2. The Pull of Two

TWO

THE PULL OF TWO

The club was in an eighteenth century converted warehouse, with its thick red bricks and towering iron beams. Traces of its origins as a flax mill still clung to the walls—the dry, dusty scent of plant fibres lingering over two hundred years later. Now though, the walls were mostly covered with Rhys’ medals and trophies.

As Oliver lingered in the doorway, it was as though a pair of magnets were holding him in place. One pushing him forward, the other pulling him back as he hung across the threshold in limbo. Shit . He knew he should have stayed at home.

Not one to admit defeat, he slipped off his shoes, dropped his gaze and padded towards the broken vending machine in the corner of the hall. On many, many occasions, Oliver had tried to fish out the last remaining chocolate bar, as it clung to the little shelf. But for weeks it’d been hanging at a precarious angle, much like Simba dangling over the wildebeest stampede. He gave it a discrete thump, just to be certain. Still nothing.

“You two, get here right now!” a sharp voice called to his left.

There was a skittering of claws and a howl, followed by the high-pitched laughter of mischievous children. Oliver turned, side-stepping just as two naked, ginger-haired toddlers ran into his legs.

“Oof,” he said, ruffling their curly hair as their omega father, Sammy, sprinted across the training hall.

“I told you, no shifting indoors!” Sammy called, scooping them up in his arms. “Sorry, Ollie. They’ve been absolutely sodding feral since they learned how to shift without my help. Rhys and I can’t take our eyes off them for a second.”

Oliver grinned. “It’s alright.” He tickled the smaller girl, Matilda, under the chin; the bigger one, Mia, nuzzled into Sammy’s flushed neck. “The world could use more fuzzy little demons. Isn’t that right, girls?” Matilda only snapped at his fingers in response.

“There you are!” Rhys called, jogging across the mats. “I thought I was gonna have to send out a search party.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver replied, shrugging off the beta’s hand as he tried to lead him towards the middle of the room.

“Can you guess which is the new guy? I’ll give you a clue. He’s six-foot-something, with cheekbones that could cut rock. Oh, and great hair.” Rhys self-consciously touched his own rapidly receding hairline. Oliver refused to spare yet another glance at the alpha, but he had to admit that the description of Lucas was accurate enough.

Residential coaches generally didn’t remain at the club for long, as the initiative was meant to bridge the gap for high-level fighters who were staying away from home. Thankfully, Lucas wouldn’t be tied to the club and could return to whichever Metropolitan borough he’d come from without a moment’s notice.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Rhys said, squeezing Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver pulled away for a second time. “N-No, that’s alright. I’ll talk to him when he’s free.” Because, the number of times he’d been introduced to the alpha was rapidly becoming comical.

“Oh, come on! Get over there.” Rhys gripped his shoulder even harder, yanking him towards the group. Oliver clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to fold Rhys up like a pretzel as he reluctantly allowed himself to be led. Lucas’ eyes dropped to the hand on Oliver’s shoulder, his lip twitching slightly as the two of them approached.

“Coach Lucas!” Rhys said, pushing to the front of the group. “This is Ollie. He’s a colossal pain in the arse, but we still love him.”

Nodding, Lucas’ eyes trailed down Oliver’s body, pausing momentarily at his bare thighs. “Nice to meet you,” he said, before turning back to another conversation in an unnecessarily flippant manner. Oliver thought he’d have to do the whole ‘we’ve already met’ thing again, but this was better, less explanation.

Rhys’ mouth opened and closed a few times before letting go of his shoulder. “Sorry, Dai, he was more chatty a second ago.”

Shrugging, Oliver plodded to the pile of kit bags and fished around for his hand wraps. Digging them out, he began coiling the material around his thumb and fingers. Just as he was about to move onto the other hand, tension prickled along his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He needn’t have looked up to see who it was.

“Hi, I’m Oliver,” he said, a sarcastic grin splitting his face as he turned to look up at the alpha.

The smile faltered when he realised Lucas had pulled his mop of black hair into a topknot, revealing two little hoop earrings at the apex of his ear. The alpha’s top lip peeled back, showing off the two sharp canines spearheading his wolfish grin. Oliver sniffed, and thought he looked very much like an Italian mafia boss.

“Hello Reed. Have you read the paperwork?”

Sucking his own non-fanged-teeth, Oliver replied, “Believe it or not, sergeant , I’m actually off duty at the moment. But I would be more than happy to pick this up with you tomorrow morning. Preferably after eight o’clock. You wouldn’t like me much before eight.” Oliver would never normally dream of baiting an alpha with rank, but he hadn’t dragged himself to the club to talk about work.

Something flickered across Lucas’ gaze, filling his hazel eyes with a heat that wasn’t there before. Oliver realised—with no small amount of distain—that he was probably about to get his arse handed to him on the mats.

