Chapter Text
Sanemi had smelled the blood long before the storm had broken. Wet earth and iron consume his senses, thick boots ringing too loud among the barren trees, darting over rotten logs, knees skidding in the mud.
He’s never been a silent hunter, mocking howls and the drum of his steps rumbling through the ground. The chase, the torment, that’s how he prefers to kill. Let his prey know he’s coming, panicked and desperate enough that they give themselves away in a last-ditch result of hopeful mercy.
Sanemi never concedes.
The clouds are still heavy above the treeline, thick and dark, clinging to the last portion of rainfall. The wind hurls them further and further west, away from Sanemi’s pursuit.
The rogue will be dead before any cloud can cry.
Sanemi inhales again, deeper.
Not just blood; fear. Acidic and sharp.
Close.
Sanemi crashes through the thicket, branches snapping, scraping his forearms. His pulse thrums, jaw tight, his wolf gnashing beneath his skin, wound tight, delighted to rend and tear. Another step, another breath—
—And the world tenses.
The stench of fear overrides the heady copper of blood, shooting through Sanemi’s body so sharp his eyes sting.
Sanemi skids to a halt, boots digging trenches into the mud as his eyes catch the rogue. Pressed against the wet earth, knees tucked up under his body, clawed fingers clutching over his head like armor. Tattered clothes, sodden and spilling from his frame like fortified marble stone. Folded in on himself almost like he’s trying to disappear, long, dark hair plastered over his face, muffled sobs whispered into the dirt. He’s trembling, not with adrenaline, or in preparation to attack or flee.
Just trembling with fear.
The snarl dies in his throat.
This isn’t right. Rogues don’t curl up, they don’t cry. They fight until their hearts give out, until their lungs collapse, until Sanemi rips out their throats.
The crying is louder now, he’s gripping the ground beneath him, and the nauseating reek of fear is heavier. His frame spasms, wracked with turmoil, with the feel of Sanemi’s eyes placed against his back.
Sanemi circles him deliberately. His wolf bristles beneath his skin, suddenly quiet, like he’s mulling something over.
The stranger doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t bare teeth. Doesn’t even attempt a snarl.
He just breathes shallowly, each inhale catching like it hurts.
“You don’t have to play dead much longer. I’ll kill you quick since you’re so fucking pathetic.”
The only response is a cracked whimper.
His wolf stirs, whispering.
Sanemi, he needs your help.
Anger flows through his jagged body, eye twitching.
No. Not now.
He moves, two quick strides, fist raised to end it all, the rogue, his wolf, the memories plaguing his mind.
“Sit still, rogue; this shouldn’t hurt too bad.”
His fist rains down, dead set on the sliver of a pale neck visible through the curtain of black strands. A spark of deep blue forces him to falter, lungs seizing, wolf rumbling with interest.
He misses his mark. His body capsized, and his center of gravity shifted.
A viscous growl rips through the clearing, damp wood echoing the rumble.
The rogue is moving. Fast.
Too fast for someone half-dead.
A blur of wet hair and bone-thin muscle surges upward, teeth bared, claws flashing. Sanemi barely jerks back in time, surprise cracking through his composure. The rogue slams into him with desperate, feral strength, and Sanemi stumbles a step in the mud.
He’s caught off guard. The raw power permeating off his shivering, dilapidated frame is unmatched.
He sees it, that blue once again. Now, wide and fiery, darting around Sanemi’s face.
“What the fuck—”
A flash of pale, bruised skin arcs across his vision.
Claws carve over his eye; his already scarred skin is numb, sensory receptors far too adjusted to any type of sharp pain. Blood spills over his eye, smearing over his hair, too.
Sanemi roars, but before he can strike back, overpower him, rip open his neck—
He’s gone.
The rogue collapses to his knees, shaking uncontrollably, his still bloody palms presented up.
Surrender.
His breath comes in ragged, chest-crushing gasps, each one a quiet, horrified sob.
Then, a splintering, despondent scream.
Sanemi hisses, jerking back half a step.
The rogue is wailing, forehead lowered to the dirt, arms reaching forward, following Sanemi.
“I—I’m sorry—” His voice cracks like ice, brittle and shattering. “Please—‘m sorry— sorry, sorry—”
His body convulses. “Please. Please—didn’t mean—I’m dangerous—Can’t—Please, please—”
His breath hitches, body clamping tight. “Just kill me. Kill me, please.”
Sanemi stands frozen, blood dripping from his brow, a growl rumbling in his lungs.
He should kill him. Finish what he started. He’s half-feral; it’s unsafe to leave a strange rogue wandering their borders. Who knows what kind of damage he can cause? Especially with this raw power? Sanemi grits his teeth, fists clenching tight, his own nails sinking into skin.
Sanemi, don’t you remember that night?
Something ugly twists in Sanemi’s gut, recognition he doesn’t want. A memory he’s buried under years of teeth and rage.
A looming shadow, wider than any ocean, taller than any mountain, caging a trembling boy within fearful obedience.
When small, desperate claws cut over much larger muscle, white, searing hot pain tearing through that beaten body.
The moment that boy decided he'd rather be dead than become the monster that raised him.
When the torment was finally over. Blood spilling out from exposed arteries, gushing over a ripped-open neck.
Sanemi sees himself, curled up at his feet, broken and hollow. Begging him to choose.
Sanemi’s going to throw up.
