The buildings were unfamiliar—an old metropolis, city skylines built from panels of ancient glass, the streets dusty with history. Vegetation grew upon old honeycomb beams, trees and vines stretching over exposed wiring and crumbling brick. War had destroyed everything into dust and what remained was the bones of the past. It was an old city that had yet to be ravaged and ransacked by his people, untouched for at least twenty years.
And it was glorious.
"An oasis," Quinn explained like it was normal to see plants growing in what should be the deadliest of climates. She was carrying Rowan on her back, had lifted him with so much ease it had all their hearts racing. Zen could hear them, pounding away. The fragile growth of a curious new love. The wolf had blushed and protested but eventually caved when she explained that Float would be able to take away some of the load. And now the lucky bastard had his arms wrapped around her shoulders like a princess. "These pockets of heat appear sometimes. It'll be at least a couple of weeks before it caves. But with all these plants, I'd say it's been here for months."
Zen raised a brow, hands brushing against the pillars of the old that came away to dust on his palm. "Are you sure it's safe?"
"I'll know if it's not. Float will tell me if the structures are at risk." She'd kept the truck, had it disappearing into thin air like that was normal. There was a good reason why she had been one of the best scavengers. "But we've got better things to worry about. The Lonely might be here seeking shelter too," she muttered. "But these spots are too old, most can be found closer to the walls where there are people. We'll just get one or two at the very least. So, you'll need to stay close to me."
Helios made a low worried sound. His broken wings were now clamped tight to his back. The medicine she purchased was incredible, the swelling had gone down, pain dissipating with a single spray of the nozzle. And Helios now moved and ran with ease. "Then are you sure we should stay here?" He sucked on his lower lip. "What if we get cornered—"
"I know," Quinn said, there was a softness in her tone that pleased Zen's Omega greatly. A gentleness that had his Omega swooning for her consideration for his mate. "I can tell what's near us. My radar stretches out by a few kilometres if I'm paying close attention. And there's no better place out there." She seemed to check again with a squint. "This is much better than a cave or a crevice in a rock because there's plenty of hiding spots. We'll be fucked if they corner us in a cave. Here? I can lead them to bad spots and hide us in safe ones."
"But if we can't be seen from above, our mates won't be able to find us."
"Don't worry, they'll find us," she assured, a hand to her chest. Zen's bond seemed to pulse, buried under the strength of his connection to her. "I can feel Elysian, and he's trying. If they're close by, I'll know it too."
Elysian's name had Zen wincing, a sudden bitterness flavouring his tongue. How could he mate with her knowing the end? How could he take her knowing what they'll have to do? Zen's guilt seemed to grow, a trembling pain roaring in his chest. His eyes burned, pricking with salt. Rowan shot him a look which had him shaking his head in answer.
Zen was fine.
He was okay.
Quinn continued to speak, unaware of his turmoil. "The desert is far too exposed to the elements. We can find a spot high up on one of the buildings for them to land on. I'll be able to create a signal for them when the time comes. For now, we have to wait out the storm and find a place to sleep. Your wounds need tending. We'll figure it out in the morning or if they're close." She darted towards a set of buildings with rust-stained walls. "Come on, we'll take the stairs."
*
The climb was difficult, exhaustion burning through his overtaxed muscles as they crawled up the steps. But the apartment she'd found was bright and had plenty of escape routes. It was nestled in the heart of a mixed-use building that was partly an office and a mall, which gave them plenty of options to run.
She'd been careful with her choice, or she seemed to be, staring off and squinting into the distance with a phantom blue reflected in her eyes. There were times when she veered off, stopped abruptly with a hand pointed to debris sticking up from the ground, or weakening tiles.
She caught him once, hand to his chest just before he could trip. Careful, she'd said like a goddamn hero. And that had his cheeks burning redder than the sun. A giddy throb in his chest, underwear all soaked, tender, hot and growing thick. Rowan seemed to melt into her, comfortable against her confident frame, and Helios stared at her with adoration in her eyes.
