Chapter Text
June, 1986
It was supposed to be easy.
Well, as easy as anything could be when your last name was Munson. Or when you found yourself unwillingly at the beck and call of a wannabe mobster like Henry Creel, all on account of a ragtag band of misfits that followed you around like ducklings. Or when you actually cared about the little fuckers so much, you'd do damn near anything to protect them - up to and including breaking into the extremely swank pad of one Steven A. Harrington, importer of rare antiquities and objects d'art, and who - Eddie suspected - had his fingers in some less-than-legal pies.
Not that he was a baker. Probably. So it was a poor metaphor, sue him.
The point was, this entire debacle was supposed to be easy-peasy, a quick in-and-out, just a bit of real world platforming off a garbage bin and a few crates in the back alley until he could reach the decorative molding that dotted the brownstone’s exterior, just begging to be scaled. That part actually went fine, as did jamming the motion sensor magnet on the second story window with a card he lifted from some suit on the L-train. Lifting the sash just far enough to slip inside, Eddie landed on his feet like a cat and clicked his pen light.
He was in what looked to be a guest bedroom, from the fancy, cream embroidered comforter and bedside table devoid of any personal items. There was a comfortable looking chair with a matching embroidered pillow and a heavy, solid wood dresser without a single thing on top save an empty tray, presumably a catch-all for jewelry and the like. The closet, upon a quick check, was empty, confirming his suspicions. Not a hint of his target in sight.
We're sorry, Mario, but your princess is in another castle.
Slowly easing out into the darkened hallway around the quaintly arched wooden door, Eddie made a quick sweep of what appeared to be a storage room on the left and a bathroom on the right, finding nothing. The walls here were faced with faux cream stucco, heavy wooden beams placed at intervals to mimic a Tudor feel, and Eddie wrinkled his nose at the pretentiousness of it all. Art dealers.
The hall terminated in another arched doorway, a keypad mounted to one side, and Eddie knew better than to attempt to turn the knob without entering a code. Glancing back in the direction he'd come, Eddie counted the windows - two in the guest room, and one in the bath, making up all three he'd seen from outside. Harrington either had a secured entrance to his neighbor's townhouse, or he'd bought two side-by-side and combined them without remodeling the exterior. Clever trick.
Lingering outside the heavy wooden door, Eddie could almost taste the air, laden with the rich smell of honey-pink apples. There was a sharp bite of cinnamon and clove riding over and through the delectable scent, transporting Eddie to an orchard ripe with the first crisp edge of fall, blissful here in the muggy heat of June. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he came back to himself, nose pressed to the crack between the door and the lintel, drawing in a deep breath of what had to be the man himself. Steven Harrington, alpha.
He wasn’t even home; Eddie had made sure of that before he made any attempt at entry. By all accounts, Harrington was attending a gathering with friends at Spiaggia down on Michigan Avenue, where he was expected to remain for several hours. For his scent to linger so strongly, Eddie figured the passcoded door must lead to his den.
It shocked him just how much he wanted to sneak inside. Get it together, he chastised himself, forcing a step back, and then another. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it of the fog that had descended, Eddie pinched his nose and turned away, creeping back down the hardwood flooring as quietly as he could manage, just in case.
The staircase at the other end of the corridor led down into the front hall, terminating near the black and white tiled entryway. Across the space, Eddie could see an open door leading into a library, or perhaps a home office. Peeking inside, he saw a large wooden desk that took up fully a third of the room, a chunky IBM sat stop it like an overgrown, stooped pigeon. The rug beneath his feet was plush, a fairly standard paisley design woven in a deep wine and light blue, matching the window treatments. A sweep of his light along the bookshelves, dotted with a few small sculptures and photographs of places instead of people, revealed his target was not among them.
Heaving a sigh, Eddie continued on down the main hallway, passing a half bath in intriguing shades of taupe and a disappointingly tidy utility room, neither of which contained the object of his search. Opening up into a wide kitchen, Eddie’s pen light reflected off shiny black appliances bounded by dark wooden cabinetry and more faux stucco. After nosing through the cabinets, opening ceramic jars and even finding the door to a wine cellar, Eddie was stumped.
Heart beating loudly in his ears, he considered his options. Bail now and face Creel empty-handed, or keep searching until he inevitably knocked something over or tripped a sensor that would set off an alarm. Neither was particularly appealing.
Then he caught it - the slightest hint of that same scent, wafting out from beneath the only door on the first level that he hadn't tried yet. Eyes scouring the wall for any sign of a wire or magnet slide, Eddie approached with cautious interest. Slowly turning the knob, preparing to bolt at the slightest indication he’d fucked the entire venture, Eddie discovered a short hallway leading to an open archway, the room beyond dark.
Deciding it seemed promising, Eddie made his way into what turned out to be a comfortably appointed sitting room, plush chairs pulled up in front of a hearth with a small table between them, the walls lined with bookshelves. A large projection TV sat up against the opposite wall, a couch and matching chair arranged before it. Between the empty wine glass abandoned on an end table, and a paperback left sitting on one of the chairs, this room had the most human touch of any Eddie had seen so far.
Maybe this Harrington guy wasn't some sort of blank-faced android after all.
Casting his light across every horizontal surface, the shelves, tables, mantles - Eddie still came up empty. A door to the left stood partially open, probably the last room Eddie had any hope of investigating, and if the godforsaken bird wasn’t hiding within it, the night would end in failure. The scent strengthened as he approached the gap, hesitantly peering around the edge.
An orange glow from the streetlamps filtered through the front windows, partially illuminating a bedroom suite. Keeping low until he could shutter the blinds, Eddie then scoured the room with his flashlight, finding a few stray personal items - a watch, a shoe partially under the bed, some toiletries in the attached bathroom - but neither hide nor feather of the damnable glass bird he had been sent to retrieve.