The rogue curls into himself tighter, quivering, muffled pleas of “Please kill me” dissolving into the dirt.
His knees buckle.
Steps back, boots squelching in the mud.
He turns, heart pounding under his scarred chest.
The wolf won’t survive, too exhausted and malnourished to press on much longer. No one has to know. He can disappear through the towering trees and pretend like this never happened. Pretend he’s unshaken. Pretend like he’s strong; after all, what else has he been doing all these years?
Something stops him.
Not guilt or compassion. Not even fear.
His wolf.
A low, visceral sound ripples through his chest, part snarl mixed within a whine. His wolf rises beneath his skin like a hand grabbing his spine and yanking.
He needs you. Don’t run from this.
Sanemi grits his teeth, shoving the instinct down. No, he snaps back internally. He’s dangerous. He’s not our fucking problem. Why would the pack accept a feral wolf—
His wolf pushes harder, a pressure between his ribs that feels like teeth sinking in.
Look at him.
Sanemi doesn’t want to.
But he turns.
The rogue sits slumped forward, arms wrapped protectively around himself, rocking ever so slightly like he’s trying to hold his own body together. Mud streaks his knees, weaving up his arms, splattered on his cheek. His claws shake at his sides, not in aggression, but fear.
Real, bone-deep terror.
Something sharp twists in Sanemi’s gut.
His wolf presses the thought into him again, clearer this time, a guttural truth.
He is you. If you leave him here, you leave yourself.
Sanemi’s throat closes. No, no, no.
He’ll die here. And you’ll only confirm what you’ve been avoiding all this time. You'd be no different than your father.
Sanemi stands there, breath sawing in and out, rain finally starting to fall in thin, cold needles down his back.
It takes the world a long time to cease spinning, for his heart to finally beat again, and for his lungs to release.
His feet won’t move.
His throat tightens, saliva pooling over his tongue. Fuck, he really might throw up.
A tremor rolls off the rogue—no, the boy—and the sound that breaks from him isn’t a growl or a warning. It’s a sob.
Small. Helpless. Too damn familiar.
Sanemi curses.
He drags a hand over his bleeding brow, smearing red into his hair, stepping towards him.
The poor thing flinches so violently, Sanemi startles. His wolf growls, not at the rogue, but at himself.
Slow down.
Sanemi has to bite back the grit in his voice. “Hey.”
His claws have carved trenches into the earth.
Sanemi steps again, his own palms presented with yield.
The rogue shrieks, scrambling backward so fast his limbs tangle beneath him. His heels dig into the mud, palms slipping, nails scraping for purchase like he expects Sanemi to tear into him.
Then, he tilts his chin, throat gleaming pale, stuttering through sharp inhales.
Submission.
And terror.
The urge to fight, to run.
A contradiction of instincts.
Sanemi freezes.
No alpha behaves like this.
The boy scrambles backward on all fours, kicking up wet dirt, desperate to get away, yet his neck remains bared, trembling, exposed to Sanemi’s reach.
Alphas either fight or flee, dead set on preserving their pride and strength. Only when they reach their breaking point will they submit, but even then it’s rare. And it’s especially unheard of to submit like this while actively trying to escape.
The boy jerks through a sob, arm lashing out, not at Sanemi, just in blind, animalistic fear. His face drops to the mud, neck still bared, claws still sharp and slashing.
Something is deeply wrong here.
Sanemi crouches. “Thought you wanted me to kill you? Can’t do it if you’re all the way over there.”
SANEMI!
He bites his tongue; he shouldn’t have said that. His wolf clamps down on his neck.
Who is he kidding, he can’t do this.
The rogue shakes his head so violently wet hair whips across his face. “No—please—please—don’t—don’t touch—don’t—”
His alpha roars, begging him to do something.
Sanemi closes his eyes and sucks in a quick breath.
There’s no calming this.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs, standing. “I promise.”
He moves fast, clean, and controlled. A practiced strike, two fingers pressed sharply against the pressure point behind the rogue’s ear, just enough to sever consciousness but not enough to damage.
The boy gasps, soft and confused.
He falls limp.
Sanemi’s wrapped around him before his wrist can hit the mud. His head lolls as he’s lifted, breathing shallow but steady.
He’s lighter than expected. And fucking freezing. Sanemi fears snapping his bones, too thin and exposed under his wet skin.
“Fuck. What the hell happened to you?”
His wolf pressed warmly against his mind.
We’ll find out. Take him home, Sanemi. Keep him safe.
Sanemi readjusts his grip and curls the lifeless body closer into his own chest.
The rain is falling thicker; Sanemi revels in it, holding the unconscious boy, blood smearing over his forehead, boots sinking in the mud.
“This better not bite me in the ass.”
His wolf huffs. It already feels like it has.
He starts walking.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
Sanemi barely breaches the outermost ring of wooden houses before two scout alphas descend on him, flanking his sides. The council has already been alerted; he is to be escorted to the Government Hall effective immediately.
They make no attempt to pry the limp wolf out of his arms, rather bristle and posture, stomping through cobbled paths.
People are watching, whispers of curiosity and nervousness, and pups point and shout.
Sanemi’s pace doesn’t falter, head never bowing. Mud smears against his jaw, littering his clothes, dried blood watered down with rain.
