Chapter Text
"So..."
You watch the man who calls himself Landry, fiddling nervously with your thumbs as he stares you up and down with an appraising look.
The two of you sit in his office, tucked inside a quaint little pub just off Harvest Street. The room smells strongly of cigarettes and booze, the air thick with suffocating heat. A single desk sits at the center of the cramped space, flimsy in design and worn with age, flanked by a creaky chair and a sagging couch pushed against the wall. There are no windows to brighten the dim room. Only torn wallpaper, dust, and age staining the walls. It’s a miserable place. Though it isn’t your first time here, walking through that door never gets any easier when you’re looking for a favor.
Landry’s eyes flick toward yours. The silence is painful, broken only by the muffled laughter and quiet music drifting in from the pub beyond the hall. You fidget harder beneath his stare, your gaze darting anywhere but at him. You began wondering if maybe it would be better to just leave and not speak of this again until he abruptly burst into a fit of laughter, folding over himself and clutching his stomach like you had pissed your pants. You glance down immediately just to make sure, exhaling in relief when you find the floor still dry.
"You? A little high school student? Theft?" He slams a hand against the desk, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I knew you needed money, boy, but I didn't take you for a criminal!"
It takes all of your strength not to roll your eyes. "Stop laughing. This isn't funny."
Landry sighs, allowing himself a moment to calm down before rounding the desk, leaning against it. The two of you are mere inches apart. "Alright then. I suppose there is something that I can do for you," he muses. "For a price, of course."
You perk up. "Anything is fine."
"I was expecting a package some days ago, but it never arrived. Good news is that I had a GPS tracker placed on it. Bad news is that it's pretty far off, and it's in the forest. I'd get it myself, but... well, you're here now. So I guess you can do it for me instead, and then I don't have to deal with it." His smile widens. "You've got a phone, right?"
"Yeah," you frown. "Isn't the forest known for being really dangerous? It's got wolves and bears. And I've heard some bad things about the hikers around there..."
He narrows his eyes. "Well, if you're going to be difficult about it, you can always refuse. But you need my help, do you not? This is my price. Hand me your phone."
Begrudingly, you do as he asks. He spends some time opening your map app and typing something in, which you assume are a set of coordinates. When he's done, he hands it back to you and returns to his chair, leaning back lazily as you gaze at your phone. You frown further when you realize that he is right and that the package is pretty deep in there.
"What exactly is this package?" you ask.
"It's a black box. Don't try to open it, because you can't. And I'll know if you do. Anyway, head over there whenever you can, ideally sooner rather than later. It was probably dropped on its way here."
"...What happened to the person who was delivering it?"
Landry cocks his head to the side, pondering for a moment before flashing the fakest grin you have ever seen. "Probably nothing. Are you doing it or not?"
Your brows furrow, and you stare at the location on the phone. The forest is beautiful, sure. You had been there a few times, since the students at your school go there every day after classes end to swim around the lake and hang out. Still, dozens of people go missing a year in there, especially when they travel inside alone. But you also don't think that you could ask anyone from school to follow you inside... they all think you're a nerd. And the orphanage doesn't hold much hope either, because they're all terrified of the forest themselves.
Sighing, you resign yourself to your fate. After all, if you don't want the police to arrest you, you need Landry's help.
"Okay, fine. I'll get it done tomorrow morning."
Landry's brows raise for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovers himself and claps his hands together in delight. "Well, I did say the sooner the better. It's a pleasure doing business with you. And, ideally, be careful. I would actually like for you to come back with the box, not disappear with it."
This time, you cannot prevent the roll in your eyes as you turn away and wave him goodbye. "Whatever."
You exit his office and enter the hall, following the sound of music until you reach the bar. It has gotten busier since you first entered—most seats are full, and the bartenders look helplessly busy. It smells strongly of pheromones as you rush to the exit, a mix of alpha and omega, some of which you see on top of one another like animals, kissing and touching shamelessly in public.
When you finally make it outside, you take in a large drag of fresh air, mixed with the distant scent of smoke. Ruffling your hair with a groan, you rush to the nearest bus stop and wait, clutching onto your school bag.
Somehow, you doubt you’ll enjoy tomorrow very much.
The following morning, you try to prepare yourself with a shower. The water is scalding hot, hot enough to burn your skin pink, but it helps ease some of the tension twisting in your stomach. Steam fills the cramped bathroom until it almost feels like a sauna. By the time you finish, rain is tapping steadily against the orphanage windows.
You dress for the miserable weather as best as you can. A short raincoat, boots sturdy enough for the forest trails, and a pair of black shorts to deal with the suffocating heat outside. Before leaving, you sling a bag over your shoulder and double-check everything inside: a can of pepper spray—which you imagine will be useful if you encounter a bear—a portable charger for your phone, some bottled water, an old map of the forest trails in case the charger ends up dying—though you hope it will not come to that—and a flashlight.
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you feel that you look unbelievably stupid, but you pull the raincoat hood over your head anyway and head out of your room and into the main hall. On your way downstairs, you nearly bump into someone, which you quickly recognize as Robin by his short brown hair and cute face. Like you, he is an omega. It is something the two of you bonded over quickly.
"Oh! Good morning," Robin says, rubbing his arm. "You're heading out early today."
You smile despite yourself. The sight of him always helps you feel better about the things you have to do to repay your debts. "Yeah, I have something to do for work."
"Well, if the rain clears up, I'll be at the beach selling lemonade. You should stop by if you can." He returns the smile, fixing his hair.
“Of course.” You beam back at him. “I’ll see you later.”
