”
Shane managed to turn his head away. “All right, that’s enough,” he said. “I get that you’re not well, or at least I’m trying to, but stop saying that.”
“Hmnh,” the man growled again. “No. Mine.”
Well, at least this time he had managed two words.
Shane sighed in frustration and tried to get out of the man’s lap. It was harder than it should have been. The man was stronger than a first-league hockey player. When Shane finally put some distance between them, the man made a protesting sound, but it was too late. Shane moved to the armchair beside the couch. His face was on fire, his legs were trembling, and he could still feel the teeth at his scent glands.
“Please,” Shane said when he found his voice. He looked everywhere except at the man. He picked up his phone from the coffee table. “I’m calling the police. I do not know if they will come right away at this hour. Maybe I should talk to my parents first. Or maybe I should take you straight to the hospital. Why did that not occur to me? I am here like an idiot trying to patch you up myself. Of course you should go to a hospital. You could have other injuries. You could have a concussion. Oh my God. I cannot believe myself. I will call my mom first, then get the car…”
“…ane.”
Shane froze. He realized he had gone into one of his panic monologues. Then it hit him. “What?”
The man was watching him through narrowed eyes, as if he knew this side of Shane. Of course that was impossible. Shane barely showed it even to new friends. He struggled to explain it. So how could a wild, injured stranger who had appeared on his doorstep possibly…
“Shaaaane.”
Everything stopped. At that hoarse sound, Shane had no idea what to do. Had he just said his name?
“What?”
“Shane,” the man said again, a little louder but still rough. “Mine.”
When he heard his name, he felt the ground slip away beneath him. Yes, there was no mistake. This man knew who he was. But what unsettled Shane was not the name itself, it was the way it was spoken. Too familiar. Too intimate. For the first time, the man was not growling or snarling but speaking like an ordinary person, and Shane was certain he had heard that voice, that cadence, before. He did not let his thoughts drift back to those few weeks eight years ago.
With a sudden decision, he set the phone he had been gripping so tightly down on the couch.
“You know my name.” It was not a question. Of course the man could have seen him on television or online, but that seemed unlikely. Shane could not imagine this man using things like that.
The man nodded. Shane’s eyes widened.
“Yes?” It was a foolish thing to ask, but he could see the man responding more clearly now. He had to press him.
“Yes,” the man said. Then he added, softly, in a way that made something tremble inside Shane, “Shaaane.”
Blue eyes. Dark blond curls. A mole on one cheek.
No, Shane thought. It is not him.
But he did not remember enough to be sure. He had stopped trying to remember years ago. Fate must have been playing with him, delivering this man to his door tonight.
“What is your name?” Shane asked. For some reason he knew that if he asked how the man knew him, he would get no answer.
The man did not respond. Instead, he frowned, as if the effort hurt. Maybe he did not remember. Too bad, Shane thought. He had hoped that once he started getting answers, he might understand what was wrong.
“Is there someone I can call? Family, maybe? Someone who can help you?”
The man furrowed his brow. Had he not understood? Then he pointed at Shane and said, “Shane. Omega.”
Shane froze. It had been a long time since anyone had called him that. Instinctively he rubbed the scent gland at his neck. Remembering his secondary gender right now, in front of a man like this, was not good. In the heat of the moment he had not even wondered whether the stranger was an alpha or a beta, because it had to be one of the two. His mind kept rejecting the scent he had noticed when they first met, but everything about the man’s body, his movements, the way he said “omega,” all of it shouted alpha.
He shook his head, trying to tear himself out of a web of thoughts he did not want to fall into. This was going nowhere. He would not get anything useful from him. So he changed tack, glancing at the man’s disheveled state.
“All right. How about a shower? No offense, but I think you really need one.”
The man tilted his head and growled, “No.”
Shane blinked. Yes, this ragged stranger clearly understood far more than he let on.
So Shane tried a different approach. It was obvious the man’s eyes never left him. Without saying a word, Shane walked toward the bathroom on the first floor. Just as he had expected, he heard footsteps behind him. He smiled to himself. When he stopped at the door of what he used as the guest bathroom, the man halted right behind him, so close that Shane could feel his breath against the back of his neck. His skin prickled yet again.
Shane went inside, turned on the hot water in the large shower, then turned back.
“You can take your clothes off. Clean towels are here. The soap is in the shower…” He stopped himself. If he kept going, he would start rambling again.
The man was watching him intently, but when Shane moved as if to undress, he lunged forward and began lifting the hem of Shane’s shirt.
“What? No, no, not me. You,” Shane said in a rush.
A part of him could not deny how strangely endearing the gesture was. Trying to keep contact to a minimum and to avoid the man’s eyes, he turned the big man toward the shower and mimed lifting his shirt, then pointed at the water. “To get clean.”
He was about to turn and leave when he heard that voice again.
“Shaaane.”
Shane closed his eyes. He could not seem to resist that needy tone. From that moment on, he moved on pure instinct. He turned back, helped the man out of his clothes, leaving his pants on on purpose, and nudged him under the spray.
The man made a few animal-like sounds at first, but the warmth of the water soon soothed him. His eyes, however, stayed on Shane. Shane did not insist on soap or shampoo. For now, it was enough to wash away the dust and grime. Besides, a deeper part of him was impatient to see the face hidden beneath all that hair and beard.
But when the stranger turned his back, every uneasy thought vanished.
His skin was covered in long scratches, burns, even stitches in places. Shane stared in disbelief. Most of them were clearly old. It took him a moment to realize there were similar marks on his chest as well, though fewer. Something fierce stirred inside Shane. His omega reacted with a rush of anger, a need to protect. This man, this alpha, had to be shielded from whatever had been done to him.
When he finally let out the breath he had not realized he was holding, something else hit him.
Oakmoss. Leather. Spice. That familiar scent.
If he cut his hair short and shaved off the beard, would Shane see the face he so often dreamed of, the one that vanished every time he woke?
It was not him. It could not be.
But what if he looked like him, just a little? What if Shane could feel that young alpha, the one whose scent had once marked him, this close again?
Somehow Shane made it through the rest of the evening without panicking or letting the man grow even stranger and more intimate. He wrapped him in a towel, persuaded him to eat and drink a little, and guided him upstairs. In the guest bedroom, he pulled a clean T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the wardrobe and laid them on the bed.
“Sleep here tonight,” he said, feeling oddly unsteady ever since he had seen the scars in the bathroom and started imagining the man beneath the hair and beard, in ways he should not have. “We will figure out what to do tomorrow.”
The man looked at the bed, then at Shane. Then he wobbled over and sat on the edge, patting the empty space beside him. “Yes.”
Shane felt his face heat all the way to his ears. Was he actually suggesting they sleep together?
“No,” Shane said firmly. “My room is across the hall. You sleep here. We will talk in the morning.”
Before the man could protest or whisper his name again, Shane left and closed the door behind him.
When he lay down in his own bed, his heart was still racing. Only then did he realize he had not done any of his usual nighttime routines. He had not even changed his clothes.
He was sure he would not be able to sleep with a stranger in his house, a wounded man who smelled familiar, knew his name, and filled him with emotions he could not untangle.
Yet about an hour later, he drifted out of a deep, uneasy doze with a soft jolt.
There was a weight against his stomach. Warmth at the back of his neck. When Shane caught the scent of oakmoss, he smiled faintly. The warmth behind him moved closer. A breath brushed the sensitive skin at his nape.
“Alpha,” Shane murmured, half asleep, nestling into that heat.
And for the first time in years, he slipped into a sleep that was deep and unbroken.