The air inside the longhouse is thick, incense curling up in pale ribbons. Shadows cling to the carved wooden beams, candles flicker spools of glow through the dark, with no windows inside the open space. The heavy doors slam behind him, trapping him inside his consequences. The council members sit high above him, in a semicircle of a podium, hosting statues of power and authority.
Head Alpha Kagaya Ubuyashiki sits dead center, calm as fresh snow. His mate, Head Omega Amane sits to his right, hands folded, eyes sharper than any blade. Beta Gyomei Himejima sits to Ubuyashiki’s left, their Chief of Defense and pack spiritualist, prayer beads clinking beneath his palms. Omega Kanae Kocho is placed beside Lady Amane, serving as Head of External Relations; her brows are pinched.
A few other wolves fan out along the podium, faces he’s unfamiliar with, settled in scowls or concerned frowns; the scent of unease clings to the walls.
The scratch of ink against paper fills the booming silence. To his far left, sat under the councilmember's podium, perched Beta Obanai Iguro, council Scribe and Judiciary Analyst.
Yeah, he’s fucked.
His wolf claws over his heart.
Fight, Sanemi. Don’t let them take him from us.
Sanemi stands before them, a stretcher has already been placed in the center of the room. He doesn’t let go.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” Ubuyashiki’s voice is inquisitive. That somehow makes it worse.
Obanai scribbles out his words, peering up at Sanemi with that sharp suspicion he’s mastered.
A twist of heat stabs through his stomach. “I—He was defenseless."
“You’ve killed defenseless rogues before,” Amane counters smoothly, head tilting. “Wolves you deemed too dangerous to integrate. Ones you decided were threats.”
Sanemi clenches his teeth.
Gyomei’s voice is louder, shaking the pillars around the room. “Why has this rogue’s spirit affected you, Sanemi?”
“Was he feral?” Kanae adds in, head tilting. “He attacked you, and you still brought him in. Why is that?”
Another voice cuts it, “What exactly do you have planned here, Alpha Shinazugawa?”
“Am I s’pose to respond or just stand here and be questioned?” Sanemi grits.
“You are expected to comply,” someone else snaps.
An additional voice, “You’ve dragged in a liability. An unknown. You’ve endangered the pack. Head Alpha, we must hold the rogue until it is ensured he’s not a threat.”
He feels his wolf behind his ribs, thrashing, pacing, furious.
He is ours. Don’t you dare hand him over.
His chest seizes. “He’s not feral!”
Head Alpha Ubuyashiki drums his fingers over the wooden podium, voice sharp. “I trust your judgement, Sanemi. As should my council members.” He pauses, nodding to a few of them. “However, I still need the truth. Why is this rogue any different?”
Sanemi opens his mouth.
Lies form on instinct, scraping like glass against his tongue. “He—” His voice grates. “He’s strong. Could be useful when he stabilizes.”
Piss-poor excuse.
Even Kanae’s expression flickers with disbelief.
Head Omega Amane leans in. “You placed your packmates' lives at risk for a weapon?”
The lie crumples. His wolf surges.
Protect him!
For a split second, it’s not the council standing around him; it’s towering shadows, blood filling lungs, harsh breathing, a massive hand around a smaller throat—
He sees red, hands gripping tighter around the boy in his hold.
A growl breaks from his chest, deep and primal. The floor vibrates beneath his feet.
Councilmembers shift. Guards stiffen.
Gyomei bows his head slightly. “Your wolf is agitated.”
No shit.
Sanemi forces breath into his lungs, but it doesn’t calm the storm under his skin. His wolf fleshes out inside him, snarling, pacing, ready to tear into anyone who suggests taking the alpha away from him.
“Sanemi,” Ubuyashiki says, an impossibly soft demand.
Sanemi meets his gaze.
“You brought him in when you could have killed him—”
“Pack protocol insists all possible threats be neutralized and brought in for further questioning. I was—”
“Sanemi,” Ubuyashiki interrupts, and the room stills. “Although, correct, you have never bowed your neck in favor of said decree. The rogues you’ve slain are many, and your service to this pack is beyond question. You are our shield, our spear, the one who walks willingly into danger.
So tell me… why this one? Why spare him? Why stand between us and a threat you would have slain without a second thought?” Ubuyashiki’s gaze softens, but his words sting. “What makes this rogue different, Sanemi? And why has your wolf laid claim to him?”
Sanemi’s jaw clenched. A pulse of heat crawled up the back of his neck, something close to shame, close, but not quite.
He could lie, should lie. He already has; what’s one more?
This rogue is nothing but a burden. A half-dead stray. Why did I—?
When you first arrived here, you weren’t much better.
The words crack sharp and cold through his body like a whip.
Ubuyashiki waited patiently. Gyomei’s presence was a heavy weight beside him. Amane and Kanae’s eyes are sharp with perception. Obanai’s quill scratched once before pausing, poised to record Sanemi’s answer.
Say it doesn’t matter. Say you’ll kill him now. Say anything—
Don’t touch him.
Shut up. Shut up.
He swallowed hard.
“I—” His voice cracked. Rage surged up, a tidal wave with nowhere to crash. “I didn’t spare him. I just—”
His wolf howled.
MINE. HE’S MINE.
Gyomei’s jaw ticked, as if sensing the storm brewing within Sanemi’s bones. Obanai dipped into the ink, hovering. Amane placed her hand over her mate’s arm.
His wolf roared out of him, silent to the room, deafening to his own skull.
He’s going to save you, Sanemi, but first, you must save him. Alphas protect what is theirs.