Robin waves goodbye as you pass him, and you return the gesture before stepping outside. Rain immediately patters against your coat, cool droplets sliding down your bare legs. With a sigh, you head out into the direction of the forest. The day is gloomy today, albeit very humid, and you can't help but feel anxious as you reach the expanse of trees. A faded trail marks the way toward the lake, and, adjusting your hood, you follow it.
It takes you somewhere around twenty minutes before you reach the lake. The forest is calm today, and you passed three joggers on their way back to town. The air is cooler near the lake, so as you proceed past the end of the trail, you walk alongside it hoping it will stop the sweat pooling at your back. Mud squelches beneath your boots, and rainwater drips steadily from the leaves on the trees overhead. Mist hangs low above the lake, which grows distant with every passing minute. You glance at your phone, which is difficult to use with its wet screen. Landry's GPS signal says it's still some ways away. Much farther ahead than you expected.
Muttering under your breath, you continue forward. Wet branches drag against your raincoat as the forest thickens around you. The ground becomes uneven beneath your boots, roots twisting through the mud like veins. Every few minutes, you have to check your phone again to make sure you're still walking in the right direction. And the deeper you go, the quieter everything becomes. Even the birds seem rare this far in. The only sounds left are the steady patter of rain over your coat and your own footsteps.
The signal continues leading you farther and farther, so much so that no matter which direction you look, you can't see anything except for the trees and bushes of berries sagging against the rain. Another hour passes like this. Your clothes cling damply to your skin, and you begin to feel irritated.
Landry made it sound like the package has simply been dropped nearby, not abandoned in the middle of nowhere like some horror movie setup. If you had known you would need to hike this far into the forest, you might have reconsidered agreeing at all. You let out a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag tighter and glancing at the signal on your phone, surprised that it even functions in these woods.
The blinking marker is much closer now. You look around, squinting through the rain in search of any sign of the package. And then you spot it, off in the distance, half-hidden beneath the roots of a massive tree. Relief floods through you almost instantly. You hurry over, not wishing to waste more time, dropping to your knees to fish it out of the earth.
"Hah!" The triumphant sound leaves you in a breathless laugh as you stare at the package. Up close, the thing is strangely plain. Just a matte black box with no markings, no visible lock, nothing that explains why Landry seemed so interested in getting it back. It is lighter than you expected, too. You can't help being curious about what's inside.
Then suddenly, you hear the not-so-distant sound of a gunshot tear through the forest. The sound cracks violently across the trees, startling a frenzy of well-hidden birds from the canopy overhead. You flinch hard enough to nearly drop the box, and within the next moment, you stuff it inside your bag and scramble upright, eyes darting around frantically.
Silence crashes down just as quickly afterward. Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it in your ears, and for a moment, you cannot even force yourself to move.
Fuck, what the hell was that?
Somewhere, you hear the snap of a branch. You freeze for a moment, just listening. Rain hisses through the leaves. The forest answers with nothing else. Slowly, you press yourself back against the thick trunk behind you, eyes scanning the rain-drenched undergrowth. Shadows stretch between the trees, dark and shifting, but there is nothing there. Nothing moving. Nothing that should make a sound like that.
You inhale shakily, then force the breath out again, shutting your eyes to allow yourself to take in the earthy scent of moss. It's probably just a local hunter who scared some animals into wandering over here. Calm down. People hunt in these woods all the time.
Still, your fingers don’t stop trembling when you reach for your phone. You pull your phone from your coat's pocket, wiping the screen dry to check the map. Zooming out, tracing your position back toward the lake. It's far, another hour just to retrace your steps. You tap the route, forcing the GPA to recaculate. The arrow appears, and you let out one more exhale before you start walking. The day is still bright and early, so you try your best to lock away your worries as you close your fists.
You make it past the clearing and into the thicket of trees, stopping dead in your tracks when you glance at the ground and spot a set of heavy boot prints cutting through the mud. In that instant, as you begin to turn, your wrist is grabbed harshly and you’re yanked off balance, dragged down to the forest floor by someone much larger than you. Pain flares through your back as wet earth soaks through your clothes, rain slamming against your face in heavy sheets that make it hard to see anything clearly. You try to scream, but the sound comes out sharp and breathless before a hand clamps over your mouth and cuts it off entirely.
"Shut up," the figure snaps, a masculine, gruff voice. "What's a little thing like you doing out here, hm?"
You struggle against him, hands clawing at his arm, legs kicking wildly in the mud. It doesn’t do much except make his grip tighten. Then his fist snaps across your cheek. The impact knocks the fight out of you for a second, your head ringing as warmth floods your face.
"Stop struggling," he mutters.
Your breath turns uneven, panic overwhelming you as sobs force their way out of your throat. You hear the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled open somewhere beside you. Before you can react, you're turned onto your stomach, face pressing into cold mud that fills your nose and mouth. Your wrists are dragged behind your bag and forced together, rough rope biting into your skin as it's wound tight. His weight pins your legs down, and you feel him lean over you.
A hand grips your hair and yanks your head back just enough to let you breathe, forcing your face out of the mud while keeping you trapped beneath him.
Your voice cracks as you choke out, "Please, don't kill me! There are people waiting for—"
His nose brushes the curve of your neck, and the contact is enough to shut you up and make you go still. You feel him inhale deeply, slowly, like he's taking his time memorizing your scent. Then your head is forced to tilt, your body turned slightly on its side under his grip.
“An omega,” he says quietly.
Through the blur of rainwater and mud in your eyes, you think you see the faintest curve of his mouth.
“What a gift.”