And when she burst open the door with a boot. The space had been dusty and empty, but pretty. It had windows lined with a row of pots from plants, the last of the sun's light kissing the vinyl through the glass. It was empty save for an old stove covered in tarp, and a bathroom with crumbling ceramic. She called it an open concept studio, one that had been waiting to be sold. Then she had magicked a fuck ton of items, food, water, medicine, laid out to tend to Rowan and Helios's wounds.
She provided for them.
Zen couldn't breathe.
Her kindness had no end.
"I need the bathroom," he'd squeaked out and she pointed.
"I've already put out a portable toilet," she said with a smile. "There's a bottle left hanging over the sink to wash your hands."
That was enough to send him running, running to the closed door, cock throbbing unhappily. He felt nasty, awful that they were in such a fucked-up situation and yet all Zen could think of was the need to feel better, to cum. And the more he thought of it, the harder he got, slick pooling between his thighs.
A flood seemed to spew from him when he sat down, puddling like honey into the trash. His anxiety had his fingers quivering, bones shaking. He licked his lips, unable to help himself, the sickness seemed to have lessened temporarily, the stickiness that puddled wet in his throat was gone. The ticking of his clock. A flash of guilt erupted from him, growing hot in his throat. He didn't want to think about it, no. No. Zen exhaled, eyes closed.
In his mind's eye he could see her. The ripple of her strength, the gentle curve of her body, the softness of her skin. Her smile, sweet, generous, forgiving. He shivered, and suddenly he was thinking of more, of velvet skin against his, of sweat tracing the length of her neck. He throbbed, squeezing around nothing, more slick squirted into the trash.
If he wanted to do this, he had to do it fast.
And then his hand was on the head of his cock, palm kissing the eye. His hands reached to his hole, finger pads on his taint, circling the gloss. The fantasies grew, just a flash of her lifting Rowan. Just the rippling memory of her command. Just her hand on the stirring wheel. It was enough for him, with his suit messily unzipped to reveal the bounce of his red-bruised cock. The fabric puddled as his knees spread wider.
His palms felt too fucking rough, the seat too small. But his toes were curling, spine arching as he fucked his hand needily, cock squirting precum all over his hands. The web of his fingers cradled his burning frenulum, hips thrusting faster into his hands. And suddenly he wasn't interested in fingers deep in his asshole, the pull of his orgasm pushing him towards something more, fist slapping against flesh. A tortured whine muffled between lips, legs kicking against the tiles.
Quinn.
He wanted her.
He wanted her to love him.
He wanted her to know how he felt.
He wanted so much he couldn't have.
He wanted to give her a ring. But he chose them over her. He chose them over his Alpha because he had to.
There were tears in his eyes when he thought of Quinn, conjured throughout his rising orgasm, mixed in messily with his guilt. His Alpha, with her thighs around his waist, her body hot around his cock. Her lips on his throat, and his upon hers. Her sweet, sweet blood on his tongue, mixed with the taste of her love. He wanted it to taste like love. But— The tears flowed now, trickling down his cheeks. It must taste like hate. It must taste like despair. It must taste like everything wrong. Her eyes in his dreams were wide with despair, with the nightmares that plagued him forever.
He came too hard, mouthing her name, silencing 'ah-ah-ah's and splattering a fat loud into his hands, barely catching the ropey evidence as it spewed into the trash. He panted at the end of it all, a flush on his cheeks.
Fuck.
It was fucked up that he felt better than before, better than he felt in the arms of his six mates mere days ago. That just masturbating to the thought of her had him recovering so quickly it didn't feel as if he'd been deteriorating into the darkness. The wetness in his throat seemed to dissipate. The cough was gone. The exhaustion replaced by a sweet gentle afterglow from fantasies that could never be true. And a sobering sort of clarity grew sharp within him as everything came tumbling down in a rush of self-hatred.
He needed to know.