The steam still clung to Caspian's skin when he stepped out of the washroom, the oversized bathrobe hanging off his shoulders like it belonged to someone else. It did anyway.
He moved to the wardrobe, fingers brushing over silk and wool and leather that smelled faintly of pine smoke and danger. Nothing in here was his. Everything was Zayden's.
He pulled out the smallest thing he could find—a black shirt that probably passed as a t-shirt on Zayden. On him, it swallowed his frame whole. The sleeves fell past his fingers, the hem brushing his knees.
Caspian sighed and put it back.
His eyes drifted to the door. No footsteps. No voice.
_Maybe he's busy,_ Caspian thought, climbing into the bed. The sheets were cold against his skin, but the pillow still held warmth. Zayden's warmth.
He lay down, pulling the blanket to his chest, but his gaze stayed fixed on the door.
_He'll come soon. I'll ask him about a dress then. Until then… I'll just wait._
The thought didn't feel bitter. It felt good. Safe.
His eyes grew heavy. He didn't notice when sleep took him.
---
The door opened without a sound.
Zayden stopped just inside the room, his gaze locking onto the bed immediately.
Caspian was curled under the blankets, half of his chest exposed where the bathrobe had slipped. His arms were bare, pale against the dark fabric, and the blankets covered him halfway—like he'd tried to hide but failed.
Zayden swallowed hard.
Those little pink nipples peeked out, untouched, oblivious, mocking him with how delicate they looked against Caspian's skin.
He moved before he could think, crossing the room in three strides. His hands were steady as he adjusted the robe, covering Caspian properly, but his breath came uneven.
Gods, he was hard.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.
He turned to leave, to drown himself in a cold shower before he did something reckless, when a sound stopped him cold.
Caspian was mumbling in his sleep.
Zayden knelt beside the bed, leaning close, his ear hovering near Caspian's lips.
Caspian's brows were drawn tight, his face twisted in distress.
"No… no, I won't marry him," he whispered. "He'll kill me… I know him. He hates omegas…"
Tears slipped from beneath Caspian's lashes, trailing down his cheek.
Zayden's jaw clenched.
Without a word, he slid an arm under Caspian's back and lifted him, settling him carefully in his lap at the edge of the bed. Caspian didn't wake. He just whimpered, small and broken.
"Dad?" Caspian murmured. "Dad, I wanna live. He's a bad guy… he'll kill me?"
Zayden's chest tightened.
He pressed his thumb to Caspian's furrowed brows, stroking slowly, soothing. The tension bled out of Caspian's face inch by inch.
Then the scent changed.
Sour milk turned sweet, thick with honey, spilling into the air as Caspian's pheromones shifted with relief. Zayden groaned quietly, rubbing slow circles into Caspian's back, letting his own pheromones flood the room—pine smoke, cedar, possession.
Caspian chased it even asleep, nuzzling closer to Zayden's neck, seeking the source of comfort like he knew it by instinct.
Within minutes, his breathing evened out. Deep sleep claimed him again, his small body melting against Zayden's chest.
Zayden held him tighter, his gaze soft in a way no one else ever saw.
"Don't worry," he murmured against Caspian's hair. "I'll teach that geezer a lesson he'll never forget."
---
*[In Dream]*
The room was the same as always. Cold. Empty.
His father stood in the doorway, face unreadable.
"I'm getting you married in two weeks."
For half a second, Caspian's heart leapt. Father remembers me. He cares._
Then his world fell apart on his father next words:
"To Silas. Your uncle."
The floor fell out from under him.
It wasn't love. It wasn't guilt. It was disposal. He was being sold off, tossed out like an embarrassment the family wanted gone.
Caspian fell to his knees, begging. He knew what Silas did to omegas. He'd seen the bodies, heard the screams.
His father didn't even look at him. He turned and locked the door, leaving Caspian trembling on the floor alone.
But tonight was different.
The door opened again, and Zayden stepped in.
No hesitation. No disgust. Just certainty. He knelt, wiped the tears from Caspian's cheeks with his thumb, and lifted him into his lap on the sofa.
Pine smoke and mine.
Caspian buried his face in Zayden's neck, breathing him in, clinging like drowning. Zayden's arms came around him, solid, unyielding. Safe.
Caspian didn't know it wasn't a dream.
Zayden was really there. Holding him. Protecting him.
And in Zayden's mind, one thought burned hotter than everything else:
I will never let you go.
---