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Fuck!
Luke shoved a passerby out of the way. Someone shouted, but he didn’t hear it—not over the pounding of his heart against his skull.
Fuck, again, muttered in his head, sweat sliding down the back of his neck as his eyes flicked around with something uncomfortably close to desperation. Not that he’d ever call it that.
But really—who was he kidding?
He was an omega sprinting through city streets like he was being hunted.
And that was exactly what was happening.
He turned sharply left, lungs burning, when he saw a hawk circling overhead—far too conveniently for the third time.
It was supposed to be simple. Just his usual run to grab suppressants from the nearest pharmacy.
A hassle, yeah. Not like camp, where they handed them out like snacks.
Before that—on the streets—he hadn’t even needed them. He hadn’t hit puberty yet.
(That came later. At camp. Chiron had said it was stress, with that soft, pitying look. Stress, when what he really meant was grief.)
(Luke had played along, acted like he wasn’t already rotting from the inside.)
Now… now he was living on that ship Kronos made him get through some sketchy deal with corporate freaks.
Suppressants weren’t exactly on the top priority list for an army.
So Luke got them himself.
Stole them—he was good at that.
And this time was supposed to be no different.
He scowled, lungs heaving, feet pounding against the concrete as he weaved through faceless strangers.
But this time, it wasn’t the same.
He’d just left the pharmacy, pockets full of stolen pills, when he appeared.
A hawk cried out above.
Luke ran harder.
Bastard, he spat in his head. Why the fuck did my heat have to kick in now? And why the fuck did my dad—
Hermes had been waiting for him. Just… there. Like he’d been rooted to the ground, an inconvenient tree in the middle of Luke’s path.
Then he’d started walking beside him, casual, spewing bullshit about Luke choosing wrong, how he’d forgive him—how Luke just had to come back.
It pissed Luke off so much his grip on his scent slipped.
A mistake.
He was near heat. Early—too early for his usual cycle. Probably stress, if Chiron were here to drone about it.
But Luke could manage. He always did. He had iron control.
Until Hermes paused.
Nostrils flared. Pupils vanished—eyes bright and hollow, locked on him.
And Luke’s inner animal reared up, screaming: Run.
So he did.
I’m not a coward—
The thought cut off mid-sentence as he skidded sideways, shoes scraping asphalt.
His eyes caught on a street sign. A board.
He’d passed it before.
Twice.
Three times.
He was sure he’d already passed this.
No.
Luke blanched, whipping his head around, breath catching as he backed up—
Until his spine hit the wall.
No one.
Not a soul.
The alley was empty. The street beyond it too. No footsteps. No distant hum of traffic. Even the air felt held.
His jaw flexed. Fingers curled against brick.
Above him, the hawk cried again.
Luke looked up. Narrowed his eyes.
“…For how long?”
“A little after you crossed the third alley,” said a voice—too close. Too casual.
His father was there. Just there, leaning against the wall like this was some casual reunion. But his face was sharp.
Watchful.
Hermes tilted his head. Raised a hand.
Luke flinched. Bared his teeth.
His scent snapped out—sharp under roses, laced with warning.
Hermes’ nostrils flared. His eyes flicked to the space between them, then back to Luke. The hand hovered a second longer, then retreated. Slid into his pocket like nothing had happened.
“You seemed to be trying very hard,” he said, too evenly. “So I decided to humor you.”
“Humor?” Luke barked, his voice cracking into something close to a growl—
Then stopped short. Heat crawled up his throat.
Panic surged.
Shit.
He could feel it already: the damp cling of his underwear, sticking to his skin. The air curling hot beneath his clothes. Too warm. Too stifling.
Fuck.
Not now.
Not now—
“You just decided to waltz in and try to what?” Luke snapped, laughter cutting out of him too sharp, edged like broken glass. He slid sideways, putting space between them.
Hermes didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Freak, Luke thought, sweat prickling down his neck, heart a frantic drum in his chest.
“You think you can convince me you’re not a piece of shit? That I should just lie down and forget how fucked up you all are as parents?”
Hermes tilted his head, like he was listening to a complaint he’d heard before.
Then he raised one arm.
Luke’s eyes flicked up just in time to see the hawk circle down, slow and graceful, and land on it.
