CHAPTER 3

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The grey light of dawn barely touches the rough-hewn floorboards when Aiden’s eyes snap open. It is precisely six o’clock, the hour when the forest mist is thickest and the air still holds the night’s chill. He lies still for a moment, the sheets tangled around his legs, his breath shallow in the quiet room. Outside, the low murmur of voices drifts through the thin walls, distinct enough to rouse him but too muffled to make out words.

Aiden pushes the blanket aside, the cool air raising gooseflesh on his bare arms. He sits on the edge of the bed, his feet finding the cold floor. His cock is half-hard, a persistent, aching morning weight that he ignores as he stands. He pads silently toward the main room of their small dwelling. His mother’s door is closed tight, no sound coming from within; she is deep in her sleep, exhausted from the previous day's labors.

The main room is dim. On the wooden table, the bowl of stew Aiden left out the night before sits untouched. A layer of congealed grease has formed on the top, and the vegetables have sunk into a dull, solid mass. His father hasn’t come home. Aiden frowns, staring at the food. The chair is pushed in exactly as he left it.

The voices outside rise slightly, a sharp exchange that cuts through the morning stillness. Aiden moves toward the window, keeping his body flush against the wall to avoid being seen. He peeks through a crack in the shutters. The yard is bathed in that eerie pre-dawn twilight. Standing near the edge of the clearing is his father. He looks imposing, his shoulders broad under his worn tunic, his stance rigid.

Facing him is a stranger. Aiden can only see the man’s back—a tall, heavy figure draped in a dark cloak that seems to swallow the faint light around him. The stranger extends a hand. In his palm lies a small, wrapped object. Aiden squints, trying to make out the shape, but the distance is too great. His father takes it, his movements quick and precise.

Aiden presses his ear closer to the wooden frame, desperate to catch a snippet of their conversation. "...danger..." is all he catches, the wind snatching the rest away. The stranger nods once, then turns and melts into the shadows of the tree line, moving with a silence that unsettles Aiden’s stomach.

His father remains standing alone in the yard. He unwraps the item, his head bowed as he examines it. Aiden leans forward, his breath fogging the glass. Suddenly, his father’s head snaps up. His eyes, dark and intense, lock directly onto the window where Aiden is hiding. The gaze feels like a physical blow, piercing through the wood and glass.

Panic flares hot and sharp in Aiden’s chest. He jerks back from the window, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He spins around, his feet tangling in the rush, and stumbles toward his bedroom. He catches the doorframe with his shoulder, a jarring thud that makes him wince, and throws himself onto his bed. He pulls the covers up to his chin, his skin prickling with sweat and fear.

Minutes crawl by, the silence in the house heavy and oppressive. Then, a soft knock sounds at his door.

"Aiden?" His mother’s voice is thick with sleep but carries an edge of irritation. "Why are you awake so late? The sun is nearly up."

Aiden stares at the ceiling, his throat dry. He clears his throat. "I... I just woke up," he lies, his voice cracking.

The door creaks open. His mother stands in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. She looks tired, the lines in her face deepened by the morning shadows. She steps inside, her eyes scanning him, searching for signs of distress. "Are you alright?" she asks, her tone dropping to a concerned murmur. "Are you in heat again?"

The question makes Aiden’s hole twitch, a phantom throb deep inside his ass. He shifts his legs, the friction of the sheets sending a jolt of sensitivity through his groin. He shakes his head quickly. "No, Mother. I’m fine. Just restless."

She studies him for a moment longer, then sighs, stepping back into the hallway. "Good. I need you to go into the herb grove today. I need specific herbs for your father."

Aiden’s eyes widen. The bush—dense, wild, and untamed—is a place he rarely visits alone. A spark of excitement ignites in his gut, momentarily overriding the lingering fear of the encounter with his father. The thought of being out there, away from the confines of the house, makes his pulse quicken. He nods, sitting up. "I can go. I’ll get them."

"Don’t look so eager," his mother says, her voice hardening. "This isn’t a game. You must not come home late. I need these herbs fresh for your father before nightfall."

Aiden pauses, his hand gripping the edge of the mattress. "Is Father... is he unwell?" he asks carefully. Confusion clouds his mind. He had seen his father standing in the yard only moments ago, looking strong and imposing, certainly not sick. But he can’t tell her he was spying on his father.

"He needs the medicine," she says evasively, avoiding his gaze. "That is all you need to know." She turns back to him, her expression impatient. "Hurry up and get dressed. Take your leather pouch and make sure you use the scent suppressant. We can’t have you trailing your smell all over the forest if you start feeling warm."

She closes the door, leaving him alone in the room. Aiden lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He swings his legs out of bed, his cock twitching again at the mention of scent remover—a harsh, chemical liquid that stings when applied to his neck and wrists, masking the sweet, musky odor of his biology. He stands up and walks to the small table where his supplies are kept. He picks up the pouch, the leather worn smooth, and uncaps the bottle of suppressant .The sharp scent of alcohol and crushed herbs fills the air as he dabs it onto his pulse points. It burns slightly, a grounding sensation that clears his head.

He dresses quickly, pulling on his trousers and tunic, the fabric rough against his sensitized skin. He straps the pouch to his belt, his mind racing with the image of his father holding the mysterious object and the looming task ahead. He takes one last look at his room, then opens the door and steps out into the morning, ready to face the wild.