Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As far as escape attempts went, it was his best yet, Tony mused as he stumbled out of Tail Wind forest. Mainly, he thought with a self deprecating smile, because it seemed to actually be working. He had been trying to wriggle out from under the oppressive weight of his father’s thumb for the past six years, after he had presented as an Omega on his fourteenth birthday. No one, least of all Tony, had been expecting that particular curve ball. Yet his father acted as if he became Omega just to spurn him.

It still rankled. 

As the only son of the Starkland Pack Alpha, Tony had been expected to rise up and take his father’s place some day as pack leader. He scoffed, leaping from one slippery rock the next as he crossed the broad river that ran alongside Starkland territory. From the time he was knee high, Tony had only ever wanted to earn his father’s affections. He wanted his father to be proud of him. So he pushed himself harder than any other pup in the pack, desperate to be the best at everything. He excelled at lessons and learning and while others were more naturally inclined for physical tests, Tony had pushed himself through sheer force of will to be the best. The best hunter. The fastest runner. The best fighter in his age group. Anything to earn one of his father’s rare and coveted smiles. 

But Howard Stark was not a soft man, nor an affectionate one. And despite how Tony tried, how many knots he twisted himself into, nothing he ever did was enough to earn the man’s pride. His affection. 

Especially not after his fourteenth birthday. 

Shame punched him hot and hard in the stomach, made it hard to breathe past the ache there. He would never forget the look on his father’s face as he came stumbling out of his room, his scent ripened with the natural pleasing fragrance of an Omega. The rage. The cold, cutting, fury. Tony had stood there, in his doorway, his heart in his throat as all of his worst fears were confirmed in that instant. 

His father hated him. 

It didn't matter how smart he was, how fast he was, that he could hold his own against most other wolves in the pack. Tony Stark had made the grievous error of being born anything other than an Alpha. His father had wasted no time in trying to father another whelp, bringing bitch after bitch home in an endless attempt to fix what Tony had broken.

Just by being himself. 

He felt his shoulders try to hunch, to curl, but straightened them with a frustrated snarl. No. No longer would he allow himself to be treated like something lesser. Once he was over the border of the Starkland Pack, he could be considered a lone wolf. 

Packless.

Which was better than what he had now, Tony thought with a fierce frown. He was the only Omega in the pack, and no one let him forget it. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his desire to prove himself as a child, over achieving in an attempt to win his father’s love, because in order to be the best at everything he had certainly had to tread on some toes in his climb to the top. 

When he had presented as Omega, and it had become achingly clear that the Alpha of the pack hated his only son - it had become open season on Tony’s unprotected hide.

When it first started the bullying hadn’t been too bad. Just sharp, cutting words, a fist to the solar plexus when the adults weren’t looking. Hair pulling and name calling.  Nothing that Tony couldn’t handle. He had fought back in the beginning, vicious and ferocious, daring anyone to treat him as something pathetic and weak. Something to be coddled. Ashamed of. He was Tony Fucking Stark, and being an Omega didn’t make him a push over.

And at first it worked. They had backed off. Left him alone as he outpaced them in the classroom, outran them on the hunts. But as time went on their bodies changed, developed, puberty giving the would-be- Alphas a boost that mother moon had not seen fit to give their Omega counterparts.

Soon his pack mates were towering over him. Bigger. Stronger. With, quite suddenly, more weight to throw around than Tony could keep up with. 

And then it didn’t matter that Tony was smart. That the pack thrived off of selling his inventions, his weapons, to the other packs. It didn’t matter how hard he worked or what he brought to the table.

He was smaller. Weaker. Omega.

Prey.

It didn’t take long before Tony was limping home with busted ribs and black eyes. A face covered in dirt where one of the other boys had held him down and ground it into the earth. He had limped, quiet and ashamed, back home and avoided the keen eyed gaze of his father before he hid away in his room.

His father, the Alpha, who had merely looked on - his face a mask of cold disappointment.

His father, who with one word could have stopped the relentless bullying Tony would experience for the next few years, but instead chose to remain silent. Even going as far as to commend the boys who routinely beat him while out on the pack hunts. Pulling them aside after they had successfully chased down a buck, telling them that they were all strong, brave, young alphas who undoubtedly made their fathers proud.

Tony had felt something shrivel inside of him the first time his father had addressed his bullies, a kindness in his tone that he had never once employed on his own son. It was then that he knew that things were never going to get better. That his father, no matter what he did, was never going to love him.

It didn’t matter if he was perfect, and it certainly didn’t matter if he acted out. It was a couple of weeks after that incident that Tony had tried his first escape attempt.

He had failed. Miserably.

It hadn’t taken long for his father's wolves to track him down and drag him back, beaten and bruised, dumped on the ground at his father’s feet. There Howard Stark had inquired as to who had caught his wayward Omega son.

Hesitantly Brock had stepped forward.

Brock was a bully and had always been one ever since he was a snot nosed kid. Four years older than Tony he’d been throwing his weight, and his fists, around for as long as he could remember. He delighted in bringing others pain, but he had especially delighted in tormenting Tony. But still he had stepped forward, albeit hesitantly.

Likely because, once he had tackled Tony to the ground, he had taken great pleasure in delivering blow after blow to his sides, stomach, and face, long after Tony had given up and bared his throat in submission. Brock probably expected to be reprimanded. Rightfully he should have.

Tony had just laid in the dirt, with a mouth tasting of blood and defeat, knowing that there would be no punishment for his rough treatment forthcoming. His entire body ached from the older boys relentless fists. He couldn’t see out of his right eye. Yet, even he could not have anticipated how cold, how cruel, his father would be.

He had gifted Brock with a night with the Omega upstart. “Show him his place in this pack. Show him what happens when he tries to run from the iron fist of the Starkland Pack.”

Tony closed his eyes against the memory. He wasn’t proud of the tears that had trailed down his cheeks as Brock carted him away - the way he had reached out for his father like a child. How he had begged not to let Brock have him. That he’d be good. He’d be so good. Please, father, please - don’t do this. He wouldn’t run anymore. He wouldn’t- 

He would never forget the cold look his own flesh and blood had leveled upon him before turning away.

And so Tony, at the tender age of 15, had lost his virginity to the worst of his bullies. Face pressed into the ground. Blood streaming from a broken nose and split lip as Brock jerked, bucked, and heaved above him - glorying in the tears and cries of pain he elicited from Tony. The filthy words that he had whispered in his ears. 

Being gifted to certain pack members would soon become a recurring theme in the following years. His only chance at avoiding that fate? Obeying. Keeping quiet. Designing weapons that their neighbors coveted. As much as his father loathed him, even he was forced to admit that Tony was a golden goose. He had a natural affinity for making things, designing beautiful swords, lances, and bows. Weapons he dreamed of wielding against his own tormentors. His designs were artfully crafted with a skill beyond his meager years. They became wildly popular, and it didn’t take long for word to spread that in times of war or trouble - one should make the journey to the Starkland pack.

They had the best of the best. Anything else was second rate.

It disturbed Tony to know that his designs, his weapons, were being used to take the lives of innocent people. Not all whom they contracted with were on the up and up, after all. But his Father considered himself a businessman first and foremost. He didn’t care what the weapons were used for, just that the coin was good.

And Tony? Although he found it morally repugnant… it had turned into a game of survival. 

Tony knew that by making himself useful in such a way, he guaranteed the pack's dependency on him. He might never be Alpha or hold any meaningful position in this pack. But he was useful. 

His father had only gifted him once, to his Beta and second in command Obadiah, after the wolf had successfully brokered a deal with a neighboring pack of some renowned. “Uncle Obie” had not hesitated to take the Alpha up on his offer, dragging a protesting Tony away where he would use him, repeatedly, for two days and nights straight. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes roughly. Always with his insidious words hissing in Tony’s ears. 

‘You’re so tight. You were made for this.’

‘Always knew you were a little bitch, ever since you were a whelp. Such a little cock tease.’

‘Tighten that wet cunt of yours around me, boy. That’s right, beg for it. Louder.’

Obi had used him until he was raw, torn, and begging for him to stop. Licking the tears from his face as his voice grew hoarse from his screams. No matter how he groveled, how he abased himself, Obi didn't stop. 

What made this violation perhaps the worst so far was that Tony had liked the kindly older Beta. His memories of the man had all been fond ones. Bouncing on his knee as a boy, being thrown up in the air and caught in strong arms. Riding on his shoulders at pack festivals. 

He had been like… family. And, if he were being truly honest with himself, the closest thing Tony had to a father. It had been Obie that had taught him how to hunt, how to fish, what berries were safe to eat. How to track deer. How to make his first bow. 

When he had been returned to his fathers house days later, Tony had crawled into his room on his hands and knees. Hidden under the bed.

He didn’t come out.

Not to eat.

Not to drink.

Not to bathe.

If he stayed quiet, if he stayed small, perhaps they wouldn’t come looking for him.

But they had come looking only a few short days later. Had dragged him out, kicking and screaming, from beneath his bed and lugged him across town to the forge. They were having trouble with some of his designs. They needed him to fix it.

Tony had refused. He hadn’t lifted a finger. It was a bold act of defiance, everyone knew how valued his weapons were. He was the golden goose, after all. 

But what happened when the goose refused to lay an egg?

They had beaten him. They had starved him. They had tried humiliating him, sleep deprivation, dunking his head in water and holding him under until he passed out. They had tried bribing him. Cajoling. They gave him to Brock, who had beaten him before spilling himself down his throat. When that didn't work they gave him back to Obadiah. He didn't remember much of that time - having found the ability to separate himself from what was happening to his body. 

Nothing they did, no further atrocity, could reach him. He was done.

And then one day his father came into the room where they were keeping him. A cell? Tony wasn’t even sure anymore. He didn't know how he got there, or how long he had been kept in the damp, dark little place. He hadn’t cared. His father, his Alpha, had entered the cell, got down on the ground where Tony lay curled into a ball, and pulled his limp and trembling form onto his lap. There he had stroked the dirty, matted, hair out of Tony’s face, rubbed his back, and spoke softly. Gently.

“Tony. Your pack needs you. I need you. What will it take, son?”

Son. Tears had filled his eyes in a rush, but not even he was far enough gone to shed tears in front of his father. His father… his father had acknowledged him. 

Finally.

“I don’t- I don’t’ want to be gifted,” he paused, his breath shuddering out of him. His voice crackling from disuse. “I c-can’t- please.” He knuckled at his eyes, teeth gritted.

“Is that what this is all about?” his father's voice had risen in question, still so gentle. So deceptively calm. Reasonable. “You didn’t like your time with Obadiah? You should have come to me, son. I would have listened. Protected you.”

Lies. Some part of him hissed. Some part of him knew. But the words that were coming out of his father’s mouth were ones he had longed to hear for years. People believed what they wanted to believe, his father had once told him. Feed them the right words to fit their narrative, and you could have them eating out of the palm of your hand. Right then? Tony wanted to hear that his father cared about him, even if his wolf lifted its lip in a snarl at the falsehood. He had cried then, face buried in his father’s shoulder.

“All this drama over a little misunderstanding.” his father had sighed, voice sounding personally aggrieved. As if Tony was just being a silly little Omega for not wanting to be passed around like a wet hole for the Alphas of the pack to stick their dick into.

He had made a soft, choking sound, then. He would do anything to keep this kindness.  “ ‘m sorry, Alpha.”

“Let’s get you out of here. Cleaned up. If you don’t want me to award you to my wolves, I can do that for you, Tony.”

He had helped Tony to his feet, barely covering the flash of disgust at the unkempt state of his son. Covered in dirt, blood, and bodily fluids. Tony had hung his head in shame.  He wasn’t blind to the wrinkling of his father's nose as the Alpha led him out of the cell and past the stone-faced guards.

He had walked him home, had a bath drawn for him, and encouraged him to bathe the stink and grime from his flesh. Once he was clean, dressed in freshly washed clothes, and sitting at the kitchen table as they both ate a meal of roasted pheasant and vegetables, his father broke the silence.

“You see now Tony, isn’t that better? Life can be so pleasant when you cooperate.”

Tony swallowed the juicy meat that tasted like ash on his tongue. He nodded in agreement. Silent.

“I have a responsibility to this pack, Tony. A responsibility to care and maintain all of its members. If you’re not happy with something, you simply have to let me know.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

His father’s fork scraped across his plate. A fine china. Something they had never had before when Tony was a pup. His father had disdained such finery when they were a pack of meager means. Saying it made the Alphas who used and depended on such luxuries weak.

“But I’m not the only one with a responsibility to this pack, am I son?”

Tony’s throat grew tight, his gaze lifting up to meet his father’s.

“No, Alpha.” Tony wasn’t stupid. He knew what his father wanted. 

The Alpha smiled, the type that didn’t reach his cold, glittering, eyes.

“Very good, boy. I see we have an understanding. There will be no further…unnecessary drama, hm?”

Make the weapons, or I pass you around. Tony heard him loud and clear.

“No, Alpha.” He lied.

———

Tony would go on to have two more unsuccessful escape attempts. Both times he was brought back by a victorious Brock. Both times his punishment was to submit to the man who had run him to ground, his cries and yelps filling the night air. The last time Brock hadn’t bothered to drag him off somewhere private. As soon as the Alpha had left he’d shoved Tony to his knees, pulled out his cock and there in front of the other boys he had once ran beside as cubs, he had fucked Tony’s face until he was a gagging, spitting, mess. 

Their taunts and jeers would live forever in his mind. 

If only it had stopped at a sloppy blow job. 

This time, though, would be different. The border to a Starkland pack territory was in sight. The closest it had ever been. Tony had just made it across the river, only one pant leg soaked through for his troubles, and even if Brock were to run out of that forest right now they would never catch up with him.

He was going to be a free wolf soon. A lone wolf.

Better to be a lone wolf, Tony thought, than a broken one. Because that was what he would surely become if he were to stay here, in his father's pack, any longer. Omegas were rare in most packs, and usually highly coveted (or so the stories went). They were often traded between packs when they came of mating age to strengthen alliances and broker peace. To strengthen bloodlines. It was unheard of for an omega to stay within his or her own pack.

The fact that he was going to leave this place someday, and put this time in his life behind him, had been the only thing keeping him going.

He hadn’t meant to overhear his father’s conversation with Brock in his father’s study a couple of weeks ago. He was actually supposed to be in the forge, updating the newest prototype of one of his weapons. Halfway through, though, he had remembered an older draft, hastily jotted down on parchment paper weeks ago, and tucked into one of his bound books. 

He wasn’t supposed to be at home, scurrying through his room in an effort to find that parchment. So he wasn’t supposed to hear his father offering Brock to become his Alpha heir. The one he would train to rise up and take his place some day. Brock, the dumb lout, had asked what was to become of Tony. 

“Well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, son.”

Tony had felt the air punch out of his chest. His cheeks burning. A mix of fury and shame and raw, bleeding, hurt firing in his chest. He had called Brock son. His enemy, his tormentor, the reason for the nightmares that had him waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night - gasping for breath. And what had he done to deserve it? How many years had Tony tried to win that very same acknowledgement from his father?

He had been so distraught he had almost missed what his father had said next.

“You see, Tony can never leave us. He can never fall into enemy hands. Or else all this power we’ve accumulated? Why it could and would be turned upon us in an instant. Whoever controls that omega, controls the shape of war between our peoples. Which is why, once you become Alpha apparent, I want you to take him to mate. He needs a strong hand to rule him, one you’ve shown remarkable competence in with your past dealings with him.”

Tony’s stomach fisted. He had been raped and beaten by Brock several times over the past six years. Is that what his father meant by a competent hand?

“Alpha…”

“I realize that Tony is used goods, perhaps not your ideal partner, but he will make you a very rich, very powerful, Alpha. Once you’ve gotten a whelp or two on him, no one will gain say you from entertaining yourself with other bitches.”

Tony stood, back pressed against the door of his room, not daring to breathe. Too stunned with shock and betrayal to even attempt it.

Brock laughed, the sound an oily and greasy thing. “I am honored, Alpha.”

“There’s my boy! To a new era for the Starkland pack! I know our wolves will flourish under your leadership…when the time comes. You have much learning to do, and I am more than happy to teach you.”

He heard them laughing, clapping shoulders, as they walked out of his fathers office and exited through the front door.

“When will-“

“At the next full moon run. We will make an announcement then.”

“And Tony?”

“Will be yours. Best not to tell him before then, hm? ”

Whatever else was said between them faded away as they traveled further away down the road. Away from the house. 

That was when Tony knew that he had to leave. And this time he had to do it right.

—————-

His chance came on the day before the full moon. He had given none of his pack mates any indication of his intent. He had not withdrawn, had not acted distant or upset in any way. He gave no one any reason to suspect his true intentions.

When the sun came up that day, Tony had gotten out of bed. Went through the motions as if this day were like any other. As if he hadn’t spent the night before burning all of his work, his formulas, his written prototypes. As if he hadn’t smelted the weapons he had spent hours laboring over into a pile of useless shapeless rock.

If he were caught, that only would incur a punishment the like of which Tony had never known. 

But he wasn’t going to get caught. Not by his father's enforcers. Pity they had all come over for a pre-run dinner the night before. Marking on the map where their run would take them, what game they would hunt, who they would leave behind.