Fuck me, Eddie thought, turning in place, hints of the candied apple scent burrowing beneath his skin to magnify his confusion. Had the statue been moved somewhere else? Did it ever exist? Had Creel simply sent him on a wild goose chase? More importantly, what the hell was Creel going to do to Eddie’s pups when he told Henry the bird wasn’t here?
Not your pups, Eddie had to remind himself. Some of them were only six or seven years younger than himself. They were pack, though, christened the Hellfire Eighty-Sixers by the younger ones, and goddamn if he wouldn’t put his life on the line for every one of those punks. He hated that a lowlife like Creel even knew their faces, that their names had ever been in his mouth.
Eddie shook his head, the scent seeming to grow stronger, making his thoughts slow like molasses. If the alpha’s den was upstairs, why was his scent in this room, as well? Moving toward the bathroom without thinking, Eddie touched the soft towels on the rack, examining the soap, the shampoo, the aftershave. The jackpot was the robe in navy blue velour hung on the back of the door, saturated through with that same amazing smell. Eddie sank his fingers into the fabric, lifting it from the hook and burying his nose in it before he could fully process the action, or its possible consequences.
Eddie’s world spun. His shoulder struck the door frame as he stumbled back into the bedroom, all thought of his reason for being in the strange alpha’s home flown out the window along with the missing bird. He’d never smelled anything even half so good in his life, and it scratched an itch so deep down, Eddie had never realized it needed tending at all. Crawling onto the bed, Eddie dragged the robe with him, rolling in the heady miasma of nectar and spice until all conscious reasoning deserted him. Face pressed into the plush fabric, brain lost to pleasant static, Eddie tumbled down into the fragrant depths of a dream-riddled sleep.
Steve stopped in the entryway, front door still partially open behind him, the hand with his keys hovering over the side table. The air smelled - not wrong, exactly, just - different. His house never smelled different. He’d had the same housekeeper for the last decade, using precisely the same cleaning products in the same predictable amounts. It was rare to have anyone other than Robin and Chrissy or their pups stay over with any regularity; most of his conquests were one-and-done, if they even stayed the night at all. The scent wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, tugging at something in his base brain that made his inner alpha stretch and sniff the air.
It was subtly herbal, like something he would have left drying in a bundle, but a little burned around the edges. Above it, almost disguising it, was something more ordinary, something like old leather and motor oil and smoke. Glancing out the door behind him, Steve realized Declan had already pulled away from the curb, apparently satisfied that his slightly tipsy employer had made it up the steps safely enough. So much for that.
Instead of turning on the hall light, Steve crossed over to his office as silently as he could manage and reached beneath his desk to press the silent alarm connected to the local precinct. Punching in the combination for the built-in safe, it unlocked with a slight hiss, and he retrieved the loaded 9mm kept within. Moving cautiously back to the entryway, he cleared the bathroom and laundry, moving on to sweep the kitchen before the scent washed over him again. It was stronger here, almost as if it was coming from the downstairs master suite.
Following it down the short hallway and into the reading room, Steve began to pick out different notes, sometimes a bit like rosemary, sometimes more like sage. It sprouted leaves in his mind, tangling throughout his thoughts like a choker vine grasping for purchase. Mossy, rich with the tang of loam, the scent was definitely emanating from the darkened bedroom. His nerves were far calmer than they should be, Steve knew, given that a stranger waited for him just beyond the half open door.
Except, it wasn’t a stranger, not exactly. Somehow, his alpha hindbrain recognized it, cataloging it as welcome, if not necessarily safe. It was alluring, yet comforting, and Steve wondered if that should worry him more than if it read strictly as danger. Just before he rounded the doorway and flicked on the light, the last bit of the puzzle slid into place.
Omega.
Light flooded the room from spots in the recessed crown molding, illuminating a thin figure curled up in a ball in the center of his bed. He was young and painfully thin, probably no older than twenty. Dark hair like a rat’s nest - a bit curly, a bit wavy, and all flyaway - surrounded a face streaked with sweat and dirt. He was wrapped up in black leather and denim, Chuck Taylors on his feet held together with strips of electrical tape. Clutching Steve’s bathrobe to his chest like a lifeline, his face was buried in the collar as though to carry the scent with him in his sleep.
Steve clicked the safety back into place on his pistol and placed it carefully on top of the dresser. Whoever the strange omega was, he meant Steve no harm, of that he was certain. Even if he did, Steve doubted the boy was capable of inflicting any real damage. Not against him.
Slowly sinking down on the edge of the bed, Steve brushed a wayward curl back from the boy’s cheek where it had slipped loose from his low ponytail. Noticing the lack of scent patches, Steve figured it went a long way toward explaining why the house seemed steeped in his unusual essence. The omega stirred at the barely there slide of fingers across his skin, but not enough to wake. Steve didn’t trust himself to touch anywhere else, the boy’s face so soft and vulnerable in sleep.
“What are you doing in my bed, omega?” he crooned gently, voice pitched low. The boy’s hand reached out, searching for him until Steve took it in his own.
The omega smiled, eyes still firmly shut. He was remarkably pretty. “S'not your real bed though,” he mumbled, sounding a bit disappointed. “Not your den.”
Steve tilted his head, surprised at the boy's response. “You're right,” he said, rubbing his thumb across the omega’s knuckles. “This is just where I fuck the people I bring home.”
“Did you bring me home?” he asked, voice plaintive. It tugged at something in Steve’s chest that he refused to examine. The omega wasn’t exactly his type. Steve’s type was clean, for starters, not the filthy ragamuffin currently soiling his Belgian linen duvet. Also typically a bit closer to his own age, though he’d been known to go after the rare 30 year old who didn’t mind the silver in his hair.
