Luan was not entirely sure how long he had spent imprisoned beneath the burnish haze of his heat’s addling heft before, at last, the first clinking break in its fog came, shattering apart like shards of sweat-slickened glass against his skin. It might have been mere hours, a handful of days, or perhaps even weeks, spent contained within his mate’s embrace, their bodies never far from the other’s, but truly Luan could not have said for sure. 

Logically, the omega had known the daze of his heat would be all consuming, that it would obscure all else beneath the weight of instinctual need, a heft Luan had no hopes of denying. For, though his family made no effort to educate him on his secondary gender, on the plague they viewed it as, the paltry lessons his rural high school had offered on the subject had been enough to teach him of the burnish smog that would devour all else. Yet it hadn’t been enough to prepare him, not truly, for what it was to experience it. Especially with an alpha at his side.

Had not prepared him for the bone-deep ache that shook him, screaming for his mate’s embrace anytime more than a single inch separated them. Had not prepared him for the soul-weary craving for those wickedly sharp teeth to bury into the gland he’d long been taught to protect above all else, tying them together forevermore despite the fact it had been, perhaps, mere days since they had met. 

So when that first break came, when that heated haze lifted, if only a fraction, Luan reveled in the clarity, thought he knew it would last only a moment before that burnish consumption came barreling back in. 

A moment was a moment, after all, and this one, at least, would offer him an instance to breathe. 

To catch his breath before the mountainous blond reclining at his side stole it once more, as if it had always been his to begin with. 

And, maybe, Luan thought, emerald eyes sliding toward his mate where he lay on his belly, arms buried beneath the pillow he lay on, sheet slung low on those wide hips, it may give him a moment to actually learn something of the man who was to be his forever. 

Perhaps it was that thought that had Luan turning, mouth floundering for a way to voice the inquiry that threatened at the tip of his tongue. Or perhaps the idea had been rattling in his mind the entire time, buried beneath that instinctive burn, only to come barrelling to his lips as if he had never struggled to string it into coherency, as Finn’s still-faintly-golden-tinged gaze yawned open, bright with humor and adoration. 

“Tell me about my mate,” Luan requested in a rough whisper, as if that look had pulled the words straight from his chest, the small smile playing at his alpha’s lips curving one on his own to match. 

A spark detonated in Finn’s swirling brown-and-gold gaze, one that spoke of an emotion Luan had no hope of parsing, especially as it was buried as quickly as it came. Rather a slow, feline smile curved at Finn’s lips, one that spoke of indecent intent that had the smoldering blaze in Luan’s belly shifting impatiently.
“What do you want to know?” Finn practically purred, his smile softening a fraction as that roiling gaze flickered over Luan’s face. 

Luan was quiet for a moment, as if considering, unsure if he had any right to voice his request, too anxious in the wake of his inadequacy. 

But it was the look in Finn’s eyes, the soft adoration on his face, that finally broke through that shell of inferiority, reminding Luan that, if nothing else, Finn saw him for who he was. 

And so, in a soft voice, Luan gently said, “Everything. I want to know everything.” 

And that was all it took. 

****

Finley Byrne was a boy with a heart of gold born into a house full of ashes. His home, his family, had been broken long before he had taken his first, squalling breath in the hospital his father preferred to his own home, to the omega wife he squandered. 

Thomas Byrne had given his wife a new child in the hopes of it calming her incessant desire for his attention. Had hoped, in fact, that with a newborn son on top of their six-year-old little girl, that Saoirse Byrne would simply be too busy to notice her husband’s absence. It was Thomas’ plan for Saoirse’s overflowing adoration, for her desire to hold space within his heart, his mind, to instead be overshadowed by the children that would require her complete and utter attention. 

Thomas Byrne was an alpha, after all, and had been raised on the teachings that his desires, his hopes and dreams and plans in life, would always come above his mate. To him, an omega’s only purpose in this world was to have children, to raise them and to keep a home, no matter their own ambitions. 

So, it was with those teachings in mind, that Thomas fulfilled what he presumed to be an omega’s greatest desire. 

However, Finn’s birth had an entirely different effect on his mother. 

As an omega, Saoirse Byrne had always been frail, smaller and more fragile than her peers. Teetering at a bare five foot, the Irishwoman had no hopes of standing up to the gargantuan alpha she had been practically sold to the moment she came of age. 

A fact only solidified after the birth of her son.

Already frail, Saoirse became a shell of the woman she once was seemingly from the moment the pregnancy had taken hold. Her bed became her prison, the plush beige duvet cover with its dull lily of the valley print, weathered and faded from one too many times dried in the harsh Irish sun, her shackles. No matter how she tried, how she fought her own failing body, Saoirse became the thing she hated the most. 

She watched, broken and horrified, as her daughter was forced to fill the shoes she left vacant. Could only sit and stare as the vibrant, lively child became a shell herself, pushing aside her own hopes and dreams, her own wants, in order to take care of the house Saoirse no longer could. Thomas had never been one for housework, after all. That was a woman’s, an omega’s, job, he insisted. 

So Siobhán was forced to become an adult, a mother, at the young age of seven-years-old, for no one else was going to. Forced to give up her childhood, forced to abandon her friends and her plans where they lay, tattered and dust-covered, at her feet.

No matter how her mother begged her to please, for the love of all that was holy, to just be a child. 

In truth, Finn had never known a home, had never known a family happy with each other’s existence. Though his mother, weak as she was, tried her best to be present, to be the mother he deserved, there were limits to her capabilities. Limits that she seemed to resent nearly as much as she had come to resent the man she had left her homeland, left all she’d ever known aside from the sister who trailed in her wake, in order to marry. A resentment that only seemed to grow in time with her own weakness and inability, hatred fed by the fact her seven-year-old daughter was forced to step up as a mother in her place. 

Every time Saoirse roused to her son’s cries, only to find her daughter had beaten her to his bassinet, soothing him with a gentle voice and an expert touch, that resentment grew. Darkened her honey gaze to molten magma.

Left her floundering for a place in the world her mate had left her adrift in. 

And Finn had been raised alongside that resentment, that deprivation. He had toddled through his father’s indifferent absence, had learned his first words amongst his mother’s misery. Finn had been born and bred laced with the effects of Archaic ideals, and had watched as it tore his family apart. 

Perhaps it was that, the deficiencies and denials he had been raised alongside, that had resulted in the alpha he was. Maybe it was the way his mother truly tried her best to be there, to be the mother they deserved, and paid the price of it within her plush prison, that had Siobhán and Finley become the adults they were. 

Truly Finn couldn’t remember when, exactly, that silent agreement between him and his sister had been struck, nor when exactly their cousin learned of it, and swore wordless allegiance to it as well, but it had been there as long as he could remember. Had stretched like adamant between the trio, nearly as strong as that silent bond in his chest.
It was an agreement between those children to be as perfect as they could be, at least in their mother’s eyes, no matter the cost. As far as Saoirse Byrne was concerned, not a single Byrne child had ever faced a hardship, a worrying moment, or even a scraped knee, since the moment that silent pact had been forged. 

It was a promise to never worry her, to keep her as happy and content as they possibly could. So they would be the perfect children, the most ideal alphas-- they would make her proud, would see her smile every time they entered a room. 

She would glow with pride, and would never face that frail weakening of her body, of her heart, as their father had done to her, ever again. 

For they refused to burden her more than they already had.