Tony hadn’t been blind to the dark, possessive, look that had glittered in Brock’s eyes as he refilled their mugs of ale and wine. Forced to listen to their disturbing banter and serve them, something his father had insisted on shortly after his fourteenth birthday. It was his place, his father had told him. 

That he had once dreamed of having a seat at that table, of sharing his opinion, of leading the pack in a way that would make his father proud… that hadn't mattered. Tony was forced to serve the other wolves as if they were his betters, ignored mostly, except for when his father wasn't in the room. Then there were all sorts of glib comments, inappropriate passes, a hand stuffed down the back of his pants.

Once his father had come in to find him bent over the table, arms pinned down by two of his father’s enforcers while a third had his hand in Tony’s pants, fingers pumping in and out of his ass. His father had looked at him with disgust. Told him to stop distracting his betters, pull himself together, and clean up the mess they had made. They had work to do, after all. Shaking, nauseated, he had wiped the tears from his face and scurried from the room to the sound of laughter. He had been sixteen at the time.

So it was no surprise when the meeting was over and it was time for them to leave, that no one paid Brock any mind when he pressed Tony up against the wall of his father’s study, hand fisting painfully in his hair as he forcibly jerked Tony’s neck to the side. Forcing his submission - a feat he had never been able to manage without his fists. Tony would never, ever, willingly submit to that monster.

His breath, laden with the bitter stench of alcohol, had brushed hot and fetid against his cheek as the Alpha ran his tongue up the side of Tony’s neck, tasting his skin and nervous sweat.

“Scared, Omega? I could take you right here. Right now. Bend you over your daddy’s desk and knot that sweet hole of yours. Would you like that?”

Tony snarled, his eyes flashing silver as his wolf rose up inside of him at the threat.

“I will never submit to you, Brock. Not today. Not ever.”

Brock simply smiled. It was a small one, full of promise with a meanness to it that made his black eyes sparkle.

“I guess we'll just have to see about that, won’t we, Omega?”

He let go of Tony abruptly, a mean smirk on his lips, before strutting out of the room as if he owned it and everyone in it. Perhaps in his mind he did. 

Tony had stood there, shaking with impotent rage, hands curled into fists at his side.

They’d see. They’d all see. He hoped his father and his enforcers enjoyed the drug he had slipped into their drinks tonight. The overconfident bastards were so sure of themselves and their power that they had no fear of retribution.

They’d be out until the moon rose in the sky. By then Tony would be well on his way out of pack land.

Free.

Well, that had been the plan, anyway.

—————-

Tony was in the midst of his third trip back from the river. He had left the pack lands twice over, a little thrill shooting up his spine each time. But it wasn't enough to just leave . He had to muddy the trail for anyone who was trying to track him, else they would catch up with him eventually and run him to ground. 

He had made so many false trails leading out of the pack lands that it would keep those knot heads confused for days. He had grown up with them, knew their weaknesses and their strengths. 

Tracking had never been one of them.

He kept one eye on the sky, noting the position of the sun. The time of day. Sweat trickled down his face, stuck uncomfortably to the back of his shirt. Carefully he paced backward, making sure to put his feet back in the same treads he had made walking out of the river. 

The thrill of victory was coursing through his veins. This was his last false trail. Then he’d be running down the river, staying in the shallows before exiting and entering the wood that ran parallel to the mountains of a neighboring pack. He’d climb those mountains and continue his journey away from Starkland pack territory, covering his tracks as he went. 

With those idiots chasing after him, giving him such a generous head start, he’d have more than enough time to confuse them and throw them off his trail. It’s not like it’d be hard.

He was no hurt, broken, fourteen year old kid anymore. 

He meant to leave for real this time. One way… or another. He wouldn't allow himself to be taken to mate by Brock. He’d rather die first. 

If they caught him, well, Tony would make good on that promise.

He was looking over his shoulder, searching out his previous footsteps, the sound of the river rushing in his ears, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. Doing this? It felt good in a way that Tony hadn’t experienced in years. 

He already felt free. Free to be himself. He was so close, he felt like laughing. Joy and adrenaline pumping a heady cocktail through his system. 

He didn't know what it was that made him look up, what sixth sense had every muscle in his body tensing, the fine hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end. He just… he could feel it. The pulsating sense of danger in the air. The feeling prey gets when a predator locks eyes on them.

He paused, mid-step, sucking in a deep breath of sweet summer air and tried to convince himself that he was mistaken. There… there was no danger here. And yet still his head swung up, turning slowly, gaze sweeping the treeline in the distance. His heart stilled at the figure he saw standing there. 

Tall, impossibly broad of shoulder, dressed simply in a white linen shirt and cream-colored breeches. From this distance Tony was given the vague impression of imposing strength, sandy blonde hair, and piercing eyes. Mother Moon, he could feel the weight of the stranger’s stare as if it were a physical touch. One that burned like a brand. Here was a predator. The Alpha-y-est of the alphas.

His heart sputtered out one beat. Then two. 

And then Tony was turning, plan forgotten, leaping straight for the water. He plunged through the shadows, sucking in his yelp at the bite and sting of cold river water against his heated flesh. He ignored it, his heart pounding furiously in his chest as he dove toward the deeper part of the river where the current was the strongest. He’d let the river carry him down stream, hopefully faster than this man, this blatant Alpha, could run. If he was lucky he’d decide that Tony wasn't worth the trouble of the chase.

When had he ever been that lucky?

The thought was a bitter one, cold as the water that bit at his skin, stealing the breath from his lungs as the strong current carried him away. Distantly, over the crash and rush of the water, he could hear the Alpha calling out - his voice barrel deep and thunderous. Angry. 

There was not a chance in the mother’s holy moonbeams that Tony would be turning around to heed the call of that Alpha. He liked his head attached to his shoulders, thank-you-very-much.

Tony ducked his head under the surface and kicked, arms slicing through the water with a determination born of desperation. When his head breached the water long moments later it was to see a golden furred wolf running alongside the river, mouth open and tongue lolling. There was a single-minded calculation in those lupine gold eyes. He was, by far, the most magnificent wolf Tony had ever laid eyes on. Also the largest. Which worked out in his favor.

Wolf shifters couldn't swim. Not well. Not like their natural canine counterparts. Shifters had a denser body mass, much too dense to properly swim in wolf form. The bigger the wolf, the denser the muscle, the less ability they had to keep themselves above water. They’d sink. Naturally.

It would be suicide to dive in after him, Tony thought frantically, as he watched the Alpha leap over fall logs and stones, paws thudding against the beach as he kept stride with him. Tony shook his head, face twisted into a mask of incredulity, before diving back into the water, kicking with his legs and using his arms for all he was worth. He needed to put more distance between him and this strange Alpha. The wolf would run out of stamina before the river ran out of water.

This was not a complication he needed right now. It was not something that had ever factored into his escape plans. And yet when his head broke the surface of the water, it was to find that damnable Alpha still keeping pace with him. Fangs bared, sharp white teeth gleaming in the noon sun, as saliva trailed from his panting mouth.

If he hadn't been so busy looking at the damn Alpha, he would have been able to avoid the boulder.

Tony had grown up swimming in the river as a cub. He knew the pull and drag of the current. He knew its hidden depths, the places where it could pull a man under, hold him there until the breath escaped him. He knew swimming, heedlessly, recklessly, like he was doing now was dangerous. Because there were always, always, hidden dangers in the river.

And so Tony didn't see the rock, hidden beneath the water, but he certainly didn't need to see it to feel it. A pained yelp escaped him as his hip and side collided with the hard, gritty, surface. He felt his ankle drag across the rock he had just collided and careened off of, got a coughing mouthful of river water river for his troubles. This time when he went under, it wasn't on purpose. 

What happened next could best be described as a series of unfortunate events. Because once he hit the first rock, and pain exploded up his side and down his leg, he wasn't prepared for when he hit the second rock. Or the third.

Cursing both himself and the damn Alpha who was chasing him, Tony surged to the surface, cutting left and away from the center of the river. His ribs pulled painfully. He skin stung where it was abraded from scraping across stone. Shuddering, shaking, he mentally flinched as he turned his gaze to the shore.

The Alpha was…the alpha was gone.

That didn't make sense. It wasn’t possible for- 

It was then that Tony became aware of the sound of splashing coming from behind him. He craned his neck backward, still swimming toward the sandy beach that offered a reprieve from the cold river, to see the alpha wolf in the goddamned water. He was allowed one moment of incredulity as he watched the wolf struggle with the current, golden fur darkened to a burnt amber color. Those lupine eyes lightened with relief upon meeting Tony’s gaze, before that furry head dipped beneath the water.

Tony waited one beat. Then two. Waiting for the Alpha to pop back up. Why would he have jumped into the river after him if he couldn't freaking swim? Tony let out a growl of his own when he realized that stupid wolf wasn't coming up for air. Swearing, cursing the moon and all of her phases as well as his thrice damned luck, he turned back around. Against his better judgment. Against all common sense. 

It wasn't his fault that the wolf was about to drown, after all. He hadn’t asked to be chased. What reasonably sane person would want to be chased by an Alpha like that? The logic did not stop Tony from diving beneath the current, eyes open as he kicked his way across the river, letting the current take him down as he searched. There, at the bottom of the river, legs kicking feebly, was the Alpha. 

He had shifted back to human form, but apparently not in enough time to make a difference. Or, Tony mused, maybe he didn't know how to swim in either form. 

Which was stupid of course. What kind of idiot would jump into the river after a complete stranger without knowing how to swim? No one did that. Certainly not an Alpha after one scrawny, worthless, omega. 

Tony circled one arm around the Alpha’s sturdy waist, air bubbles escaping in a grunt at the sheer heft of the man. Lungs burning, muscles straining, he kicked for all he was worth. He saw the rock a second too late, turning his body so that it collided with his shoulder instead of the unconscious Alpha’s face.  A pained scream, muffled by the water, escaped him then - as they were sent careening into more rocks. This part of the river was dangerous. They didn't have much time before it turned to rapids. Tony was an excellent swimmer, had always been the best in the pack, but even he would be hard pressed to survive a trip down the rapids. 

It seemed like ages before they broke the surface of the water. The Alpha in his arms was concerningly limp and pliant. Desperation lent him a strength he would otherwise not have possessed. He wasn't sure how long it took to cross the river, blading their bodies so they could escape the stream, but before he knew it Tony was dragging the limp form of the Alpha out of the raging water and onto the sandy shore. There, for just a moment, he collapsed onto his back, chest rising and falling with his sharp, panting, inhalations and eyes closed. 

“Of all the crazy, stupid, things I’ve done this has got to take the cake.” Tony wheezed; eyes squeezed shut in self-recrimination. It was insanity. The wolf was not his responsibility. It was not Tony’s fault that the alpha had chosen to jump into the river after him. The reason for which he still didn't know. Was it to help him? Or hurt him? And yet it wasn't something he could simply walk away from. He had seen someone in need and knew that he had the power to help. So he did.

 What an idiot he was. 

Tony groaned, opening his eyes to gaze upon the pale, lifeless form of the Alpha. The very naked alpha. The very big, broad, muscular, naked Alpha. He was easily the largest man Tony had ever seen. Once upon a time Tony would have found the sheer size and strength of him attractive. Now? Now the only thing he saw when he gazed upon the unconscious man was a threat. Someone who could, and probably would, hurt him if given the chance. Sandy blonde hair was pressed flat to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his stoically handsome face. A square jaw with a dimple in the chin, thick lashes. He looked relatively young. Maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. His gaze drifted down to the man’s broad chest. His broad, still, not breathing, chest.

Tony cursed, low and lurid, before all but throwing himself on top of the unconscious shifter. Who wasn't fucking breathing. 

“Insult to injury.” Tony snarled, before pressing his mouth against the cold, lifeless, lips of the prone Alpha. He exhaled, forcing air into the man’s lungs, before pressing his palms against the shifters chest and pushing. 

Tony cursed as he worked, pushing against the Alpha’s chest in a steady rhythm, calling the unconscious man all manner of names from stupid and reckless, to brash and incompetent. 

“What…kind…of…stupid…idiot…Alpha…jumps…into…a river… in wolf…skin.”

Tony pressed his lips against the Alpha’s again, breathing for him. One breath. Two breaths.

He froze at the hard hand that landed on his nape, pulling him down when he would have tried to rear backwards. His eyes, rounded with shock, darted to the no longer unconscious man beneath him. Chillingly cold blue eyes, narrowed with irritation, met his gaze. Their breaths mingled, lips almost touching. Tony considered himself to be fast, but not even he could dodge the hard hand that wrapped around both of his wrists.

 And then Tony was being rolled, two hundred and fifty pounds of muscular male shifter poised on top of him, pressing him down into the sand while his arms were neatly pinned over his head. The Alpha managed to pin him with a cold stare that might have been more intimidating had he not almost immediately turned his head away. The Alpha coughed, heaved, big body shaking as it worked to expel the water in his lungs.  When he finally stopped some moments later, Tony lay in mute terror beneath him.

“The kind of idiot Alpha that is trying to save an idiot Omega from drowning.” 

That voice was barrel deep and raspy.  And his blue eyes were so cutting, calculating, it felt like the Alpha was staring straight through him. It took a moment for Tony to actually comprehend what he had said, too busy staring into those cold blue eyes and seeing his impending death or dismemberment. Then the Alpha’s words penetrated.

Tony’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl.

“Drowning?” He arched an eyebrow in incredulous disbelief.  “Of the people on this riverbank, which one of us a.) can’t actually swim and b.) needed to be rescued? You’re welcome for that, by the way, wonder-wolf.”

The Alpha’s lips, which had been pressed into a thin line, twitched slightly at the corners before his eyes narrowed, tracing the lines of Tony’s face.

“Pretty mouthy for an Omega.” He mused, though there was still a touch of irritation and anger in his tone.

Tony cringed inwardly; the flames of his anger momentarily doused by the fact that he was being pinned to the ground by a strange Alpha. And not just any Alpha, but the largest one he had ever seen. The guy’s muscles had muscles. Which were, of course, all conveniently on display as the larger shifter was completely naked on top of him.

And what had Tony done? He’d mouthed off. He’d defied him. He had run. For a wolf who considered himself to be fairly smart he was sure making a lot of stupid mistakes. Alphas did not like to be defied, certainly not by upstart, lowly Omegas. There was literally nothing stopping this Alpha from snapping his neck or hurting him so bad before he killed him so dead. Reflexively his legs tried to pull up, to try and curl against his chest to protect his vulnerable belly. But they were trapped by the heavy weight of the Alpha above him. In fact, the only thing his squirming did was allow the Alpha’s hips to slip between his legs.

Tony froze at the feeling of all that hard, male, flesh pressed flush against him.

The acrid, copper, taste of fear coated his tongue and tightened his throat. Tony blinked, struggling to work past it, his heart stilling in his chest. His eyes drifted from the stone-cold look on the Alpha’s face and fell slowly, achingly, to the side in submission. He had instinctively bared his throat, fingers clenching and unclenching with nerves where they were pinned helplessly above his head. There was a soft, plaintive, whine filling the air. It took Tony a moment to realize it was coming from him. 

And then that great, hulking, weight was off of him. 

Tony took in a deep, lung aching, breath before he scrambled backwards on the ground, trying to put more distance between him and the wet, sandy, stranger who was staring mutely at him. He was fast, the fastest in his year, even after the others presented he was still one of the fastest wolves in the pack. If he ran he could probably-

A low growl, deep and bone chilling in its menace, ripped through the air - freezing the breath in his lungs. 

“Don’t even think about it.” The Alpha flashed pearly white teeth at him. “I’ve had enough of chasing after wayward Omegas today. Get up, now. You’re coming with me.”

Shaking, Tony climbed to his feet on legs that felt like overcooked noodles. He brought his hands up, palms showing, and fingers spread.

“I…look. This is just a misunderstanding. I’m…I was just leaving. There’s no need-”

“Leaving? The Starkland pack? By yourself?”

Tony grit his teeth at the words. He was so sick of being told he couldn't do things by the Alphas in his life.

“Oh good, you can count. Never can be too sure with you Alpha types. Yeah, there’s one of me.”

The look of incredulity that crossed over the Alpha’s face was priceless. Like he couldn't believe that Tony would have the audacity to talk back or stand up for himself after he had just bared his throat in submission. Well, there was a lot more where that came from.

Tony had a tendency to run his mouth, especially when nervous, which had brought him no end of abuse and pain over the years but he couldn't help it. He hated being told what to do. What his limitations were. What he should do by men who considered themselves his betters. 

Tony took a step back, only to tense as the Alpha took a step forward. 

“You’re coming with me.”

“The hell I am! You’re not my Alpha!”

The Alpha in question took another menacing step forward, the water from the river glistening upon the field of broad, shapely, muscles. 

“I don’t make it a habit of repeating myself. If you run, I will catch you. And when I do, you won’t like what happens next.”

Tony’s heart started jack hammering in his chest. He didn't… he didn't want to be raped. Or beaten. Or…whatever this mountain of an Alpha had in store for him.

He swallowed sharply.

“I’m not going back there. And you can’t make me.” Tony’s arms crossed over his chest, his heels digging into the ground as his stance widened. 

A flare of alarm shot through him as, for the first time, the Alpha’s face transformed with the force of his unrepentant grin. Pearly white teeth flashed in a lightly tanned face, making his blue eyes positively sparkle with mirth. It was a stunningly handsome face, Tony couldn't help but notice, one with a breathtaking smile. For a moment, Tony had forgotten what had prompted it.