“No, little omega,” Steve denied. “You brought yourself into my home, and I'd like to know why.”
“Oh fuck,” the omega said, the haze seeming to clear as his eyes snapped open. Rolling onto his back, he quickly covered his face with his free hand. Steve hadn’t let go of his other one, and curiously, he didn’t pull away. “I'm screwed, so, so screwed. The goddamn bird. Fuck. ”
“I'm sorry?” Steve said in confusion. What was that about a bird?
“I - shit. Shit, shit, shit, ” the omega continued, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I couldn't find it, and now he's going to take it out on the pups -”
Steve could feel the anguish rolling off the boy in waves. He wasn't still a pup himself, but he wasn't too far out from it, either. At nearly 48, Steve's childhood seemed light years behind him.
“You have pups?” he asked softly.
“Not - not mine, as in y'know, mine, ” the omega clarified, gesturing to his person. “They just don't have anyone else to look after them, so - so I -” He stopped, his eyes roving across Steve’s face, then down the rest of him.
“You take care of them,” Steve filled in. The omega nodded, then a look of fear crossed his face. “I'm not going to try to hurt them, sweetheart,” Steve assured him, somehow understanding the reason for his worry. “What’s your name?
He hesitated, and Steve squeezed his hand lightly. “Eddie,” he answered, squeezing back.
“Is that why you're here, Eddie? Is someone trying to hurt your pups?”
Eddie hesitated a moment, looking conflicted. “I - he wanted me to steal something from you. Threatened them, so I'd do it.”
Steve's face darkened, and the omega drew back. “He?” Steve asked, trying to reign in his scent, spiked through now with anger. No one stole from him. Period.
“I shouldn't say,” Eddie hedged, gnawing at his lower lip.
“What were you supposed to take?” Steve pressed instead.
“Nothing important, really,” Eddie said, as if breaking and entering with the intent of stealing a single penny from Steve wasn't enough to make his blood boil under normal circumstances. Those being any circumstances that did not involve a pretty omega in his bed that somehow smelled - right.
“Just a little glass bird,” he continued, and Steve froze. “Like a paperweight, I guess? But I couldn't find it.”
“Was it red and brown?” Steve asked. “Like a robin?” Eddie nodded, and Steve tamped down on a white hot spike of fury. “You couldn't find it because it was a gift for my very dear friend,” he explained. “She collects little birds, and this one was made by a master glassblower on the isle of Murano, nearly a century ago.”
Steve had it imported from Italy specifically for Robin, arriving in a shipment to the warehouse last month. It had never made it to the gallery, coming home with him promptly in its careful packaging so it wouldn’t accidentally be damaged before he could give it to her - which he had this very evening, at her birthday dinner.
Whoever put Eddie up to this had either bugged one of his phones, or had access to the shipping manifest. That was - worrisome.
“Oh fuck,” Eddie said, his brows drawing together. “He said it was a message.”
Steve nodded, his throat tight. “The man that sent you probably knew it would already be gone and set you up, assuming you'd deliver the message under - duress.”
Eddie swallowed hard, but didn’t seem particularly surprised. “You’re, uh - not in the habit of shooting messengers, are you?” he asked, glancing nervously at the gun atop the dresser. “I don't know why he'd threaten your friend, I’m sorry to say.”
“If you were really sorry,” Steve said. “You'd tell me who sent you.”
“I can't,” Eddie whispered, a sudden sourness spiking the air around him, jagged.
“And under duress?” Steve questioned, letting a growl underpin his words. He wasn’t above using Eddie’s obvious fear to get what he wanted. No one stole from him, and no one - no one - threatened his pack. Leaning in close, Steve realized that his threat seemed to be having the opposite effect, Eddie’s scent evening out along with his breathing. The sour tang disappeared, replaced by something very different, something that wasn’t about fear at all.
Oh.
Steve's head spun, a heat building low in his gut. Eddie wanted him, and Steve's alpha wanted right back. His scent was captivating, intoxicating; it was vivid and immediate in a way that Steve had rarely encountered, if at all. Beneath the layer of grime, in spite of the rips and patches in his clothes, and maybe even partly because of his ridiculous hair, Eddie was beautiful. Steve wanted to hold him under the showerhead until the water ran clean, then fuck him against the wall.
A sudden sound from the hallway startled them both, and Steve turned to face the interlopers with an angry growl. His fangs descended, and before he even realized what he was doing, he’d put himself bodily between Eddie and the doorway.
“Sir,” the officer said, service pistol still aimed at center mass. “May I remind you that you did set off the silent alarm. You did call for us to assist.”
“You bastard,” Eddie hissed, muscles coiled and tense beside him. “You were just keeping me talking.”
Steve could tell Eddie was ready to bolt the moment he wasn’t in danger of being shot. He couldn’t let that happen, not while the name Eddie refused to let slip was Steve’s only clue to the threat against Robin, her family, and most likely, himself.
“I did,” Steve answered the officer, another alpha, forcing his instinctive reaction down. The omega wasn’t his mate; a threat against Eddie wasn’t a threat against Steve, or their - his - home. “Sorry for the -” he waved his hand vaguely in the air. Sorry for the macho alpha bullshit. It was sort of his birthright, honestly.
“Are you all right, sir?” the beta officer questioned.
“I’m fine,” Steve said, quickly sliding his hand down to Eddie’s wrist and holding it firm when he tried to pull away. “You can put away your weapons. Just caught an intruder here attempting to steal from me.”
The first officer’s eyes narrowed as he focused in on Eddie, holstering his gun. The beta followed suit, then took a step forward as if to confront the omega. Eddie twisted his wrist in Steve’s hold, attempting to break free, and only succeeding in making it pop - painfully, from the sound of his grunt. Steve took advantage of Eddie’s momentary shock, pulling his arm up over his head and grabbing for the other where it scrabbled for purchase on the bedclothes.
