Rune
The first course arrived, tasteless.
Rune was managing. He hadn't said anything overtly inappropriate, hadn't knocked anything over, and had managed to maintain the appearance of someone who was still fairly in control of their faculties.
Keyword on fairly .
The hand on his knee was a comfort. Though possessive in its cadence, it had become an anchor against both the sea of powerful players and the pack staff glancing over when they approached with a selection of side dishes, - roasted garlic, honey glazed carrots, warm buttered rolls - Rune focused on the rolls more than he cared to admit.
Rowan leaned in, his breath warm against Rune’s ear, “After dinner, you and I are going to have a conversation about why you thought drinking alcohol at your first public appearance by my side tonight was a good idea.”
A district head from the South, Nicholas West — late fifties, silver at the temples and known for inappropriately licking his lips at Omega's - seemed to notice the tension. His eyes, despite the critical conversation around the table, had been moving to Rune at intervals since the second course.
"A fascinating addition to the table, Blackthorne. I don't believe we've had the pleasure. Though, I'd say a bit young for you, isn’t he?”
Thomas, standing at the sideboard, paused in the middle of pouring wine.
Rowan settled back into his seat and chuckled, clearly used to West's cheek.
“He's my Omega,” Rowan confirmed. “His name is Rune. And his status at this table is not a matter for your curiosity, West.”
"Of course," Nicholas demurred. He returned his gaze to Rune. "But what say the young man of our border disputes? Does he find the winter allocations as tedious as the rest of us?"
Rune had met men like West before. Men who framed predation as interest, who asked questions in a way that made objection seem like an overreaction. The question itself was meaningless — West didn't care about his opinion on border allocations. He was probing. And the worst thing Rune could think of doing was entertaining it.
He was also, still, slightly drunk.
"I think," Rune begun, "that if you spent as much time looking at the borders as you've spent looking at me, this would have been settled months ago."
Those around the immediate vicinity went silent.
Thomas fumbled a single drop of vintage red splashing onto the white linen before setting the decanter down.
"I believe the omega has had a long day. I can have someone show him to—"
"He stays."
Rowan turned his head slightly toward Rune, the corner of his mouth lifting. "It seems Rune has a sharper tongue than even I anticipated."
"Sharper than most," West agreed, leaning back in his chair, his smile slightly less friendly now. "Though I must say, in my pack we find that omegas with opinions benefit from a certain—" he paused, fingers turning his wine glass idly, "—guidance. It keeps the household running smoothly. You might find—"
Before West could even think of finishing, the double doors at the far end of the hall swung open, a gust of cold British air swept in, moving down the length of the hall and guttering the nearest candles
"Apologies for the tardiness, Rowan. The fog over the M6 is a bitch this time of year."
The voice made the hair on the back of Rune’s neck stand.
Arthur Rushworth, Alpha of the Edinburgh Pack, loomed in the archway. His fur-collared coat dusted with rain droplets. He paused just long enough for every head in the hall to turn — then, swept the room with a slow, proprietary glance, taking in the table, the district heads, the warmth of the gathering.
Until his eyes landed on Rune.
A flicker of surprise crossed his features.
"Rune."
The name landed in the quiet of the hall.
Rune's chair scraped back. His hand found the edge of the table. The whiskey, the warmth, the careful steadiness of the last hour all drained out of him.
Every part of him screamed run .
[Flashback: 2 Years Ago, December, 2024]
It had been a bitter night in the Edinburgh Packhouse.
The request had come through the housekeeper at half past eleven.
Rune had just finished his duties in Alpha Rushworth’s private study long after midnight. Most of the household had retired. He should have known better — Arthur never asked for anything without purpose.
The heavy door clicked shut behind as Arthur entered.
"You'd think that a grown wolf of forty could manage to keep his hands to himself at a pack dinner. But no." A low, weary sound. "He decided tonight was the night to challenge me in front of the entire senior table." A pause, the soft clink of a decanter against glass. "I had to correct him. Publicly. You understand I take no pleasure in it — but a pack only runs while everyone remembers their place. Callum won't make that mistake again."
Rune kept his eyes on the cloth in his hands, on the brass fittings of the desk lamp he'd been polishing.
There was a stretch of silence, and then the soft sound of Arthur setting the glass down.
“You're tense, little one." There was something almost pleased in it. “You’ve been working so hard tonight. I thought a thank you was in order for all your efforts.”
Arthur stepped into the lamplight. Golden hair perfectly styled, a smile of a handsome man who wanted to be perceived as safe stood before him.
“Such a good omega,” he admired, his eyes shifting over him as he moved closer. “So quiet. So obedient. Always keeping your head down like a proper boy should. I’ve been watching you for months now. Did you know that?”
Rune’s hip hit the edge of the large oak desk.
“Alpha Rushworth… You should rest, I have personal matters to attend to in my quarters-”
“Not tonight you don't. Come here.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Rune’s forehead. “ You’re always so flighty. Running at the slightest bit of attention. But we both know what it really is, don’t we? It’s just a cry for someone to put you in your place."
Alpha Rushworth pulled back just enough to pluck his drink from the table.
He drained it all.
"You’re wasted on servant work, you know that Rune?" He pointed his glass at him. "You were made for better things. Like wearing my mark. Or warming my bed and belonging to me completely.”
