Chapter 2: The Omega Without A Wolf

Ari Lorne did not feel bonds. He never had.

There was no wolf curled beneath his skin, no echoing presence to guide his instincts or warn him of danger in the way other Omegas described. When people talked about their wolves about the way they growled, whimpered, pulled them toward fate. Ari listened politely and said nothing. Because there was nothing there.

Doctors called him omega quiet. The polite term. The less polite ones were whispered behind his back, defective, unfinished, empty. Ari preferred simply human.

Still, even without a wolf, he had learned to read the world in other ways.

The way tension changed the air.

The way silence pressed too close.

The way some presences made the room feel smaller, heavier like breathing before a storm. Like this.

Ari wiped the counter slowly, methodically, even though it was already clean. The cafe was nearly empty now, the rain having driven most people home early. Outside, Highcrest City glowed in blurred streaks of neon and reflected light, the storm turning the streets into mirrors.

Inside, the warmth of the cafe wrapped around him coffee, sugar, baked bread. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, his shoulders refused to relax.

He didn’t feel anything supernatural. No tug. No call. No bond stirring.

But something about the night felt..watched.

Ari glanced toward the window without meaning to. Nothing there just rain and shadows.

He exhaled and shook his head at himself. Growing up without a wolf meant people constantly told him he was missing warnings, missing instincts. Sometimes he wondered if that belief had seeped too deeply into him, made him see danger where there was none.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured, mostly to hear his own voice.

The bell chimed softly as a customer stepped inside, dripping rain onto the mat. Ari straightened automatically, slipping into the practiced ease of his job.

“Hey,” he said with a gentle smile. “What can I get you?”

The customer a tired looking Beta ordered quickly and left just as fast, shoulders hunched against the storm. Ari prepared the drink, hands moving on muscle memory, grateful for the distraction.

It didn’t help.

The sensation didn’t leave.

It wasn’t fear. Not exactly.

It was awareness.

As if someone important were nearby not close enough to see, but close enough to matter.

Ari handed over the drink, wished the customer a safe walk home, and locked the door behind them. He flipped the sign to CLOSED and leaned back against the counter, rubbing his palms together.

He told himself it was just the weather, storms did strange things to people.

He moved through the closing routine slowly, turning off lights, counting the register, stacking chairs. The café grew quieter with each step, the hum of the fridge and the distant thunder the only sounds left.

When he reached for his jacket in the back room, his hand paused. That feeling again.

Closer now.

Ari frowned, irritation stirring beneath the unease. Not fear annoyance. He didn’t like being unsettled without a reason. He shrugged into his jacket and headed for the door.

The moment he stepped outside, the rain soaked through his sleeves, cold and sharp. The street was nearly empty, puddles rippling under the downpour.

Ari locked the door and turned..

And froze.

He didn’t sense anything supernatural. No bond. No instinctual pull. He simply saw him.

Across the street, partially shielded by a damaged awning, stood Riven Kaelthorne.

The Alpha Commander didn’t move. Didn’t approach. He stood there like he belonged to the storm itself dark coat, broad shoulders, posture rigid with restraint.

Ari’s first thought was absurdly practical. He’s going to get soaked.

Why is he here?

Riven didn’t look like a man who wandered aimlessly. Everything about him spoke of intention, control, awareness sharpened to a blade’s edge.

Ari felt very suddenly exposed.

“You can stop pretending I don’t see you,” Ari said, raising his voice slightly over the rain.

Riven stiffened. For a moment, Ari thought the Alpha might pretend he hadn’t heard. But then Riven stepped fully into the light, rain darkening his hair and coat.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Riven said.

His voice was deep, steady, and far gentler than Ari had expected.

“ Good evening to you too.” Ari tilted his head.

“ you’re soaked.” Riven’s jaw tightened.

“That happens when it rains,” Ari replied dryly.

A corner of Riven’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Ari noticed. It unsettled him more than the Alpha’s presence.

“I live nearby,” Ari continued. “I don’t need an escort.”

“I know,” Riven said. The ease of that answer made Ari pause.

“You know,” Ari repeated. “Or you’ve checked.”

“City records. Nothing private.” Riven didn’t deny it.

Ari studied him, rain sliding down his lashes.

“You really don’t see how unsettling that sounds, do you?”

“I do,” Riven said quietly. “I just don’t know how to make it sound better.”

That honesty threw Ari off balance. Most Alphas danced around truth when it didn’t suit them.

Riven stood there like a man bracing for impact.

“Why are you here?” Ari asked at last.

Riven’s gaze flicked briefly toward the cafe, then back to Ari. “There were reports of rogue activity in the district.” Riven answered.

“And that required you personally?” Ari snorted softly.

“Yes.” Riven replied lazily.

“You’re not very good at lying.” Ari folded his arms.

“I’m not lying,” Riven said. “I’m… editing.”

Ari laughed under his breath.

“That might be worse.”

They stood there in the rain, the city humming around them. Ari was acutely aware of the distance between them close enough to speak easily, far enough that neither crossed a line.

“You avoid me,” Ari said suddenly.

Riven’s eyes sharpened. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Ari insisted. “You used to come in. Then you stopped. You stand across the street like you’re guarding a crime scene.”

Riven inhaled slowly.

“I’m trying to respect your space.” Ari stared at him.

“By watching me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… not how that works.”

Riven looked almost pained.

“I know.”

Ari searched his face, trying to reconcile the feared Alpha Commander with the man standing awkwardly in the rain, clearly at war with himself.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Ari said quietly. “I’m not fragile.”

“I know,” Riven replied immediately. “That’s not why.”

“Then why?”

Riven hesitated. Long enough that Ari wondered if he’d pushed too far.

Finally, Riven said, “Because if something happened to you and I did nothing I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Ari’s breath caught. Not because of destiny. Not because of instinct.

Because of sincerity.

“You don’t even know me,” Ari said.

“I know enough,” Riven said. “And more than I should.”

Ari laughed softly, shaking his head. “This is dangerous territory, Commander.”

“ I’m aware,” Riven said. “That’s why I’ve stayed away.”

“Then maybe,” Ari said, stepping closer despite himself, “you should stop standing in the rain and either leave, or talk to me like a person.”

Riven looked down at him, something fierce and restrained burning behind his eyes. “You don’t feel it,” Riven said quietly.

Ari frowned. “Feel what?”

Riven stopped himself Ari could see it happen, the moment the Alpha pulled back behind discipline.

“Nothing,” Riven said. “Forget I said that.”

Ari studied him, heart beating faster for reasons he couldn’t name. “I don’t have a wolf,” Ari said calmly. “If that’s what you mean.”

Riven’s breath stuttered. “I know,” he said, softer now. “That’s not what I meant.”

Ari searched his face. “Then tell me.”

Riven looked away, rain tracing lines down his jaw. “I can’t,” he said. “Because if I do, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

“Pretend what?”

“That I can walk away.” Riven replied. The words settled between them, heavy and undeniable.

Ari didn’t feel a bond.

But he felt this.

And that, somehow, was enough to make his heart race. “Then maybe,” Ari said gently, “you should stop pretending.

Riven didn’t answer. But he didn’t leave either.

And as Ari walked home that night, the rain still falling, he knew one thing with absolute certainty

Whatever was unfolding between them didn’t require a wolf to be dangerous.