A New Season

Kyle moved through the forest, so nervous that every time he stepped on a leaf, the crunch seemed louder than it was. But in fact, he was being extremely quiet, moving as the most cautious prey—because that was what he was now. Without a clan, he had never been more vulnerable in his entire life. When he found the cave Karen had told him about, he felt a sense of relief and pushed through the thorny vines covering the entrance to step inside. The cave was smaller than he had pictured. Having been used by Kevin and his family before, he had assumed it would be larger. Still, for one person, it was perfectly spacious. More importantly, it was shelter, and that was all he needed. Once he was sure the cave was empty and safe, he dropped his travel sack on the ground. He knelt and began to unpack. First came his tools to start a small fire, then his food for a quick snack before sleep, and finally, his wool blanket. When he pulled the blanket out, he smiled. He brought it to his face and took a deep breath. It still smelled faintly of herbs and the dust from his hut, like home. He had carried this bulky thing because he couldn’t have left it behind. It would have felt like leaving his family. Later, with his unpacking done, his stomach full, and the coals warm beside him, the quiet of the cave settled over him. He lay down on his blanket and looked up at the ceiling. His intention was to sleep and rest for what was next, but sleep eluded him, and without being able to prevent it, a dry sob escaped him, and then another. He pressed his face into the wool, his shoulders shaking. He cried for his father and his mother, for the home he had lost, for the tribe that had never wanted him, and, when Stan’s face appeared in his mind, for his first love. Meeting Stan in the woods, seeing him smiling and looking at him like he was worth something, was the worst that could have happened to him. Not for the exile, but because, for a moment, he thought he could have something, when he never would. He cried until his body could take no more, and exhaustion pulled him into sleep. Free from his room, Stan first thought about making his way out of the tribe through the main gate but quickly realized it was out of the question. Two guards were always posted there. They would stop him, question why he was trying to leave when he was still injured, and then his father would know he was out of his room. Within minutes, he’d be dragged back to his house before he even began his search. He leaned against the rough wall of his hut, hiding in its shadow to think about how to find Kyle. If he were Kyle, he wouldn’t leave through the main entrance either. Surely, he’d go through the nearest unguarded section near his hut, so Stan decided to go there first. Then he could trace a path from that point; maybe, if he was lucky, he could follow Kyle’s scent while tracking his steps. He took the long way to avoid being caught, skirting the inner paths of the village for the darker, narrower trails that led to the outskirts. However, he was still caught. “Stan?” He froze. Wendy and Bebe stood a few feet away, Bebe’s basket filled with weaving materials. They looked at him, their eyes wide with concern and curiosity. “By the Gods, what are you doing out of the infirmary?” Wendy asked, her tone laced with a familiarity that now felt suffocating. “It’s nothing. Don’t mind me,” he muttered, trying to step around them. “We can’t not mind you. Why are you out of bed? Did the healer allow you to stand up?” “Wendy,” Stan said, making a placating gesture so she’d lower her voice. “It’s fine. Of course I’m allowed to be out.” “I don’t think so.” Wendy frowned, glancing at Stan’s injuries. She tried to take his arm to examine him, but Bebe stopped her and offered Stan a soft, sympathetic smile. “You need to take care of yourself, Stan. We’re all so grateful for how dedicated you are to protecting the tribe.” Her gaze flickered meaningfully toward his leg and arm. “Please, just don’t think we’re all as pushy as Wendy—or as reckless as Kyle.” Wendy huffed, and Stan frowned. He didn’t mind the offense to his friend as much as the casual disdain Bebe directed toward Kyle. “Kyle wasn’t reckless,” he said, his voice low and firm. “He helped me. His exile was an injustice.” Wendy and Bebe both blinked in confusion. “That’s not what we heard,” Bebe said defensively. “They said Kyle was exiled because he lured a big wolf to our lands.” “That’s not true,” Stan growled. “He did nothing but help me fight that wolf. Whatever they’re saying, whoever ‘they’ are, they’re lying.” He would have liked to stay and fight for Kyle’s innocence, but over Bebe and Wendy’s shoulders, he saw a group of hunters—his uncle’s men—rounding a distant hut. He needed to run if he didn’t want to be caught, so he turned and limped away as fast as he could, leaving the two girls confused. When he finally reached Kyle’s hut, the door was slightly ajar. Stepping inside, he was struck by a weird sensation. The main room was still full of the things Kyle hadn’t been able to carry, yet it looked deserted, like its soul had vanished. Stan danced his sight over all of Kyle’s property until his eyes reached the counter beside the pans, where sat a set of jars filled with Kyle’s famous jam, abandoned. His throat tightened. Kyle was really gone. For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm him. Then he forced himself to focus, closing his eyes and pushing past the scent of dust and dried berries to seek the one smell he needed—Kyle’s. He breathed deeply and finally caught it, faint but unmistakable, the smell of fresh mint and a juicy unnamed fruit. Relief washed over him. The mating season had his senses heightened, and he was grateful for that. Normally, the season was a curse that made him reckless and needy, but now it was a