Chapter 1
Eddie woke up with his teeth already brushing skin.
The motel room in Nashville was dark except for the thin neon strip leaking through the curtains, and the air was thick with the scent he’d known for years: Buck. Sharp, sun-warm, unmistakably alpha. Except… it wasn’t.
Eddie’s mouth was open against the side of Buck’s neck, right where the scent gland should be. His canines were aching, the alpha instinct roaring bite, claim, mine so loud he could barely hear his own heartbeat. He’d been dreaming —something hazy and golden about Buck laughing in the engine bay— and then he was here, half on top of him, one hand fisted in the front of Buck’s sleep shirt, the other cupping the back of his head like he’d been pulling him closer in his sleep.
And there, just under the hinge of Buck’s jaw, was a small, square patch of medical tape. Thin. Discreet. The kind suppressants came in.
Eddie froze.
He knew that patch. He’d seen it on omegas at calls, on victims who didn’t want their dynamic broadcasted. But Buck?
Buck smelled like alpha. Moved like alpha. Took up space like alpha. He’d been Eddie’s best friend, his co-parent, his constant for years, and Eddie had never once questioned it. Until now. Until his nose was pressed to warm skin and the scent underneath the blocker hit him like a flash-bang: sweet, honey-thick, omega.
Buck’s pulse fluttered under his lips.
Eddie jerked back so fast the mattress bounced. Buck startled awake with a gasp, eyes wide and sleep-rumpled, hair sticking up in every direction.
“Eddie?” His voice was gravel-rough, confused. “You okay, man?”
Eddie couldn’t answer. His fangs were still dropped, his hands shaking. He stared at the tiny edge of tape visible above Buck’s collar and felt the entire world tilt.
Buck wasn’t an alpha.
Buck was an omega.
And Eddie had almost claimed him in his sleep.
***
The call had come in as a favor.
A massive multi-agency training exercise turned real when a freak storm ripped through Nashville, knocking out power grids and sending half the city’s first responders into overtime. The 118 had been asked to lend a hand, something about cross-state mutual aid and “you two have the most experience with urban collapse scenarios.” Bobby had only been able to spare Eddie and Buck.
They’d driven fourteen hours in the department SUV, trading playlists and bad truck-stop coffee, Buck’s knee bouncing the whole way like it always did when he was trying not to overthink. Eddie had teased him about it, called him “Twitchy” until Buck finally laughed and relaxed.
By the time they rolled into the temporary command center, it was past midnight. The storm had left every hotel within fifty miles either flooded or booked solid with emergency personnel. The coordinator, a tired-looking beta with a clipboard, had shrugged apologetically.
“Only one room left. Queen bed. Take it or leave it.”
Buck had shrugged first, easy as ever. “We’ve shared worse. Remember that ice storm in Minnesota? At least this one has actual walls.”
Eddie had nodded, because what else was he going to say? They were partners. Best friends. It was just sleep. He’d bunked with Buck on a dozen calls, crashed on his couch more times than he could count. A queen bed was practically luxurious.
So here they were. The room smelled like stale coffee and cheap air freshener. Buck had claimed the side closer to the window, stripping down to a threadbare LAFD t-shirt and loose sweatpants before face-planting into the mattress with a groan. Eddie had taken longer —shower, teeth, the usual routine— then slid in beside him, careful to keep to his half of the bed.
Buck was already out, breathing deep and even, one arm flung above his head. Eddie had chuckled softly at the familiar sight, turned off the lamp, and let exhaustion pull him under.
Until now.
***
Eddie couldn’t answer. His fangs were still dropped, breath coming too fast, too loud in the quiet room. The scent was stronger now, slipping through whatever was left of the patch: warm vanilla and something brighter, like sun-warmed honey. It made his mouth water.
Buck sat up fully, concern cutting through the sleep. “Eddie? Hey, talk to me. You okay?”
Eddie’s hand lifted almost without permission. His finger pointed shakily at the side of Buck’s neck, right where the small edge of tape was still visible above the collar of his shirt.