That alone should have been a warning of things to come. 

Chapter Text

“Put me down you overgrown excuse for an Alpha! “ The spicy little omega shouted for what had to be, at the very least, the fourth time. Steve merely shook his head, eyes narrowed, as he readjusted the squirming bundle slung over his shoulder. He had tried to do this peaceably. He had tried to reason with the fiery little Omega with the snapping amber eyes and sword sharp tongue. 

There was no reasoning with this feisty little shit. 

Stubborn, headstrong, and defiant were just three words he would use to describe his unwilling captive, and he’d known the Omega for less than an hour. Half of which had been spent chasing him down and then being summarily rescued by him.  Which was, in and of itself, a humbling experience. He reminded himself that he owed the imp his life as another stream of vitriol spilled poisonously out past those plump pink lips. Strong for an Omega, Steve couldn't help but notice, with a slim frame that hid well defined muscles. It was clear from calluses on his palms and fingertips, the faded scars that littered his hands and forearms, that this Omega wasn't content to sit idle and be pampered. The strength in his body, the fight in him as he had bloodied Steve’s lip before Steve had managed to flip him over onto his belly and wrench those fists behind his back had been surprising. A well placed knee in the center of his back had helped pin the Omega down while he bound the whelp’s wrists behind him with strips off of his own shirt. 

How he had howled then, calling Steve all manner of names - some of which he was ashamed to say he didn't know the definition of. He was sure that it was that sharp tongue of his that had been causing problems for him back at home. 

He’d seen it before, afterall. 

Omegas weren't like other shifters in the pack, they were inherently different. Which was not a bad thing, not in the least. A healthy pack should have at least a few Omegas in it to help balance out the dominance and aggression in the more powerful  wolves. Defiance was in their nature - Omega’s were not naturally submissive shifters. They didnt follow a hierarchy the way that the rest of the pack, they did not feel the compulsion of an Alpha’s command the same way that betas did. An Omega obeyed because they trusted their Alpha, their pack, to make the right decision. It was a sign of respect. 

Steve would never trust a pack that didn't have at least one Omega in it. It showed a lack of moral fortitude, of balance. Too much aggression in a pack of shifters was never a good thing. Steve had had to put down too many Alphas that were poisoning their packs that way.

He had begun to earn a bit of a reputation for it. 

He grimaced at the thought. 

It couldn't be helped. Steve wasn't the type of leader to sit on his hands while others around him suffered needlessly. Besides, putting down abusive Alphas also gave him the advantage of adding more land and shifters to his own rapidly growing pack. It wasn't as if he was coming from a completely altruistic place. Right now his pack was the largest one on the east coast, consisting of thirteen sub packs. He was responsible for the lives and livelihoods of roughly seven thousand wolves. Challenging Alphas who abused their charges only made him stronger, fiercer. He had yet to go up against an opponent that could best him in battle. 

There was nothing quite like the thrill of battle. Shifters as a general rule preferred to fight on two feet as opposed to fur form. A wolf could be stopped with one well placed bolt of an arrow. One fierce thrust of a lance. Steve, himself, preferred the sword as his weapon of choice. Countless enemies had died upon his blade. Although the wolf form had its natural weapons such as razor sharp claws and wickedly sharp teeth, it was simply no match for modern weaponry. 

There were few things Steve enjoyed more than a good, honest, fight. Preferably one that did not end in death. But with the way things were these days, more and more often these battles for dominance ended with the other contender on the ground, eyes unseeing as they returned to the mother.

They called him the Alpha Warlord. Bloodthirsty. Brutal. Beast.  A force to be reckoned with. It wasn't as if he went out and looked for trouble, for defenseless shifters to avenge. Trouble just had a way of finding him.

Case and point the squirming, irate, Omega he had trussed up on his shoulder.

“Tell me, are you a professional imbecile, or just a hobbyist? I’m having trouble deciding.”

Steve’s lips twitched upward despite himself. He was glad the little Omega couldn't see the mirth shining in his eyes. He would hate to encourage this kind of behavior, even if he did find it intensely amusing.

“You can call me names all you like, Omega. You’re going home to your Alpha.”

Who was probably worried sick about him. Omegas were cherished members of the pack, and had a tendency to be pampered and given more allowances than other shifters. They had more delicate natures, gentle spirits, that did not thrive under adversity. Having an Omega in the pack was a sign of a healthy, well run, community. They simply did not survive under harsh conditions. They either ended up leaving or languishing away.  That the Starkland Pack had at least one Omega was a good sign, lifted a weight from Steve’s shoulders. That said Omega was confident enough to lambaste a strange Alpha whom he had never met before was also a good sign. 

It meant that this Omega likely had been spoiled by well meaning pack members. Treated with kid gloves, and allowed to thrive. Had he flinched away or shown any signs of abuse, Steve would have been the first in line to help him leave. 

It was so rare to find an abused Omega. They were the most cherished members of the pack. 

Valuable beyond compare.

This one could do with a humbling though, he thought with some wry amusement. That wasn't his job, as tempting as it was to throw the little shit over his knee and teach him to curb that sharp tongue of his with a few well placed swats to that pert little ass.

Oh yes, Steve had noticed. It was hard not to with the way the Omega was wriggling on his shoulder like a worm on a hook, the pleasant woodsy scent of Omega laced with something softer filling his nose.

“You can’t - I can’t go back! You don’t understand!” There was an irritated growl, legs kicking ineffectually. 

“I’m sure your Alpha will forgive you for whatever it is that you did to upset them. You should have gone directly to them instead of running from your problems.” Steve admonished, his voice gruff.

A wild, choked, laugh escaped the Omega then. 

“Right. Go to the Alpha. Because Alphas are known for being mild, gentle, creatures. I mean, take yourself for example.”

Steve let out a deep sigh.

“Listen, what will it take for you to let me go? You must want something, right? If you’re traveling to the Starkland pack. No one comes here for fun. So what do you want?”

The question made Steve’s lips compress. What did he want, indeed? His mind went to the sack slung over his opposite shoulder and its contents. His shield had broken in his last battle only a week ago. He was partial to it and had been devastated when it had snapped in two. Clint had seen the forlorn look in his eyes after the battle, and mentioned that the Starkland Pack had a master weaponsmith. An up and comer. He could likely have his shield repaired there, and perhaps get a new sword as well. Their prices were high but their work, Clint had assured him, was top notch.

“I’m here on business.” His tone was gruff, heavy with irritation at the thought of his broken shield and just how much coin it was going to cost to repair it. Not that he was in the poorhouse, but still. He’d rather turn that coin back into his pack and their needs, of which there were vast and many. “Which happens to be none of yours. Now shut your mouth before I gag you.” He didn't bother to moderate his tone. 

His comment had earned a frustrated growl and then defeated silence. Steve didn't relish being the reason the fight went out of the Omega. But he wasn't going to let him run off and get himself killed, either. It would be grossly irresponsible. An Omega, alone? 

There were packs out there that had Omegas only because they had stolen them from their homes. They faced untold abuse and torment before eventually passing away, their delicate natures not meant to survive such adversity.

The closer they got to the heart of the Starkland pack, the more dejected the Omega became. He had stopped squirming about an hour into their travel, the bitter sharp scent of his defeat burned the back of Steve’s throat.

It was for his own good. 

It was. 

So why was he feeling guilty about it? Steve had nothing to be ashamed of. 

“I will let you down if you promise not to run.”

The Omega sighed. 

“Yes, Sir.” The defeated sounding honorific didn't sit well with Steve either. He shifted the limp body from his shoulder to the ground in front of him, a shiver of awareness marching up his spine at the feel of the soft press of hot, damp, Omega against him. He swallowed, taking a half step back to hide his reaction. It was borderline inappropriate how drawn he was to the little spit fire.

What was it with this Omega? Steve had never been one for disobedience. He did not tolerate it in his pack. Not to say that he couldn't be reasoned with, or that he didn't value differing opinions. That was far from true - which was why he had developed the council. A ruling body that would help draft regulations and laws that the pack was to live by. They appointed trusted shifters to hear grievances and to dispense justice. The system was necessary with a pack so large and far reaching. Steve still regularly made his rounds - as was his duty as pack Alpha. At the end of the day, his word was law and he was not used to having it be questioned. He did not allow blatant disrespect and defiance, something of which this particular shifter had in spades. 

Most wolves were too scared, upon meeting him, to show him anything but deference. He was a naturally dominant, powerful, shifter. He didn't need to throw his weight around or challenge anyone to a dominance fight. One look in his eye, the feel and weight of his power, and most bared their throats in submission.

Even the little Omega had, by the river. Steve had had to rein in his temper at the sight of the trembling young shifter, neck bared, and a plaintive whine spilling out of his throat. The fact that his wolf had wanted to press his face against the column of that throat? To inhale that scent?

That had put him in a foul mood. Which had immediately lightened once the Omega unleashed that sharp tongue on him. It was refreshing, being sassed and even insulted, as most shifters didn't dare to even meet his eyes. And here was this soaking wet Omega with raven locks plastered to his forehead, covered in coarse sand, with the most expressive amber eyes and the thickest lashes he had ever seen on another male. He had sat there and snarled up at him in challenge. Words cutting and full of derision. This little Omega, young even by shifter standards,  from the middle of nowhere trying to go toe to toe with the most dominant and powerful Alpha on the coast. Steve had found it an odd mixture of thrilling and endearing. 

Right now though? That Omega was staring at the ground. Refusing to meet his gaze, shoulders hunched defensively. Steve felt something uncomfortable twist in his stomach. Had he treated the boy too roughly? He knew that Omegas were sensitive creatures. Perhaps he had been-

All thoughts were driven straight from his head as said submissive Omega drove a powerful, bony, knee straight between his spread legs. Steve hadn't been expecting it, was the only coherent thought he had as he let out a grunting wheeze, feeling his knees give out at the throbbing, burning, pain that was slowly spreading through his entire abdomen. 

“Don’t-” He had managed to grit out the word through clenched teeth as the Omega jerked away. He watched, unable to rise and stop him, as the boy jumped over the hands bound behind his back and tore at his clothes. Between one blink and the next he was looking at a small, jet black, wolf with laughing silver eyes. There was a small patch of white at his chest, above his heart, but aside from that he was black from head to toe with a thick, glossy, coat.

And achingly beautiful. 

And then he was gone, tearing off toward the direction they had just traveled from. Impossibly fast. A study in compact power and speed.

It was decided. That beautiful, mouthy, little shit was going to be thrown over Steve’s knee and spanked. He wondered how old the Omega was, and if he was promised yet to another.

Not that it mattered. Not that Steve would take him for a mate. No, he wasn't considering it. 

He wasn't.  

___

Tony was running out of time and he knew it. The whole fiasco with the strange and surprisingly mysterious Alpha had eaten away into his time. He had lost almost two hours. Two hours of a head start he had no hope of getting back. 

When the howls rang out through the forest, Tony cursed mentally, even as his paws thudded against the hard packed earth. He knew the quickest paths through the wood, had traversed them often as a child, but so had the other wolves in his pack. From the sounds of the hunting calls echoing from around him, they had picked up his scent. They, unlike him, were well rested. Fresh. Not having to shake off the hurts and aches from his little foray down the river with the unknown Alpha.

That bastard.

His lips pulled into a snarl, ears alert for the slightest rustle in the brush. Tony was one of the best hunters in the pack because he relied on all of his senses. Which was how he knew that his headlong rush for escape was over long before he saw them. He could hear them, pacing in slowly tightening circles around him, narrowing like a noose around his neck. 

Tony slowed to a trot, then a walk, before coming to rest in the center of a small clearing. There was no point in running now, he wouldn’t slip past their guard. They were the elite hunters of the pack for a reason, and fleeing from them while on a hunt would only encite their prey drive. 

One by one they appeared. First the wolves, in varying shades of muddy browns and greys, large and imposing wolves with fangs bared and watchful eyes.Then the senior hunters of the pack, in human form. Dressed in a mixture of greens and browns, swarthy sun kissed skin on display, long daggers sheathed at their waists and bow and quiver slung over their shoulders. When Tony was a pup he would follow the elite group around relentlessly, constantly nipping at their heels in his eagerness to learn. They had found it endearing then, the small rambunctious boy who wanted to grow up to be just like them, and had often made the time to show him some tips and tricks. As he grew up many of the kindly older wolves had rotated out of the hunters. Most had moved away to other packs. Some others had simply retired, turned to settle down within the village and let the younger generation take over. It wasn't long before the entire group was comprised of his peers.

And these hunters held no affection or patience for him.

Their faces were cold, irritated, but he knew that would change. Once the blood started to flow those eyes would heat up. Become hungry. There were a few of them, Tony knew, who would clench their jaw and look away. The older shifters, the ones who remembered how it used to be before. But Brock, head hunter, had surrounded himself with like minded wolves. None other, afterall, would countenance what was about to happen. 

Much to Tony’s surprise the next hunter to walk through the underbrush was none other than Brock himself.

“Surprised to see me, Tony?” There was an angry sneer in his voice as he stalked toward him. Tony snarled, flashing fang in warning, hackles raised at the barely controlled violence in Brock’s every movement. Usually when his nemesis ran him to ground it was with eyes glittering with victory and an unholy grin spread across his face. Tony had learned to fear those eyes, that smile. 

But the look on his face now as he came striding across the clearing? There was a palpable anger vibrating through every fiber of his body. His lips were pulled back into his own, very human, snarl, black eyes glittering with malice.

Tony felt his ears press down and backwards, his tail tucking despite his resolve to stand firm. 

If Brock had given him some of the worst beatings of his life when he looked happy, what would he do now - when he looked absolutely murderous? A panicked look around the circle showed that only Brock’s closest friends and fellow hunters surrounded him.

This…this did not bode well for Tony.

“You think you’re going to get away with drugging me? Your father is furious at your duplicity, some of the other wolves are calling for your blood.” Brock growled, coming to a stop mere feet from him. “I’m of a mind to give it to them. Shift back. Now.”

Tony could feel the force of his dominance pressing down on him, a weighty thing. If he were any other shifter in the pack Tony would have complied immediately. 

He wouldn't have had a choice. That was an Alpha command, one laced with the power of his dominance. 

Less dominant wolves were helpless against such a command. The instinct to obey ingrained into their very being. If an Alpha was powerful enough, dominant enough, he could force a less dominant wolf to do his bidding despite how reprehensible they found it. Most shifters didn't wield that kind of dominance. Not even his father, with the boosted strength of pack Alpha, could issue such a command. 

It didn't matter in any case. Tony was not like other wolves. He was Omega. So low on the totem pole, so removed from the pack structure, that not even the piercing command of an Alpha could touch him. 

Instead of obeying Tony let out a long, defiant, growl with raised hackles. Despite his tail between his legs and his ears pressed flat to his head, he was ready to fight. He wouldn't go down easy. He wasn't stupid either. He knew that nothing good was about to come from the threatening form of Brock.

“Archers.” The simple command sent fear snaking down his spine as three of the hunters drew their bows, notched their arrows, and pointed them toward him.

“I don’t have to kill you, Tony. I won’t. Your father wants you returned to the pack.” The disgust in Brock’s tone was evident. 

Clearly, he didn't agree. 

Most people didn't like to be made a fool of. But a self important, arrogant,  shifter like Brock? He would absolutely loathe it. It would challenge some deep seated belief that he was the best of the best. A lowly upstart omega like Tony pulling one over on him was absolutely unthinkable to him. Some more macho Alpha bullshit.

 “But that doesn't mean you have to be in any sort of shape to walk back. You’re either going to shift back now, or we’re going to put these arrows into you. The spine is such a fragile thing you know,” He said with a sort of false nonchalance “hit it just right and you can paralyze your prey. I’m sure you'll heal from it eventually, but not before I break both of your legs so badly there will be no coming back from it. It will be the last time we play this little game of chase.”

The cold, calculated, cruelty let Tony know that Brock meant it. He would hobble him, perhaps even slice the tendons at the back of his ankles. 

He would take away Tony’s ability to run.

To be a wolf and not feel the air combing through his fur as he ran with all four paws pressed to the earth… the thought was terrifying. Almost as terrifying as the beating he knew was coming. Brock would not be merciful.

He knew this.

But what was his alternative? He could try fighting back, but there was only one of him and so many of them. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, it never was. In the past, any time it had seemed like the tables were turning in Tony’s favor, someone stepped in to push him back down. Either way he sliced it, this confrontation ended with his humiliation and pain. 

So he could let them beat him, likely rape him too - as was Brock’s wont, or they would take away his ability to run. The cold horror of that possibility was growing inside of him. He knew they’d do it. Hold him down, maim him, and drag him back to the pack to finish what they started. If he had any hope of ever getting out of this hellhole of a pack alive he needed to be able to use his legs. 

Tony had to focus on the long game. Even if that game was a terrible one that he long ago would have opted out of if given the choice.

When had he ever been given the choice?

Defeated, shaking, Tony closed his eyes and shifted. 

His shifts were fast, seamless, the pain bone-crackingly fierce and agonizing but fleeting. There weren't many that could shift from wolf to human or vice versa as fast as Tony could. Not even his father, and he had the entire pack to draw power from. Which was why it enraged Brock so much every time he witnessed one of Tony’s shifts. One moment Tony had been standing on the ground, four feet planted, and in the next he was crouched down on his human haunches, looking up through a curtain of too-long hair with a caged wariness. 