blessing. He left the hut, following the trail away from the village and into the deep woods. The next morning, Kyle woke up feeling numb, but he didn’t want to waste time. Ignoring the hollow in his chest, he began to work. The faster he got ready to leave, the faster he would start his journey to find his new home. He first sharpened his knife on a flat stone, the rhythmic scrape filling the cave. Then he unpacked and repacked his sack, organizing his belongings by priority and making a mental list of what he still needed—things like fresh water, medicinal herbs, long-lasting food, and supplies to build shelter if he got caught in the open overnight. He left the cave carefully. Even if the cave was far away from the places where the tribe usually made their routine, that didn’t mean the cave wasn’t in the tribe's territory. If anyone found him there, he would be chased away. This part of the forest was unfamiliar, but he had a rough idea where certain herbs might grow, so after a long search through the undergrowth, he finally found a patch of woundwort and harvested the leaves, stuffing them into his pouch until his stomach growled, reminding him of his limited supplies. He spotted a rabbit and spent even more time trying to catch it, but the animal was faster, darting into its burrow and leaving him empty-handed. He sighed, cursing his decision of never learning how to properly hunt, and hoping the dried meat back in the cave would do until he got better at hunting. As he straightened up, he noticed the soft gray of the sky was deepening into a threatening black, meaning a storm was coming. So, sighing, he turned back his steps. He couldn’t afford to get soaked and fall ill. He walked with heavy feet, mad because this day had been less productive than he initially thought, and was mentally rewriting his whole survival plan when a sound came from the trees to his right, in the slightly higher land next to him. He turned, hand tightening on his knife—scared at first but befuddled once the bushes parted and Stan tumbled out, landing hard in the mud at his feet. Stan had followed the faint scent of mint and wild fruit for hours, glad because Kyle’s trail wasn’t well hidden. A broken branch here, a faint mark there—each was a sign that reignited his hope and kept him moving despite the pain. He hadn’t torn his stitches, but they pulled with every step. His skin was swollen and hot, but he kept moving, feeling hopeful until the first drops of rain began to fall. “No. Not now,” he muttered. If the rain came hard, it would wash away Kyle’s scent completely. He would lose him. Then, as if the gods were on his side, he pushed through a row of ferns, and there he saw Kyle, standing safe and alive in the lower land. Relief overwhelmed him. He tried to call out, but before he spoke, he took a bad step, stepping on mud and slipping. He slid from the small hill he was on and landed painfully in the mud at Kyle’s feet. For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Stan’s face, streaked with mud, broke into a pained but genuine smile while looking up at Kyle. Kyle looked down at his feet, to Stan. His expression shifted from confusion to recognition and then to anger. His ears flattened, his tail bristled. Without a word, he turned on his heel. “Wait!” Stan’s hand shot out, his right hand grasping air before his left hand also slipped, and he ended up face-planting in the mud. His groan of pain made Kyle hesitate, and that moment was enough for Stan to drag himself forward and grab Kyle’s ankle. “Let go of me,” Kyle snarled, his body tensing. “No, just wait—” Stan gasped. “Let go, Stan! What are you doing here?” Kyle’s voice cut through the wind. “I came looking for you. You left. It’s dangerous out here. I couldn’t let you be out here alone.” “Of course I left! I was exiled—because of you!” The words were sharp. “You blamed me to save your status, and it worked! So get away from me!” The rain finally started to pour down, slowly soaking them both. “It wasn’t me!” Stan said, mortified because Kyle did think he was the reason he was exiled. “My father spun the story while I was unconscious! I would never have blamed you!” “Why should I believe you?!” Kyle demanded. “You were so worried about your image and status!” “I was,” Stan admitted, his voice desperate. “I was afraid. But not enough to let you take the blame for my failure. I’m not my father, Kyle. I’d never do that to anyone. To you.” Stan looked at Kyle, really scared at the idea of Kyle not believing him, and that made Kyle’s anger falter. Looking into Stan's eyes, he saw the boy who’d once defended him from the older omegas when nobody cared about him—the alpha he had fallen in love with. “You’re a fool,” Kyle said, weary now. “Even if what you say is true, why come after me? You’ll tear your stitches open.” “I don’t care!” Stan answered fast. “I had to find you. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Kyle saw the sincerity—the same stubborn goodness that had always made him weak for Stan. “This is so unnecessary,” he murmured and kneeled beside him. “You see me? I’m fine. So go back.” Stan looked into Kyle’s eyes, those perfect, clear green pools he’d found so appealing, now filled with sadness. “You come with me,” he requested. “No,” Kyle said, his voice firm but laced with resignation. He looked past Stan, into the dense, rain-lashed forest. “I won’t go back. Ever.” “You have to. It’s dangerous here.” “I don’t care.” “Please,” Stan begged. “They exiled you, but it was a mistake. They will correct it. I’ll make them, I swear.” Kyle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You can’t even take care of yourself,” he frowned, noticing now that the water was washing over Stan’s arms and legs, and his wounds were looking pretty swollen. “Do you really think you can convince the