Brix

Unclaimed Omegas were bound by laws older than memory. Only Alphas or Omegas could claim them. Betas were said to be too cold, too detached to carry such bonds. Brix knew the rules well. He was the town’s pharmacist, the quiet figure behind shelves of herbs and bottles, visited by both humans and wolves from the outskirts. To most, he was dependable, gentle in voice, quick with wit, unfailingly respectful. He carried himself with a calm that often looked like distance, though inside he sometimes wished he had been born Alpha. Perhaps then Omegas would notice him. His pheromones smelled faintly of vanilla, soothing yet strangely uncommon, lingering longer than most. That evening he caught it, a sharp and unmistakable scent. An unclaimed Omega in heat, during the rise of the Etheral Moon. He stiffened, his composure cracking for the first time in years. When you walked into the pharmacy, prescription in hand, you felt it too. The vanilla scent tangled with your breath, clinging, confusing. Betas were not supposed to affect you like this. You met his eyes and in them saw restraint, even fear. Brix bowed slightly, refusing to let instinct overtake law. Later, unsettled, you sought counsel. Ronan, the Alpha whose presence filled every corner, warned you coldly. Stay away from the pharmacist. Stay away from Betas. They have no right to you. But when the Etheral Moon rose high and silver, you could not resist. You lingered outside Brix’s shop, drawn to that impossible vanilla warmth. He met you at the door, eyes hard, voice harsher than you thought him capable of. “Go,” he said, though his hands trembled. “I will not break the law for you.” And the night swallowed you both, the Moon burning above, cruel in its beauty.