He had time to draw in one, deep breath and then Brock was upon him. A hard hand crashed against the side of his face, an open handed slap that sent him careening to the forest floor. Tony lay there, unmoving, his eyes fluttering closed at the throbbing on the side of his face. He didn't dare move.

When he was younger he used to fight back. His pride not allowing him to go down without a fight, to be complacent in his own destruction. He learned, over time, that it was easier and less painful to just allow it to happen. 

“Get up. On your knees. That’s it, that’s a good little bitch.” Tony raised his body slowly off the ground until he knelt at Brock’s feet.. 

Jaw tight, Tony allowed his body to move with the second blow as it crashed again into the side of his face. The copper tang of blood exploded in his mouth, his ears ringing with the force of the blow. He could feel his cheek burning, swelling.

“I can’t do anything to your precious little fingers or arms, on your father orders.” Brock sneered, eyes flashing with the force of his rage. “We need our little weaponsmith able to produce. But he didn't say anything about your legs, you stupid fuckhole . You can design your little weapons sitting down. Hell, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll have to.” A  manic sort of smile stretched across his face. He looked unhinged. 

“The only way you’ll be able to get around after I’m done tearing you apart is by crawling on your hands and knees. Which is where you’ve always belonged, isn't it Tony?  Hope this little escape attempt was worth it, Omega. ”

Tony’s eyes widened in horror at the implication. Imagined crawling around the village, his legs nothing but useless, twisted, lumps of torn flesh behind him. His stomach turned. He’d be defenseless. 

“No.” His hand came up, defensively as he reeled backward. “Y-you said…”

Brock cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, I lied. I think I’m going to enjoy this. Feel free to cry for me.”

Tony felt his heart lurch up into his throat, his gaze casting around the circle of Pack Hunters wildly, searching for even just one sympathetic face. Just one person who would step forward and put a stop to this… this madness. All he saw was stone cold resolve and malice. He felt something inside of him shrivel then, some last vestige of hope, and he flinched as he fell backward, his stomach tight with a mixture of fear and dread. 

They were going to break his legs. And not just a simple break either, if the look in Brock’s eyes was anything to go by. He was never…never going to be able to walk again, let alone run. 

“Please, Brock -” He bit off the plea, watching the way the other wolf’s eyes lit up. Like he was enjoying the groveling. The scent of his fear. Like he was savoring it. 

And Tony was scared. The acrid scent of it saturated the air around them. 

Brock made to take another step toward him, but froze at the spine chilling growl that ripped through the air. The hunters surrounding them went from lax bystanders, to fearfully alert. There was a presence in the wood that had not been there a moment ago. Something tangible. 

Menacing.

It wasn't often that the predator felt like prey. The fine hairs on Tony’s arms and the back of his neck raised as a shudder traced a jagged path down his spine.

A familiar golden wolf prowled out of the woods, his movements surprisingly liquid and smooth for such a large shifter.

He was just as huge as Tony remembered, bigger actually. 

Most shifters, when they took the skin of the wolf, stood at roughly the same height as the natural born wolves. Tony was amongst that number, his wolf big for an Omega, but average in size. This golden creature slinking through the clearing was massive . The top of his head would reach Tony’s shoulder, standing. 

His form was stocky with muscle, power and command in every step he took. The others nearly fell over themselves in an attempt to get out of the way. One hunter, nervous, must have let slip the arrow notched on his bow. The wolf simply sidestepped the projectile, fangs bared in a warning snarl that sent most of the shifters in the clearing flinching to their knees. The ones in wolf form were already on their bellies. Pressed flat in submission. They knew a true Alpha when they saw one. Felt one.

Because there was absolutely no other way to describe the power pouring off the beast. It was palpable. Oppressive. Like a heavy hand forcing them down.

Tony was intensely glad he was already on the ground.

Brock had turned away to face the new threat, but even Tony could see his tormentor’s knees quiver slightly. Then, in a single blink, the golden wolf transformed into the stern faced Alpha from earlier. It looked like Tony wasn't the only one who could shift quickly. The transformation from wolf to man was seamless. Faster, he realized with no small amount of shock, than his own shift. He was clearly a powerful Alpha in his own right. Not a wolf to be trifled with.

And Tony had attacked him not even half an hour ago, kneeing the Alpha’s vulnerable dangly bits hard enough to drive them up into the back of his throat. Tony remembered the feeling of victory and vindication that had swept through him as the big, powerful, shifter had fallen to his knees. His words a garbled wheeze. He remembered the smug flash of victory at teaching the stubborn wolf a lesson - one should never underestimate an omega.

Now? He could taste fear and regret on his tongue. Because this Alpha was pissed.  

What was left of his spine collapsed then. Pathetically, Tony scuttled backward until his back collided with the tree behind him. His fingertips curled into leaf litter, eyes impossibly wide, as the mystery Alpha stalked forward. Coming right for him.

Oh fuck. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

He was so dead. 

Instead of having one dominant and aggressive wolf to contend with, he now had two . And he knew which one he feared more.

Better the devil you know, and all that.

“Don’t even think about it, son.” The Alpha’s voice was gravel rough and laced with warning as he held a stern finger up at the hunter who had just pulled a knife. “Put the weapon down.” There was a soft clatter of bows and knives falling to the forest floor as the less dominant wolves were forced to obey that command, followed by the sound of kneecaps thudding against the earth. A quick glance up showed the entire group of hunters, necks bared, eyes averted in submission to the man who prowled into the center of the circle. 

Brock was still standing, but he was weaving on his feet, clearly fighting his instincts to bare his throat to the more powerful wolf.  The Alpha’s eyes ran over Brock from head to toe, his gaze coolly assessing. Slowly that gaze drifted over Brock’s shoulder, disregarding him completely as any sort of threat, before landing on Tony’s cowering form.

Tony met the gold eyes of the Alpha’s wolf, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. It was never a good sign when a shifter’s eyes glowed with the power of their wolf. It meant that the wolf was close to the surface, that their control was tenuous, and was usually only brought on by intense emotion.

He froze, like a deer caught in the sharp eyed gaze of an apex predator, as yet another low growl spilled from the Alpha’s lips. Tony felt pinned in place by that hard gaze. He couldn't move if he wanted. And he very, very, much wanted to.

He strode toward Tony’s prone form, shoulder checking a wide-eyed and speechless Brock out of the way. Brock spun, falling to one knee, staring in a mixture of fear and awe at the Alpha. 

Fuck it. He’d take his chances. Tony’s muscles tensed. Ready to run. To flee. 

“Don’t.” The command was barked, low and harsh, a whip of sound that had the shifters around him hissing and groaning at the painful command. Even as an Omega Tony could feel the weight of the Alpha’s dominance. The sting of it. If he wanted to he could shrug it off. Ignore the command and make a run for it. It didn't feel good - but he could do it.

It would be suicide. He’d never make it.

He raised his hands in the air, arms trembling, as he dropped his gaze and turned his head. 

Instant submission.

Brock let out an affronted growl, a sound which was bit off abruptly, at the display. Not once had Tony bared his throat in submission to Brock. Always Brock had to force Tony to bare his throat and avert his eyes. He had never capitulated so easily. But this newcomer? He was a different breed of wolf entirely. And Tony had already fucked up. 

Badly. 

He couldn’t breathe around the panic that was swamping his system. His throat was too tight, his chest burning, he could feel his muscles trembling. There was a soft, anxious, rumble of sound. It took Tony a second to realize it was coming from him.

“-sorry, ‘msorry’msorry-“ he was whispering it over and over, his tongue a tangle around the words that were bit off with a high pitched yelp as the Alpha crouched down in front of him. He was so close that Tony could feel the biting heat of his body. Tony didn't dare breathe, kept his face turned away, his eyes lowered. The perfect display of submission.

And yet the Alpha still carried the peppery scent of anger. It filled his nostrils, burned the back of his throat. Tony had to fight the urge to sneeze. This…this was probably going to hurt.Would the Alpha kill him? Would his death come fast or slow?

Tony startled at the soft rasp of warm fingers against his chin. Slowly, inexorably, those fingers turned Tony’s face, tilting his chin up in a way that was clearly designed to catch his eyes. Tony kept his gaze pointed down, breath thin and trembling.

A soft growl rumbled past the Alpha’s lips. Tony flinched. He couldn't help it. With his back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, and the Alpha crouched in front of him - there was no escaping this. Whatever this was. Maybe when he was done beating on him, he’d give whatever was left to Brock. The thought turned his stomach.

“ Breathe.” The command, backed with power, startled Tony enough that he sucked in an unconscious breath of air. Fingertips, feather light, ghosted over the pulsing ache of his cheek.

The Alpha let out a soft noise then, an irritated huff of breath, before pulling his hands away. Hesitantly, Tony flicked his gaze up toward the Alpha’s face. It was a study in stern lines, anger flaring hot in his wolf-bright eyes. He watched as the man visibly reeled himself back in, the anger tucked away. Out of sight. 

The transformation was staggering.

Tony didn't fight as the Alpha’s hand wrapped around his bicep, pulling him to his feet. He kept his gaze averted, his motions pliant. He didn't dare draw any more of that rage unto himself.

“I seek an audience with the Alpha of the Starkland Pack. Where might I find him?” 

And just like that, the tension in the clearing dropped. The overwhelming wave of power pouring from the man simply disappeared, popped like a soap bubble floating on an afternoon breeze. There one minute, gone the next. 

Every single shifter in that clearing let out a relieved breath, including Tony himself. He was trembling, he realized, cursing himself for his weakness. His fear. Taking a deep breath he forced the emotions down, away. Fear wouldn't help him now. 

He wasn't sure anything really could, not with the hard press of those fingers wrapped around his arm. He wouldn't get away with fooling this man again. It would be absolute suicide to try.

This time there would be no escape… his opportunity to run had been lost.

—----------------------------------------------------

Steve wasn't entirely sure, but he suspected he had made a gross miscalculation. 

He liked to pride himself on his sense for people, the natural born instincts of his wolf a driving force in many of his interactions with others. It had never let him down. Not to date. 

Except…maybe in this case. There was something about this particular Omega that had his normally stoic wolf all addled brained and left footed. Half the time it felt like he was chasing his own tail, the other half of the time he was actually physically chasing after the Omega himself. That little shit could run fast. Faster than most of the wolves in his pack. And Steve had a lot of wolves in his pack. Natasha would have a field day with the kid. He shook the thought away.

He had been too far away to hear the words the other wolf had said in that clearing. But he had been close enough to hear the tone. 

Malicious. 

Cruel. 

And the scent riding the air? The one that had his hackles rising, lip pulling back into a snarl?

It was the acrid, sour, scent of fear. They had caught his little omega, at least a dozen wolves by the sound and scent of it, and were in the process of scaring him out of his mind. A brave, fiery, little shit like that? Steve could only imagine what they would have had to do, had to threaten, to elicit such a reaction from the whelp.  Not that the Omega couldn't do with a stern talking to. Steve was sorely tempted, himself, to throw the imp over his knee and give him a well deserved paddling for that underhanded knee to the groin. Which was still pulsating with sharp pin pricks of pain, thank-you-very-much.

A larger part of him respected the Omega more for it though. But that was a rabbit of a thought that Steve refused to chase to the ground. It wouldn't do to admire him. Admiration, fondness, it only led to things that Steve was in no position to offer. He simply wasn’t ready for that yet. The life he led was often a bloody and violent one, with rare moments of peace interspersed within. 

It was no life for a mate. For a family.

Even still, when the scent of the Omega’s fear reached his nose, Steve had immediately lurched into a hard run - an unfamiliar fury burning like wildfire through his veins, sparking hot and uncontrollable in his heart. He let out a growl at the menacing tone, followed by his little friend’s softer voice -stuttering in a plea.

When he came into the clearing heartbeats later the sight that greeted him was like a punch to the gut. There, in the center of the clearing on the ground, knelt the little spitfire Omega with the sharp tongue. Only those warm whiskey eyes were no longer flashing with irritation, but wide and wet with pain and fear. He could make out a dark red mark, an abrasion of some sort, on the side of his face. Scented the copper tang of blood in the air, saw traces of it on the Omega’s lip. 

He was surrounded by an entire hunting party worth of shifters. All of them standing in a circle, hands on weapons, eyes hard as they watched the taller, more dominant, wolf in the center of the clearing advance on the Omega. Not a single one of them so much as twitched to help the smaller wolf. 

What the fuck?

What kind of pack was this? 

Of course Steve had intervened. He’d had no choice but to - as it was becoming increasingly obvious not a single shifter among them was inclined to. If there was one thing he had never been able to tolerate it was bullies. It didn't matter who they were, or what pack they hailed from. Steve had never been one to look the other way when bullying was being served out. He let the rage he felt at the injustice permeate the air around him. Felt the other shifters in that clearing shrink back and cower from him.

Good. Let them get a taste of their own medicine. 

He let the young wolf who had been throwing around his dominance like it was a poorly designed bludgeoning tool feel the crackling burn of Steve’s own power. He didn't even need to pull on the pack bonds for these wolves to feel the bite and sting of his power snapping across their skin. That was purely, one hundred percent, him.  He let that boy know, without words, that if he wanted to he could take him down. He wouldn’t even have to lift a finger to do it.

And then he went to see about the Omega, who was scuttling back from him across the ground, pressing himself against the tree at his back as if he were hoping that it would swallow him whole. 

He could see that same wild look in his eyes, in the lines of tension in his body as the Omega seemed to be gathering himself to flee.

“Don’t.” The command came out past gritted teeth. The smell of the younger man’s fear stung his nostrils, and Steve watched as the smaller shifter instinctively flinched back. Frozen. He could hear the wild beat of the kid's heart in the deathly still clearing. 

Steve hated the scent of his fear. Hated the way the Omega bared his throat in submission, arms trembling as he raised them. As if he thought Steve would raise his hand in violence to an Omega. Especially this Omega, who was so scared that Steve could actually taste it on the air, the cocky swagger from earlier completely gone. It made something in his stomach tighten. Twist. He refused to look too hard at that feeling.

What had they done to him?

Gently Steve hooked a finger under his chin and tilted the Omega’s face toward him. He had to bite off the growl that was growing in the back of his throat as his gaze took in the pinkened abrasion on the young shifter’s cheek. There was a clear outline of a hand print. He had been slapped so hard that his lip had been bloodied in the process.

After that it took an inconceivable amount of self control to reel in his anger. The only reason he was even remotely successful at it was the stark fear shining in the Omega’s flinching eyes. 

He was scaring his fierce little wolf. 

Unacceptable.

So with a deep breath he tucked away all that anger and outrage. Buried it deep down. He purposefully did not look at the Omega as he dragged him up to his feet. One glance at the Omega would bring all those barely restrained emotions to the fore. Then, with a voice that was deceptively smooth and placid, he demanded to be brought to the Alpha of the Starkland Pack.

It looked like Steve needed to have words with that wolf. The urge to clean house, dispose of every shifter in this clearing who had stood by and watched the abuse of the Omega  was one that had been hard to fight against. In the end Steve reasoned, as he wrestled the instincts of his wolf back, he would speak with this Alpha. Gauge how far the corruption went. 

Then and only then would he act accordingly. 

He watched the wolves in the clearing all but stumble over themselves in their relief at his words, all of them talking over each other in an effort to placate this new, stronger, wolf in their midst. They might not know him on sight, but it wouldnt take long for them to figure out who he was and what had brought him here. There were only so many blue eyed, blonde haired, Alpha’s that held his level of dominance. Of power.

The wolf who had struck the Omega watched him with narrowed eyes. His lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. It was impossible to miss the anger flashing in those dark eyes, the barely restrained violence. If this had been a wolf in his pack, Steve thought with a narrowed eyed stare, he would have long ago put him down. There was something inherently wrong with a wolf who would strike an Omega like that. Twisted. He had to close his eyes against the sudden urge to snap the wolf’s neck. It would not be wise. Hell, it would definitely be an act of war.

Steve wasnt here to make war. He had just come back from his latest victory. He was hoping for a time of peace, a time for his pack to take a collective breath and relax from the constant struggles being thrown their way. 

And yet…there was nothing more that Steve wished for, in that moment, than for that would-be-alpha to attack him. If he made the first move Steve would delight in putting him down. It would be self defense and a service to this pack. His eyes shone with it. Daring the wolf to touch him. To lunge. To do anything, anything at all,  that could be considered a threat.

Unfortunately the other wolf, coward that he was, merely looked on with angry, watchful, eyes. Steve got the feeling that such behavior was out of character, the way the rest of the wolves in the hunting group kept darting nervous glances toward him.

In the end, Steve led the party back to where he had abandoned his pack to chase after his little captive. He could feel the smaller wolf shaking, a fine trembling that was almost imperceptible to the eye. Whatever had happened in that clearing before Steve arrived had rattled the Omega. His anger had not helped matters.

His chest grew tight with guilt. 

He knew now that by all rights he should be leading this Omega out of the packlands. That he had been wrong to intercept him. That he had been wrong in thinking this headstrong, sharp tongued, Omega was a spoiled but beloved member of the pack. He now saw that the whelp’s sharp tongue and inner strength had been developed not by being pampered and coddled, but had been forged in the fires of his mistreatment. Steve fiercely hoped this was not true. But if it were? He marveled at the inner strength of the young Omega in his grasp. This was no fragile, wilting, flower. This young wolf would have an inner strength, an iron core, to withstand the attentions of that wolf in the clearing.  

