Chapter Text
In the end, Remy had been on the run for a year, two months, and three days when his bondmate finally hunted him down.
It had taken a series of small miracles for him to escape in the first place: overhearing a neighbor gossiping in the hall about the large, intimidating alpha lurking outside the building; the wind blowing in just the right direction for him to get a noseful of that wonderful, horrible scent without the hulking menace it belonged to getting so much as a whiff of the slick that immediately gushed from Remy’s cunt in response; the fact that the apartment complex’s parking garage entrance was nearly impossible to locate from the outside of the building unless you knew exactly what you were looking for.
Remy had crammed as many clothes and toiletries as he could fit into his largest suitcase and the hiking backpack he used as a carryon when he traveled. Within half an hour, he was out of his apartment and loading the suitcase, the bulging backpack, and a blow-up camping mattress into the trunk of his car. His heart had been pounding out of his chest as he cautiously steered his way out of the garage, all the windows rolled up and the fan completely shut off so the sticky, sweet smell of the slick soaking into the driver’s seat wouldn’t leak out of the car.
Remy’s heat had been bearing down on him like a speeding semi truck since the moment the alpha’s pheromones had trickled into his nostrils, and he just barely had the presence of mind to stop at an ATM to withdraw as much money as he could from his savings account before getting the hell out of town. The throbbing in his cunt had grown from a dull ache to a pulsating, clenching need by the time he pulled off the road onto the dusty gravel road leading to an abandoned house he and his friends had explored once in high school. The old ruin had been barely structurally sound at that point, and by now its roof was half caved-in. But that was alright; he didn’t need the building to shelter him, just to hide his car from view while he made a pitiful little nest in the backseat and rode through the most excruciating heat he had ever experienced.
During all of his previous heats, his hormones had made him horny but not overwhelmed; he didn’t own any dildos, knotting or otherwise, only a little bullet vibrator he sometimes used to stimulate the sensitive head of his cocklet. Just two fingers in his cunt were enough to fill him up, allowing him to fist his tiny shaft in a slick hand and coax himself through enough orgasms to satiate his need. But the heat currently flooding his system was a different beast entirely, as similar to his typical heats as a Siberian tiger was to a housecat.
Two fingers quickly became three, became four, became desperately pinching his hand into a cone until he could wedge the widest part of his knuckles past the straining, gushing rim of his cunt. Rather than wrapping around his cocklet, Remy’s other hand instinctively gravitated down between his asscheeks to use the slick dribbling from his cunt to finger that hole open too, as if he could compensate for the lack of an alpha ( his alpha) by stuffing himself as full as possible. Remy’s vision whited out as he squirted violently around three fingers in his asshole and a whole fist in his cunt; he could feel his pussy clamp down around his hand like it was trying to milk a knot, and he couldn’t contain his needy whine as his hindbrain realized that there was no knot, no fat alpha cock spurting its load into his womb.
At that point, he began to lose time. He remembered the rest of his heat in flashes of sensation: the dull twinge of his wrist as he pistoned his fist in and out of his sloppy, gaping cunthole; the momentary relief of his cocklet kicking and dribbling watery come onto his belly, quickly overwhelmed by another wave of burning need; lying exhausted in his nest, his legs splayed open like he was just waiting for his alpha to find his car and see the slick, open holes just waiting to take his cock.
By the time he came back to himself, he was shaking and dehydrated, his fist still crammed inside his drooling cunt, his little omega cock red and chafed from his frantic humping despite the soft, fluffy fabric of the blanket he’d spread out as the base of his nest. Worse than the physical discomfort was the wave of anxiety and hormonal depression that flooded through him as soon as the heat-haze faded. Not only did he have to grapple with the reality that he was almost certainly being hunted by a dominant, chauvinistic alpha, but he also had no escape from his own brain’s instinctive reaction to an unfulfilled heat after smelling his bondmate’s perfect scent.