“Stay,” he growled, his knees landing to either side of Eddie’s hips as he pinned his wrists against the headboard. Eddie bared his smaller fangs, hissing and spitting like an angry cat in Steve’s hold. “Tell me what I want to know,” Steve demanded, leaning in close. “Or take a ride down to the station with these nice officers.”
Eddie’s only answer was a petulant silence. Staring down at the omega held fast beneath him, Steve lost track of the world for a moment, watching Eddie’s deep brown irises shrink to almost nothing. A new scent bloomed around them, and Steve watched as Eddie’s cheeks flushed a deep pink.
He was wet, Steve knew it.
The cop behind him coughed, thankfully breaking the hold Eddie’s changing scent had over Steve. “You gonna cuff him anytime soon?” Steve threw over his shoulder.
Rolling his eyes, the alpha stepped forward and fastened the metal rings around Eddie's wrists with a decisive snap. A possessive, animal thing reared up in Steve at the sight, perversely fantasizing about the cuffs keeping Eddie here at his whim instead. A whimper left the omega's throat, which he quickly tried to cover for by spitting at the cop.
Wrong move. Steve shifted, allowing the officer to haul Eddie up bodily from the bed, roughly securing his hands behind him. He could hear the cry Eddie strangled in his throat as his wrist was bent back, and winced. Allowing Eddie to be hurt felt wrong, but Steve refused to intervene. Not unless Eddie was willing to tell him what he needed to know.
“Fuck you, Harrington!” Eddie cursed as the cops led him from the room. “Fuck. You.”
That was a no, then.
Steve ignored the way his chest ached, watching Eddie be handled so ungently as they carted him away. He stared through the window as the alpha “accidentally” grazed Eddie's head against the roof of the squad car while shoving him in the back, and had to turn away. Once they had left, he would call Chief Hopper down at the 18th and explain.
Yes, he had caught an intruder, but no, he wasn't pressing charges. Could they keep him in custody overnight, give him some time to sit and stew in his own life choices? Steve would send a car over in the morning to collect him, bright and early.
Lockup would serve a dual purpose, keeping Eddie safe from whoever had put him up to breaking and entering, not to mention attempted larceny, but also allowing Eddie time to reconsider giving Steve that name. It was a good plan, a solid idea, so why did it make something squirm so terribly beneath Steve's skin?
Saying that Hopper wasn't thrilled with Steve's plan was an understatement, but he knew how quickly Steve's support could turn into hostility. Hop had been the officer to respond to the incident that nearly took his father's life back in ‘75, and they had been friendly ever since. When he made Chief last year, Hopper had sworn to clean up the corruption and unacceptable behaviors that ran rampant in the department, and to everyone’s surprise, he was actually making headway. Steve's financial and political clout had been instrumental to his success, and without it, Hopper's influence would surely wane.
For his part, Steve spent every waking minute of his largely sleepless night regretting his choice to send Eddie away. The omega could be safe in his arms right now, his alpha helpfully reminded him, if he hadn't tried to teach Eddie a lesson. Curled up in the center of his oversized bed in his well-appointed den, Steve clutched his own robe to his chest, breathing in the scents the omega had left there, wanting.
The bitter-sweetness of rich dark chocolate had to be Eddie's slick, the most complex and intriguing that Steve had ever smelled. A low whine escaped from between his lips and Steve realized he was rock hard in his boxers, all he could stand to wear the way heat prickled across his skin. Before he properly realized what he was doing, Steve had rolled over onto his stomach, the robe bunched up below him, his hips rolling against it.
Tugging down his boxer briefs, Steve groaned at the feel of the soft, smooth material against his erection. He was already leaking precome from the tip, and it left a trail across the fabric as he rutted, nearly mindless with it. The friction built and built, his hands starting to shake where they gripped his pillow as his hips thrust roughly against the bed. Eddie's scent surrounded him, moving through him while he lost all rhythm, his cock pulsing as his hips jerked forward. The orgasm hit with force, hot spend soaking his robe and probably the sheets below.
Rolling onto his back, Steve left the robe where it was, the heady blend of their scents all tangled up in the weave. He was still hard, surprised to feel his knot swell with an aching desire. He felt sixteen again, working his fingers through the mess of come that coated his cock, stroking and squeezing at the inflated base. He thought about Eddie's eyes, dark and warm, his lips plush and parted and just waiting to be captured in a kiss.
Steve was old fashioned like that. Not all of his bed partners wanted to kiss him, and the ones he fucked in the back of Thirty Four only wanted his lips in one place. That was fine, Steve supposed; he wasn't exactly looking for a mate when he went cruising down on Rush Street, either.
When he'd looked at Eddie tonight, a dream-fueled smile on his face as he held tight to Steve’s robe, the loudest thoughts in his head were of kissing him until he couldn't remember his own name. Drowning out the confusion and alarm over finding a stranger in his mock-up master bedroom, the desire to lie down beside him and replace the soft fabric in Eddie's hands with his own warm skin had been insistent. Steve let his mind wander as he squeezed his knot tight, fucking it in and out of his fist faster as he imagined how Eddie might have reacted.
Would he have reached for Steve instinctively? Would he have let Steve slip his hands beneath that ratty t-shirt and slowly lift it off over his head? Would he have protested when Steve's fingers popped the snap on his tight black jeans and slid the zipper down, would he have been wearing soft, delicate panties beneath?