Still. Steve could not act on assumptions. He needed to know, for sure, how this pack was run. Just because a group of wolves were picking on an Omega did not mean that the Alpha was corrupt or that the entire pack needed to be razed to the ground - despite the way the wolf inside of him was howling to do just that. So Steve set his jaw, kept his face carefully blank, and allowed the Starkland pack wolves to surround him and lead him back to their Alpha. 

They would see, soon, what type of pack this was after all.

Chapter Text

Steve stared out into the unseasonably chill night, his lips pressed into a grim line, his gaze unfocused. Dancing tendrils of smoke trailed upward from the large crackling bonfire in the center of the clearing. There was a good group of shifters milling about here, the night full of the hum of conversation, interspersed with barks of merry laughter. There was even a small gaggle of wolf pups chasing each other around the fire, tongues lolling in their exhilarating race to be the leader, unconcerned by the amused adults they nearly bowled over. The scent of ale, smoking meat, and the sound of voices raised in mirth carried across the clearing. 

It all seemed so very normal.

And yet the past few hours had been as illuminating as they had been confusing. As he sat there on a recently felled log next to the Starkland Pack Alpha who was in the midst of regaling him with yet another story of the good ol’ glory days, Steve had to admit that on the surface this pack looked to be one that was well run. Healthy. 

Had he come here and never run into the fierce omega with the sharp tongue and snapping eyes, he would likely not have suspected these wolves being capable of anything truly nefarious. He certainly would not have been on guard for it. They had been nothing but welcoming with wide smiles and a warm invitation to join them for the full moon run that was scheduled to take place that night. 

When Steve and the others had brought back the omega, the boy had immediately been ushered into his father’s waiting arms. If things had gone to plan, Steve might not have noticed the way the whelp flinched back from his Father before being wrapped into a tight hug. Would have never noticed the shock that had flitted across his face before being replaced by a stony sort of stillness that seemed unnatural for the naturally expressive omega…

And then Steve had been thanked profusely for his part in making sure the Alpha’s cherished son was brought home unharmed. Steve had merely nodded, not trusting his voice or the furtively sullen looks the young wolf named Brock had been shooting his way. There was a chance, albeit a slim one, that the Alpha of this pack really may not have any idea what his wolves were up to. 

Steve honestly wasn't sure what he would prefer. 

One meant the Alpha of the Starkland pack was innocent, yet incompetent. It was his son, after all, that was bearing the brunt of the other wolves' abuse. How could such a man command an entire pack, and not notice the abuse going on under his own roof? 

The other option, which Steve suspected was the more likely of the two, was that this Alpha with his charming smiles and seemingly genial disposition was a cunning liar. A snake. That he knew and likely endorsed the abuse taking place under his nose. 

Either way, he would not be remaining Alpha for long. 

Steve could no more allow an incompetent Alpha to lead an up-and-coming pack such as this one, made more popular by the demand for their weapons, than he could allow an Alpha to torture and abuse an omega under his watch.

But Steve would be making no sudden moves tonight. He would do nothing to give away his suspicions or plans. For all Alpha Stark knew, Steve was here to visit the fabled pack with the master weaponsmith. He had the gold to pay his way, and had not missed the way Alpha Stark’s eyes had lit up at the prospect when he had pulled his broken shield out of his knapsack.

Howard had made the omega apologize to Steve for the trouble he had caused, and thank him for getting him home safely. Steve’s sharp eyes didn't miss the way Howard’s fingertips pressed just a touch too hard into the omega’s shoulders. The subtle threat there. And, oh, the omega had apologized alright. It was the most stilted, wooden, apology Steve had ever received. The boy couldn’t even look him in the eyes as he stuttered it out between his clenched teeth.

Watch…Wait. The instincts of his wolf were whispering to him, hackles raised at the way those amber eyes flinched at any sudden movement. 

He stayed quiet as the omega, Anthony, was sent away. If Brock had taken a single step toward the boy, Steve’s calm facade would have been dropped in a heartbeat. He would not tolerate any further violence toward the smaller wolf. That upstart shifter’s neck would have been snapped before the asshole could even think about laying another finger on the kid. The wolf in question must have had some sort of self preservation instincts though, because he made absolutely no move to be near Anthony, careful to keep Steve within his line of sight.

Good.

Clearly something was happening here. Something that was setting his teeth on edge, making him wary of the friendly smiles Howard kept shooting his way. As if Steve would be fooled by the display. It was proving an effort to keep his own face free from the thoughts that were crossing his mind, a feat he managed through sheer force of will. He was no Natasha or Clint, and certainly not in the same league as those two when it came to subterfuge. Still, he liked to think that they, too, would be hard pressed to keep their composure.

It was after the run that he had been invited to sit by the Alpha’s fire. Howard had been all wide smiles, the thrill of the hunt still shining in his eyes. The pack had a successful run that had ended in a hunt, a temptation most wolf shifters couldn't resist when running together, and had taken down three bucks in total. Everyone had feasted and gloried in their leader’s strength as it was Howard that had made the first killing blow. 

It was, however, the run itself that had further cemented Steve’s concerns. Although Howard was sitting next to him, proud and with the taste of victory on his tongue, he failed to see how he had shown his hand during his little hunting foray. It gave Steve the idea of what kind of pack leader he was working with here.

A full moon run was universally known as a pack event, from the littlest of whelps to the oldest and most ancient of shifters. There were very few reasons a shifter would miss out on a group bonding exercise such as this. There were, for example, a few older wolves in Steve’s own pack that chose to sit the run out. Knowing that their limited gait would only slow the youngsters down. They still shifted though, beneath the light of the full moon, and gloried in her glow. Raised their voices in a howling song that rang through the night air. 

It was a time of joy and celebration, of coming together beneath the pale loving light of the Mother Moon. To bathe in her soft glow, feel connected to both her and nature, and the wild magic that ran through their veins, and to forge bonds and promote harmony. They were supposed to run as a pack,  to run as one, the strong protecting the weak. The elders lending their wisdom and guidance, teaching the younger generations. 

That is not what happened on this night, on this run. 

While the strongest wolves, the alphas and hunters, forged ahead in their race to bring down the biggest buck and to prove their prowess, the older and weaker shifters had been left in their dust. Steve had hung back, keeping pace with some of the older wolves and young pups, guiding them over the rough mountain terrain and helping the new mothers reign in their rambunctious pups who seemed hell bent on running off. It was like herding cats, Steve had found much to his chagrin, and no amount of stern looks or soft warning growls was enough to correct their behavior. They had Steve pegged, correctly it seemed, as a giant softy. He would no more harm a rambunctious pup than he would a sassy, smart mouthed, omega. Which is how he found himself, by the end of the run, covered in an array of wolf pups. They had sunk their sharp little teeth into his thick coat, he’d even had a couple of them dangling off his ears, much to their mothers collective amusement and chagrin. Steve might have grumbled a bit, but it wasn’t a sincere protest. He had always loved being around the little ones. He found it easy to imagine Anthony as one of these rambunctious pups, eager to sink his teeth into an older, stronger, opponent.

Speaking of which, the omega in question was markedly absent. He supposed it could be chalked up to a punishment of sorts, but a part of him wondered how many full moon runs the fiery little omega had been excluded from for one reason or another.

Of course, it wasn't uncommon for young wolves who had bumbled badly to be restricted from pack runs. He himself had been forced to sit out a full moon run on more than one occasion as a youngster, and he had hated every second of it. Steve wasn't sure he saw the sense in it, though, and not just because he knew first hand how isolating and chafing it could feel not to run with the pack. 

Although the runs were, indeed, fun and even exhilarating, they were a way for the pack to come together. In his opinion, if a youth was acting out then the best thing for them would be for their pack to show them how they were supposed to behave. What it meant to run together, to work for each other. That's why full moon runs were mandatory in his pack. If a young wolf was acting up then more often than not they would be forced to run with the Alpha of the pack. He knew that could be daunting, to have the stern gaze of the Alpha turned upon you, to make sure that not a single paw was stepped out of line. But he had also witnessed, first hand, how the youngsters seemed to blossom under his praise. As stern as Steve could sometimes be, he doled out praise in equal measure when it was due. Steve liked to lead by example. 

But to each their own, he supposed. 

Which begged the question…if all the wolves from the pack were here on this run, with the sole exception of the omega, then how were they making sure the whelp did not run off again? Steve had to swallow down the irritated growl at the thought of just how they would go about ensuring that. Did they have Anthony locked in a room somewhere? Tied up? Was he scared? Hurt? Steve wasn't sure what he would do if he discovered the omega was facing further abuse.

His guts writhed uneasily. With guilt. He had found an omega on the border of the territory and marched him right back into the open arms of his abusers. He hadn't listened when the kid told him he didn't want to go back. Steve prided himself on his ability to assess a situation with a level head. He hadn't asked why. He had just assumed that this upstart omega was a spoiled pack princess. With everything he had seen in his life, all the atrocities committed, one would think that he would have known to ask. To question it. 

There was something about this omega that distracted him. Made him feel left footed and flustered. And so he had bumbled. Badly. 

Now it was on him to fix it.

It did no good to dwell on such things at the moment. He ignored the uncomfortable feeling bristling in his chest. Instead Steve put his nose to the ground, determination steeling inside of him with every step he took. 

It had been a relief to reach the clearing and shift back to two legs. That was when the party had started, the kegs of ale rolled out, with wolves of all ages laughing and buzzing with the thrill of the run. Alpha Stark had beckoned Steve over to his side of the fire and plied him with both food and ale. The man was charming, funny, and sharp as fangs. Steve knew, however, that there was more to the man than met the eye. The proof, after all, was sitting across the clearing with his head bowed and his jaw locked.

Wherever they had been keeping the omega, they must have released him for the party. Most probably because of Steve’s searching gaze, he made no secret of his desire to see the boy. He knew Alpha Stark was nervous, could smell the faintest hint of fear-sweat, and visibly see the way the Alpha’s pulse fluttered in his neck. Steve was used to making others uncomfortable even when he wasn't trying. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of.  And he certainly wasn't trying now, but it was hard to hide his natural dominance. It’s why he actively avoided the other Alpha’s gaze. He could have hidden it better, and had in the past, but his wolf was clearly agitated and Steve’s control more tenuous than usual.

So when Anthony had finally made his way through the throng of shifters and headed toward that ruffian Brock, Steve had all but bristled in agitation. Something that didn't go unnoticed by the elder Stark. 

“Ah, yes. I must thank you again for returning my son to me. I’m afraid he had a bit of…what do they call them? Ah, the mating jitters.”

Steve turned his head slowly toward the other Alpha, tearing his gaze away from Anthony who was now being pulled down forcefully onto Brock’s lap. He could hear the sharp barks of laughter coming from the group of shifters across the way as the  young omega was manhandled onto Brock’s knee. Could see the glint of triumph in the poor-excuse-for-an-alpha’s eyes as they boldly met his gaze. As if Steve didn't have the ability to send him crashing to his knees with just a look. As if he couldn't, or wouldn't, separate his head from his shoulders if given the merest provocation to do so. The nasty smirk that curled on Brock’s lip as his hands fell to the omega’s waist, pressing down, making the boy grind himself against his knee had his hackles raising. There was a familiarity there, in his touch. A claiming that did not go unnoticed by Steve. Or Steve’s wolf, for that matter. 

It made the beast inside of him snarl. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, knowing they would be glowing with his wolf. Such a loss of control - it wasn't typical for him by any means. He forced his clenched fingers to relax, his jaw to loosen. Took a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly.

“Mating jitters?” Steve questioned, proud of how calm his voice was. Downright mild, as a matter of fact.

“Yes, Anthony is to be mated to my second, Brock, tomorrow. He’s still young, full of fanciful ideas, and doesn't yet realize that this is what is best for him.”

“Mating within the pack is rather unusual, Alpha Stark. You believe this… Brock to be what is best for him?” Steve’s voice was painfully mild. 

Alpha Stark turned to him with a tight smile. “Yes, there are very few wolves I would trust more with my son. It is what is best for both him and, in the long run, this pack. Anthony is my only son, my only child. Our pack has,” Howard paused with a soft hum of thought  “traditional values. The Starks have been the leaders of this pack for countless generations. With Anthony as Brock’s mate, the Stark bloodline will continue.” Howard chuckled softly, his rueful tone rubbing Steve the wrong way. “I know that Anthony wants to leave. Explore the world. Perhaps find a mate outside of our borders. His mating to Brock will give this pack a stability that our wolves desperately need during these turbulent times.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “You mean the war?”

Howard nodded, taking a long pull from his tankard. “The war indeed. The Starkland pack has found itself in a…somewhat precarious position. Our weapons and craftsmanship are renowned and we are quickly making a name for ourselves across all of the Northern territories.” 

Steve nodded as Howard met his gaze boldly. 

“We have to be very careful. There are those who would try to take what we have painstakingly built here over the course of several generations. They are threatened by our success and want it for themselves. We, of course, intend to remain neutral but there are whispers of discontent. Threats at our borders. There are those who would stop us from supplying their enemies with our weapons.” Howard leaned back, fingers spread wide, lips pressed into a grim line.

“It makes my wolves nervous. It makes me nervous. This pack needs stability, but it also needs strong allies. Allies that will stop the threat at our borders from taking over.”

Steve nodded slowly, a creeping, uncomfortable, suspicion forming in his gut. 

“There isn't much I wouldn't offer such an ally.” Howard’s eyes had lost their earlier sparkle. The facade falling away to show the cunning animal beneath the mask. “Such an ally need only ask and their entire pack could be outfitted with our best weapons of war. Our best shields . Such an advantage could turn the tide in a battle, no?” Howard paused, his smile a bit hard, his tone mildly suggestive. Almost oily. 

“What will it take to earn your protection, Alpha Rogers?”

So, he had been recognized. He shouldn’t be surprised. There weren’t many wolves alive with his level of dominance. Perhaps it was the shield, broken and in need of mending, that had shown his hand. Perhaps it was his stature, or his easy dominance. He was not ignorant to the rumors that surrounded him and his pack. Whatever the reason, the clever Alpha Stark had recognized him. 

Steve leaned back, a look of solemn contemplation on his face, despite the way his wolf snapped and snarled on the inside. He didn't want to be allies with this shifter, with this pack. And Howard wasn't asking for his protection from other packs, though Steve was sure that would be a bonus, he was asking for protection from Steve’s pack . Which, if the Starkland pack had been on the up and up, he would have never needed to worry about. 

Steve didn't make it a habit to go after innocent shifters. He went after the rotten, cancerous, packs that bullied, beat, and killed their pack members. Sometimes it was as simple as switching out the Alpha of the pack. Sometimes the whole pack had to be put down. Steve didn't relish it.

There were good shifters here, shifters who didn't deserve to die because their leader was a morally corrupt bastard. How could he protect this man? This pack?

But then his gaze was drawn over toward that damnable omega again. The one who haunted his thoughts. The one who had pulled him out of that river, breathed life back into his lungs. That fierce little creature had saved his life and Steve owed him a debt of gratitude. 

If he were being truly honest with himself, he owed the little omega more than that. 

It was Steve, after all, that had driven the omega back from the border and into the waiting arms of his abusers. Steve looked over, across the clearing, to see that the omega was facing him now, perched awkwardly on Brock’s knee, the curtain of his hair hiding his expressive eyes from view. But Steve didn't need to see the omega’s face to know that he was humiliated. It was there in the tight line of his body, in the way his shoulders seemed to curl in on themselves, the way his fingers bit into his own thighs. The omega’s lips were pressed into a thin line, pulling down at the corners, even as a bright flush crawled up his neck and into his cheeks. Brock had one hand on the boy’s hip, making him grind down on his knee like a bitch in heat, while the other hand had worked its way beneath the omega’s shirt. In front of a group of their peers. Brock was making the boy debase himself, to rut against his leg in a mimicry of a sex act. He had his lips pressed to the omega's ear, no doubt whispering awful things if the way Anthony flinched was any indication. 

What was worse, in Steve’s opinion, was that there were guffaws coming from that group of wolves. As if the objectification and humiliation of the pack omega was somehow hilarious. Normal and expected, even. That his shame, his embarrassment, was something to relish. 

Something hot, possessive, and wicked rose up inside of him then. His wolf did not like anyone touching what he considered to be his.

His? Well, shit. That was an uncomfortable realization for a number of reasons. But Steve didn't have long to dwell on it.

Anger was boiling in gut, frothing over and rising up his throat like acid. It took a considerable amount of effort not to burst up from his seated position and stalk across the clearing to whip the boy away from that brute. To tear into Brock’s throat with his fangs, to taste his blood on his tongue as the life faded away from the shifter’s eyes.

He turned back to the conversation at hand, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“What would it take? Your Omega, for starters.” Steve’s voice was hard, biting. He saw Howard flinch back in shock as Steve let some of the indifferent mask he wore fall. Let the Alpha of the Starkland pack see who he was dealing with, the biting slap of power that was released as Steve let go of all pretenses. 

Howard raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of incredulity. 

“You…want Anthony?” 

As if the notion were ridiculous. What had he been expecting Steve to say? That he wanted weapons perhaps? Coin? The Starkland pack could keep their swords and bows. He and his army had been defeating their foes without those weapons for ages. They had the might, the training, the discipline and the numbers. They did not need the Starkland pack.

