Runt [ManxMan]

Chapter Thirteen

Chase hadn't slept yet.

Not that he hadn't tried. He and Mason had gone to bed soon after returning from their full moon excursion—it hadn't really been much of a run this month—but while Mason had fallen asleep in minutes, Chase had laid awake, watching the boy and thinking.

He'd known his brother had been a lone wolf for thirteen years, had known that he'd had to hunt for his own food and defend himself against rogues, but knowing it and seeing it were very different things. Sometimes it was hard to forget Mason wasn't the pup he was when they were separated, that he'd grown up while they were apart.

Even now, asleep, the boy still looked so young and innocent. Chase was still growing accustomed to his brother's human face, and how much he looked like a smaller, younger version of himself. If he hadn't known better, he would have guessed the boy was fifteen at best. A lot of that was just because he was an omega, and it was common for them to be smaller and look younger, but a lot of it was malnutrition.

Chase knew all about that. He was a beta-born, same as Mav, and only a year younger, but from the day he'd been taken in by the pack he'd been so much smaller than the beta. He was never in competition for the position because, while he was an amazing hunter, he didn't stand a chance against others of his own kind. He was average sized for a human, maybe even for a common wolf, but for a beta-born he was tiny.

Mason was the same, except he was already an omega. Chase had been mistaken for an omega himself on a handful of occasions, and he was a full head taller than his brother, and fifty pounds heavier. Mason's years as a rogue had ensured that he had become exactly what their father had called him—a runt.

Chase shook that thought away. Mason was a little small, but Chase refused to think of him as a runt, not with the memories that came from that word. Besides, the omega was young enough he might still grow a bit more, and he would certainly fill out as he continued eating properly. It had only been a week and Chase could already see a difference in the boy, could tell his cheeks weren't as sunken in and his ribs weren't as prominent.

He'd been progressing so well with his walking and communication, Chase had almost forgotten how close to feral the boy was, and that he'd developed a very different set of instincts than Chase had as a pack wolf. He'd forgotten the snarling, angry wolf he'd seen the day Mason arrived, the room full of bloodied warriors who'd tried to calm him.

No, Mason was so much more than a runt. He was more than an omega, and definitely more than his size and general attitude had led Chase to believe.

The boy rolled over, and Chase went still, watching him. Mason never had trouble falling asleep, but staying asleep, that was another story. Any noise could startle him awake, and if it wasn't that it was the dreams. Or, really, the nightmares.

The last several days, Chase had woken to his brother thrashing, whining, and calling his brother's name in his sleep. So far, he'd refused to even attempt to communicate what the dreams were about, but Chase was hoping that was more frustration with his limited vocabulary and not a refusal to confide in his brother. Really, Chase hoped the nightmares would stop altogether, but he couldn't take away all the bad things that had happened to his brother.

Beside him, Mason whined in his sleep, and Chase was drawn from his thoughts to watch him. He'd spent more hours than he'd like to admit like this, watching his brother sleep, at first in awe that he was really here, then slowly developing into a protective wariness. Anything could be the first sign his sleep was taking a turn—a whine, a flinch, restless shifting. Chase was learning to spot the signs because waking the boy early was better than letting it go on until the boy was crying and panicked when he finally startled awake.