Buck’s face went white. His hand flew to his neck, fingers pressing over the spot. One of the patches had detached, half peeled away during the night, probably from the way they’d shifted together in sleep. The scent was leaking freely now, impossible to ignore.
“Shit,” Buck whispered. His fingers trembled as he touched the loose edge. “Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have changed brands. They said these were thinner, supposedly invisible, unnoticeable. ‘Perfect for active duty,’ my ass. I knew it was too good to be true.”
He was panicking, words tumbling out fast and shaky. Eddie could see the exact moment Buck realized how close Eddie had been, how close he’d come to biting. Buck’s eyes widened, breath hitching.
Before Eddie could find his voice, Buck bolted. He threw the covers off and scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. He dove for his duffel bag on the floor, rifling through it with frantic hands until he pulled out a small plastic case. Then he was gone, running to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him with a sharp click.
Eddie stayed frozen on the edge of the bed, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted to claw its way out. The ghost of Buck’s true scent still lingered on his tongue, warm honey and sun-warmed vanilla, sweet and addictive in a way that made his alpha instincts snarl with want. He could still feel the phantom press of skin against his lips, the flutter of Buck’s pulse, the way his canines had throbbed with the urge to sink in and claim.
The bathroom door stayed shut. Behind it, Eddie could hear the faint sounds of Buck moving around: the rush of water from the faucet, the quiet snap of a plastic case opening and closing, a muttered curse that sounded wet and shaky. Eddie didn’t dare move. His hands were clenched so tightly in the sheets that his knuckles had gone white.
His mind wouldn’t stop spinning, flashing through years of memories at breakneck speed, forcing him to see everything in a cruel new light.
All this time, he’d thought Buck was just… Buck. Loud, reckless, larger-than-life alpha energy wrapped in too much heart and not enough self-preservation. The scent had matched, sharp and confident, like ozone after a lightning strike. Eddie had never questioned it. Why would he? Buck took up space the way alphas did. He barreled into danger with that cocky grin, lifted hoses like they weighed nothing, and bantered with the same easy dominance Eddie had come to rely on.
But now the pieces were slamming into place, each one sharper than the last.
The empathy. God, the empathy. Buck felt everything so deeply it sometimes left him raw, running toward victims with tears already in his eyes, staying long after the call ended just to make sure someone wasn’t alone. That wasn’t typical alpha stoicism. That was omega compassion, the kind that made them natural caretakers, the kind that could overwhelm if not protected. Eddie had always chalked it up to Buck being “soft-hearted.” Now it felt obvious.
Then there was Christopher. The instant, bone-deep connection between them. Buck had stepped into Eddie’s life and become Chris’s safe place without hesitation, patient, gentle, instinctively knowing exactly how to soothe a scared kid. Eddie had thought it was friendship, maybe a little hero worship. But it was more than that. It was omega instinct meeting a child who needed softness. The way Buck would sometimes go quiet after bad calls, curling up on the couch with Chris like he needed the contact as much as the boy did… it all made sense now.
Even the bulk and the swagger had been an armor. All those hours in the gym, the deliberate way Buck carried himself, broad shoulders, confident stride, voice pitched just a little lower on calls. He’d built the perfect disguise. And Eddie had bought it completely.
His alpha side was still buzzing, restless and possessive. The dream-fueled almost-bite replayed on loop: teeth grazing delicate skin, the sudden bloom of sweet omega scent, the overwhelming urge to finish what sleep had started. «Claim him. Protect him. Make sure no one else ever gets close enough to hurt what’s mine». The thought sent a hot shiver down his spine, equal parts horror and hunger. He’d almost done it. To Buck. His best friend. In a cheap Nashville motel because they’d had to share a damn bed.
The faucet turned off. The silence that followed felt deafening. A long minute dragged by. Then another. Finally, the bathroom door creaked open.
Buck stepped out slowly, shoulders hunched inward like he was trying to disappear into himself. He’d clearly re-applied the patches, probably doubled up, judging by how thoroughly the omega scent had vanished. In its place was the familiar sharp alpha note Eddie had known for years, artificial and slightly chemical now that he knew what to look for. Buck’s hair was damp at the temples where he’d splashed water on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, not quite from tears but from the sheer panic of the moment. He looked small. Nervous. Mute in a way that twisted something deep in Eddie’s chest.