Lucas, as expected, put them all through their paces with drill after drill of cardio, followed by unending rounds of pad work. Sweat poured down Oliver’s face when the alpha finally allowed them a water break, and he’d clocked Lucas’ sadistic smirk all the while. However, Oliver tried to remain as aloof as a tabby cat throughout the entire ordeal, because he’d be damned if the rank-chasing city-boy broke him at his own club.

Huffing, Oliver flopped on to one of the tatty sofas in the corner of the hall. He resisted the urge to chug down a boatload of water, knowing that drowning himself would only make matters worse. After a few moments—to Oliver’s surprise—Lucas, sunk onto the sofa next to him. The alpha’s shorts bunched up, revealing a serpent tattoo snaking its way up his thigh, and hell’s bells , if that wasn’t one of the sexiest things Oliver had ever seen.

Lucas’ nose twitched as his eyes dragged over Oliver’s sweaty face. “You know,” the alpha began, “You’re pretty good. Ever thought about competing in county matches?”

The compliment caught Oliver off-guard, and he almost choked on his water. “Um…no, I…”

He tried to think of a creative way to explain that entering competitions required one to confirm their secondary sex, and declaring to the world he was a sigma could open up an entire world of complication. Not to mention, where would they put him? Certainly, omegas had their own competitions, but they were few and far between. Betas also had matches, but his advanced sex hormones would put him at an unfair advantage. He could always compete with the alphas—sure they were bigger, heavier and could hit harder. But Oliver was so fucking fast he surprised himself sometimes. Eh, but the alphas could get so damned competitive that it was easier not to bother at all.

A tap on his right leg snapped his thoughts back to the present. “Sorry, pardon?” He said, eyes drifting to Lucas’ fingertip as it rested on his knee.

“I said, is it because of this?” He tapped his knee again, but then dragged his finger up the silver scar that coiled from the top of his shin to his knee-cap. An old injury, but one that still caused him grief in the winter. And goddamn if that brief touch didn’t send a bolt of interest to Oliver’s cock.

“Yeah.” He lied. “Tore the ligament.”

That part was the true, but it wasn’t the reason he didn’t compete. So as not to encourage his cock even further, he snapped shut the lid of his bottle and hopped to his feet.

“Surgery?” Lucas replied, also standing.

“Yeah. But it’s mostly good now.”

Nodding, Lucas readjusted his shorts. “So you’ll have no issue sparring with me?”

Oliver hesitated, before saying, “None whatsoever.”

Lucas’ voice grew low as he dipped his head, pressing his mouth close to Oliver’s ear. “Then put on your pads and prepare to be schooled.”

And his cock…Oliver’s treacherous fucking cock was having a field day as it pressed itself in a hard line against his lower abdomen. It was impossible to tell if the reaction was because the alpha had challenged him, or because his omega side was wanting to spread its legs. Either way, he pulled on his gloves and tried to ignore the war that was going on inside him.

They touched gloves before taking up their positions in the sparring ring. Lucas was a good head taller than Oliver, and his arms were so long they could bridge the space with little effort. If he wanted to overpower Oliver with sheer size, he could. Alpha’s had it done to him before, and he’d seen their desire to dominate him when they learned he was a sigma. His scent seemed to trigger something in some alpha's most feral instincts. He’d gotten pretty good at knowing when to play the beta, the omega, and the alpha—so good, in fact, he didn’t quite know who he really was anymore.

Still, he didn’t sense hostility from Lucas. Instead, he sensed something teasing and playful, and it made him want to be playful back—like a puppy, snapping and pawing at a litter-mate. A littermate he wanted to lick all over— stop it.

The whistle blew, and Oliver completely missed the punch heading for his cheek. The air whooshed around Lucas’ glove, the worn leather grazing Oliver’s his temple as he snapped his head away just in time to avoid the blow. “Pay attention, Reed,” Lucas huffed, bouncing on his toes. The alpha’s lip peeled back as he stuck out the tip of his tongue. Mocking him. Bastard .

Oliver followed the jab with a feint to the left, then the right. Lucas’ eyes followed him, answering the footwork with a blinding left hook. Oliver ducked, using his lower centre of gravity to move under the arm and land a fist in Lucas’ armpit. He followed it up with a knee to his ribs for good measure. Feeling pleased with himself, he swiftly felt the air explode from his lungs as the alpha delivered a blow that saw him smashing down onto the mats. Bastard had punched him in the gut, then swept his legs, leaving him starry eyed and staring up at the ceiling.

He coughed, the mats only going a small way to dampen the impact of the throw. The alpha grinned down at him, clearly forgetting that his leg was still tangled around Oliver’s ankles. Oliver punished the momentary distraction by twisting and striking the back of Lucas’ knee with the top of his foot, bringing him down onto the mats next to him. Lucas was still grinning as he rolled onto his front, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow.

