Chapter 6

Rune

Rune's back hit the bed.

Rowan was heavier than he looked. The mattress dipped as he climbed over him, and Rune's fingers, slow at first, searched through the dark to find the buttons of his shirt, popping each one until it gaped open like a curtain around him. His heart raced as he let his fingers trace across the faint, silvery lines of a life Rune couldn't even begin to imagine.

He wanted him so bad.

The feeling had been dormant inside him he’d forgotten it was even there. Buried under years of understanding that wanting something often led to things being taken.

He didn't know what he was doing. It was suppose to be just one impulsive kiss. But the omega instinct that had ignited from the first day at the London Packhouse was so prevalent now that all he wanted to do was let it consume him.

And Rowan? An Alpha only had so much patience when it came to a mate bond. Rune knew it the moment the kiss had turned from a tender exploration to being hoisted straight off the ground to the bedroom.

He shouldn't have kissed him.

Still, he hooked a leg over his hip.

Rowan’s mouth slid across his skin, cushioning against the scent gland and inhaled. Rune could just make out the muscles in his back shifting as he dipped.

Fuck.

Rune's fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck, their lips met again. It was different from the one in the hallway, a warm suction swept thoroughly by Rowan’s tongue, and when they broke apart, both breathless, Rowan's arm came round to cradle his waist, pulling him close as he trailed down to where the bond was meant to be sealed.

He licked and kissed at it. And then Rune felt more than heard the soft, wet click as Rowan’s canines descended, the faintest graze of their points catching his skin.

Ice flooded his veins, his body tightening into itself.

Rowan pulled back, his breathing heavy as his eyes searched his face.

“What is it?” His voice was low. “What’s wrong?”

Rune shook his head, squeezing his eyes close, No . He wanted this. He really liked it. He didn't want him to stop — he was hard for god sake. He pulled at Rowan's shoulders and for a moment it worked — Rowan's mouth found his again, their bodies moulded, but as he felt his hand slide down to his hip, the dread seized at him.

Rowan pulled back again, slower this time.

“I can’t.” Rowan shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t mark you like this, Rune.” He pushed himself up onto his knees. “I can’t seal it until you know I won't hurt you. If you can’t do that, then we’re not ready.”

"Right," he said before he could stop himself. "Because I'm too broken for it."

Rune tried to pull his leg back. He felt stupid. Exposed. He wasn’t annoyed at Rowan. More at the fact that he had practically thrown himself at him and couldn't even manage that.

Rowan held onto his thigh, the thick length of him pressing against it.

"Don't put words in my mouth," he murmured, his chest rising and falling. "And don't insult yourself in my bed. You are not broken. But your scent spiked the second I was at your gland."

Rune's head thumped back, he stared up at the ceiling. "I just...after tonight? I just wanted to give something back to you. Before you changed your mind about me."

The sound of a soft sigh crossed through the dark.

Rowan came back down and braced his hands on either side of Rune's head.

"Listen to me," Rowan whispered. "I claimed you in front of the most powerful wolves in this territory. I sat you at my right hand. I nearly tore Arthur Rushworth's bastard throat out for you. I am not going to 'change my mind'. But I'm also not going to take your mark while you're lying on your back clearly traumatised by it. When I bite you, I promise you, it'll be because you need it. Because you want me as deeply as I want you." Rowan's thumb came up to brush Rune's nipple through his shirt. "Do you understand me?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck

"Y...yes."

Rowan kept himself between his thighs for a moment longer before shifting to his side. He leaned his shoulder against the dark upholstered headboard and grasped the edge of the thick duvet.

"I think we've had enough surprises for one day. We have tomorrow and every other day after that to figure it out."

He extended an arm, opening the space beside his chest.

Rune could feel the adrenaline that had been keeping him wired for the last three hours beginning to crash, he was too tired to complain. He didn't want to complain. He let Rowan pull him against his side, feeling his chin rest lightly on the side of his head.

"Close your eyes. You're safe here with me."

Rune woke to the bed empty.

A soft clinking sound coming from the sitting area near the window pulled him from sleep.

A plate of warm toast, and a small jar of honey sat on the bed side table. The note was propped against the honey jar, the cream cardstock embossed with the Blackthorne crest:

Eat. I have business with the council until four. After that, meet me at the edge of the north tree line. Wear what Iris gives you.

R.

He had just finished the last corner of toast when a rapping sounded at the door.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! Or should I say, future of the London Pack?"

Jonah looked far too alive for the hour in a slim-fit navy suit as he stepped inside. He was carrying a stack of folded linens, Iris followed just behind, draped in measuring tapes and carrying three distinct garment bags.

"Oh leave him be, Jonah," she tutted, setting the bags down on the leather armchair and turned to him. "How are you feeling, love?"