Steve allowed some of the beast to move into his eyes, the wolf that raged within him, with a bloodlust that could never be quenched. He saw Howard flinch backwards, nearly falling over, in an attempt to put distance between himself and Steve’s gaze. Let him see that Steve had been playing nice before. 

He wasn’t feeling so nice right now. Not with his omega perched on the lap of that mongrel. 

“ My good Goddess.” The shocked and trembling whisper carried to Steve’s ears. He had made his point. In a game of power, Howard was no match for him. None of these wolves were. 

Carefully, slowly, he tucked the beast away.

“Anthony will be mine.” There was a canid growl to his voice, the control over his wolf tenuous at best. “And Brock will no longer be your second. He is never to lead this pack in any capacity. Not in training, not even on a hunt, and never as Alpha.”

He watched Howard’s brow crumple with confusion. 

“I do not take packs under my mantle lightly, Alpha Stark.” the honorific tasted like ash on his tongue, but Steve managed to spit it out. “To earn a place as a trusted ally, certain requirements must be met. Requirements decided upon by the pack council. Your second does not meet those requirements, and he never will. We will, of course, send over a few candidates for you to choose from. Alphas who have proven themselves to be strong and capable. Who’s morals and goals align with our own.”

The implication here was strong. Brock was not worthy. He also didn’t bother to tell the other Alpha that he would be stepping down from said position sooner rather than later. Brock wasn't the only one that didn't meet the requirements.

“But Anthony -” The older shifter seemed at a loss for words. “A Stark has always led this pack.It’s…tradition.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I will allow any children I sire upon Anthony the option of leading this pack. If I have two Alpha children, the younger of the two will take over the Starkland pack.”

Howard’s lips tightened. 

“He is my son. A Stark. I can not allow him to be used as a common whore, Alpha Rogers, no matter how great your might may be.”

Steve allowed his lips to pull back into a feral smile that did not meet his eyes. It was laughable. This small man’s display. As if he held any such regard for his son who was currently being subjected to some form of abuse across the clearing. No, this was a powermove made by a little man who was used to being the biggest fish in his small pond. 

“Let me be perfectly clear, Alpha Stark. If I wanted to take your son as my concubine, there would be little you could do to stop me. Such is the might of the Avenger’s Pack.”

He allowed the self important Alpha sputter in indignation before he continued.

“As it so happens, I’m not in the market for a concubine. I intend to take Anthony to mate.”

Howard went quiet with shock. He turned his face away, gaze searching out and then finding the slight form of his only offspring. Steve watched as a muscle ticked away in the older shifter’s jaw.

“He…Anthony is not unsullied, Alpha Rogers. He has been…promiscuous. You should know that before…”

“I don't care.” Steve was shocked at how true the words were as they left his lips effortlessly. A lot of alphas preferred their omegas to be virgins. Steve wasn’t one of them. After all, he certainly wasn’t a virgin, why would  he expect his mate to be one?

Howard nodded slowly. Swallowed sharply. “That is very, ah… well. As long as you’re sure?” 

“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean, Alpha Stark.”

The older shifter flushed, dragged a hand across his mouth, and nodded. 

“I am pleased,” he sounded anything but “that Anthony has made such an… impression upon you in so short a span of time. The boy has managed to make quite the match for himself.  And upset all of my carefully laid plans in the process.” He paused,  his tight smile doing little to hide that spark of anger that was directed at his son. “And I will get to choose my successor?”

“From an approved list of applicants, yes. They will hold the pack in trust until the next Stark is able to lead it.”

Steve stared at the Alpha of the Starkland pack who now looked as if he had sucked on a lemon.

Because, truth be told, Alpha Stark had his back to the wall. War was looming on the horizon, and his pack was staring down the sharp point of a sword blade. 

“I agree to your conditions, Alpha Rogers, as long as Anthony leaves this pack a mated omega.”

That was a lot to ask of him. Especially considering that they both knew Steve was more than capable of taking over this pack right here, right now. He had enough dominance that he could snap this Alpha’s neck and assume control of the Starkland wolves with minimum effort. There were none here who could offer him any sort of challenge. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even need to pull power from the pack bonds to do so.

Matings were a cause of celebration amongst most packs. He had friends and family who would want to be there. As one of the most powerful shifters on the eastern seaboard, his mating would be akin to a royal ceremony. For him to have his mating here, at the Starkland pack, with none of his wolves in attendance would be akin to him running off and eloping. 

Steve had never been one to stand on ceremony anyway.

 And he certainly didn’t want to stay in this accursed place longer than necessary. He had a pack to run, a whole legion of shifters to look out for, countless responsibilities.

“So be it. We will have the ceremony tonight, and leave at first light.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of laughter, warm and rich, echoed around him. The scent of woodsmoke rode heavy on the air, and the bright light of a full moon shone like a beacon in the dark of the night sky. There were bodies pressed around him. Moving, laughing, dancing.The fires blazed, the snapping flames heating the cool night air. And yet as Tony cut through the crowd, the ominous words of Kenrick still ringing in his ears, he felt none of that warmth.

‘Your father wants you to go directly to Brock, he can’t not have you make an appearance at the party. Obey, put on a pretty show for the visiting Alpha, and things won’t get worse for you.’

Considering that there was blood coating the back of his tongue, shackles on his wrists that pinned his arms aloft to the cold cellar wall, and he was slated to mate Brock tomorrow in front of the entire pack, Tony wasn't sure how much worse things could get. 

He was cold. So cold. And it had nothing to do with the bite in the air because the cold seemed to come from deep inside of him. From the very marrow of his bones. It felt like warmth could no longer touch him. Tomorrow he would be given to Brock, his long time nemesis and source of his torment, as a mate. Tony had no illusions about what being Brock’s mate would likely entail. He closed his eyes against the sharp stab of fear that pierced through him. He refused to mate with that monster. 

He knew, at his first available opportunity, what it was that he needed to do.

If escape was off the table, and it most certainly was if the way the shifters in the crowd watched him carefully from the corners of their eyes, there was only one avenue of escape left to Tony. One way out of this mess. He swallowed a shuddering breath, determination growing like a twisted, thorny, vine inside of him. 

He didn't want this. 

He was a fighter by nature. And he had fought so hard and so long despite being knocked back down time and time again. As long as there was hope, he would fight. He would always fight. And hope was a fickle thing. It changed and adapted over time. 

He had once hoped that he could be the fastest, the smartest, the best. Then he had presented omega, and his hopes had been dashed. He would never be the strongest, no matter how hard he trained. Physically he was simply no match for his alpha and beta peers. So his hopes had twisted, had morphed in a different way, and he had hoped that he could make his father proud in ways not limited by his orientation. If he proved he was smart, that he could give back to the pack, could build the best weapons out there that he would someday earn his father’s regard. 

That Howard would finally see him. 

See how hard he tried, working at the forge until the wee hours of the morning. Slaving away until his palms cracked and bled from the heavy calluses. It felt so good when his father was pleased, when he presented his father with a new weapon and the old man’s eyes lit up. It had taken a while to realize that his father was pleased with the weapon itself, not the young mind that had come up with it. And there was never an end to his father’s avarice. After a time it became the expected, the norm. Brilliant weapons were just something that became required of him. Failure to produce new, complex, and breathtaking designs? It never went well for him.

 It had taken years of abuse before Tony had finally let that hope go too. It was, perhaps, the most painful one of all. 

Hope for a Father’s love. 

Finally he had turned his mind and heart to something more realistic, more tangible. Escape. Because there would, eventually, be a way out. There had to be, right? This life of his…it couldn't all be for nothing. Right? The Goddess wasnt that cruel. That cold. That indifferent, was she? And then he had been caught by the strange Alpha, he had been dragged back kicking and screaming, no amount of fight enough for the sheer size and power of the Alpha who had caught him. And he had been returned into his Father’s care.

For a brief, shining, moment Tony had tasted freedom. The hope he had held small and tight to his chest had bloomed throughout him. Filled him. It had been…indescribable. That rush of feeling. 

He should have known better. When that hoped had died, when he had been thrust into his father’s arms, he had felt the new fledgling feeling shatter like a blown glass ornament against the rocks of a riverbank. So many pieces, so many good feelings, lost forever. And now he was full of those sharp edges. Those broken dreams. They filled his chest and cut up his insides until it felt like he was bleeding with each breath he took.

He had always thought there was a way out, an end to the pain on the horizon. But now he was looking down the long blade of the rest of his life, what that might look like, what it would feel like and he knew. He knew… 

He couldn't do it anymore. 

Tony was so goddess-be-damned tired. 

He turned baleful eyes up toward the bloated moon in the sky, lips pulling down into a hard frown. Why? He questioned, not for the first time. Why me? They spoke of the mother goddess in reverent whispers, offered up love and devotion and prayers, and in return she was said to protect them. To guide them and their spirits. Mother Moon works in mysterious ways. They would say. 

Tony must be cursed by the gods because he had never known the Mother’s touch. When he ran beneath the light of her moon he felt nothing but bitter and hurt and alone. If she was so powerful, if she worked and walked amongst her wolves as the legends said, then how could she allow this? It had been years since Tony believed, truly, in the Gods.  But knowing the torment that his soon-to-be mate had in store for him? 

As soon as the visiting Alpha was gone Tony knew that so, too, would be his ability to run. Perhaps even to walk. He would never run beneath her moon again. Never feel the joy of the hunt. He would be regulated to the sidelines…a cripple. A burden. There would be no escape for him then. This…this was it.  His life would become a source of pain. Humiliation. He was strong, in so many ways, but this?

No.

He could not, would not, mate with Brock. Tony clenched his jaw into a stubborn line. His gaze traveled unwillingly through the crowd, searching out his target, his would-be mate. He sat some distance away from the rolling bonfire in a circle of his friends and fellow hunters. Their smiles were bright and knife sharp as they traded jokes and insults with one another. He knew only fresh torment awaited him there. And yet his Alpha had commanded it of him. Go to Brock. Likely knowing that Tony would not know a moment of peace in the other wolf’s presence. 

He would play their games tonight. Allow one last defeat, one last defilement of his hopes and dreams, and then the sun would finally rise on a world without Tony Stark in it.

He had no other options. He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't let them break him down into a shadow of himself.

Tony’s stomach churned and twisted, his breath coming in short pants despite his resolve to stay calm. To not show fear. Never show fear. He knew better than that, after all, it was Tony’s fear that drove Brock’s wolf to fantastic levels of violence. But Brock had seen him approach, had leaned back on the log where he sat and beckoned Tony nearer. 

What followed was…humiliating to say the least. He had been made to straddle Brock’s leg, felt the bruising press of the other wolf’s fingers as they bit into the skin at Tony’s hips. 

“That’s right you little bitch,” he sneered, his breath a hot whisper against the skin of his ear. “Grind that hole against me. Show me how you’re gonna take it. You’re lucky that fucking Alpha’s here right now or I’d already have you face down in the dirt, omega .” His fingers twisted and pinched as the wolves around him laughed and chortled. 

“Aw he looks embarrassed Brock. Don’t worry Tony, it’s nothing we haven't seen before. Hey, what do you say you let us take one more turn at him before tomorrow, Brock?”

Tony had felt a blanket of ice settle over his shoulders like a mantle, tensing every muscle in his body as Brock twisted sharply at the sensitive skin of his nipple. Tony was smart enough to keep his yelp of pain locked behind his teeth. The sound would only incite Brock’s wolf to further violence.

“I’m open to negotiations, if you make it worth my while.”

Tony shuddered and closed his eyes, head tilted down to hide his face. It’s going to be over soon, he told himself. He tried to ignore Brock and his friends as they bartered over the use of his body. Trading blades, favors, and ale. Was that all he was worth?

“Anthony!” The sharp crack of his father’s voice was enough to quiet every wolf in their little circle. Brock’s hands fell away from his hips almost reluctantly as his Father approached through the crowd, his face thunderous. 

“To me, boy. Now!”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Tony rose cautiously to his feet.

“No, Brock. Just the boy.” 

Goosebumps erupted immediately on his flesh, his eyes flying to his father’s face, searching for the meaning of this, for any clue as to what was about to happen. There was a tension in the Alpha’s body, a certain set to his shoulders, that belied how very furious he was right now. Which… Tony hadn't done anything to warrant such a display. Well, aside from running away. But his Father had been flush with a vindictive sort of victory the last he had seen him. The type that promised of future pain to come. He had a feeling this fresh wave of anger had nothing to do with his little foray along the border.

So what was it?

Woodenly he approached, bowing his head in deference as if that would ward off whatever was about to befall him.

“Come, son.” Howard’s voice was coarse as dried river sand, anger lying just beneath the surface like a banked fire. “It appears we have an announcement to make.” He clapped a hard hand on Tony’s shoulder, fingers digging in powerfully. Tony wouldn't be able to run even if he wanted to. And he very much, very desperately, wanted to. Especially as it seemed his father was leading him back to the main fire, and the stern Alpha who had stood there with a murderous scowl on his face.

“You will behave.” Howards voice was a deathly whisper as the wolves around them began to stir at the sight of their Alpha leading his son toward the main fire. “Do not think of embarrassing me here, Anthony.” This was said through teeth clenched into a broad, genial, smile. His father was putting on an act…why?

Tony swallowed sharply, stumbling over his feet as he was led quite bodily by his father toward the central fire. Had he felt cold before? He could feel sweat beading across his brow, trickling down the back of his neck and dampening his hairline. The roar of the fire (or was that his heart) was loud in his ears as the whispers began.

“Greeting wolves of the Starkland Pack!” Howard roared, a hard smile spreading across his face. It was the type of smile that didn't quite reach the older wolf’s eyes. “Another glorious full moon hunt!”

The Starkland shifters hooted and roared their approval. Clapping their hands and raising their voices. 

“We have been most blessed on this holy night. We welcome Alpha Rogers to our fire and to our hunt. May the Mother Goddess’ glow forever light your trail.”

Tony felt his stomach drop out as the crowd roared. Everyone knew who Alpha Rogers was. He was the most powerful wolf shifter of their time. Perhaps ever. His father had seemed to idolize that shifter, as news of his conquests reached their borders. 

Tony turned startled eyes toward the grim visage of one Alpha Rogers. He stood, not too far away, burly arms crossed over a broad chest, jaw tight and eyes hard.

Holy mother’s moonbeams. He had…he had kicked the most feared, fabled, shifter on the east coast in the nethers. He had sassed such an Alpha, belittled him, and somehow managed to walk away with his heart still beating in his chest. 

Immediately his mouth grew cottony and dry, his heart a  painful tattoo in his throat, choking the air out of his lungs as he stared wide eyed at the nefarious Alpha Rogers. 

“It is with great pleasure and honor that I announce that the Avengers Pack and the Starkland Pack are now allies!”

The roar that went through the crowd then was deafening, Tony could feel it vibrating up his legs and into the wall of his chest. Every wolf in this pack had heard the stories of the great Avengers Pack. They knew what it meant to be allies with such a strong group of shifters. They would never need to fear invasion or war at their borders. They would be untouchable.  Even Tony couldn't stop the stunned smile from curling on his lips. The cheering, hooting, and howls went on for quite some time before they tapered off enough for Howard’s next proclamation. He spread his arms wide with a victorious smile that sent chills skittering down Tony’s spine before he addressed the crowd once again.

“And more than that…” The pack’s joyous cries trailed off in anticipation of what Howard was next to announce. “We are now to be family.” 

A confused quiet settled amongst the crowd. Shifters were exchanging glances, brows crumpled in confusion as the stirring of hushed whispers and low murmurs filled the night air.

Tony’s heart which had moments before been pounding loud and hard in his throat seemed to stop beating. No…no he…he wouldn't. 

Everyone had heard the stories about Alpha Rogers. Everyone knew what great and terrible violence that Alpha was capable of. If he had thought his life here with Brock was untenable, it was nothing compared to what it would be with him . Some said that he was a berserker. Lost to a powerful blood lust when angered. Others said he was powerful enough to pull entire packs beneath him. Slaves to the dominant Alpha energy that poured off of him in the heat of battle. Others said he was strong enough to tear the head from a shifter’s body. People had seen him do it in battle. More than once. Surely his father didn't hate him that much…he wouldn't. 

He wouldn't .

“It is my greatest pleasure to announce as both an Alpha and a Father, the mating of my son Anthony Edward Stark to the most esteemed Alpha Rogers. Here. Tonight. We will witness history being made.”

Silence blanketed the clearing as the crowd sucked in a collective breath. There was only the sound of the night wind scraping through the trees, the crackle and pop of the fire, and the startled mournful whine of a young wolf pup.

And then just as quickly as it had stopped the noise exploded out in a cacophony of sound as the Starkland Pack celebrated the news in the best way they knew how. Tony, himself, felt as if his knees had turned to liquid, his stomach twisting, and his breath coming in short panicked gasps. 

“Father, no. Father, please …” It was not the first time the whispered entreaty had left his lips. But from the grim set to Howard’s mouth it looked like it would be his last. 

He felt himself dip as darkness edged along his vision. He could feel himself going down, his legs giving way, the ground rising up to meet him.