Buck stopped a few feet from the bed, hands twisting nervously at the hem of his threadbare LAFD t-shirt. His gaze flicked to the floor, to the wall, to anywhere but Eddie. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, opening his mouth once, then closing it again without a sound. For once, Evan Buckley had no idea what to say now that his biggest, most carefully guarded secret was lying naked between them.
Eddie remained seated on the edge of the mattress, elbows braced on his knees, trying to keep his breathing steady. The room felt suffocatingly small. The queen bed suddenly seemed enormous and far too intimate.
Finally, Eddie broke the silence, his voice rough and low. “Why?”
Buck’s gaze dropped fully to the floor. His shoulders curled in even further, like he wanted the cheap carpet to swallow him whole. He swallowed hard before answering, the words barely more than a whisper.
“Because omegas can’t be firefighters,” he said. “And it’s been my dream since I was a child.”
A dense, heavy silence fell over the room. The neon light from outside hummed faintly through the curtains, casting shifting pink shadows across the walls. Neither of them moved. The air felt thick enough to choke on.
Eddie let the words sink in, his chest tightening painfully. All those years of Buck fighting for his place at the 118, proving himself over and over, the insecurities he tried to hide behind jokes and daredevil stunts, it all carried new weight now.
After what felt like forever, Eddie asked quietly, “Who knows?”
“Only Bobby,” Buck murmured, still staring at the floor. His fingers kept twisting in his shirt, knuckles white. “He had to report my medical studies from my private physician to get me qualified as a firefighter. I was… an exception. A huge one, backed up by him. But the patches were mandatory. Should any alpha incident arise, I’d be left out of the force…” His voice cracked on the last sentence, barely audible.
Eddie’s jaw clenched. The hurt was rising fast now, mixing with the leftover adrenaline from the almost-claim and the confusing swirl of alpha instincts that still wanted to pull Buck close instead of push him away. He pushed himself up from the bed in one abrupt motion, the mattress creaking loudly in the quiet room.
“Of course I’m not going to rat you out,” Eddie said, the words coming out harsher than he meant. He reached down and grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, clutching it like a shield. “But I thought we were best friends. How could you keep something like this from me?”
Buck flinched visibly, his whole body jerking like the words had physically hit him. He opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. His eyes finally lifted, wide and glassy, filled with a mix of fear and regret that made Eddie’s alpha side want to soothe even as his heart ached with betrayal.
Eddie didn’t wait for whatever Buck might have tried to say. He turned toward the small, lumpy couch against the far wall, pillow still gripped tightly in his arms. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
The words hung in the air as he crossed the room, the distance between them suddenly feeling like miles instead of feet.
***
The morning light filtering through the thin motel curtains felt too bright, too ordinary for the way the air still crackled with everything unsaid.
Eddie had barely slept. The couch was lumpy and too short, his legs hanging off the end, but that wasn’t the real problem. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt warm skin under his lips again, smelled that impossible sweetness bleeding through the failed patch, heard Buck’s quiet confession echoing in the dark. «Because omegas can’t be firefighters». The words sat like lead in his chest.
Buck had taken the bed without argument. Eddie had heard him shifting restlessly for hours, the occasional soft sigh, but neither of them spoke again. When Eddie finally drifted off sometime after three, it was into fractured dreams of Buck, smaller, softer, eyes wide with that same vulnerable look from the night before.
Now it was just past dawn. They moved around the tiny room in stiff, careful silence, like two magnets repelling each other. Buck kept his back turned while he pulled on his uniform shirt, fingers fumbling slightly with the buttons. Eddie busied himself lacing his boots, jaw tight. The fake alpha scent was back in full force, sharp, chemical, layered thick enough to hide everything underneath. It made Eddie’s stomach twist.
“Command center’s expecting us at oh-eight-hundred,” Buck said finally, voice neutral but a little hoarse. He didn’t look up. “Storm took out a whole block of power lines near Broadway. Structural damage on a couple buildings. They need extra hands for search and stabilize.”
