Fuck, something about that thought was so attractive—and beyond fucked up. He couldn’t possibly want to be another alpha’s thing, right? Right?
Haydn didn’t know anymore. It all was so confusing. They were friends, yes, but their friendship was unlike any friendship Haydn had ever had. Too intense. Too obsessive. Friends probably weren’t supposed to be so possessive of each other. Friends weren’t supposed to gravitate to each other like he and Royce did. And friends sure as hell weren’t supposed to leave marks all over their friends’ necks.
But could they be anything but friends? They were alphas. Normal alphas weren’t… they weren’t supposed to want other alphas. The mere idea should have been abhorrent. Repulsive. He should want soft, pretty omegas with their sweet, floral scents and submissive eyes, not the musky, dominant scent and muscular body of an alpha over him. He shouldn’t dream of sucking an alpha’s cock and crave the bitter taste of his come.
Was he sick? Such desires were abnormal. Unnatural.
Although Haydn didn’t consider himself a traditionalist, he was an alpha, and one raised by his father, and some things were hard to overcome. Shame burned in his gut the more he wanted things he shouldn’t.
But he didn’t know how to stop wanting.
Maybe he should try putting some distance between them. Maybe it would help.
***
His resolve to put some distance between them lasted a total of four hours.
Four. Measly. Hours.
In Haydn’s defense, he had just been in the area. Picking Royce up from work simply made sense. He could still totally put some distance between them. Right?
Except the moment Royce climbed into the helicopter and looked at him with those dark, dark eyes, Haydn’s resolve shattered like a dam giving way beneath a raging river. It all went downhill from there. Royce and him being alone in an enclosed space predictably led to them spending half an hour scenting each other like crazy, so Haydn’s mind felt slow and hazy from all the pheromones by the time they arrived home.
That was probably why he failed to smell Uncle Yurev before seeing him.
“Shit,” Haydn hissed, staring with dread at the tall elderly man talking to Vagrippa down the corridor. Fuck, he didn’t want to deal with this right now, especially since there was no way Uncle Yurev would miss that he reeked of his husband. He yanked Royce into the nearest room, praying Yurev hadn’t noticed them.
Royce allowed him to manhandle him but laughed when Haydn shut the door. “Come on, you can’t seriously expect us to hide here until he leaves.”
“I can, and we will,” Haydn said, glancing at the door and sighing in disappointment upon not finding a lock.
“I’m pretty sure he saw us,” Royce said dryly.
“No, he didn’t.”
“All right, he must have seen something—he started turning his head when you pushed me into the room. He’ll probably come here any moment now. Wouldn’t it be better to go meet him instead of him finding us here hiding from him? I know he’s an unpleasant man, but—”
“You don’t know him half as well as I do,” Haydn said, looking around the room until his gaze stopped on the large closet. “Describing him as ‘unpleasant’ is the understatement of the century, trust me.” Grabbing Royce’s hand, Haydn dragged him toward the closet.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Royce said. “I’m not hiding in the closet, Haydn. I draw the line at that.”
Haydn opened the closet and pushed him into it before following him and shutting the door.
“Come on, this is childish,” Royce said.
“Hush, stop whining,” Haydn hissed.
“Whining? I do not whine.”
Haydn smiled fondly in the dark. Royce sounded so offended it was downright adorable.
Whatever Royce was going to say was cut off by the sound of the door opening.
They both froze.
Haydn’s heart was pounding. The worst part was, he knew Royce was right: this was childish. He should have outgrown this fear a long time ago. He was no longer the teenager who used to hide from Yurev’s mind-numbing lectures all the time. He was an adult. A war general. He shouldn’t have been still terrified of one old, arrogant man. He should have been stronger than this.
But Haydn was honest enough with himself to admit that he’d rather take on an enemy platoon by himself than face his great uncle’s disdain. Even his father didn’t scare him as much as Yurev did. Hell, even his father respected the old coot, and his father didn’t respect anyone. Uncle Yurev was the ultimate Alpha, alpha with a capital A. Haydn could only cringe as he imagined Yurev’s reaction to the press conference: the look of disdain on his haughty face, the derisive sneer on his lips, his cold, biting remarks. That boy has never been strong enough, Stefan. It’s a shame you don’t have a better heir.
His heart beating in his throat, Haydn leaned back against Royce’s chest. Royce wrapped an arm around his middle, probably to steady him, but it also had a curious grounding effect on Haydn: his nerves settling, his breathing evening out.