Sanemi gasped, chest heaving. The room blurred around the edges. “He’s not a threat.”
His worst lie yet.
You need him, Sanemi. Don’t let them take him.
Every set of eyes weighed on him—judgment, concern, calculation.
Sanemi sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and let the last of his hesitation die. His eyes sparked red, not entirely his anymore. His voice was deep and commanding, dipping into power.
“I’ll make this simple,” he said, voice flat as steel. “The rogue is mine.”
A ripple of shock moved through the room. Even Obanai’s quill froze mid-stroke, eyes widening.
“His actions, his behavior, his recovery, every breath he takes from this point forward falls under my authority,” he growls, chin pointed up. “If he becomes a danger, if he steps out of line, harms any pack member—”
He pulls the boy impossibly closer to his chest.
“—my life stands as collateral.”
Amane inhaled sharply. Kanae gasped. Gyomei bowed his head, not in approval, but in solemn acknowledgment of what such an oath meant.
No one moved for a long, tense moment. Even the candle flames stilled.
Then the Head Alpha stood from his chair, hands clasped behind his back. “That is not a vow to be made lightly.”
“I’m not making it lightly,” Sanemi snapped. “I am making it because it is mine to bear.”
His wolf surged, pleased, claiming, and possessive in a way that made Sanemi’s skin pulse with warmth.
OURS. THE ALPHA IS OURS.
Sanemi doesn’t deny it this time.
“I will stand for him,” he promises. “And if he falls, so do I.”
Silence sealed the vow like a blade sliding through skin.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The infirmary smells like cotton and steaming herbs; the memory of past blood clings stubbornly to the walls.
A window is cracked, just enough to stir life into the dead air of the room; protective walls of curtains surround them, flowing with the chilly breeze.
Sanemi’s back hurts, slumped forward too long in the wooden stool, elbows bracketed over his shaking knees. He can’t seem to move.
His eyes drag along the limp body before him, laid flat on the raised cot, a thin blanket placed over him, frail chest exposed, body bandaged and clean. Probably the first time he’s been clean in a week.
Shinobu had dressed his wounds; thick, herbal salves worked over his bruises. She was quick, meticulous, and painfully quiet. But her eyes, typically void and vast, pulled sharp, mulling over questions she refused to voice.
Sanemi saw it all. Could read it clear as day. Everything she was thinking could be summed up in one, simple question:
Why?
Sanemi asks himself the same thing.
He snapped, too riled up watching her work through the rogue’s clothes, attempting to wash him down with a wet cloth. With each torn clothing stripped from that frail body, Sanemi’s own patience went with it.
He had ushered her out, growling, telling her he'll call her when finished. Shinobu loomed behind the curtain rods for too long. Her faint smell of lavender and bamboo, gentle in that beta way, often overpowered by medicine and herbs, was thick and agitated. Still, she said nothing.
He didn’t care, just cleaned the rogue enough to not jostle him any further, and redressed him in soft linen, leaving the buttons of the shirt open.
Shinobu had stepped away a few moments ago, or maybe an hour at this point; time moves differently within the infirmary. She just told him to go home and get some rest.
Sanemi didn’t move.
He can’t; he needs to stay here. The rogue is his to worry about.
Plus, he finally picked up on it.
The smell. His smell.
The last of the rogue’s thin thread of suppression snapping.
Vanilla unfurls in the air, soothing and cozy, something that smells dangerously close to the idea of home.
Then the bergamot follows, bright and clean, cutting through the weight of dried blood and speckled remnants of fear.
His wolf is surging, attempting to release his own scent of potent cedar and earthy matcha.
Sanemi’s jaw tightens, shoulders tensing.
But his wolf is already pushing forward, tail practically thumping, nose nudging mentally toward the unconscious rogue.
He smells good. He smells right. He smells like—
Sanemi slams a hand over his own mouth, like that might muffle the instinct clawing up his throat.
He doesn’t have to fight back the thought for much longer.
A soft inhale, shallow and trembling, cuts through his mind. The sheets rustle. Heavy vanilla and bergamot spikes, then wilts just as quickly, replaced by pungent fear.
The rogue shifts. Then his eyes snap open.
For a heartbeat he’s unfocused, pupils blown with exhaustion and fever.
Then he sees Sanemi. Neck snapping almost painfully to meet his gaze.
Terror fractures across his face so violently it almost splits open.
“Wait—”
Too late.
He jerks upright so fast the blanket flies; slingshotting off the bed with too much force for his splintered body. He wobbles, head ducking, trembling. Then he slumps right off the bed.
“Shit!”
He hits the ground with an agonizing snap, wet and cracked, bones collapsing.
A wounded, heartbreaking sound rips from the alpha’s lips, the clatter of Sanemi’s chair against the wooden floor breaking through the pained moan.
His alpha is screaming under his skin, rearing at him to do something.
The rogue only scrambles forward, crying and quivering, nails scraping wood as he drags himself away.
Sanemi hurtles over the bed, swift and nimble, desperate to reach him quicker.
NO!
Wrong move.
The rogue screams, actually screams, and flings himself further, shoulder hitting a cabinet hard enough to force the vase perched on it to topple over. Shattering just offset his squirming body, millions of glimmering specks of glass etching into his arms.
“Stay away—please! Don’t hurt me—stop! Stop! Please!” His neck is displayed again, thick waves of midnight black hair framing his pulse point. He’s still thrashing about, backing himself into the corner.