“You’ve chosen to give yourself to a titan,” Hermes said quietly, voice flat. “They are no different from us, son.”
He leaned down and whispered something to the hawk—an order, maybe, or a dismissal—and it flew off, wings slicing through the silence.
Luke wanted to scream. Or spit. Or punch his father straight through the jaw and out of existence.
“Don’t you dare redirect this—”
But in the span of a blink, Hermes was in front of him.
Too fast.
Luke staggered back, eyes wide—and then he was lifted clean off the ground like a child.
“No! Put me down!” he shouted, slamming his fists into Hermes’ back, kicking wildly like an animal cornered.
Hermes didn’t so much as flinch. “Don’t do this. You’re in heat.”
“I was going to deal with it before you showed up and ruined everything—”
But the words dissolved on his tongue as a hand slid to the back of his neck.
Not rough. Not violent.
Just firm.
And everything in Luke’s body locked.
“Calm,” Hermes murmured near his ear, breath hot against his skin—too close, too gentle. Fangs skimmed along the edge of his neck like a threat dressed up as affection.
“You need to be cared for,” he said, voice low, coaxing. “Not drugged with poison.”
Luke’s jaw twitched. He forced the words out past instinct, past the sharp, helpless freeze tightening his spine.
“I could just find some random guy if I needed it. Which I don’t—”
He shoved at Hermes’ face, palm slapping skin with a sharp sound.
His dad’s grip on the back of his neck tightened—not rough, but firm, with that quiet, inevitable strength gods wore like clothes.
Luke’s hand remained there, pressed against half his father’s face, pushing. Hermes didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
Just stared.
A shiver climbed Luke’s spine like a warning.
“You’re lucky I adore you, my son,” Hermes murmured. He peeled his lip back slowly, flashing a single fang. “If anyone else dared lay hands on me—” His eyes lit, soft and terrifying. “—they wouldn’t have been so fortunate.”
Luke’s heartbeat pounded against his ribs.
His scent was bleeding into the air, unspooling—sweet and sharp, heat-ruined and terrified.
Hermes breathed it in. Slowly. Deeply. A low, pleased sound rumbled in his throat.
Then his grip eased.
He leaned in. Nuzzled Luke’s cheek with infuriating tenderness, nose brushing down along the edge of his jaw.
He was scenting him.
Tracking down toward—
My scent glands, Luke realized, panic flaring hot. He shoved at Hermes’ shoulders, nails biting fabric.
It didn’t matter. Hermes didn’t budge.
“D-Dad—” Luke managed, his voice catching as heat flushed through his neck.
Hermes inhaled again, lips ghosting over the soft skin where neck met shoulder. Just a breath. Just enough to feel—
Fangs.
Luke went still.
“Calm,” Hermes whispered, too close.“I’ll take you somewhere safe. Somewhere no one will intrude on this sacred, vulnerable moment.”
You already are, Luke thought.
But his throat sealed shut when Hermes lifted him more firmly. Cradled him like a child.
His limbs tensed—he hated this, hated the ease with which he was held—but the words caught in his throat again when he tried to speak.
Hermes said nothing.
His footsteps made no sound. The world around them stilled—no wind, no distant city noise. Too quiet. Unnatural.
Luke glanced up.
So did Hermes.
The hawk still circled overhead, its wings silent.
“It’s fine. It’s safe,” Hermes murmured at last, one hand sliding from Luke’s too-hot skin to push open a door that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Luke hadn’t seen the building.
Hadn’t seen them cross any street.
“It’s not—” Luke began, his voice too close to a whine. His face flushed.
Embarrassing.
Hermes rumbled again. Low. Deep.
The sound curled inside Luke’s chest like a hook, snagging something he didn’t want to name.
He shut up.
“It’s safe,” Hermes repeated, rubbing a slow, infuriating circle against his back. “You can nest here.”
“I already have a nest,” Luke snapped, muffled against Hermes’ shoulder.
…When had his head ended up there?
He wasn’t sure. Everything was too hot. His thoughts kept slipping sideways, dizzy and useless.
“An unfit one,” Hermes said sharply. There was a growl threaded through his words. “This will suit you better. Warmer. Quieter. No intruders. And none of that rebellion nonsense.”