Steve's imagination decided on a racy bikini cut with red lace at the edges, no matter how low the likelihood that there was anything beside a pair of briefs beneath the omega's jeans. It was his fantasy; he could always buy Eddie any lingerie his heart desired, once he had him back. As long as he was letting his thoughts run wild, Steve figured he could pretend that Eddie would come back, pretend that he wouldn’t be too angry to want to stay for a little while.
Twisting his hand around the swollen head of his cock before sliding back down to where his knot throbbed, Steve imagined how wet Eddie would be for him, his panties soaked straight through with slick. Imagined slipping his fingers beneath the silken fabric to the hot, velvety folds that waited for him there, pictured how it would feel to circle a finger oh-so-slowly around Eddie's entrance, muscles fluttering beneath his touch as Eddie moaned. In his mind, Eddie begged to have Steve inside him, bucking up against his hand as more slick pulsed out of him.
Eddie whimpered out a breathless “alpha, please, ” and Steve's back arched off the bed as a second orgasm sent lightning racing through his veins, his knot emptying while his fist pumped as fast and as rough as he could manage.
Collapsing back against the pillows, Steve floated through the haze of endorphins, not yet ready to come down to earth. He couldn't remember the last time he had knotted inside someone, much less popped one while jerking off. The bed suddenly felt far too large, the room too quiet and empty with only one person occupying it.
“Stop being ridiculous,” Steve said aloud to the dark room, trying to reign in his thunderous pulse as his breathing gradually slowed. “You met him for what, ten minutes?”
It didn't seem to matter much to his alpha, or his dick, for that matter. Both were in solid agreement that Eddie should be here with Steve instead of in a holding cell downtown. Fine, Steve capitulated. He would close his eyes for a few minutes, then get up, shower, change the sheets, and have a car sent for Eddie. Maybe with some new clothes.
Eddie didn't sleep a wink in the cell the pigs stuck him in overnight, his back to the corner while the drunkest of his cellmates took a piss through the bars. Eddie supposed he should just be grateful the guy aimed outward instead of in. An older omega woman rocked back and forth, muttering to herself, and screamed about bugs when Eddie tried - briefly - to comfort her. A large man with a lengthy beard in the cell across the way stared daggers at him every time Eddie so much as looked in his direction, so he focused his gaze elsewhere.
Way to live up to the Munson name, Eddie thought. Well, that wasn’t exactly fair. His Uncle Wayne had never spent so much as a single day behind bars. His father, on the other hand - well. It was probably easier to count the days he hadn’t.
Two betas around Eddie's age leaned back against the wall, looking far too comfortable with the situation. “Hey,” one of them called out in a stage whisper. “Hey, Hellfire.” Eddie's head snapped up. “Yeah,” the kid drawled. “I thought that was you! Man, how the fuck did you get pinched?”
“By talking when I should've kept my mouth shut,” Eddie snapped. He wasn't happy to be so easily recognized; anonymity had its uses, especially when you mainly kept your pack alive by stealing.
The kid frowned, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fuck right off, then.” He was too thin, his mohawk plastered into sharp blue spikes, wearing a fraying jean vest covered in hand-sewn patches for local punk bands. Eddie softened, figuring they were at least kin to the streets, if not the same scene.
“I let my guard down,” he said, more quietly. “Got fucked over.”
The kid nodded solemnly. “My little brother was hungry,” he said. “Shithead cashier at the bodega called the cops on us, and this loser was too slow.” He nodded his head toward the other boy, who shoved at his shoulder.
“I tripped, asshole!” he protested.
“Whatever,” the first boy said, toying with some stray thread at the bottom of his vest. Eddie knew he had gone back for his friend, otherwise he'd only be sharing a cell with one of them. Good heart beating beneath that denim, he thought.
It was too hot in the small detention block below the precinct building, the midsummer air stale and rancid. The cell block was devoid of windows, and it seemed somehow apropos that his watch face had cracked at some point during the night, the hands beneath it stilled. He felt sick to his stomach, occasionally chilled, then back to sweating in the brackish humidity that clung to his skin.
Two women in the next cell spoke quietly in another language, forming a strangely comforting backdrop of white noise that let his mind drift. As the hours passed, Eddie’s thoughts wandered in circles, wishing he could stop thinking about Harrington, stop remembering how gentle his touch felt on his hand, how deliciously fierce it had become in the instant when everything turned on a dime and Eddie realized he was fucked six ways from Sunday. Wished he could stop smelling his scent every time he drew in a breath.
Well, maybe not that last. As if the smell of the sty upstairs wasn't bad enough, crammed full of so many swine, the stench below was nigh on unbearable. He wasn't likely to get away from it anytime soon, either. Eddie knew they could hold him for 72 hours before charging him with a goddamn thing, but surely there would be enough evidence at Harrington's townhouse to send him to jail for real this time.
Even if he'd had gloves to wear and hadn't left his prints on the window frame, there'd been the indisputable fact of his presence soiling Harrington's expensive bedding in his fuck suite. It would almost be funny, if he hadn't screwed himself over so badly. What the hell had he been thinking?
Eddie thumped his head against the bricks. He hadn't been thinking, at least not with the right head. He remembered following the alpha's scent throughout the house, finally winding up in the room so elegantly blank it might as well have been a hotel. Remembered searching it, then wandering into the en suite and -
Waking up on Harrington's bed, the man himself sat next to him, speaking softly, kindly, as if he hadn't been planning all along to turn him over to the authorities. As if he hadn't just been using his alpha presence, his comforting scent to stall Eddie, lulling him into a false sense of security. And like an absolute, affection-starved moron, he'd fallen right for it.
It wasn't that he didn't have the love of his pack, misfits though they were. He did. The other omegas even cuddled up to him in their shared nest, wherever they were hiding out at the time. Hell, Jeff and Max and El did too, and they were all betas. Eddie was a good leader, respected, and he knew it. He just couldn't shake the goddamn biological imperative, no matter how hard he tried.