"I... I'm fine. I think?" Rune pulled the duvet higher around his chest, acutely aware that he was still wearing the same suit she had given him yesterday; only now it was crumpled beneath the silk. "The note... it said the woods?"

Jonah leaned against the bedpost. "The North Woods. Very private. Very 'Alpha-takes-his-mate-to-the-wilds.' It’s grossly romantic, if you ignore the part where he'll probably start scent-marking the trees just to make sure the squirrels know you’re off-limits."

"Oh Jonah, you're going to scare the damn boy!" She shoved past him to unzip each of the bags, a faint sound of crinkling plastic. "He asked for something specific this evening, Rune. Something... durable. He wants you to feel like yourself, but he also wants to be able to connect with you without fumbling with fifty buttons."

"Rip-able," Jonah added. "That’s the technical term."

Smack.

"Ouch Iris! You and your bloody heavy hands!"

"Ignore him. He’s spent too much time around the Enforcers. Now, look at these."

She laid the three outfits across the foot of the bed:

Option One: The Rugged Classic

A thick, cream-colored cable-knit sweater made of soft wool, paired with dark, flexible corduroy trousers. Cosy, safe, and lavender-scented straight out of her shop.

Option Two: The Dark Ethereal

A sheer, oversized black linen shirt, paired with slim-fit charcoal chinos. Stylish and delicate.

Option Three: The Practical Hunter

A form-fitting forest green Henley with three simple buttons, paired with rugged denim that had enough stretch for movement. Simple, masculine, and great under the canopy of trees.

"He wants to run with you today," she explained, touching the sleeve of the green Henley. "Just to let the instincts breathe away from the walls and, more specifically, the eyes of the staff."

Rune looked between the clothes. The idea of being out there, away from the suffocating politics of the dining hall and the memory of Arthur, he needed it more than he realised. It was just different knowing he would be running with someone rather than away from them.

Iris watched him, pursing her lips slightly as she moved to settle on the edge of the mattress.

"Deep breaths, love. It’s just thread and buttons." She pointed to the cream cable-knit. "The wool is for comfort. If you’re feeling small and the world feels a bit too loud today, this is a hug you can wear. It’s soft, it’s thick, and warm."

"And it makes you look like a marshmallow," Jonah snorted. "Very 'cuddle-by-the-fire' vibes."

Iris rolled her eyes and moved her finger to the black linen. "This one... this is if you need a bit of a confidence boost. It’s beautiful, Rune. Made it just for you."

Finally, Iris smoothed her hand over the forest green Henley. "But this... this is my pick for you today. It’s practical. If he wants to take you into the thick of it, you won't be worrying about snagging a thread or staining the silk. It’s honest. It says you’re ready to stand on your own two feet beside him."

"Plus," Jonah whispered, leaning over the bedpost, "the buttons on that Henley are remarkably easy to undo. If the mood strikes. Which, knowing Rowan, it likely will. He’ll practically be throbbing by four o'clock."

Rune let out a laugh, covering his face with the duvet before peeking out to eye the green Henley.

"The green one then. I think... I'd like to be practical."

"Good lad," Iris smiled, patting his knee through the duvet. "A sensible choice for a walk in the woods. Now, Jonah, out. Unless you want to explain to the Alpha why you were watching his mate get undressed."

"I'm going, I'm going!" Jonah covered his eyes, backing toward the door. "I'll go check on him. If I don't make it back, tell my story, Rune! Tell them I died for the cause of fashion!"

Iris stood up, gathering the other two bags.

"He’s a clown, but he’s right about one thing. Rowan’s been waiting a long time for someone to walk with him. Not follow or lead. Just walk. So don't be afraid to find your pace out there."

The steam from the shower had dissipated by the time Rune stood before the full-length mirror in the bedroom. The forest green fabric of the Henley clung to his frame, the deep hue making his eye colour stand out.

For years, his entire identity had been built on the art of the exit. A master of departure. The boy who was there one day and a memory the next. Running away was a survival skill. Running with someone felt unnatural to his instincts.

He turned from the mirror, his boots thudding softly against the rugs as he began to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the Packhouse. He avoided the main hall, slipping out through a side entrance. The north tree line wasn't far at all, and as he approached the edge of the manicured lawn, the grass began to grow taller, the shadows darkened everything, and the liveliness of the house was replaced by the friction of snapping branches beneath his soles.

Rowan was already there.

He wasn't wearing his suit. He stood with his back to the house in a dark, heavy-duty jacket and rugged trousers. Even from a distance, he looked more at home among the timber and moss than he ever did behind a mahogany desk.

As Rune’s boots crunched on another fallen twig, Rowan turned.