His whole life, Boris had been a walking shame. An omega born to a male alpha and a female alpha—something rare, something whispered about.
They hadn't celebrated his birth. They'd waited. And hoped. That maybe his wolf would manifest as something strong. Something worthy. But instead, it came slim, silver, and female. Worse, she burned with heat monthly, wild and restless. And with that, Boris became the family's quiet disgrace.
They managed him for potential. Then hated him for what he was.
But Boris refused to be useless. He refused to vanish. So, he became a healer. He studied really hard. He trained until his bones ached. And even when they sneered, even when they looked at him like filth, they still came to him when they needed healing.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
And then came the mate bond.
Alpha Malakai Hanover.
A man Boris had never met, only felt a golden thread of the mate bond tugging at his soul, attached to.
His own family was horrified. A man? A mate bond? The shame doubled. An omega? Gay? Foolish and weak? And to such a powerful alpha? Disgraceful!
They forced the bond to be severed. Not a word of protest from Malakai. No message. No contact. Not even curiosity.
They didn't care that it shattered something in Boris and that it would hurt as he was just a mere weak omega. They never asked what he wanted.
Now, pinned against this stranger's chest in the dark, skin flushed, heart pounding, everything inside him snapped. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Maybe it was heat. Or maybe it was the first time Boris felt like he could choose to be freely what he was for who he was without being shamed.
A surge of rebellion flooded him. Years of restraint shattered like glass.
"Take me from the back," Boris whispered, his voice cracked open like a wound.
This was his moment. His fall. His fire. His choice. He didn't resist.
He gave in—to the curse, to the heat, to the identity he was always told to bury. A gay omega. A broken mate. A healer who didn't want to be saved.
And as the stranger's hands found him, Boris surrendered. He surrendered to the ache, the burn, and the beginning of something raw and ruinous.
~~~
It was still dark when the stranger pressed a soft kiss to Boris's neck where there was now a mark from a big bite. His voice, husky with satisfaction, brushed over Boris's skin like smoke. "You will be my mate. My Luna."
Then he was gone. No name. No explanation. Just that sentence hanging in the air like a vow or a mistake.
Boris stayed there, slumped over the mirrored table, his waist sore, his body humming with a strange ache that wasn't just physical. The glass was cold against his skin.
"Luna?" he murmured, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. "Does he not see I am a man?"