“SHINOBU!” Sanemi barks, pressing forward. He can hear the grind of shattered bone. “Get the fuck in here!”
He tries to go slow; he really does, but instinct turns him stupid, too fast, too much, and the rogue convulses away from him, spine bowing, lungs seizing like he’s drowning on air.
“Hey—hey! Stop it, dammit. You’re gonna kill yourself at this rate.” Sanemi reaches him.
The rogue collapses before he can flee again. Sanemi catches him mid-fall, arms locking around a body that feels too light, too breakable, and too terrified for something that smells so comforting.
He thrashes, full-body, feral terror. He screams, heartbreaking and airy, choking on the noise.
Sanemi shifts his grip, pinning the much smaller body against his chest.
“It’s alright, just breathe—”
It’s not. It’s absolutely not alright.
Shinobu bursts through the curtains, socked feet skidding to a halt.
“Sanemi!” She snaps, already pivoting away. “Keep him still; we’re going to have to sedate him.”
Sanemi’s body is blocking the rogue's view of her; he only panics more.
Sanemi curls around him harder, his legs pinning the rogue’s own to the floor.
“Don’t worry, take your goddamn time—Shit!”
The rogue bites him. Hard.
Razor-sharp teeth dig into the meat of Sanemi’s forearm, breaking skin, nearly to the tendon. Blood spills instantly. Then, the fucker shakes his head, sawing through flesh.
Sanemi hardly flinches after the initial shock wears off.
He’s a battle-hardened alpha, body littered with scars, skin familiar to sharp tears and cuts.
Plus, he’s got six younger siblings who hang off of him like rabid weasels, being bitten is morning routine.
His wolf whines, coiling in on itself, begging Sanemi to be gentle, not to frighten him any further.
Not sure how I’m supposed to fucking do that.
At this rate, the rogue’s going to snap his own jaw latched on like this.
Sanemi’s free hand snaps up, fingers gripping the hinge of the rogue’s jaw, prying him off with slow, unyielding strength. Two fingers slide between his teeth, pressing down on his tongue, not hurting, but forcing release.
The rogue chokes, breathing wet and ragged through his fingers, shaking violently. His head snaps away from Sanemi, or at least tries. He doesn’t get very far before Sanemi presses him back, tucked right under his own chin.
He growls low, not angry, grounding enough to force him out of his frenzy.
“Go on,” he bites. “Try it again.”
It’s not taunting; it’s control. Letting the rogue know nothing he can do will break Sanemi off of him.
He still tries, still fights. Clamps down hard on the fingers in his mouth, wet tongue prodding the digits.
His own wolf snarls.
Too rough. You’re scarring him. Gentle, Sanemi, be gentle.
Sanemi swallows hard, pinning the rogue’s wrists to keep him from further injury, pulling him tighter against his chest, breath shuddering as he forces his instincts down.
The rogue slumps, realizing he can’t gnaw through fingers, Sanemi’s blood sputtering over his lips.
“It’s alright,” he whispers, tone soft, breath ghosting over the alpha’s hair. “I’ve got you. Not gonna hurt you. You need to calm down.”
Shinobu’s footsteps return, fast and purposeful, vials clinking in her hands.
She squats right behind Sanemi, careful of the broken glass. A cap snaps off with a cold little click.
“Your dog is feral, Sanemi,” Shinobu grits dryly. “Stop antagonizing him.”
Sanemi growls. “Can you do something useful? Or are you just gonna stand there and bitch?”
She doesn’t dignify him with a response. Just leans in, syringe pointed.
The rogue thrashes at the scent of alcohol, twisting in frenzied panic. Sanemi holds him still, chest rumbling.
“Stop fighting.”
Shinobu hums out a condescending noise. “Very soothing, Sanemi.”
“Shut up and do it.”
She slides the needle in with practiced speed. The alpha whimpers, melting into Sanemi’s body, frenzy drained from his body, limbs loose, breathing even and deep.
Shinobu watches Sanemi pull his fingers free, cupping the rogue’s chin when his head droops forward.
She signs. “You need to leave.”
“No.”
“You’re riling him up!” She snaps. “He’s terrified of you, Sanemi. Went and fractured his ribs crawling away from you. And look,” she gestures, “you’ve only exacerbated it. He doesn’t need this, he doesn’t need—”
“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” Sanemi flinches, eyes red.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Are you going to do your goddamn job, or what? If his ribs are fucking broken, then fix it.”
Her eye twitches, jaw tight. “Get him on the bed. Slowly.”
Shinobu stands, stepping out to discard the syringe and retrieve bandages and salve. Anger wafts off of her small frame.
Hackles raised and snarling, his wolf is furious.
Give them no reason to take him from us.
Sanemi picks the alpha up gently, easy now that he’s unconscious again. Settles him on the bed, sliding off the soft shirt from his arms.
His own arm throbs, blood drips onto the white bedding. He ignores it, just watches the way the rogue’s chest catches sharply on each inhale.
Shinobu returns, feet padding down the hallway, slipping through the curtains holding a jar and bandages.
She unscrews the glass jar of potent medicinal salve. Smoothes it gently along the bruised, swollen skin above his ribs. The rogue whimpers but doesn’t wake.
Sanemi watches, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“Kanae told me your wolf has imprinted on him. I didn’t believe her at first.”