Luke stiffened.
Nonsense?
It wasn’t nonsense. It was a plan. It was the only damn plan they had. For a better world. A world without gods like him—absent, selfish, cruel—
But then Hermes was lowering him onto something soft.
Luke’s back hit the mattress. He sat up fast, eyes darting.
Hotel room. Generic. Tastefully beige. Quiet, too quiet.
Hermes stood by the door, watching.
Luke curled his fingers into the covers.
“This isn’t a nest,” he said slowly, like correcting a child. “It’s a hotel room.”
“We’ll make a nest,” Hermes said, blinking once—like he’d only just remembered that mortals needed to do that—and then not again.
“Together.”
Together.
Luke’s stomach twisted.
No. No no no.
That was—no. That was too—
“That’s something you do with people you care about, Dad,” Luke spat, the word Dad slashing out like venom, even with his skin flushed and sticking to his clothes. “Not with a deadbeat god who shows up out of nowhere, kidnaps his son, and dumps him into some random hotel bed.”
“I care about you,” Hermes said flatly, overriding him without so much as a pause.
His hand lifted—and with a shimmer, sudden and bright, a cascade of blankets appeared in his arms. Heavy throws, soft fleece, woven wool in too many patterns.
He laid a hand on one and glanced at Luke, smiling slightly.
His fangs caught the light.
Luke flinched.
That’s impolite, he thought wildly. Alphas weren’t supposed to show fangs unless—
No. Don’t think about that.
“Which ones do you prefer?”
Luke didn’t answer. Just stared.
The silence should have meant something.
Hermes ignored it.
“I think this blue one suits you,” he mused, laying it out and fluffing it up. “Soft. Warm. It’ll feel good against your skin.”
Then he was summoning more. Fabric after fabric. Pillows in every size and shape. All of it analyzed, touched, arranged with maddening care.
Luke just watched.
His mind was slipping sideways again—shock, heat, disbelief—while his body trembled with the rising burn.
Hermes worked steadily, obsessively, building a nest around him, laying down blankets like offerings, tucking and re-tucking and adjusting each one with gentle hands.
He crooned under his breath. Low. Almost melodic.
“It’s your nest, Luke. You should be nesting.”
One of the blankets was rubbed against Hermes’ wrist before being brought up to Luke’s face—pressed there, insistently.
Luke inhaled before he could stop himself.
Woody. Sharp. Clean.
Hermes.
He flinched, too late, coughing, and swiped his wrist across the spot, smearing his own scent over it like a slap. His glare burned.
Hermes only smiled. A small twitch of the mouth. Victorious.
“Good boy,” he murmured.
Then he climbed onto the bed.
One knee, then the other. A long, precise movement—graceful like a bird of prey descending. He caged Luke in without touching him, shadow blotting out the ceiling.
Luke’s heart kicked.
“I was trying to erase yours,” he bit out, baring his teeth. But it came out thin.
Weak.
Hermes laughed softly. “My scent doesn’t erase.”
He dipped his head, nose brushing the same blanket as he inhaled again—one eye open, fixed on Luke.
“But I like how they mix.”
Luke hissed through his teeth. Heat twisted low in his belly. His pants were soaked through. His thighs clenched shut instinctively.
Hermes made a sound. Deep. Animal.
Luke’s breath stuttered.
And then—without meaning to—he tilted his head. Exposed his neck.
Hermes struck. Not hard. Not violent. Just there, nosing the gland like it was a gift, then grazing it with the edge of a fang.
Luke jerked. A whine tore out of him, high and pathetic.
He barely had time to register it before Hermes’ scent hit.
Not a trickle.
A wave.
Heavy. Saturating the room like honey smoke. It coated the furniture. The air. Luke’s lungs.
Woody. Leather. Wild.
Alpha.
Luke whimpered.
Actually whimpered.
He wanted to bite it down, but his mouth wouldn’t close fast enough.
Hermes inhaled again, fangs brushing skin. A groan rumbled from his chest.
“You smell so good,” he whispered, voice gone hoarse with hunger. “O glukutátōn.”
Fuck, Luke thought, dazed.
I’m fucked.