Except he never got the chance to collapse before he was swept up into a pair of familiar strong arms. The heat that poured off the Alpha was unlike anything that Tony had ever felt. He had been so very cold for so very long, but he could feel that warmth sinking into him. Penetrating past the chill of his skin and threadbare clothes, past his defenses, sinking deep into the tight muscles in his chest and shoulders. He wanted to tense up, he wanted to turn away, but instead his heavy head found its way to a sturdy shoulder. A hiccupping breath rattled out of his chest, sounding wetter and more vulnerable than Tony would have liked. The muscles in his shoulders unlocked, loosened, and his limbs felt oddly heavy. He should be terrified. He should be trying to escape. Instead he found himself turning into the warmth, a shuddering sigh leaving him as he closed his eyes against the conflicting emotions running rampant through him. His entire being was at war. His body was softening beneath the Alpha’s touch, as if recognizing he was safe, but his mind knew better. 

It was too much.

“Easy there, Anthony. I’ve got you.”

Tony didn't need to be told that he would never escape this man. That there was no point in trying to run from him. He knew, just by the solemn weight shining in the other shifter’s eyes, that it didn't matter where he ran or how far. This Alpha would always come for him. It was there, like a promise, in the way he regarded Tony. The way those broad hands and sturdy arms cradled him to his chest. Carefully. Possessively.

“There, Tony. Stand up straight, boy. You always wanted to be mated outside the pack, as I recall. You should be excited.” His father’s voice was an insidious whisper in his ear. Sharp as a whip and twice as biting. Dear old Dad’s way of saying that he had made his bed…and now he had to lay in it.

And then Alpha Rogers was blading his body away from his father, putting more distance between him and the source of his disquiet. 

“That’s quite alright, Alpha Stark. I’ve got him. Why don’t you find your holy people so we can prepare for the ceremony.”

Get away from us, was basically what he was saying. Tony might have enjoyed watching his father splutter and stumble after Alpha Roger’s retreating back at any other time. That his new Alpha had dared to do so sent a warm, delicious, thrill through him. No one turned their back on Howard. No one dared to walk away from him first without being dismissed. 

This wolf, this Alpha, did so easily.

Tony was mortified at the shocked, squeak, of a laugh that burst past his lips at the mental image. He chanced a glance upward to see his new Alpha’s lips curling into a smile of his own.

Maybe…maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

__________________________________________________________

To be quite honest, Tony didn't remember much of his mating ceremony. He had been so nervous, so in shock, that most of it passed by in a blur. He could only imagine what he looked like standing there, eyes wide, shoulders slightly hunched, glancing back over his shoulder at the crowd behind him as if to verify that this was actually his mating ceremony and not some other poor omega’s. His father had scowled something fierce at him every time he had looked over his shoulder, the threat glittering in his eyes clear. It was through sheer force of will that he was able to force the tremble out of his legs and knees - that and his own  stubborn pride. He had already been swept off his feet as if he were some sort of damsel in distress and he didn't want that to happen more than once today. 

He was no fainting daisy. Okay, so, sure he had a moment there - but who wouldn't have? His entire world had just been turned upside down, his plans laid to waste. Not that he had been particularly looking forward to said plan of action, but it was jarring to have it yanked so abruptly from him. He had been told he was to be mated to what amounted to the boogey man of shifters. 

It wasn't as if he had been given time to deal with the revelation. 

Anyone would have been at least momentarily overwhelmed. Not to mention that Tony couldn't quite recall when the last time he had actually eaten was. As soon as he had been able he had squirmed out of Alpha Roger’s arms, the heat of embarrassment coloring his cheeks and neck a bright red that scalded his skin. The Alpha had let him down gently, amusement brightening the blue of his eyes and setting them to sparkle.

 Most of what came next was lost to him..

There were bursts of impressions, though. One of the first things he recalled was Brock’s voice, raised in outrage and protest, railing against his father. “He was supposed to be mine!”   as he was led out of the celebration and back to the village, his father’s stern growl chasing after him. There was an exchange of words between the two, pitched too low for Tony to hear. Seeing the fury, the hurt, that had spasmed across Brocks face, though? To have him sent away from the gathering? Tony wasn't going to lie. It had sent a short lived thrill of satisfaction spearing through him, to see Brock so humbled, something that did not go unnoticed by his new mate. 

He remembered the cold sweat of nervous fear, clammy palms, and panting breaths. How hard it had been to breathe. Then having his gaze captured by the magnetic pull of his mate’s. The Alpha’s hands wrapped tight around his smaller, cold, fingers. He remembered the warmth of those hands, the rasp of calluses. The soft drone of Elder Patrick as he spoke the holy words that would bind them beneath the light of the Mother’s moon. 

Elder Patrick, the wizened old shifter with a craggy face and his left eye whitened over and unseeing, had made them repeat the vows that would mark them as mated in the eyes of the packs and the Moon. Tony had been surprised how strong and clear his voice had come out, not even a waver in it to bely the nerves that were coursing through him.

And, of course, he remembered the bite. The hot, searing, pain of it. Like a sharp punch to the stomach, confused feelings swirling inside of him as his mate pressed his lips to the wound on his shoulder after as if he could soothe away the hurt. He remembered the roar of the crowd. The sound of music filling the clearing, the scent of cooking meat. Being ushered over to a low table and seated next to his Alpha, who fed him from his own plate. They shared food and wine, as was custom. Tony taking hesitant nibbling bites from the larger shifter’s thick, blunt, fingers. The rasp of those fingers against the lips, his tongue, as he was fed morsel after morsel. He remembered feeling fuzzy after that first glass of wine, his thoughts warm and hazy. 

Then concerned. 

He hadn't had any more wine after that first glass. When the goblet was refilled Tony had surged to his feet and jostled the table, sending the deep purple drink spreading across the white linen table cloth like an inky stain. His father had barked something angry and intelligible then, but Alpha Rogers had simply unfolded his great bulk from his seated position on the ground and captured Tony’ shoulders gently in his broad hands. For a moment there time seemed to wind down until it was moving molasses slow and he was left staring up at the man who now, for lack of a better term, owned him. But when those blue eyes traced over his face there was a decided lack of malice, of anger or vindictiveness, at the things that had been said and done earlier in the day. It was stupid, Tony knew it was stupid, but his wolf couldn't help but feel…safe while caged in the arms of this Alpha. His Alpha. 

He felt a flush crawl up his neck and across his cheeks as he tore his gaze away from Alpha Roger’s, embarrassed by what his new Alpha might find there in his eyes. And then he found himself being tucked under his mate’s shoulder, the hum of conversation rising and falling in waves around him as they stood before his father.  

Words were exchanged between the two Alphas, words that Tony barely heard over the pounding of his heart. Later he would wonder at his lack of focus. Later he would ponder how it took him so long to read the signs, to react to them then and there. At the time, however, Tony was simply a mixture of relieved to be leaving the gathering and getting away from the too watchful eyes of his father, and panicked at the prospect of being left alone with this strange Alpha with a reputation for terrible violence. 

Yet still he followed Alpha Rogers with stumbling steps, leaning perhaps a touch heavier on his new mate than he normally would have.  They were led to a small cottage toward the outskirts of town, one that had been abandoned for a few months after the old shifter that once lived there had passed on. He had been a kindly old man, Tony remembered somewhat fondly, always there with a smile or a encouraging word. His wife had passed, her spirit rising up to join the great hunter Orion in the stars months before him, but Tony remembered the shortbread cookies she would bake and hand out to all the young pups in the pack. Their love had been sweet, well worn, and comfortable. It was no surprise that the older shifter had followed his mate to the deep reaches of the night sky not too long after her passing.

Still, their small cottage brought back warm memories. He was glad that he and Alpha Rogers would not be staying in his father’s home. He swallowed sharply, his stomach twisting with a resurgence of nerves. He had been mated in the eyes of the pack, had spoken the sacred vows, and he now belonged body and soul to a stranger. Tony, for all he fought against it, was an omega who knew what was expected of him tonight. He could feel the fine trembling in his hands as he stumbled over the threshold of the small cabin, Alpha Rogers lingering outside to talk to his father.

 It had been cleaned recently, Tony had noted hazily, the scent of lemon riding heavily on the air. It was a simple one room cabin, the bed pressed back against the corner of the far wall, a fire already glowing warmly in the hearth to chase away the night’s chill. There was a small table with two chairs, a large knit rug spread out in front of the fireplace, and a couple of hand carved rocking chairs. But it was the two bags on the ground by the bed that caught Tony’s attention. Well, only one in particular, really. It was the small, well worn, canvas sack from his bedroom.

He stumbled toward it with shaking hands, tearing through the contents like a shifter possessed. These were his things. His clothes, an old hunting knife he had earned on his tenth birthday, a couple of his most favorite books, as well as the small wooden box where he had stored his keepsakes. His fingers fumbled at the latch, relief swamping him at the sight of the contents inside. There wasn't too much inside of it, his mother’s locket, a pressed flower, a single bolt and screw, the first misshapen arrowhead he had made when he was twelve. More importantly, however, was the small cloth satchel tucked beneath the lining of the box. Inside of it was a mixture of herbs and powders. Right now, Tony only had eyes for one of them.

“Is that all of your things?” Alpha Roger’s quiet query came husky and soft from behind him. Tony startled, the box dipping in his hands before he caught it clumsily, his tongue thick in his mouth and eyes wide. Alpha Rogers was crouched down on his haunches a mere arms reach away.

And Tony hadn’t heard him coming.

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. His fingers tightened around the satchel as he wiggled it free. 

“Anthony? Is everything there?” Was that concern in the Alpha’s voice?

Tony cleared his throat. “I go by Tony, Alpha. If it uh…pleases you.” There. He had even managed to say the words without spite or resentment. Sure, his words might have slurred a little here and there but… well he was working to try and fix that.  And no, the majority of his things had been left behind. Not that he had much in the way of earthly possessions in any case. Nor did he have need of them. What was here was more than what Tony had thought he could take with him when he left. The only thing he lamented losing was his sketchbook. His prototypes. But of course Howard wouldn't let him leave with those.

It was crazy to Tony that Howard was letting him leave at all. His head throbbed painfully. It was so hard to think right now. He couldn't…he couldn't concentrate.

“That sounded painful. What happened to the mouthy omega from earlier? The one who tried to give me a black eye and sent me to my knees?” 

Tony’s heart stuttered in his chest. He couldn't stop the wave of helpless fear that rose up in him then. His fingers turned white from where they were clenched on the box in his hands. Was his mate going to use this opportunity to punish him? At least with his father and Brock he knew what to expect when he fucked up. It was terrifying to belong to someone else, an unknown element in an equation where he did not yet know all the variables. How much would it hurt?

“I- it was…I didn't know , Alpha. I was just-” Tony stuttered, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth.

“Just trying to get away from a bad situation. And I stopped you.” There was a quiet sort of calm in his voice, an understanding. “I’d prefer it if you’d call me Steve. Deference… really doesn't suit you.” There was a small, amused, quirk to his lips. And his eyes that had looked so frosty and aloof earlier were now warm and careful.

Tony dropped his gaze down to the box and satchel in his hands.

Again time did that thing where it blurred, his vision narrowing, his thoughts heavy and slow. Tony swiped a parched tongue over dry lips, tried to stagger to his feet. One minute he was kneeling on the floor and the next he found himself curled up in an unfamiliar bed, the taste of charcoal on the back of his tongue, quickly followed by relief. 

He had no concept of time, of how long it had taken for him to get from point a to point b. He groaned softly, startling when a warm hand landed on his forehead, pushing sweat dampened curls back.

“Your fever is breaking, at least. Your heart rate sounds better too.”

Tony captured the Alpha’s wrist. “Did you take-”

A soft chuckle interrupted him. “Yes, Tony. You don’t remember but this is the third time you’ve asked. I drank that foul concoction when you did, after the vomiting fiasco. I hope, for both our sakes, that you’re wrong about this. If not…well. We shall see what the future holds for the Starkland Pack.. Now rest, we leave at first light.”

Tony let out a sigh of relief, collapsing back onto the bed. It didn't occur to him to question his state of undress, or the fact that for the first time in his adult life he was sharing a bed with another male platonically . An Alpha no less. His Alpha…his mate. One that tradition demanded he give himself to both body and soul. Would he…would he want that? Had they already…

“I can hear you thinking from over here.” Steve grumbled. And then the bed was dipping and Tony was being pulled back against a warm chest. A startled huff of breath left him as his cheek rested against the firm, warm, flesh of a muscled pectoral. He could hear the steady beat of the Alpha’s heart, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he took deep and even breaths.

“Sleep, imp.” The soft, sleepy,  murmur reached his ears. Tony let himself be pulled back down into the welcoming dark of a deep, healing, sleep.

__

Even years later Tony wouldn't be able to say what it was that woke him. 

By all rights he should have been deeply asleep, dead to the world, recovering from what was likely an attempt on his life as well as the life of his Alpha. Instead, sometime in the wee hours of the early morning he had come suddenly awake, his eyes snapping open into the dark of the unfamiliar room. A sense of foreboding sat heavy and thick in his gut as he lay still against the sleeping form of his mate. 

The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, the dark of night sat inky and impenetrable in the small cabin. The fire in the hearth had long since gone out, leaving only faintly glowing embers. The air felt thick and warm. Tony became aware that he was laying half draped over Alpha Rogers, one leg wedged between the Alpha’s thick muscled thighs, his face pressed against the center of the other wolf’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. A thin sheen of sweat covered them both, the thin blanket draped over them doing little to conduct heat. All the heat seemed to be coming off of the sleeping form of his mate.

Tony breathed out slowly, fingers tensing and pressing slightly into firm flesh, as his heart rate picked up. He didn't know how he saw it, as sleep addled and muzzy brained as he was, but there was the sharp glint of metal in the dark just ahead. Too close to the bed. Too close to their prone forms. He sucked in a startled breath, the muscles in his shoulders seizing in alarm. That one sharp inhalation was all it took to rouse the beast beneath him. 

Alpha Rogers exploded upright in bed with a snarl, tucking Tony beneath him as he turned his back to the intruder and used his body as a shield. Tony watched with horror as the sharp glint of a hunting knife slammed down with enough force to pierce through the meaty part of the alpha’s shoulder and out the otherside. A startled yelp escaped him as the blade cut through his own skin, his eyes locked on the snarling and furious face of Brock. 

Tony’s long time tormentor and nemesis, Brock was the epitome of rage as he twisted the knife deeper into Steve’s shoulder, bearing down on the blade with all of his considerable strength. Steve let out a short snarl of pain, white teeth flashing as they ground together in a mixture of irritation and pain. The way their bodies were angled, with Brock’s knife spearing through both Tony and Steve’s shoulders and Brock’s knee pressed against Steve’s lower back, there was very little hope of Steve being able to throw Brock off. It was a matter of angles and leverage and force, and his new mate had put himself in a very vulnerable position by trying to protect Tony. 

From the crazed look in Brock’s red ringed eyes, he knew it too.

“Stupid little omega cunt. ” A glob of spit splattered across his face. “You were supposed to be mine.” 

There, in the too bright, wild, look in Brock’s eyes he saw his own death reflected back at him. He knew, if given the chance, that Brock would tear him bit to bit. He would make him suffer. Make him beg before finally slitting his throat. He could hear his Alpha shouting, grunting as Brock’s knife was forced deeper into Tony’s own shoulder, the tip of the blade grinding against bone. But Tony’s other hand was already beneath the pillow. It had been since Steve had first rolled on top of him, when Brock’s hunting knife came arching down. And now his fingers felt for his own knife that he had pulled out of his knapsack, the same knife that his father had gifted him after his first successful hunt. Before he had presented as omega. Before his father hated the mere sight of him. Back when Howard had been proud to call him son. Back when he was the best fighter, fastest runner, and most cunning hunter of his peers. He might be an omega, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable. That he was lesser . 

 And then he was surging upward, chest to chest with Steve - taking the pain in stride as he impaled himself further on Brock’s knife. He swung his unpinned arm up and around, saw a flash of shock replace some of the madness glowing in Brock’s eyes, before he stabbed the sharp, serrated,  blade into Brock’s neck. It was meant to be a killing blow but Brock was one of the best fighters in the pack. Despite his madness and the shock of Tony fighting back, he still had well worn instincts to fall back upon. He jerked backward as Tony’s blade came flashing toward him, but not far enough to avoid the blow altogether. It wasn't the killing blow Tony had been aiming for, but it was a debilitating one. Unlike Brock, however, he refused to let the shock of it rip the blade from his fingers.

The howl it tore out of th e crazy bastard, though, that at least was satisfying. To see Brock’s life blood spurt from the wound, to see it seeping out from between his fingers as he tried to put pressure on his neck and shoulder…it ignited something that had been lying dormant inside of Tony for too long now. 

His wolf’s fighting spirit. 

The need for blood, for death, to any who would attempt to harm what was his. How dare this interloper come into his den and attack his mate? Tony’s wolf surged forward as Brock stumbled backward in shock. Alpha Rogers rolled off of him with a snarl, taking the blade that had pinned them together with him, and Tony was up and lunging before his Alpha mate had a chance to naysay him. He was fast, he was motivated, and he was furious. 

He attacked with practiced patience, with the viciousness of a dog that had been kicked one too many times and had finally reached its breaking point. He used countless hours of training, recalled old instincts, and used his wolf’s insatiable thirst for vengeance. He had been Brock’s victim for far too long, he knew how the other wolf fought, how he held himself. He knew what his tormentor was capable of. Brock couldn't say the same for Tony. He felt a surge of power welling up inside of him, his insides burning hot and raw with the fires of his righteous fury. 