Countless times during his heat, he had found himself presenting for his bondmate with a desperate keen, begging to be fucked full of pups, to be a good bitch for his alpha, to take a fat knot in his cunt until the horrible, burning, emptiness inside him subsided. Now that it was over, he was so deeply relieved that he hadn’t been found and bred like his subconscious had craved, but the whimpering little corner of his mind where those thoughts originated was still wailing in despair.
Once Remy had cleaned himself up as best he could and applied scent blockers, he drove to the nearest gas station and purchased as much nonperishable food as he could while his car charged outside. But as he was checking out, something caught his eye: A tabloid with a hauntingly familiar alpha on the cover, accompanied by a small, circular cutout of his own face and the headline: “OmegAid Heir on the Hunt for Missing Bondmate.”
His heart sank to his stomach and felt like it kept going, through the floor and down until it was being crushed under thousands of feet of earth. With a carefully casual gesture, he added the tabloid to his stack of purchases and gave a polite smile to the cashier as he loaded his arms with plastic bags and turned to saunter out to his car. He then proceeded to pull out of the parking lot and drive for twelve hours straight, following the speed limit exactly to avoid any chance of being pulled over, stopping only twice to relieve himself at the least-populated rest stops he could find.
It wasn’t until that evening, curled up in the surprisingly comfortable nest he had made with the mattress and blankets on the combined space of the trunk and the folded-down backseat, that he allowed himself to open the magazine and get a better idea of how much trouble he was in.
Jason Thompson, son of OmegAid founder John Thompson, has helped countless alphas find and rehabilitate their wayward omegas. Now the 28-year-old alpha will be utilizing the company’s resources to rescue his own omega: On Sunday, August 11, Thompson caught his bondmate’s scent outside a café while on a business trip to Baton Rouge. He tracked the scent to a nearby apartment complex, but by the time he managed to gain access to the inside of the building, the unit his nose led him to was empty, with clear signs of having been abandoned in a hurry.
“As my family and I know all too well, this is an unfortunately common occurrence. Omegas are misled by their peers or families while growing up, causing them to develop an unrealistic and frequently unhealthy idea of what their ideal life will look like.
“Then, when they’re suddenly faced with the prospect of an alpha bondmate who might change the trajectory of that life, they flee without stopping to consider the effect of their actions on their family or friends, let alone the alpha they’ve just abandoned without even giving them a chance,” Thompson explained, a calm smile on his face despite his recent and ongoing emotional distress.
Thompson, who was raised in a very traditional household by his alpha father and omega mother, Alex Thompson, can attest to the positive impact of conventional gender roles for his mother and omega siblings. “Mama always seemed so much happier than all of my classmates’ mothers when I was growing up, especially when he was pregnant with my younger siblings. Even when he was cooking or cleaning up all of the messes that twelve children inevitably make around the house, he seemed so perfectly content with being a loving mother and devoted wife. And I’ve had the privilege of seeing my little brother, Cam, and little sister, Janey, really blossom into the full potential of their dynamic with Mama’s help and guidance.”
Just below this paragraph was a group picture of the Thompson family, which Remy examined with a sick, horrified feeling growing in his stomach. Jason, his father, and four of his brothers stood proudly in the back, their height and musculature a clear indication that they were all alphas. Just in front of them, five more ordinary-looking beta brothers and sisters flanked the scene, with the two brothers sitting on one sofa and the three sisters on its counterpart.
But the part that really drew Remy’s gaze was the trio of kneeling, barely-dressed omegas kneeling in the center of the photo: The aforementioned little brother and sister knelt on either side of their mother, all three of them fine-boned and beautiful in sheer white slips that left little to the imagination. Remy found himself unable to look away, his eyes tracing from the family patriarch’s strong hand clasped on his wife’s shoulder down to the soft swell of the motherly omega’s breasts, rosy nipples evident through the flimsy fabric of his dress, and even further to the small but clearly visible outline of his omega cocklet laying soft against his thigh.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine the mentality that would normalize nudity to such a degree in a casual family setting, let alone a formal family portrait where everyone but the omegas was wearing their Sunday best. Remy’s alpha father and beta mother had raised him like every other kid, and his father’s intermittent ruts and Remy’s eventual heats were the only real areas where their dynamics affected everyday life or their interactions with each other. He and his bondmate clearly had very different ideas of what a normal, idyllic family looked like.