So when an alpha whose scent called out to him so strongly showed him the tiniest bit of interest, no matter how false, Eddie had rolled right over and shown his belly in return. He might as well have bared his neck to Harrington. Hell, maybe he had. It was difficult to remember much before the pain of nearly dislocating his wrist had cut through the haze.
As the hours of the night wore on, it felt as though a black hole had opened somewhere deep inside his chest, and Eddie knew he would never reach escape velocity on his own. His joints ached, his muscles stiff and sore like a bad case of the flu, and all Eddie wanted was to curl up in his nest and sleep, possibly forever. He should kick his own ass for letting thoughts like that dominate his mind, he knew, but he couldn’t defeat their nearly gravitational pull.
The swelling in his wrist had gone down by the time they cut the drunk loose, and Eddie realized it must be early morning. The kids next to him had fallen asleep against each other hours ago, and still slept on, oblivious. The man with the beard hadn’t moved, still staring straight through Eddie as if he could see down to his soul. Eddie figured he might as well get used to it.
“Theodore Munson?”
Eddie lifted his head where he’d been resting it against his knees. Were they charging him already? Would he have to go to court? Would Harrington be there?
“Get up,” the cop said, his uniform stained with sweat. “Someone’s here for ya.”
“What?” he asked. That didn’t make any sense. No one knew he was here, no one would come for him. No one should come for him. He didn’t want any of the pups on the pigs’ radar. Unless -
Creel would know by now that he’d failed, since he didn’t show up at the club last night with the bird. Still, he couldn’t know that Eddie was at the precinct - could he? Would he bail Eddie out just to punish him? Or worse, would he make Eddie watch while he punished one of the pups in his stead?
Eddie would go feral before he let that happen. He would rip out the throat of whoever tried to hold him back, and put himself between Creel and his intended victim. Still, he’d be bringing a knife to a gun fight, and Eddie knew it.
“Chief said you’re outta here, now come on!” The cop waited impatiently by the door, jingling the keys in his pudgy fingers.
Eddie slowly rose to his feet, his joints popping, muscles burning as they protested his every movement. He felt dizzy, his thoughts dulled by the dark cloud that had taken up residence in his brain overnight. Wherever they were taking him, Eddie thought, it couldn’t be good.
Eventually managing to cross the space, he let the impatient cop drag him out of the cell then swiftly lock it back behind him. He shoved Eddie hard when he didn’t immediately start moving down the hall, and Eddie’s shoulder banged painfully against the bricks. Putting one foot in front of the other was far more difficult than it should be, and when he reached the stairs, he almost gave up.
“Mr. Munson?” Eddie didn’t recognize the man who addressed him, standing at the top of the stairs in a nicely cut suit and holding a large plastic bag as if he’d been shopping. “Mr. Harrington thought you could use a change of clothing for the return trip.”
Eddie blinked. “He thought - but I - what?”
“I’m Mr. Harrington’s driver,” the man explained. The thick mustache over his lip was distracting, like a fuzzy caterpillar. “He thought you might want to - look a bit different, perhaps?”
Eddie bristled, taking the man’s words to mean that his appearance wasn’t good enough even to ride in his car. Then it hit him. Harrington knew his house might be under surveillance, knew how it would look for Eddie to be seen going back inside, and was giving him the means to disguise himself.
He actually thought Eddie was going to give him a name, after sending him to the drunk tank overnight. That entitled, alphan son of a bitch.
“I don’t suppose there’s a shower he could -” The driver started, before the cop cut him off.
“Get bent, buddy,” he grumbled. “And get this kid out of here, otherwise I’m locking him back up.”
The driver raised his eyebrows, holding out the bag once more. This time, Eddie decided to take it.
The ride back to Harrington’s brownstone was markedly more pleasant than the one he’d had leaving, despite feeling like he’d managed to pick up some bug overnight. The driver was a beta named Declan who, Eddie learned over the course of a few miles, had a wife, four kids, and six grandkids all over in Canaryville. A blue glass-beaded rosary dangled from the rearview mirror, and Eddie assumed he was as Catholic as Wayne had always tried to raise him. He was pleasant enough company, if polite and business-like, but didn’t condescend or treat Eddie like he was beneath him.
The bag Declan brought contained a pair of khaki pants, a white t-shirt, a faded blue baseball cap, blue sneakers, and some sunglasses. It was about as far from Eddie’s usual look as you could get, short of sticking him in a suit, but he supposed that was the point. As long as he could keep his hair pulled up under the hat, no one watching would peg him as Eddie Munson. Declan wove the Town Car through a maze of side streets before winding up directly behind the brownstone, exactly where Eddie’s misadventure the night before had begun.
“I won’t pretend to know what’s going on with the two of you,” Declan mused, putting the car in park. “Nor is it any of my business. But whoever’s threatening Ms. Buckley-Cunningham should know that Mr. Harrington has a great many resources at his disposal, both here and overseas, and he is extremely protective of those he holds dear. If it comes down to picking sides -” Declan paused, lowering his aviators. “Do see that you pick the winning one.”
Eddie closed his mouth with a snap where it had fallen open during Declan’s monologue. “Yeah, I’ll, uh - be sure to do that. Thank you. For the ride, and the clothes.”
“You’re also welcome for the advice,” Declan said with a wry smile, unlocking the doors with the click of a button. Fancy. “The kitchen door will be open,” he added, nodding in that direction.
Taking the hint, Eddie got out with the plastic bag that now contained his old clothes, in the hopes of maybe washing them. Still half-convinced that this was all an elaborate trick, he tensed before putting his hand on the doorknob, pausing a moment before giving it a turn. It opened easily, and Eddie stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned space. The kitchen looked different somehow in daylight, and he was greeted by the sight of Harrington himself at the table, sipping from a mug of coffee as though it was an ordinary Saturday morning.
