Five Years Later
Alec Reyes had learned that the world never quite made room for betas.
Not that he resented it. Betas were dependable. Stable. Immune to the scent-wars and hormonal storms of the others. They didn't fall into heat like omegas, or rut like alphas. They didn't get claimed or chased or fought over.
But they didn't get remembered either.
Alec had spent most of his life passing through rooms like mist. He didn't stand out. He didn't flare. He didn't smell — not in the way that mattered. And if he ever envied the instinctive pull others seemed to share, he'd learned long ago to swallow it.
Betas weren't born to be noticed.
Which made the boy tugging at his sleeve a kind of miracle.
"Elian," Alec said gently, "You can't bring the entire dinosaur family to school. Choose two."
Elian, all five years and three months of him, gave an expression of deep betrayal. "But they'll be lonely."
"They'll survive. Stego and Raptor, or Raptor and Rex?"
The boy clutched all three plush toys to his chest, weighing his options like it was war strategy. He had Alec's shape of mouth, Alec's ears. But not Alec's eyes.
No. Those belonged to someone else.
Stormy gray with streaks of violet in the sun — an unnatural color, the kind that stopped people mid-sentence. Children didn't have eyes like that unless they inherited them.
And Alec had never known anyone else with violet eyes.
Just him.
The man from five years ago.
The man Alec had never seen again.
The man who didn't know he had a son.
They lived in a quiet pocket of Caelumn — a city that pulsed with life at its heart but softened at the edges. Alec liked the outskirts. It was quieter here. No media, no cameras, no headlines.
Just morning walks and parent-teacher meetings. Bedtime stories and toothpaste spills.
He worked at a private school library two blocks from Elian's, where the hours were gentle and the students preferred dragons to drama. No one asked about the other parent. No one wondered why Alec — a beta — raised a child alone.
Pregnancies between betas and alphas were rare. Rarer still between betas and dominant alphas. Technically possible. Medically confirmed. But barely whispered about.
Because dominant alphas weren't just powerful — they were bred into elite circles. Born to bond with dominant omegas. Expected to form mating partnerships that kept their lineages clean and strong.
A beta? That wasn't a bond. That was a mistake.
Alec had never told anyone about the night.
He didn't have a name. He barely had a face. Just a scent, now faded. Gold eyes. The heat of hands against his skin. The tremble of a voice that said, "You smell like something I lost."
And then silence.
"Raptor and Stego," Elian declared proudly, breaking Alec's thoughts.
"Good choice," Alec said, reaching for his satchel. "Don't forget your coat."
Elian's school uniform was too big at the sleeves, and he still insisted on wearing mismatched socks. Alec knelt down and fixed the collar of his shirt, smoothing a hand through those wild, dark curls.
Some mornings, the boy looked so much like him that it startled Alec. Other mornings, all he could see was the stranger in the rain.
"Do you think I smell like anything?" Elian asked suddenly.
The question hit harder than it should have.
"No," Alec answered carefully. "Not to me. But that doesn't mean you don't."
Elian frowned. "Sarah said I smell like metal."
Alec's heart skipped. "Did she?"
"She said it when we were playing vet. She's an omega. Her dad's a florist."
Alec nodded slowly. "Well… that's how omegas and alphas are. They can smell things others can't. But you're a beta. Like me. We don't really do scent."
"Oh," Elian said, unconvinced. "But you always smell like books."
Alec smiled. "That's different. That's just good laundry."
They walked to school under soft gray clouds.
Other parents greeted him by name. He smiled. He was liked here. Safe.
Until he overheard the teachers talking near the courtyard gates.
"...He's already inside. The charity team said he flew in last night. I didn't think someone like that would actually show up."
"I saw him. I swear it's him. He's taller in person. And those eyes—"
Alec's steps slowed.
He felt it before he understood it.
That twinge in his chest. That pull in the air. Like something in the fabric of the morning had shifted.
"Elian," he said slowly, crouching to eye level. "Be good today, okay?"
The boy nodded, then ran to join his classmates.
Alec turned to go.
But then—
A sound.
Soft. Mechanical.
A car door.
A breath of silence across the yard.
And then a presence.
A shadow against the sun. Tall, sharp-featured, suited in black. Eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
But even before he took them off, Alec knew.
He didn't need scent to recognize him.
His son's eyes looked exactly like his.
Alec had always imagined that if he ever saw him again, the moment would feel cinematic.
Heart pounding. World slowing. Some internal shift, like gravity changing direction.
Instead, it felt like a static buzz in his chest—quiet, electric, familiar in the most unwelcome way.
He didn't look directly at the man stepping out of the car. He didn't need to.
Even without pheromones—betas couldn't sense them anyway—Alec felt him in the air.
He kept walking. Slow. Casual. Like his entire body wasn't screaming to turn around. To look.
He passed the line of parents. The garden wall. The gate.
Then he heard his name.
"Mr. Reyes!"
He froze.
A voice he didn't recognize. But not his voice.
A teacher jogged toward him. "Would you mind staying a few minutes after drop-off? We could use help with the sponsor orientation setup. It's a mess in there."
Alec blinked. "I—of course. Sure."
She thanked him with a warm smile and led him toward the school doors.
He didn't turn his head. Not until he stepped inside.
