Runt [ManxMan]

Chapter Seven

"I think he's asleep," Chase said, shock lacing the words.

Dax turned his attention from the conversation he'd been having with the warriors to finally take a proper look at the little omega. He did indeed seem to have fallen asleep, his face peaceful and unaffected even as the healer stitched the wound in his side closed.

The omega was somehow smaller in his human form than Dax had expected, and he'd known from the size of his wolf that he would be tiny. The kid couldn't have been more than five feet tall, and was mostly skin and bones, though still with an impressive amount of muscle on his thin frame.

Still, he couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and he looked gaunt, his ribs visible through his skin and his cheeks hollow. His skin was pale from never having seen the sun, a neutral ivory. He would have been quite pretty were it not for the scars that covered his entire body.

Claw marks, teeth marks, a few places where it looked like he might have gotten caught in traps—one of his legs in particular looked like it had seen the inside of a bear trap and never healed right—even one place on his shoulder where it looked like he's been nicked by a bullet and it had left a valley cut into his skin.

He was not like any omega Dax had ever seen. Omegas were delicate creatures, they weren't fighters. This omega though... if he'd had any doubts after seeing his aggression, this put them all to rest.

Dax hadn't expected the kid had had an easy childhood, growing up the way he did, but somehow, he'd thought perhaps the kid just got lucky and didn't run into much trouble. This was clearly not the case. This kid's entire life had been trouble, and he'd fought through all of it on his own with no help from anyone.

Dax couldn't help but be impressed.

Somehow, even through all the scars... Dax still couldn't help but think he was beautiful. Maybe because of the scars. This wasn't some fragile omega who needed protecting, who would hide from danger. This was someone who faced his problems when he needed to, and Dax had to respect that.

He cleared his throat, drawing his adopted brother's attention. Chase had been hovering at the side of the bed, his eyes flitting from his brother's face to the wound in his side to the healer stitching that wound and back again, but they flitted to Dax and stayed there, waiting to see what the alpha wanted.

"Keep me updated on his condition," he said. "I know I don't have to tell you, but look after him, and let me know if you need anything."

Chase nodded and turned away, effectively dismissing the alpha. His instincts burned to put the beta-born in his place, but he shoved them back and strode from the room, his stride confident even if he didn't feel it inside.

It was dusk when he emerged from the infirmary, the fading sunlight giving little illumination over the familiar structures of the pack complex. He'd hoped to train with the warriors for a while to blow off some steam, but they'd already headed home for the day, so he headed back to the pack house, intending to go back to his office to continue the paperwork he'd left behind when this whole rogue omega fiasco started.

"Alpha! There you are!"

These were his least favorite words. He loved his job, he did, but there was always something happening, someone who needed his attention, and sometimes he just needed a moment to himself, a moment to relax before he stepped back into the role of leader of the pack. Those words always signified an end to that peaceful moment.

"Yes?" he responded. His tone, like his expression, was carefully neutral. He'd learned when he was young not to show his emotion on the outside. No one wanted to see their leader annoyed, or upset, or angry, so he pulled his emotions into a box and buried them and all the pain they brought.