Maybe it was, for him. Eddie stood awkwardly in place after closing the door behind him, ditching the hat as he waited to be acknowledged. The early morning sunlight through the windows of the breakfast nook caught in the alpha’s hair, picking out silver strands among the honey. It suited him, Eddie thought, watching the play of light along the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses. He was dressed simply in a light blue t-shirt that looked soft, and Eddie wanted to run his hands over it, maybe beneath it as well.
He really needed to stop thinking with his dick.
Harrington hooked his ankle around the leg of a chair, pushing it out from the table to break Eddie’s reverie. “You and I need to have a talk,” he said, looking Eddie up and down. His eyes lingered on the ink that crawled along Eddie’s arms in various small designs, but he didn’t venture an opinion. “Coffee’s on the counter, if you’d like.”
Eddie set the bag down and slowly made his way to the white tile countertop, finding a large mug waiting for him beside the promised pot of coffee. It smelled amazing, and Eddie stopped for a moment just to breathe it in before pouring himself a cup. A carton of half ‘n half sat nearby, and Eddie dumped in enough to turn it beige. Maybe some caffeine would drain the swamp in his mind.
“There’s a bowl of sugar in the cabinet,” Harrington offered. “I forget it’s there until Chrissy’s over.”
Eddie nodded as if he had any idea who Chrissy was, and found the promised sugar bowl just over the coffee pot. The alpha laughed as he added several spoonfuls to his mug, and Eddie wrinkled his nose. “You can’t possibly drink this stuff without sugar,” he opined.
“I can and I do,” Harrington replied, as Eddie made his way back to the table and cautiously took a seat in the intended chair, shifting around to get comfortable. Realizing that wasn’t possible, the way his muscles ached, Eddie settled awkwardly on the edge of the seat.
“So,” Steve said, eying Eddie over the rim of his mug. “Ready to give me that name, yet?”
“What part of sending me to jail overnight makes you think I’d be any more inclined to tell you than I was yesterday?” Eddie narrowed his eyes. He might be in Harrington’s kitchen, wearing his clothes and drinking his coffee, but that didn’t mean he had to show his throat. Yet.
“The part where it kept you safe?” Harrington asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
I would have been safe with you, Eddie thought, but very definitely did not say.
“Yeah, well, it also stank like piss and had a guy that wanted to kill me,” Eddie argued, setting down the mug and staring into the brown liquid as though it contained the answers he needed. “Look, Steven -” he started, and was swiftly interrupted.
“Just Steve,” Harrington corrected. “My parents call me Steven, it’s too weird if you do it.”
Eddie let out a small laugh despite himself. “Okay, Steve, ” he started again, reverting back to seriousness. “It’s not like I’m trying to protect the guy - I hate his ass, all right? I don’t want anything to do with him. But if I tell you, and one of those pups gets hurt because of it -”
“For godssakes, Eddie, I can protect you and your pups!” Steve protested, leaning forward in his seat.
“Yeah, you’re a big bad alpha, I get it -” Eddie said, waving one hand in a vague gesture until Steve caught it.
“Let me protect you,” Steve said, a note of pleading beneath the words. He squeezed Eddie’s hand, drawing it closer until he could press Eddie’s palm to his chest.
The breath fled Eddie’s lungs, and all he could hear was the sound of Steve’s heartbeat beneath his fingers as he spread them out. The shirt was every bit as soft as it looked. A warmth slowly spread through Eddie from their point of contact, his head beginning to clear the longer he felt that pulse beneath his palm. His muscles relaxed, the pain in his joints dissolving into nothing.
No way, Eddie thought. There was no fucking way he had wound up with a mild case of rejection sickness overnight that was only now lifting in the strange alpha’s presence. That shit was for romance novels and great unrequited loves, not two people who had met once for less than thirty minutes. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
“You don’t even know me,” Eddie said wonderingly, confused at Steve’s offer. There was no way in hell he was this guy’s type. “You probably wouldn’t like me, even if you did.”
“I think I would,” Steve said, lifting Eddie’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Will you give me the chance?”
Eddie swallowed around the lump in his throat, reminding himself to breathe. Holding up the index finger of his other hand to his lips, he slowly rose from his seat, reluctantly taking his hand back from Steve’s grip. Picking up the memo pad he’d seen on the counter and the pen left next to it, he returned to his seat.
Bugged? he scribbled down after folding back the top sheet, already covered in mundane notes. Steve nodded, taking the pen.
Probably, he wrote back.
“I can’t tell you,” Eddie said aloud, trying to keep his voice as normal as possible, while Steve wrote another message. “That’s my final answer. I’m sorry, I just can’t trust you like that. I - I should go.”
Upstairs, Steve had written. Locked door.
Eddie nodded his understanding. Given the set up Steve maintained on the first level, he doubted Steve let anyone through that door, not even the housekeeper he most assuredly employed. If any place in the house was safe to speak freely, it would be through that portal.
It was also an alpha’s den, making it the most dangerous place for any omega to venture.
“Fine,” Steve said aloud, sounding angry as he stood from his chair. “But once you walk out of here, you’re on your own. I won’t offer my help again.”
“I understand,” Eddie said, not even having to fake the wobble in his voice. Steve reached for his hand, and Eddie gave it, squeezing his fingers. He let Steve lead him down the hall toward the front door and stood by as he opened it, only realizing he was meant to say something when Steve nudged his shoulder. “Goodbye, Steve,” Eddie said, his voice thick, the words trying to stick in his throat.
“Goodbye, Eddie,” Steve echoed, something pained crossing his face as he said the words.