Finally tearing his attention away from the picture, Remy felt a renewed sense of fear and urgency as he read the next section of the article.
“Once I overcame my instinctive reaction to realizing my bondmate had slipped away from me, I immediately called the closest branch of OmegAid to dispatch as many tracking units as possible in the surrounding area. We already have a few promising leads, so I’m confident we’ll find him soon, especially with the help of a more public campaign like this.”
Thompson concluded his interview with a heartwarming statement addressed to his bondmate.
“Remy, I know you’re scared right now, but I promise that everything will be just fine. I’m putting every ounce of energy I have into bringing you home with me safe and sound, and once I find you, I will give you absolutely everything you need to make you the happiest omega in the world. I love you, sweetheart.”
Thompson’s bondmate is a 23-year-old omega named Remy Thibodeaux, pictured below. If you see this omega, please call your nearest OmegAid location or the headquarters at (251) 888-8888 to assist Thompson in his search.
A high-resolution photo of Remy was printed just below the article, one he immediately recognized from a recent day trip with his friends to the beach. He shuddered, imagining what could have happened if the cashier had happened to leaf through the tabloid before Remy came into the gas station. He had to do whatever he could to make himself look as different as possible, and fast .
From that point on, Remy’s life became an endless cycle of driving, scrounging for the cheapest food he could find in convenience stores while his car charged outside, and watching like a hawk for any sign of the teams his mate had sent to track him. Thanks to his naturally blond hair, he was able to change not only the style but also the color of his hair every few weeks, which in combination with glasses and occasionally a medical face mask allowed him to venture into more populated areas when he absolutely needed to.
Tabloid covers and occasionally even local newspapers allowed Remy to keep up to date with how the pursuit was going on his bondmate’s end: There were a few near misses that he hadn’t even been aware of when they were happening, his constant caution and quick movements serving him well as tracker dogs or anonymous tips led an OmegAid team to his most recent stop just hours or even minutes after he had gotten back on the road.
Despite his relative success, both Remy and his wallet were starting to look pretty thin by the time he had been actively fleeing his bondmate for over a year. He could hardly recognize himself when his eyes caught on his rearview mirror or on a self-checkout security camera, his ever-changing hair and gaunt, hunted face making familiar features seem strange and alien. But he couldn’t stop moving, not when he was facing the prospect of being “rehabilitated” into his bondmate’s subservient little omega mate if he was ever caught.
And then, he slipped up. It wasn’t really his fault: His car had failed to charge properly at the most recent rest stop, and he had been in such a hurry to get moving again that he didn’t stop to check the meter before he pulled back onto the highway. By the time he finally noticed how low his battery was running, he barely had enough time to take the closest exit before his car ran out of juice completely, leaving him stranded on the side of the road with nothing but farm fields as far as the eye could see.
His one saving grace, at least he had thought at the time, was that the sun had set a few hours before, so it was already quite dark outside, especially in such a rural area with no street lamps. If there was any place where his car could break down without anyone finding him, it was here. Faced with the prospect of abandoning his car to walk for who knew how many miles in the middle of the night, Remy acquiesced and crawled back into his nest to fall asleep.
A few hours later, he hardly had a chance to register the blinding lights pouring through the windows on all sides before the back hatch of his car was wrenched open and a pair of massive hands clamped around his ankles, dragging him into the warm, tender embrace of the biggest alpha he’d ever encountered.
“There you are, sweetheart,” a low voice rumbled in his ear, and Remy’s horrified gasp only led to him drowning in that wonderful, musky scent he’d only just barely caught a whiff of from his apartment window.