Sanemi scoffs. “Council meetings are confidential. I could take this to Ubuyaskiki and have her head.”
“Yeah?” Shinobu blinks, wiping her sticky hands against the blankets. “And what happens when Head Alpha orders your new pet to be put down? Gonna lay there like an idiot next to him?”
Her words are salt grating over virgin wounds.
Sanemi’s vision goes black at the edges. “Say that again.”
She barely even blinks. “I’m not sure how you managed to convince the council to let a feral, untamed alpha to stay here,” her eyes flicker over the rouge’s face, “but I know that if this continues, he won’t last. Especially if he’s responding like this around you.”
“Shut up.” Sanemi’s hands curl into fists. His wolf presses hard against his skin, ready to tear something apart.
Shinobu ignores him, placing her palms carefully along the rogue’s ribcage, testing the fractures with clinical precision. “What happens when something else sets him off? When he sinks his teeth into some innocent omega’s neck, huh? Will you still coddle him then?”
“That won’t happen. He’s not dangerous, just scared.”
Shinobu scoffs. “He practically sawed through your bone, Sanemi. Scared or not, he’s unpredictable.”
“I’m protecting him.”
“You’re claiming him,” she corrects, voice soft but cutting. “And you don’t even understand why.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His stomach twists.
“No, you’re just a knothead.” She presses her thumb into tender skin, the rogue jerking and crying out.
Sanemi reaches for his wrist to drag her away, snap it in half, something, anything. He pauses.
“See?” A perfectly poised brow is raised.
Sanemi shakes his head, teeth gritting.
“Fix him.”
“I will,” Shinobu’s tone shifts back to cool professionalism. “I need you to hold him down. Carefully. He might move too much when I set the bone.”
Sanemi positions himself at the rogue’s side, hands bracketing his shoulders, gentle, terrified of hurting him more.
Shinobu smirks. The heel of her palm rests over flushed skin.
There’s a sickening crack as she forces the bone back in place.
The rogue cries out, a soft, strangled sound, even sedated.
Sanemi’s wolf breaks through his composure, his own wounded sound breaking out. “Easy, easy.” His forehead is nearly toughing the rogue’s own. “I’ve got you.”
Shinobu works quickly through the remaining fractures, evaluating each with an uncomfortable level of detachment. Sanemi holds the rogue up enough for her to wrap his chest with bandages, secure enough to hold him in place.
She stands, grabbing a clean cloth and reaching for Sanemi. “Your turn, you big baby.”
Sanemi recoils. “No.”
She sighs. “You’re making a mess. Fixing him doesn’t make you immortal.”
“No,” he repeats, quieter but unshaken.
Shinobu stares at him for a long, measuring second. “...Fine.”
Her tone is too calm.
She collects her tools, moving back through the curtain. Her head tilts back to address him.
“Sanemi,” her voice is barely above a whisper. “They will take him from you if you keep acting like this.”
His wolf growls in his chest, a low, murderous sound.
Over his dead body.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
He can smell them long before he sees them. Soft florals and muted freshness.
The curtains rustle again, and Sanemi stiffens.
Kanae steps through first, irritatingly composed, her hands folded politely in front of her. Behind her is Minoru, one of the beta housing stewards, broadshouldered and annoyingly neural fresh scent. He’s a bit of a stickler for the rules.
Shinobu lingers at their heels. She won’t look at Sanemi.
Kanae’s eyes sweep over the scene, the shattered glass, the blood, and Sanemi hunched over the sedated rogue like a shield. Her eyes dance with something close to… pity.
Sanemi hates it.
“Shinobu already told us,” Kanae speaks softly.
Sanemi scoffs, shoulders raising. “She had no right, especially after you went and blabbed to her in the first place.”
“You’re out of control, Sanemi,” Shinobu quips out.
Kanae raises a hand for quiet. “We’re not here to punish you. We’re here to make a decision before this escalates further.”
Minoru steps closer to the shattered glass, brushing over it with the edge of his sandal. “We can’t have a feral alpha in the infirmary.”
Shinobu huffs. “Which one?”
Kanae silences her with a glare; Shinobu shrinks.
Minoru continues. “We need to move the rogue. The council has requested it.”
“Where?” Sanemi jumps to his feet. “Where are you taking him?”
Minoru and Kanae share a look; Kanae shakes her head, hands brushing off wrinkles in her dress that were never there to begin with. She speaks.
“For the time being… The Council wants him in the Alpha Holding Cells.”
Sanemi can hear his heart stilling.
“No.” It’s not loud, but his voice cuts through the air like a blade.
The beta exhales. “It won’t be—”
“I fucking said no.”
The room vibrates with his scent, cedar and matcha slicing through the lingering herbs. Kanae shuffles, Shinobu stepping beside her. Minoru scratches at his neck.
“He’s my responsibility. I’ll bring him—”
Sanemi bites the inside of his cheek, wolf thrumming.
Take him home. Take the alpha home where he’s safe.
No, he can’t do that. It’s not safe there. Too many complications, too unreliable. The rogue won’t respond well there.
His wolf doesn’t seem to care, growling.
Home.
Kanae and Shinbo share a look. They know exactly what he’s contemplating.
“He can’t go back to your den with you, Sanemi,” Kanae says softly. “Think of your siblings.”
Sanemi’s jaw clenches, throat tight. He knows she’s right. He knows bringing an unstable, terrified alpha into a den full of children is a disaster waiting to happen.