“That was dirty,” he said, a small coil of hair escaping its tie.

“You left yourself open,” Oliver panted. “Your legs were fair-game.”

Lucas’ eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, and Oliver felt as though he were looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. The alpha bore down on him, their noses almost touching as the heady scent of sweat and sex slammed into Oliver’s every pore.

“Why do you smell like a fucking fever-dream?” Lucas growled low in his belly.

Oliver was like a trapped mouse, silent and unmoving as the alpha leaned into him. He was vaguely aware of the gathering crowd, so turned his head to break Lucas’ intense gaze. Pushing his glove into the alpha’s chest, he created enough distance that the haze of—whatever that was—dispersed. Lucas’ expression quickly turned back to indifference as he hopped to his feet. Clearing his throat, he held out a gloved hand, pulling Oliver upright but not lingering in his personal space.

“Nice moves,” Rhys said, slapping Oliver across the back. Clearly, neither he nor the betas noticed the sudden spike of tension, but a few of the alphas shifted uncomfortably. “Another round?”

Panic surged in the pit of Oliver’s belly, so he shook his head and said, “You know, Dai ? I think I’d really like to see you fight next.”

“Yeah! Go Daddy go!” Rhys’ twins chanted in unison.

Oliver sprinted towards home when the session ended. Watching Lucas fight had made him harder than a priest in a convent, and the last thing he needed was for his body to start blasting pheromones out into the world.

His body ached, and his skin itched, which meant he needed to shift—to let the sandy furred wolf take charge for a bit. So, instead of heading back down the canal towpath, he took a left out of the car park and jogged towards the public shifter park. Families gathered on the green, making the most of the evening sunlight as the seasons pushed through the cold snap of winter and into the hopeful air of spring.

Slipping into a rickety little changing room, Oliver undressed, peeling the damp t-shirt from his sweaty body, and popping everything into a locker. He shivered as a familiar sensation prickled the soles of his feet and fizzed up his legs, all the way to the top of his head. Fur sprung through his skin, covering his flesh as his body shifted into the shape of a wolf.

Blessed relief washed over him as the pent-up energy of the day poured away. Shaking out his wolf-body, he tapped his paws on the wooden floor, feeling the ground beneath his feet. It’d been far too long since he’d shifted. The trial of Clinton Greer had sapped his time and energy like a bothersome leech. But now his vision was sharper, his hearing clearer as finally, finally, he could be himself for a little while.

Then he was running, sprinting through the woods like a feral thing. It was so fucking good , feeling the wind in his fur and the earth beneath his paws. He leapt and skidded over a grassy bank, his eyes bright as the wolf within revelled in the sights and smells of the open air.

The sun had dropped below the horizon by the time he finished running. His barrel chest heaved and sweat soaked his under-coat as he finally padded back towards the changing rooms. Thankfully, most of the families had left, with the evening air too chilly for young pups, leaving Oliver to shift back in relative peace.

Shaking out his fur for the final time, he was about to step into the rickety hut when the door of the next hut along burst open. He flinched, instinctually dropping his head as another shifter stepped onto the grass.

The wolf before him was, in a word, huge . Obviously an alpha with their black fur and hazel eyes looming like a hell-hound in the darkness of the park. Oliver skittered back, his paws crunching over dead leaves and drawing the attention of the alpha. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments, before the wolf turned its massive head and stalked towards the woods.

Oliver sat under the cold shower for a long time, eyes glazed as he thought of nothing. Heat still coiled in the pit of his stomach—despite the blast around the park—and he was beginning to wonder if it would ever go away. He’d tried pressing a bag of frozen peas to his abdomen, but that was just unpleasant. He’d had a cup of tea, which only made him warmer. He’d even tried masturbating, but the image of Lucas looming over him just would not leave his mind. So eventually, he settled on a cold shower and the impending threat of the flu.

Little by little, his senses returned, as did the heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. Fuck. Fuck fucking fuck . He distracted himself by cleaning the shower from top to bottom, arranging his bottles of shampoo, shower gel and soaps until his bathroom looked as though he had a severe case of OCD.

Trudging back into the bedroom, he checked his phone only to see a string of text messages from Matteus.

‘Are you alright?’ The first one read.

‘Is something wrong?’ One minute later.

’Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

‘Answer your fucking phone, Ollie.’

‘Fuck it, I’m coming over.’

Multiple missed calls and different emojis interspersed the messages. Oliver loved his brother, he really did, but in the twenty-nine and a half years they’d walked the earth, he’d never cursed their twin bond more. He just had enough time to throw on a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms before his doorbell rang. Looking down at the fresh erection stirring in his boxer shorts, he growled, “Will you piss off?”