Eddie nodded once. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
No teasing. No morning banter about who got the last of the terrible motel coffee. Just clipped words and averted eyes.
They drove the short distance to the temporary command post in the department SUV, the radio filling the silence with updates on the storm’s aftermath. Winter Storm Fern had been brutal, knocking out grids, downing trees, trapping people in damaged structures. Mutual aid teams from three states were already rotating through rescues. Buck focused on the road, knuckles pale on the wheel. Eddie stared out the passenger window, trying not to let his gaze drift. But it did anyway.
When they arrived, the work swallowed them quickly. No time for awkwardness when lives were on the line. The incident commander —a no-nonsense beta from Nashville FD— briefed them on the spot: a row of historic buildings on Broadway had partial collapses from fallen debris and high winds. Power was still out in the area, water lines compromised, and there were reports of people possibly trapped inside businesses that had been open late during the storm.
They geared up fast. Helmets, turnout coats, gloves. Eddie and Buck fell into the familiar rhythm of working together, assessing load-bearing walls, crawling through tight spaces to check for victims, shoring up unstable sections with the local teams. Buck threw himself into it completely, the way he always did when lives were at stake. Voice steady on the radio, calling out measurements, directing civilians to safety, crawling into a narrow gap between collapsed beams to reach an elderly woman pinned by furniture.
Eddie watched him from across the cordoned street while he helped stabilize a leaning support column with two Nashville firefighters. Buck was totally focused, broad shoulders moving with practiced efficiency, muscles flexing under the heavy gear as he carefully extracted the woman and handed her off to paramedics. His movements were confident, strong, every bit the capable firefighter Eddie had always known.
And yet.
Eddie’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. How had an omega gotten this far? Not just into the academy, but thriving at one of the busiest houses in L.A. The physical demands alone were insane, carrying victims down ladders, dragging hoses up flights of stairs, hours of grueling labor in full turnout gear that weighed nearly fifty pounds. Omegas were built for endurance in different ways: heightened senses, emotional intelligence, that deep protective drive. But the brute strength, the sheer stubborn bulk Buck carried… it had to be years of deliberate training, supplements maybe, pushing his body past what biology intended.
Eddie thought about the hidden patches, the private physician, Bobby’s quiet exception. How many times had Buck pushed through heat-adjacent symptoms without anyone noticing? How had he hid this heats? How many close calls had there been where an alpha teammate got too aggressive on a bad call, and Buck had to swallow it down behind that perfect alpha mask?
Buck emerged from the building covered in dust, face streaked with sweat, but grinning faintly at the woman he’d just saved as she thanked him. For a split second, Eddie saw it differently, the gentle way he steadied her arm, the soft reassurance in his voice even through the adrenaline. Omega caretaking instincts, shining through the armor.
Their eyes met across the chaos for half a second. Buck’s smile faltered, something raw and uncertain flashing there before he looked away and jogged over to the next task.
Eddie’s alpha instincts stirred again, quieter now but persistent. Protect. Understand. The hurt from last night was still there, sharp and aching —best friends, how could you hide this?— but it tangled with something warmer, something that made his chest feel too tight.
They worked straight through the morning without a real break, side by side but not quite together. Buck stayed laser-focused on the rescues, calling out structural concerns, lifting debris with the same effortless power he always had. Eddie kept pace, but his mind kept drifting back every few minutes.
How many nights had Buck gone home alone after a shift, peeling off those patches in private, letting the real scent breathe in the safety of his loft? How had he hidden the softer edges —the nesting urges after bad calls, the emotional crashes— that Eddie now recognized so clearly?
By midday, when they finally stepped back for water and a quick debrief, the tension between them hadn’t eased. It had only settled deeper, humming under every shared glance and clipped instruction.
Buck wiped sweat from his brow, eyes on the building instead of Eddie. “Next section looks stable enough for interior search. You good to go in with me?”
Eddie’s gaze lingered again on the strong line of Buck’s shoulders, the determined set of his jaw. An omega. His omega—wait, no. Not his. Never had been.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, voice low. “I’m good.”