But the thought of surrendering him to the detainment cells? Cold stone, metal restraints, isolated and dark?
His wolf thrashes.
Kanae steps closer, lowering her voice. “Sanemi… Your wolf is spiraling. If you fight us on this, the council will assume the worst.”
They think he’s fucking feral.
He’ll show them feral.
“Let them.”
Shinobu snaps. “Then they’ll just kill him, Sanemi.”
“Shut up!” He staggers back, hip jostling against the bed.
Minoru clears his throat. “There is… another option.”
Sanemi’s head snaps up.
“I spoke to the Head Alpha, briefly. I offered to place the rogue in the communicable beta housing. East Wing. It’s quiet and far removed. Monitored, but not restricted. The betas there are amenable.”
Shinobu and Kanae share another look; Kanae looks surprised, and Shinobu’s eyebrow twitches.
“It’s the safest middle ground,” Shinobu nods, reluctantly. “For both of you.”
Sanemi hates it.
Hates that it’s the best possible option.
Hates how far he’ll be from the alpha.
Hates how his mind is at war.
But losing him entirely?
His wolf whimpers, a soft, wounded sound that cracks him open.
“Fine.”
It feels like defeat. Like failure.
Minoru sighs. “We’ll arrange the transfer when he’s stable.”
Sanemi turns back to the rogue, brushing a strand of black hair from his forehead.
“Leave.”
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
It’s only been four days. Four.
And Sanemi feels feral.
The beta communal housing sits at the far end of the compound, tucked beneath the shade of old pine and cedar trees. Normally he never sets foot here, too peaceful, too quiet, not built for wolves like him.
Now he circles it like a starving predator.
Three times a day.
Sometimes more.
The betas have long since lost their shock. They don’t even bother stifling their sighs, their groans of annoyance. They move around him with the resigned tolerance of people who have accepted that a storm cloud has decided to settle over their roof.
But Sanemi doesn’t care about them.
He wants what’s hiding inside.
Sanemi swears he can smell bergamot and vanilla from here. Fuck, he smells it when he jolts awake in the middle of the night, pulse spiking, blood rushing hot and humiliating between his legs.
It’s going to kill him.
He’s trying; gods, he’s trying desperately to be soft. To be gentle.
For days now, Sanemi’s been bringing him food, simple things, easy enough to stomach. Soup, rice, and meticulously cut fruit. Nothing from the dining hall, no; Sanemi’s preparing everything himself. No one else can care for the alpha like he can, needs to prove it. Three times a day, careful and quiet, he’ll present it to him.
And every day, every single meal, it’s the same.
He steps inside.
The alpha sees him, smells him.
Chaos.
He bolts, shooting up, slamming himself into dressers or shelves, slinking down into the corner. He’ll scream, tuck into himself so tightly, shivering and crying. Sometimes he’ll throw things. Books, a loose slipper, pillows. Trembling like a beaten creature.
And he never eats the food. Not a bite. Each time Sanemi returns with the next meal, the previous tray sits there, untouched. The cycle continues.
Last night, some of the betas sat him down, cautiously. Like he was the timid one here.
He’s not allowed inside anymore.
It’s too upsetting, too traumatic for the patient.
He’s only making it worse.
He needs to give him space.
Right.
As if his wolf isn’t about to claw through his body.
He demanded that they report back to him. Everything. He needs to know everything.
The betas agreed.
So now he paces, and fuck, he still made food, just handed it off to whichever beta he spots first. And circles. Round and round.
A despondent predator, scratching at the one door he’s not permitted entrance to. That only makes it more enticing.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
Sanemi stands over the counter, a pot simmering over open flames, absentmindedly stirring it with a wooden spoon. Pups shriek and bolt past him, someone’s screaming—Shuya, probably—and something heavy thunks before more yelling erupts.
He’s somewhere else entirely. It all blurs together.
He doesn’t hear any of it.
He hears them instead.
“We moved him,” one of the betas had said, hours earlier.
His spoon drops to the counter, and he picks up a knife, jaw tightening.
“To a smaller space.”
The memory makes his blood boil, worse than the pot he’s rapidly forgetting about. His knife drops down fast and repetitively over the cutting board.
Smaller space.
Bullshit.
They stuck him in a closet.
Giyuu.
The alpha’s name is Giyuu. The betas told him a few days ago. Because of-fucking-course they’re the ones who manage to fish that information out of him. Sanemi would’ve learned that too, before they could’ve, if he could just talk to him.
“He kept panicking in the dorm room, Sanemi. Every noise set him off. Every shadow. He was trying to wedge himself under the bed, behind the dresser. He doesn’t do well in open space.
And he kept screaming, crying,” the beta had swallowed, looking away. “Calling out names over and over. Tsumi… Tsukiko? Something like that. And Saburou? I’m not sure; he’s too disoriented. We gave him somewhere that feels safe.”
Sanemi huffs out a sharp puff of air, almost a laugh, utterly disbelieving.
Safe.
A fucking closet.
Someone bumps into his leg, Koto; he’s tugging at Sanemi’s clothes. Teiko and Sumi appear somewhere behind him, asking when dinner will be ready. He shooes them out without much of a glance, mumbling and chopping through vegetables with much more force than necessary.
He shouldn’t care.
But the image won’t leave his mind.
Giyuu curled up in a dark storage closet, trembling and alone.