Rune tried to step sideways, but Arthur’s arm slid around his waist, pulling him closer.
"None of that, Rune. You know better."
“Alpha Rushworth, please—”
"Hush. I expect nonsense from Callum and the rest, but you should know better."
Arthur’s canines lengthened with a soft click.
“I've been wanting to do this for months," he admitted softly, setting his glass down and tracing the tips of his fingers along Rune's scent gland. "I cannot wait a moment longer. You understand that, don't you? It's an Alpha's instincts - especially toward an Omega as well-behaved as you." A soft sigh escaped him. "Besides, you’ll thank me later. Once you understand how good it feels to be claimed.”
His head suddenly dipped toward Rune’s neck, breath hot against his skin.
Panic exploded and Rune slammed his knee upward, catching Arthur between the legs.
The Alpha gritted out a snarl, loosening his grip enough for Rune to shove him hard. He snatched a heavy brass paperweight from the desk, and smashed it against the side of his head. The Alpha staggered. A lamp shattered. Papers flew everywhere.
Rune bolted for the door, wrenching it open and took off down the dark corridor, his feet slapping against the cold surface.
Behind him, Arthur’s roar echoed through the halls.
“Guards! Bring him back to me! Now!”
Rune ran through the freezing grounds. Snow bit at him. Shouts and heavy footsteps behind him.
For six months he had told himself it was manageable. Lying awake in the servants' quarters cataloguing each small thing: the way Arthur touched him, the gifts left on his cot, the conversations engineered to leave them alone together. He had made Rune doubt his own instincts, and Rune had let him, hoping that the attention would eventually move on.
It didn't, and tonight it had finally come to a head.
At the outer wall, Rune scrambled up the icy stones, fingers bleeding as he gripped the rough surface. Just as he reached the top, a hand closed around his ankle.
Arthur.
The Alpha yanked hard. Rune kicked wildly, his foot connected with Arthur’s face and in that second where the grip around his ankle slackened, he managed to throw himself over the wall. Pain exploded through his shoulder, but he forced himself up and kept running, tears freezing on his cheeks, the taste of blood in his mouth.
He ran until his body gave out miles away, collapsing in a snowdrift, shaking and broken.
--
Arthur walked toward the dais.
"Well, well, If it isn't the little thief who ran away in the night. I believe you have something of mine, Rowan."
Rowan clearly felt the shift. Rune didn't just seem nervous anymore and his hand immediately moved to the back of Rune's neck, his thumb pressing firm into the scent gland to offer a surge of Alpha pheromones—a shield of protection.
"Arthur," Rowan's voice was a low warning. "You're late. Sit down."
"I'd rather stand." Arthur stepped closer to the dais, his eyes fixed on Rune. "Especially since I see my property is sitting in a seat that doesn't belong to him. Rune, darling... did you tell the Great Alpha Blackthorne why you left Edinburgh so... abruptly? Did you tell him about the mess you left in my study?"
Rune couldn't speak. He could only hear the phantom sound of Arthur’s canines, the memory of the silver barbs almost tearing at his flesh. He leaned into Rowan, his fingers digging into the Alpha’s expensive suit jacket.
"Rowan," Rune whispered urgently. "Please. Don't let him take me back."
Rowan set down his glass and rose from his chair. The sheer force made the other district heads recoil, their chairs scraping against the stone.
"Property?" Rowan echoed. "You're mistaken, Rushworth. Rune is a member of the London Pack. He is under my protection. And if you ever refer to him as such again, you won't be leaving this city with your tongue intact."
Arthur's simply laughed. "He’s a flight risk, Rowan. He’s unstable. Ask the North. Ask anyone. He’s a broken little thing that likes to run."
"He will not be running anymore." Rowan's hand settled on Rune's shoulder. "He's my mate. And you will respect him as such"
Around the table Rune saw the shift register on face after face. A mate claim spoken aloud before the assembled district heads was not gossip. It was law. It was the single most binding declaration an Alpha could make, and Rowan had just made it about a servant who had been in his pack for two days without a flicker of hesitation.
"I suggest you turn around and leave before I decide to have my staff personally escort you out.”
For a single moment, Arthur's face showed what truly lived underneath that golden mask. A single strand of his perfectly placed hair slipped across his forehead.
"A mate ? You can't be serious, Rowan." His eyes cut sharply to Rune. "You're telling me he's already crawled his way into your bed and convinced you to claim him in front of half the country. Do you have any idea what he is? What he does?"
"I know exactly what he is."
"You know nothing. " Arthur shot back, voice rising — only slightly, but the slip was glaring. A muscle worked in his jaw as he visibly fought to recover himself.
"He's mine. I housed him. I fed him. I invested six months in that little ingrate before he—"
"That's enough."
A man stepped into the space between the high table and the archway — Beta, younger, well-dressed and carefully positioning himself between Arthur and the Dais.
"Alpha Rushworth, isn't it?" The man didn't offer a hand. "Jonah. I run front-of-house here. We've a car still warm in the drive and the fog's only getting worse on the M6, as you say — I'd hate for you to be caught in it." He gestured toward the doors with a graciousness that represented the power of the London Pack. "Let me walk you out."