Eddie took a small, hesitant step closer just as Steve closed the door with a bit more force than was necessary. The sound of glass rattling in the frame made him jump, and Steve’s arms were around him before he could even make a sound.
“Shh,” he whispered against Eddie’s ear. “I’ve got you.” Eddie nodded, feeling parts of himself he didn’t even know were tense begin to relax in Steve’s hold. The scent of perfectly ripe, sweet apples overrode his fear, settling his nerves. Eddie could see the small lines where he usually wore a scent patch. Usually, but not this morning. “Here goes nothing -”
Before Eddie could react, Steve had bent down, bringing one arm up below Eddie’s knees and hoisting him into the air. Biting down on his tongue, Eddie managed to keep from uttering a sound as he was swept up, bridal-style, and carried up the staircase. He had to admit it was an ingenious way to only create the sound of one set of footsteps, but a warning would have been nice.
A strange sensation moved through his skin, sinking deep beneath and Eddie realized that Steve was purring. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, fighting the urge to bury his face there as well. This is insane, he thought, allowing himself to be carted through the house. You’re insane.
Once at the locked door, Steve gently set Eddie down, to which he felt like protesting but did not, thank you very much. He input a series of numbers and letters into the keypad too quickly for Eddie to memorize, not that he was trying. Nope.
Between having Steve this close and the scent that flooded out from around the door, Eddie nearly lost himself in that same haze that overcame him the first time. Steve's hand rested in the small of his back, guiding him forward as he turned the knob and revealed the room beyond.
A dim light illuminated a sitting area much like the one below, but the furniture here was even more comfortable, the cushions deeper, more broken in. There was a small kitchenette, and Eddie figured it was so Steve wouldn't have to leave his den during a rut. The blinds were closed, heavy curtains that could probably block out the midday sun pulled back to the sides.
Eddie paused just inside the door, letting it swing shut behind him as he took it all in, rich scent included. There was an added component to it this time, a scent he was very familiar with, and he couldn't keep the smug smile from his face. Steve had been jerking off. True, Eddie didn't know if Steve had been thinking about him while doing it, but he was going to go with a strong maybe.
Then Steve was crowding him back against the door, hemming him in with one hand against the wood, the other cupping his cheek. He leaned in close, resting against Eddie's forehead, and Eddie was mortified at the chirp that rose in his throat.
“Wanna kiss you,” Steve said, his breath hot against Eddie's lips. “But once I do, I know I won't stop until I knot you at least once.”
Eddie drew in a shuddering breath; there was no real point in denying it. “Want that, alpha,” he admitted, his hands looping around Steve's waist. “Want you. ”
Steve let out a whine, then pulled back, his cheeks flushed. “You have something to tell me first,” he reminded Eddie.
Dammit. “Creel,” Eddie said, anxiety roaring through his veins as he spoke the name aloud. “Henry Creel, he owns Vide Noir over on Division -”
“I know who he is,” Steve said with a growl. “He's been trying to horn in on my territory since my father controlled the company. Creel pulled a stunt that nearly got my father killed, almost eleven years ago now.”
“Your - territory?” Eddie asked nervously, realizing his formerly baseless suspicions might be correct after all.
Steve smiled a wide, predatory grin. “My business interests might extend a bit further than antique mirrors and Murano glass tchotchkes.”
“Oh,” Eddie said, feeling extremely naive. Steve's face fell in response.
“Why do you think I can protect you?” Steve asked, stroking his knuckles lightly down Eddie's cheek. “I have a full security detail, I have contacts all over the world that could give you and your pups a safe haven, if it comes to that.” Seeing Eddie's hesitation, he continued. “The Riviera is beautiful this time of year. Though Amsterdam might be more your speed.”
“We are not taking those kids to Amsterdam,” Eddie protested without thinking it through.
Steve's face lit up with his victory. “It gets a bad rap over here,” he said with a shrug. “But I still think you'd love it.”
“You'll just have to show me,” Eddie said, letting a slow smile bloom across his face. He could pretend that Steve would take him to Europe, sure. It made for a nice mental vacation.
“I want to show you everything,” Steve said, a smoldering promise in his gaze. “But first I need to check in with Robs and Chris, then I need to - make sure Creel remembers his place. The Harringtons were here long before he and his little wanna-be mobsters moved into the neighborhood.”
“There's a pay phone outside the - where the nest is, right now,” Eddie said. “One of the older ones might answer, if I call. I should check in, they'll be worried.”
Steve nodded. “Give me a few minutes, and the line's all yours.” He tugged open a drawer beneath an end table and pulled out an honest to god mobile phone, punching in a number he knew by heart. It was roughly the size of a brick, and Eddie heard they weighed just as much. He'd never actually seen one in person.
Steve disappeared into the bedroom, and Eddie followed after a moment, slipping into the en suite. He had to piss like a racehorse, and knew Steve could probably hear him over his phone call, the stream was so loud. Digging around in the drawers beneath the sink (only one, Eddie noted), he found a spare toothbrush still in the packaging. Score.
Steve was still on the phone when Eddie was done, feeling a bit more confident now that he knew his breath didn't stink. Also tempting was the massive shower with not one but three shower heads, and undoubtedly expensive products inside. Eddie wondered if Steve would like it if he used them, if he smelled like him.
It had been too long since he'd been able to get properly clean. The YMCA was always open, but it was also always full of macho alphas who didn't take no for an answer, especially when he was close to his heat. Eddie never really felt clean, after that. Decision made, he shucked off the disguise and opened the door back into the bedroom a few inches out of pure cheek, before sliding back the beveled glass entry to the shower.
Water flooded down as he turned on the main spray, and Eddie stepped eagerly beneath it, losing himself in the warmth.