He dumps the sliced vegetables in the simmering pot, almost boiling over. He doesn’t notice.
And the worst part? The part he keeps repeating again in his brain like a glitch.
“He’s… nesting.”
Sanemi had blinked at them. Confused and blank.
“What?”
Genya is yelling; Hiroshi is yelling right back. Someone laughs. Sanemi doesn’t even turn, doesn’t even listen.
“Nesting,” the beta told him. “He’s been hoarding blankets, dragging pillows, shredding up spare clothes, setting everything up in a pile. We found him curled up in it this morning. He hasn’t left since.”
No. No, that couldn’t be right. The beta’s misunderstood.
Alphas don’t nest. They don’t have that instinct.
They don’t need it.
Nesting is—
“Sanemi… he’s scared. This is the only thing that brings him comfort. And it’s practiced, like he’s done this before. It’s not spontaneous.”
He presses his hand to the counter, knuckles white.
Giyuu’s nesting in a fucking closet. He doesn’t believe it.
He should be with me. In my den. I understand him, alpha to alpha. The betas don’t know what they’re talking about.
Something smells like it’s burning.
“Sanemi!”
He doesn’t hear it, heart beating too erratically under his chest, wooden spoon gripped in his fist, nearly splintering. His shoulders are locked, hair spilling into his eyes.
“Sanemi!” Genya calls. “The rice is burning!”
Sanemi jerks, spoon finally breaking in his grasp.
“Fuck!”
He moves the pot of rice off the hearth, burnt and blackened. The pot of soup sputters behind him, boiling over.
He lifts it, palms screaming from the heat, flesh burning. He drops the pot on the counter, still dripping, soaking the wood beneath it.
“Uhm…” Genya shifts, hesitant behind him.
“No, we’re not going to the fucking dining hall.”
Slowly, a hand extends, settling over Sanemi’s bicep, awkward. He sighs, sagging against the counter.
“Aniki, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Gen, ‘m fine.” Sanemi pushes his hair out of his eyes, standing up. “Let’s eat.”
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
Dinner is… quiet.
Oddly so.
The Shinazugawa family doesn’t do silence.
The kids keep glancing between themselves, then flickering to Sanemi, jaw set and glaring into his untouched bowl, then looking back at one another.
Teiko smacks Genya on the leg, nodding toward Sanemi.
Genya very much does not want to poke that bear right now… but the silence is getting creepy.
He pokes at his half-burnt rice with his chopsticks.
Then, Genya’s eyes widened.
“Do you guys remember when Sanemi tried to kidnap us?”
Shuya and Koto scream. “What!?”
Hiroshi’s head snaps up. Teiko nearly knocks over her bowl. Even Sumi looks up from her soup, eyes wide and shining like she’s just heard the best thing ever.
“Genya,” Sanemi growls out, with no heat behind it. “Shut it and eat your food.”
“Nuh-uh! The kids wanna hear it!”
The pups shout in agreement.
Teiko practically bounces. “Is this when he stole that wagon?”
Hiroshi shoots up. “Yeah! And when we all fell out of it! Genya, tell it, tell it!”
“Okay, okay,” Genya laughs. “It was suupperr early in the morning, the sun had barely risen, and all of a sudden ‘Nemi is crashing into our room, and the twins and I look up—”
“Don’t forget Sumi and Shuya!” Teiko adds. “They were babies and ‘Nemi made us carry both of them!”
“Oh yeah! He tucked Sumi in my shirt!” Genya laughs, turning to Koto, his little eyes sparkling. “Then, aniki said ‘You guys wanna do something fun?’”
Hiroshi smacks his hands over the table, soup spilling. “He made us crawl through the window!”
The pups howl with laughter.
“Put us all in the stolen wagon, like contraband. And he takes off SPRINTING!” Genya stands tall and runs around the table. The pups scream with joy, chasing him around the room. “Then, he hit a rock!”
Teiko shrieks. “And the whole wagon tipped over—”
Hiroshi jumps. “We went flying—”
“—And I broke that wagon into a million pieces,” Sanemi huffs out.
The kids dissolve into a pile of limbs, laughter echoing off the walls. Sumi throws a stray chopstick. Shuya pretends to reenact the great wagon crash by flinging himself onto a cushion. Teiko wipes tears from her eyes. Hiroshi is wheezing. Sanemi feels something tighten in his chest.
They remember it like a stupid adventure.
Good.
They don’t remember the yelling. The crash of glass. Their father’s footsteps shaking the floorboards.
They don’t remember Sanemi bursting into their room, voice hoarse and trembling as he told them it was a game, something secret, something fun, while he shoved boots on their feet with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.
They don’t remember how he climbed out that window first, checking the yard, making sure the bastard wasn’t waiting.
They don’t remember him dragging the wagon because he couldn’t risk any of them falling behind.
They just remember falling out and laughing.
Good.
Let them keep it that way.
He blinks, and the pain is gone, burned into ash, with new life sprouting over the debris.
These idiots. His pack. His siblings, his kids. The only people that matter in his heart.
His smile flickers.
Another face slides into focus, broken and scared, that haunting memory of bergamot and vanilla swirling through his lungs.
He bites down on his wolf’s whimper.
“Alright, brats,” he mutters. “Finish eating.”
But the warmth doesn’t quite settle the same anymore.
Not when someone else, someone scared and alone, is missing from his den.