The bell rang again and again, followed by a hard knock on the door. J esus Christ, Matty. Calm the fuck down. Unlatching the door, Oliver let it swing open. To his horror, Julian—Matteus’ alpha husband—stood next to him.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Julian said, throwing his hand over his nose, “I’ll wait in the car.” Matteus nodded, giving his husband a concerned look. His expression only deepened when his gaze slid back to Oliver.

“Inside,” was all he said as he pushed Oliver back into the apartment and locked the door behind them. “Fucking hell, dude. Your cheeks are redder than a baboon’s arse.”

“Yeah, yeah. Mock me all you want,” Oliver replied, flicking the switch on the kettle.

“I’m not mocking you, Ollie. I was worried about you. Your presence over our bond was all over the place. One minute you were quiet, the next it felt like you’d set yourself on fire!” He had to shout the last part over the noise of the kettle. “Are you coming into heat? You look like you are, but you don’t seem like you’re in pain.”

Oliver shook his head, taking two mugs out the cupboard. He made them both a hot chocolate before taking a seat at the kitchen table. “It’s… hard to explain,” he said, clutching the steaming mug between his hands.

“Well, please try,” Matteus replied, mild annoyance filling his grey eyes. “Because I’ll end up staying here all night worrying about you.”

Oliver sighed. “I just… there was this new guy at the club and I guess my hormones went into overdrive.”

The frown suddenly lifted from Matteus’ face. “Really? Do you think he could be your mate?”

“Christ, Matty,” Oliver scoffed. “No. It’s not… you know I’m not built like you.”

Matteus hummed and took a slurp of hot chocolate. “But your body clearly knows. When was the last time you had a partner, Ollie? Was it you-know-who? Because fuck me sideways, that was six years ago.”

Oliver grimaced and took a sip of his drink. “Yes. Thank you. I don’t need you to remind me how shocking my love life is.” He said the last part more so to the cup than his brother.

Matteus nodded, running a fingertip around the rim of his mug. “I know things have been difficult, since Patr—since then. But, do you think maybe it’s time to try again?”

“Nope,” Oliver replied, eyes flicking towards the ceiling.

Matteus huffed and reached across to brush a strand of hair out of Oliver’s eyes. “Any slick? Cramping?”

Oliver grimaced, putting down the mug and cracking his fingers. “A bit. Nothing like a full heat. But it’s not just that, there’s the other thing too.”

He gestured towards his crotch with a limp finger.

“You mean your knot?”

“Mhm. It’s burning like crazy.”

“Want me to call Julian from the car? I’m sure he could offer some advice?”

Oliver waved his hands. “Sweet lord, no. I’ll manage. I’ll just have to avoid close contact with him tomorrow. Keep the meeting short and sweet, then take a sick day if it carries on.”

“Him? Meeting? Tomorrow?” Matteus said, raising an eyebrow.

Heat flooded Oliver’s face when he realised his slip-up, and he glared down at his hot chocolate, hoping he could find a way to drown in it.

“So… the guy from the club is Detective Sergeant Wh?—”

“Shut it, Matty. Not another word.”

Silence hung between them for a little while, each sipping their drinks. Oliver could feel Matteus looking at him over the rim of his cup, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Matteus’ phone pinged, and he quickly picked it up. “Julian wants to know if you need anything,” he said, cautiously breaking the silence.

Oliver rubbed his eyes and groaned. “I have no idea.”

“Do you need any more suppressants? Maybe you could do with a booster pack, in case you have another flare up. I use them sometimes when I’m out in the field, really fast acting, but they make you crave cigarettes like there’s no tomorrow.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. I have some, but they’re probably out of date.”

“No worries, I’ll get Julian to refill my prescription for you. And Oliver, do you have…a plug?”

“Jesus Christ. Stop asking so many embarrassing questions.”

“How is it embarrassing? It’s just part of our biology, dude. You know, now that I think about it, it’s probably a phantom heat. I get them from time to time, especially if we’ve been working late and I haven’t seen Julian for a couple of days.”

“Well, phantom heat or not, it just needs to end so I can get on with my life.”

Matteus shook his head and squeezed Oliver’s hand. “You’re allowed to feel desire, Ollie. You know that, right? Being a sigma doesn’t mean you won’t find happiness.”

Oliver sighed and squeezed back. “You sound like mum.”

Matteus’ phone buzzed again. “It’s Julian. He’s got the stuff. I’ll be right back.”

In the end, Oliver had to practically shoo Matteus out of the flat, because he genuinely would have stayed all night if he let him. Instead, he curled up in bed with a bag of frozen peas, Roger the koala, and another cup of hot chocolate. He chose the least sexy thing he could find on TV—the 1960s rendition of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, although the child snatcher was looking pretty fucking appealing—and tried to push all thoughts of the sexy mafia boss out of his mind.