But as they moved back toward the debris, he wondered how long he could keep pretending that was true.
***
They moved back into the damaged building together, the air inside thick with dust, damp plaster, and the faint ozone bite of exposed electrical lines. The second-floor corridor had taken the worst of the fallen tree—beams cracked, ceiling sagging, narrow passages reduced to crawl spaces in places. Faint voices called from deeper inside, muffled and scared. The incident commander had flagged this section as marginal, but with possible civilians trapped, they couldn’t wait for heavy equipment.
Buck took point without hesitation, the way he always did. He dropped to a crouch, flashlight beam slicing through the gloom, voice steady over the radio. “118 en route to interior search. Possible entrapment in the rear storage area. We’ll advise.”
Eddie followed close behind, Halligan bar in one hand, stabilization struts in the other. Their turnout coats brushed with every step in the tight space. The fake alpha scent Buck wore sat heavy in the stale air—sharp, chemical, wrong now that Eddie knew the truth. Underneath it, faint traces of something sweeter kept trying to bleed through with his sweat. It made Eddie’s alpha instincts twitch and circle, restless.
His mind refused to quiet.
He was head over heels for Buck. Had been for years, if he was honest with himself. It wasn’t just partnership or friendship anymore. It was the way Buck’s laugh lit up the worst days, the way he showed up for Christopher without being asked, the way Eddie’s chest went tight every time Buck walked into a room. Eddie had buried it deep because the math had always seemed impossible. The reasons he’d buried it were ironclad.
One: He was an alpha.
Two: Buck was an alpha too—or that’s what Eddie had believed until twelve hours ago, when that sweet omega scent had flooded his senses and shattered everything.
Three: Alphas didn’t date other alphas. Not really. Not without constant dominance challenges, bruised egos, and relationships that usually burned hot and crashed harder. He’d seen it play out too many times.
Four: Buck had bragged—casually, over beers, with that easy grin—about the omegas he’d dated. “Man, you should’ve seen her nest,” or “Omegas just get it, Eddie. They smell like home.” The stories had always landed like a quiet knife, reminding Eddie that Buck wanted softness, sweetness, biological compatibility. Not another alpha.
Except none of it was true anymore.
Buck wasn’t an alpha. That had been a lie—a meticulous, exhausting performance sustained for years. So what else was a lie? The dating stories? Had they even happened, or were they just another shield to sell the alpha image? The cocky swagger, the casual dominance in the firehouse, the way he sometimes pulled away after bad calls… how much of Buck was real, and how much was armor to survive in a world that wouldn’t let omegas wear turnout gear?
Eddie’s thoughts spiraled tighter with every cautious step. His alpha side kept pushing forward the same possessive whispers: Mine to protect. Mine to understand. Mine. The almost-bite from last night replayed in vivid flashes—teeth grazing skin, honey-sweet scent blooming, the overwhelming urge to claim what smelled like safety and home. He’d almost sunk his teeth into his best friend in his sleep. And now, knowing the truth, the want felt even more dangerous.
They reached the worst pinch point: a collapsed section where the corridor narrowed to barely shoulder-width, ceiling pressing low. Buck didn’t pause. He went down on hands and knees, broad shoulders scraping the walls as he crawled forward. “I see him—adult male, pinned under shelving units. He’s conscious. Sending coords and moving in.”
Eddie crouched right behind him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off Buck’s body through their gear. The space was suffocating. Their breathing echoed. Dust motes danced in the flashlight beams. Eddie’s heart hammered harder than the situation strictly called for.
“Buck, the beam above you is compromised,” he warned, voice tight. “We should shore it first.”
“No time, he’s losing blood from his leg,” Buck replied, already deeper in, reaching carefully toward the trapped man. His voice stayed calm for the victim: “Hey, buddy, we’ve got you. Just hang on.”
Then the structure betrayed them.
A sharp crack split the air. The support beam overhead groaned and shifted. Chunks of plaster and splintered wood rained down. Buck twisted instinctively to shield the civilian, but a heavy section of shelving broke free and slammed into his left shoulder and arm, pinning him against the wall with a sickening thud. Buck grunted in pain, the sound raw and involuntary. His body jerked, helmet scraping concrete.