Brock didn't stand a chance. Already heavily wounded, his weapon still buried in Steve’s shoulder, he had nothing but his dominance and threats to fight Tony with. 

And Tony was a god damned omega. He was impervious to Brock’s commands to stand down. To stop fighting. He was deaf to the other shifter's threats. There was a haze of red over his vision, and he knew without needing a mirror that his face was twisted into a mask of hate and unholy vengeance. No one looking at him fighting for his and his mate’s life right now would ever suspect him of being an omega. There was no gentleness here. No softness. There was nothing but a killing instinct and a need to make the threat stop. To go away. To tear and tear and -

___

Tony came to some time later, chest heaving with the force of his panting breaths, his muscles tight and sore as he knelt in a pool of still warm blood. 

He blinked lazily, mentally assessing himself. There was the wound on his shoulder, already healing, some minor scrapes and bruises. This blood he was kneeling in, that covered him from neck to toe, wasn't his.

 His gaze sought and found the prone form of Brock, his eyes open wide and unseeing. 

Tony swallowed thickly at the sight of his ravaged opponent, his gorge rising, at the way Brock had been mauled. 

Had he…had he done that? His head swam with the sight of blood that covered him, the floor, and the walls. With short, sharp, breaths through his nose he rose from his knees and into a low crouch, stomach twisting as he almost slipped on the wet floorboards. The hand knitted rug was saturated with it. 

“ Tony…” the weak whisper came over from the corner of the cabin, by the bed. Tony turned slowly to see his Alpha sitting on the floor, back pressed against the straw stuffed mattress, knee raised as if he had tried and failed to rise to his feet, with one broad hand covering the sluggishly bleeding wound at his shoulder.

Tony startled at the sight and knowledge that his new mate had witnessed him lose himself like that. That he had seen him…

He swallowed thickly, turning his back on the lifeless form of his long time enemy. Brock would never have the opportunity to hurt him or any other creature ever again. Just because Tony had been Brock’s favorite target didn't mean he had been the only one. There were countless wolves in the pack who would sleep easier at night now that Brock wasnt around to torment them. He had liked to throw his weight around, full of an inflated self importance that Howard had done nothing to diminish. He had been nasty to everyone, young or old it hadn't mattered. The amount of wolves that had ended up at the pack healer’s doorstep because Brock had been in a mood was countless. So no…Tony was not sad about what had taken place here. How could he be? After everything Brock had done, had threatened to do. The myriad of ways that Brock had hurt him and then reveled in it…

And still his hands were trembling. Adrenaline, Tony told himself as he tried and failed to catch his breath. It was from adrenaline. Nothing else. Certainly not regret.

Right?

Steve groaned, a soft, pained, sound that sent a spear of alarm snaking down his spine. Tony pushed himself to his feet, his legs rubbery, and stumbled across the cabin toward Steve. The closer he got, the more aware he became that something was…terribly wrong.

“Alpha?” Tony whispered, his gaze taking in the Alpha’s wan complexion, Brock’s knife laying on the floor by his feet. Tony cursed softly under his breath at the sight. It wasn't just any regular hunting knife that the neurotic menace had attacked them with. This particular hunting knife was silver, a type of metal that most shifters were deathly allergic to. As the resident pack weaponsmith Tony had built up a bit of an immunity to the metal, although enough of it introduced to the bloodstream could and would still bring him low.

As an Alpha that was almost constantly at war with one faction or another, Alpha Rogers should also have built up some sort of tolerance to the silver. 

Fuck.

This did not bode well. Tony grabbed the blade in question for closer inspection, ignoring the sight of his blood stained fingers. 

Logically it didn't make sense for Steve to be so…listless. So pale. As if he had been delivered a deadly blow. He was a warrior Alpha, for Goddess sake. The warrior Alpha. Renowned for his fierce fighting style and his ability to keep going when others would have given up. A mere stab wound, even with a silver blade, should not be enough to fell such an Alpha. Not unless…unless there was some other sort of foul play involved.

Tony went cold at the thought.

If Tony hadn't been here tonight, if he hadn't forced himself to vomit and take the activated charcoal he had kept stashed in his memory box, they both would have been dead. Either through the poison mating meal or by Brock’s hand. Perhaps the poison had been meant to subdue them. To make Brock’s job easier.

But why? What could his father possibly gain from both of their deaths? Surely he wasn't mad enough to believe that the Avenger’s pack would not retaliate against him for the death of their leader? There were too many moving parts here and Tony was operating on not enough sleep and by far too much stress to try to suss out his father’s political machinations. All he knew was that they were still in danger.

He brought the blade closer to his face, inhaling deeply. The copper, metallic, tang of blood mixed with the cold peppery scent of silver filled his nostrils. Tony fought the urge to sneeze, taking a deeper breath and forcing his nose to pick apart the different scents layered over the knife. He let out a soft curse, lips pulled back into a snarl, as he caught the faintest trace of wolfsbane.

“Fuck. You’ve been poisoned.”

The dry, rough, chuckle was almost as shocking as the Alpha’s lips curling up into a wry smile.

 “Yes, I’ve gathered that. We…need to leave.”

Tony couldn't agree more. They needed to get the hell out of here before someone came to check on Brock and tried to finish what he started. Tony was a decent fighter and could clearly hold his own in an evenly matched fight… but he was simply no match for an entire pack of shifters if they decided it was in their best interest that both Tony and his new Alpha never set foot outside the Starkland pack lands again. 

The thing of it was…they would likely be right to try and stop him. Tony certainly would have if he had been in their shoes. Because if he escaped with his mate tonight, by some miracle, and made it out of Starkland territory…war would be on the horizon. And it would not go in the Starkland pack’s favor.

 Everyone knew the reputation of the Avengers pack. One did not cross them and get away with it. And here, on one of the most sacred nights in a shifter’s life, a small group of the Starkland pack had attempted to assassinate the Alpha of the Avengers. 

Tony’s stomach twisted sharply. 

What had his father been thinking, sending Brock here like this? As if that idiot was smart enough to both try to incapacitate and then murder the visiting Alpha without help? Tony set the blade down on the floor with an exaggerated slowness, trying to calm the chaotic thoughts that were whipping at rapid speed through his mind. 

Everyone he knew, everyone in this pack, would suffer if he and his Alpha were to make it out of this alive. Steve would be well within his rights to call for retribution against the entire pack.

Other packs had been wiped clean off the map for less, in fact.

His breath trembled in his throat. Fuck. What was he supposed to do though?

Steve Rogers did not deserve to die because of Howard. Tony couldn't be sure what the Alpha’s motivations had been in asking for Tony as a mate, but he could not deny that his wolf trusted the Avengers Pack Alpha. And then there had been the warmth, the kindness, in those blue eyes earlier tonight. The reverent way that the Alpha has pushed his hair back from his face, the apologetic kiss he had placed against Tony’s shoulder after delivering the mating bite. Would such a man really condemn an entire pack to death for the actions of a few? Tony’s instincts said no. But how could he really be sure? 

He couldn't. He could only try to sway the Alpha to kindness, to mercy. He could only hope that the Alpha wouldn't blame him  for what his father and Brock had done. 

But he couldn't do that if they were both dead. Because what his father had failed to realize was that there was no way the Avenger’s pack would not come here, seeking retribution. Even without their formidable leader there were plenty of ferocious Alphas in that pack who could step into his role. 

He was going to gamble the lives of innocent wolves on this stranger. His mate. He had no choice. 

With a decisive nod Tony set the blade on the floor and made his way over to the canvas knapsack that had saved his life earlier this evening. Hopefully it could do the same for his Alpha. He didn't miss the way that Steve’s eyes followed his every move, the suspicious gleam in those blue orbs. 

Tony could hardly blame him. He had other things to worry about right now, however, chiefly amongst which was keeping his mate alive. 

“You’re no good to me dead, Alpha.” Tony said with a gritty sort of determination as he mixed the remaining antidote with a fresh cup of water. His hands which had, mere moments before, been trembling with nerves were now steady and even. He had come up with a plan of action - keep Alpha Rogers alive - and was able to push away the doubts and emotions. Focus on the logic. 

“Now would probably be a good time to pull on those pack bonds. You’ve been poisoned with something in addition to the silver of the blade. You’re going to need all the energy you can get until I get us out of here.”

Pack bonds were a tricky thing to explain, but every pack had them to some extent. It was the Alpha of the pack that had the most control over the bonds. Tony had liked to think of the pack as a tapestry of sorts. Each shifter in the pack was a thread that made up the whole of the tapestry. Some threads were brighter, thicker, or more coarse than the others. Some were soft, silky, and soothing to the eye. Either way, all the threads came together to build a metaphysical tapestry that represented the pack, also known as the pack bonds. If each member of the pack represented a thread in the tapestry, then the Alpha of the pack was more along the lines of the master weaver, through which all the threads flowed through his hands. He alone could pull on those threads, separating and manipulating them in a way that was best for the overall tapestry. The tapestry was a gathering of strength, of togetherness, a collective energy of the pack. The bonds could be used to communicate strong emotions - which came in handy during a hunt or war. It could also be used to heal, to redistribute the energy of the pack toward where it was most needed.

Which was what Tony was suggesting Steve do now, even as he pressed the cup to his new Alpha’s lips and bid him drink. Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye as he tilted his head back and downed the contents in two large swallows. It looked like Tony wasn't the only one who was choosing to trust their mate today, and the tenuous bond between them. 

“You should probably try to clean some of that blood off of you. Makes you easier to track.”

Tony nodded his head in agreement, taking a few precious moments to wash as much blood from his body as he could, stomach churning at how very covered he was in it. At the first available opportunity he was going to dive head first into a body of water.

It was then a quick matter of getting himself dressed, and assisting a pained and weak Steve into his own clothing. His Alpha was gray in the face, sweat slicking across his brow, his breathing labored. It wasn't the best idea to be moving him so soon, but it wasn't as if he had a choice. If they wanted to make it out of here alive, time was of the essence. 

He left his Alpha sitting on the edge of the bed as he went to gather both of their bags, grunting at the weight of the Alpha’s sack. Just what was it that Steve was carrying in here anyway?

“C-can’t leave it.” Steve said, the sound soft and pained and muttered through gritted teeth. Shaking his head, Tony threw it over his shoulder, along with his own considerably lighter bag, before making his way over to the bed. 

“Alright my favorite damsel in distress,” Tony chuckled as he scooped an arm under Steve’s shoulder and hefted him to his feet, secretly delighting in the shocked wheeze that escaped Steve at the motion. “Let’s get this act on the road.” He felt a smile, stretched and brittle, tweak at the corners of his lips at the Alpha’s affronted huff of breath. 

“Damsel in distress?” there was the faintest note of incredulity in the huffed response, which only widened Tony’s smile. Nevermind that it was amazing that he could even smile, considering the last twenty four hours. He supposed he was just used to making light of a terrible situation. Humor had always been his fall back. Without it he doubted he would have made it this long in Howard’s pack.

“Sure, well, it seems like I’m always saving you from these pesky situations you keep getting yourself into.” Tony couldn't help but tease as they eased open the front door to the cottage. He stuck his head out, scenting the wind, feeling the quiet of pre-dawn seep into his bones. It wouldn't be long before the sun came up over the horizon and the birds began to sing their 

“Ah, my own prince charming.” There was amusement laced in the Alpha’s voice as his feet shuffled over the doorway and onto the porch. 

Tony found it heartening that his new Alpha had not threatened to beat him for the impertinence, not that he very well could at this point. Between the silver and the poison Steve was in a bad way. The sooner Tony could get him back to his pack and to a healer, the better. As knowledgeable as he was in weapons, he had not been allowed the same opportunity to study as his fellow pack members. When it came to the life of his new mate, Tony didn't want to take any chances. The Avengers pack was said to have the best healers in the northern territories. If they went on foot… Tony ran some quick calculations using their current rate of speed and the terrain they would be traversing, including the need to stop and take frequent breaks.

He winced at the calculation. It could take up to two  weeks to get there. Steve didn't have two weeks. The more he pushed the Alpha to hustle and keep ahead of any potential pursuers, the slower he would heal. As they stepped off the porch and onto the path that led toward the forest Tony felt determination steal through him. He’d get them out of this…alive. Hopefully.

Somehow.

It was as they were stepping under the welcoming, leafy, bows of Tail Wind forest that Tony first heard the soft equine knicker. He froze, heart in his throat, as his gaze landed upon the shadowy figure ahead. 

There, less than a hundred yards away, stood a stooped and familiar form. Tony felt his chest grow both tight and hot at the sight of the elder Hunter Murray. As a young pup Tony had been obsessed with the elite group of shifters known as the hunters. He had spent several moons dogging their steps, absorbing their wisdom and knowledge, his thirst to be the best - to be just like them, insatiable. Murray had been a tough nut, his face almost always serious or twisted into some sort of scowl. When Tony had first started dodging their heels it had been Murray that had been the first to shoo the young pup away, despite his cohorts protests to just let the kid have some fun. It had taken months for the older hunter to merely huff disapprovingly under his breath at the sight of a young Tony trailing after them. It had, in fact, been Murray who had taught Tony how to take cover and pursue game through the forest. How to move stealthily. He was sure it had something to do with the sheer amount of rustling and twig snapping coming from Tony that had ruined the groups own efforts that made Murray step up and start teaching him. Once that happened…well, he stopped grumbling so much when Tony came around. Even helped teach him a time or two.

Until Tony presented as an Omega, of course. Once that had happened the freedom he had once enjoyed as a pup had come to an end. Tony wasn't allowed to leave the village without supervision. Wasn't allowed to trail after the Hunters any more.

To see the old wolf standing on the path, shoulders stooped with age, one hand wrapped around the placid mare’s lead, was enough to send Tony’s heart to lurching. 

Murray had been the master of stealth. Of moving soundlessly through the forest. If he was standing here,  dead center on this path, in plain sight then it was for a reason. He wanted to be found. 

“Thank the gods, boy. I knew they’d never get the best of ye.” Shock rooted Tony to the ground as the older shifter approached, tears swimming in his rheumy eyes. 

“They did a right number on ye. Ye’ll be needing ol’ Tess here to getcha out of the territory. Was planning on leaving the pack meself anyway, the way yer Da’s been running it to the ground in the last few years. My Jenny mated a strong wolf down south, been planning to go out and see her - mayhap see if they’d be willing to take on a washed out old wolf.”

“Murray?” Surely those weren’t tears of disbelief in his voice.

“Aw, come here lad. We always believed in you.” The old wolf’s arm came around and pulled Tony into an awkward three way hug. “No matter what was thrown at you when you was a youngin’ you always managed to come out on top. Through sheer determination and grit. Yer a good egg, Tony. Always have been, even if that halfwit of a Da never treated you the way you deserved. Ye’ve been dealt a bad hand, but I know ye’ll rise above this challenge too. Mayhap find some happiness for yourself with that there Alpha. Twasn't right the way your old man treated ya. Been saying so for years. No one wanted to go against Howard, not when he was holding the leash of that murderous git Brock. Glad ya found yourself a way out of this god forsaken pack. And I’ve got to apologize to ya… I’m sorry I didn't do more. I knew it weren't right and I didnt… but now I am. Take Tess. Get you and yer mate out of here. There’s enough food packed to last the two of ye a few days. Quick now.” 

He pulled away, but not before Tony saw how wet the older shifter’s eyes looked. 

“Sorry I couldn't do more, ‘s all. You deserved better, kid. From all of us.”

“Thank you Murray. I don’t know how I’m-”

Murray waved off his words, coming around to scoop a shoulder beneath Steve’s other side. 

“Less talking and more moving. Time’s a wastin’ now. They’ll be on ye shortly. You know the way. Stay off the main paths, aye? Wolves these days can’t scent their way out of a burlap sack. I’ll do me best to throw ‘em off yer trail. Up you get, Alpha Rogers.”

Between the two of them Tony and Murray were able to hoist Steve up onto Tess’s back. The Alpha sat there, jaw tightly clenched and pale faced, weaving where he sat. Tony vaulted himself up and over Tess’s back, wrapping the Alpha’s arms around his waist.

“Hold on, Steve. Don’t let go.” His breath seemed to catch in his throat at the feel of those strong arms coming around him, the hot heat of the Alpha pressing hard against his back and shoulders as Steve slumped forward slightly, trusting Tony to take some of his weight. That the Alpha was choosing to lean at him at all was not a good sign. He turned his gaze toward Murray who was looking up at him with a watery smile on his craggy face. There was fondness there in his gaze, and a stubborn sort of determination.

“Hunter Murray, I can’t thank you enou-” whatever else Tony had been about to say was lost as Murray scowled up at him and, with a hearty psshaw, slapped Tess’ flank sharply. Tess took off like a shot into the predawn morning, tearing a surprised grunt out of both him and Steve. As they thundered their way down the path and away from the Starkland pack with Tess’s hooves kicking up clods of the soft forest floor, Tony shot one last glance beyond his shoulder as the form of Hunter Murray disappeared slowly from view.

His chest felt tight and heavy beyond measure. He was leaving behind the only home he had ever known, fleeing into the darkness in hopes that he could outrun his father’s hunters. More importantly, though, was the knowledge that the life of his mate was now firmly in his hands. 

He could not fail.

Would not.