council it’s not going to track back? Don’t be naive.” “I can be careless,” Stan declared, his voice gaining a shred of its old strength. “But I know I can make them apologize to you.” Kyle shook his head and, for an instant, toyed with the idea of standing up and just leaving Stan behind. He didn’t have to subject himself to this debate. However, he couldn’t leave Stan here. He could never be that cruel, not when the rain was soaking them. “You’re really naive—and a burden. But you’re my burden, apparently. Come on. We’ll get sick out here.” He helped Stan up. This time it was easier for them to walk, first because Stan wasn’t as injured as the last time, and secondly because they now knew how to wrap their arms around each other. Stan even pressed his head briefly to Kyle’s temple as they walked toward the cave, and Kyle, even if he felt a chill, didn’t pull away. Stan was in bliss, feeling Kyle’s body heat and smelling him, almost purring because he had reached his objective. Once inside the cave, Kyle worked in silence. He cleaned Stan’s arm and leg, crushed woundwort, and applied it on Stan’s wounds before tying a new bandage around them. “These were my supplies,” he muttered. “For my journey. Now I’m using them on you.” “You’ll get more,” Stan said firmly. “When we go back.” Kyle froze. “I’m not going back, Stan.” “You have to. It’s not safe for an Omega alone.” Kyle said bitterly. “And it was safe there? Being treated like a curse? This isn’t punishment. It’s freedom. For the first time, I can go somewhere were I'll be wanted.” Stan tried to sit up. “I want you!” The words hung in the air. Kyle looked at Stan with big, confused eyes, and that made Stan backtrack immediately. He realized he was being not only callow and pushy, but he wasn’t reading the room. Kyle was recently exiled because of him; he couldn’t go and tell him he may have fallen in love “at first sight” with him. “I want you there. I mean, you are my friend—I don’t want to lose a friend, and I need to make this right” he corrected. “So, you feel guilty,” Kyle said quietly. “That’s all—” “No, no, that's no it,” Stan shook his head. “It’s not about me. It’s about justice. I’ll talk to the council. I’ll make them see.” “Your father exiled me,” Kyle sighed. “You think your words will change that? I’ll always be the red-haired curse to them.” “My father and the council are stupid and old.” The storm outside raged. Kyle turned away, exhausted. Then he felt warmth surrounding him. It was Stan’s heat. He was holding him from behind. Stan saw Kyle turn away and felt a surge of panic as he realized Kyle was determined not to return to the village. The thought of him getting hurt terrified him just as much as the thought of never seeing him again. He couldn’t quite understand why he felt so drawn to Kyle so quickly, but at the same time, it made perfect sense—Kyle wasn’t just a beautiful exterior; he was equally captivating inside, and he smelled delicious. If he couldn’t convince Kyle to go back, then he couldn’t let him go alone—or be separated from him. He had no other choice but to go with him. “Please,” Stan murmured. “If they won’t change their minds, I’ll go with you.” Kyle froze. Every nerve burned. “Don’t be stupid, you have a life there.” Kyle said weakly, because Stan was holding him. Stan was telling him he will go with him. It was a dream come true, but no, it wasn’t true. Stan was just caught on the idea of defying his father and the council, on being in debt with him. “You don’t owe me anything.” “Not in a place that does this,” Stan said, tightening his hold. “And I said it; it’s not about debt. It’s about fairness.” The omega didn’t answer, and Stan hugged him tighter. Kyle was right, leaving the village was foolish for someone like Stan. There, he had everything; anywhere else, he’d have to start from nothing and fight to earn a place. But he would do it for Kyle. He would do it for Kyle. It sounded so perfect, so romantic. Yet Kyle had called it foolish for him to want to follow. Did Kyle even want him to come along? Stan was there, holding him close, but Kyle had left the village without hesitation. It was clear he didn’t want—or even think of—Stan the same way Stan thought of him. Stan had to—no, needed to—make Kyle see him differently, to make him care in the same way. Then the idea struck him. The mating season was approaching; he could court Kyle and show him how right they were together. When the mating gathering came, they could choose each other and become mates. And if, even after Stan managed to prove to everyone that Kyle wasn’t what the others said he was, Kyle still wanted to leave, then they could go together. They would travel with the visiting tribes of the gathering from village to village, going as far as they could—together. Kyle could go to his mother’s tribe, and Stan could finally see the world filled with all those stories that had always fascinated him so much. “Please, just wait until the Mating Gathering,” Stan said. “When the other tribes come, we’ll go with one of them. It’ll be safer. We’ll find somewhere you belong.” Kyle wanted to resist, to insist that he would never go back to the tribe. But if Stan really could convince the council, then his idea made sense. Also, if Stan went with him, maybe he would start to see him as more than a friend. He could feel the frantic beat of Stan’s heart against his back, matching his own. Kyle smiled at the prospect—leaving the tribe with Stan. Although, he couldn’t do that to him. Dragging him into a dangerous journey away from his perfect life, taking advantage of the fact that Stan felt guilty—he couldn’t do that to him. “I have to think about it.” He leaned back slightly, letting his weight rest against Stan’s chest. At his movement, Stan stopped insisting and only held him tighter as the thunder rolled outside.