Eddie’s vision tunneled.
His alpha instincts detonated —protect, save, MINE— overriding every scrap of training and caution. He didn’t think. He lunged forward recklessly, wedging his body into the dangerously narrow gap beside Buck. Shoulders jammed tight against Buck’s, chests pressed together in the confined space, Eddie braced his back against the failing beam and heaved upward with everything he had. Muscles screamed. His turnout coat tore at the seam. Dust choked his lungs. He could feel Buck’s rapid heartbeat through their gear, smell the sudden spike of stress-sweat cutting through the chemical patches.
“Hold on—” Eddie ground out, voice strained as he took the full shifting weight. “I’ve got it, get him out!”
Buck didn’t argue. With a pained hiss he used the precious seconds Eddie bought him to drag the trapped man free, sliding him toward the clearer end of the corridor where local firefighters were already rushing in. “Victim clear! Pull him!”
The moment the civilian was safe, Eddie released the beam with a shout. The structure settled with a final ominous groan, dust billowing around them. He and Buck scrambled backward together, coughing, bodies tangled for a few frantic seconds as they extricated themselves from the pinch point. They spilled out into the wider hallway, helmets askew, covered head to toe in gray dust.
The man was alive—shaken, bleeding from a leg laceration, but breathing and conscious. Paramedics swarmed him immediately.
Eddie’s hands were still trembling with adrenaline when Buck turned to face him. Their visors were up, faces inches apart in the aftermath. Buck’s eyes were wide, pupils blown, a streak of blood on his cheek from a small cut. For a heartbeat they just stared at each other, breathing hard, the closeness from the crawl space still echoing in Eddie’s body.
Buck’s voice dropped to a whisper only Eddie could hear, raw and tired. “That’s why they don’t let omegas on the force. Alphas always feel the need to save them.”
The words landed like a slap. Eddie lost a step, boots scraping debris. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Something twisted painfully in his chest, guilt, protectiveness, the sting of being seen so clearly. Buck was already turning away, brushing dust off his coat with mechanical movements, voice switching back to crisp professionalism as he radioed the successful rescue. “Victim extracted. One minor injury on our side. Continuing assessment.”
Eddie tried to refocus. He really did.
The rest of the day became a deliberate blur of motion. They cleared the remaining sections of the building, shored up unstable walls with the Nashville teams, helped extract two more light entrapments on the ground floor. Eddie threw himself into every task, barking measurements, lifting debris, coordinating with local crews. His body moved on autopilot, competent and steady on the outside.
Inside, his mind wouldn’t stop circling back. Every time Buck lifted a beam with that same effortless power, Eddie wondered how an omega had built that strength, how many extra hours in the gym it had taken to compensate for biology. Every time Buck knelt to comfort a shaken civilian with that gentle, instinctive care, Eddie saw the omega empathy shining through the cracks in the armor. Every shared glance across the cordoned street made his alpha instincts hum louder: He’s capable. He’s strong. But he’s also… mine to keep safe.
The reckless lunge replayed constantly. The press of their bodies in that tight space. The way Buck’s scent had spiked with pain and adrenaline, cutting sharper through the failing patches for just a second. Eddie had acted without thought, driven by pure instinct. And Buck had called it exactly what it was.
By the time the sun dipped low, and the incident commander called the mutual aid teams off for the day, exhaustion sat heavy in Eddie’s bones. They rode back to the motel in the SUV, windows down to let in the cool evening air. The silence between them felt thicker than ever, charged with the rescue, the whisper, the years of secrets now cracked wide open.
Eddie kept his eyes on the passing streets, but his gaze kept drifting sideways anyway. Buck stared straight ahead, jaw tight, one hand rubbing absently at his bruised shoulder.
Neither of them spoke. But Eddie’s thoughts kept spinning the same questions:
How much longer could he pretend the protectiveness was just partnership?
How much of Buck had he never really known?
And what the hell was he supposed to do with the fact that the lie had only made him want Buck more?