And then—
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Violet, almost silver in the morning light. The exact same shade Alec saw every time Elian fell asleep against his chest.
The man—Riven Kael—looked at him like something clicked out of place. His brow furrowed, faint and unreadable. But he didn't speak.
Alec dropped his gaze instantly.
He walked past him. Into the hallway. Into safety.
The school gymnasium had been rearranged into an event space — folding chairs, posters for the new youth literacy initiative, a large projection screen cycling through sponsor slides.
Alec moved mechanically, adjusting signage, folding programs, checking microphone wires. His hands worked like they weren't attached to the rest of him.
He kept his head down even when the door opened again.
Footsteps crossed the floor. Confident. Even.
The headmistress's voice rang out with practiced warmth. "Mr. Kael, thank you again for being here. It means a great deal to the children."
Alec stilled.
Kael.
Of course it had to be him.
Riven Kael. Movie star. Philanthropist. Dominant alpha. The kind of man whose presence didn't just fill a room—it carved it out and redefined the space.
He didn't recognize Alec.
Not yet.
Alec turned his back and adjusted the edge of a banner just to have something to do with his hands.
Behind him, Riven's voice rolled out. Smooth. Professional.
"It's my pleasure. I was told this school had a strong reading program."
"We're very proud," the headmistress beamed. "And we're grateful. The children are thrilled."
"I'm sure they'll forget me the second lunch is served," Riven replied lightly.
A few quiet chuckles.
Alec's spine tingled. Not from scent. Not from fear.
From memory.
Five years ago, that voice had been lower. Rougher. Broken by rut.
He'd whispered things against Alec's skin he couldn't possibly remember now.
Alec closed his eyes, steadying himself.
He couldn't afford to fall apart in a school gym with children outside the door.
He just had to get through the hour. Then he could vanish again. Fade into the background like betas were so good at doing.
After the orientation, the volunteers began filtering out.
Alec stayed behind to gather extra flyers, hoping to slip out without conversation.
But when he turned toward the hallway—
Riven was standing there, alone.
Blocking the exit.
Their eyes met again.
This time, it held.
Alec couldn't breathe.
Riven tilted his head slightly. "You work here?"
His voice was polite, but it carried the weight of something unsettled.
Alec nodded. "At the sister school. I'm just here helping."
Riven's gaze lingered. Too sharp. Too focused.
Like he was trying to place something.
"Have we met before?" Riven asked.
Alec's heart stuttered.
"No," he said quietly. "I don't think so."
A lie. One he'd rehearsed a hundred times.
Riven didn't argue. He just studied him for a beat longer, then nodded once and stepped aside.
Alec walked past him, not looking back.
But as he reached the doors, he heard Riven's voice behind him.
Low. Almost thoughtful.
"You don't smell like anything."
Alec paused.
His hand tightened on the handle.
Then he walked out, never answering.
-
The school courtyard was buzzing.
Lunch break had unleashed a swarm of children, each tumbling into the open air like the world was too big and bright to contain their energy. Teachers stood in clusters, managing the chaos with the patience of saints. Somewhere nearby, a juice box exploded.
Alec leaned against the library gate, eyes tracking Elian from a distance.
His son was sitting cross-legged in the grass beneath the wide acacia tree, sharing his sandwich with a girl in braids. They were talking—animatedly—about whether a dinosaur or a sea dragon would win in a fight.
Alec didn't hear the footsteps until they stopped beside him.
"I thought you left," Riven Kael said.
Alec turned his head. Slowly. Cautiously.
"I was waiting for someone," he answered.
Riven followed his gaze.
To Elian.
His posture shifted subtly. Not surprise. Not recognition.
But something.
Like the air had thinned.
Alec's stomach turned.
He didn't know if it was instinct or coincidence, but Riven was staring at the boy with a stillness that didn't belong in a man who had spent the morning smiling for cameras.
"That's your son?" Riven asked after a pause.
Alec nodded.
"He looks…" Riven trailed off.
Alec waited. Held his breath.
Like maybe Riven would say it.
Looks like me.
But instead, the alpha only said, "Strong jaw. He'll probably grow into it."
Alec exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Controlled.
"Yes. He will."
There was a long moment.
The breeze stirred the grass. Elian laughed — a clear, joyful sound — and Alec saw Riven's head turn sharply toward it, like the noise touched something inside him that had long gone untouched.
It wasn't recognition.
But it wasn't nothing either.
Alec watched him out of the corner of his eye. Watched the way Riven's hand tightened around the program still tucked under his arm. Watched the faint crease between his brows return.
There was a storm behind those violet eyes. A pressure building.
"I don't like kids," Riven murmured. "But he doesn't annoy me."
Alec almost smiled.
"That's high praise."
"He seems familiar," Riven added.
This time, Alec's body went cold.
"Most kids look the same at that age," he said smoothly.
Riven didn't respond. But he didn't look away either.
Elian spotted them just then and sprang to his feet.
"Daddy!" he called out. He sprinted over, dino toy flailing in one hand.
Alec knelt, catching him mid-run.
"Hey, you—careful with the claws," he said, pretending to dodge a plastic tail swipe.
Elian laughed, then turned shyly toward Riven.
The actor had gone still.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
Just a microsecond too long. Like something in his body had hesitated.
Like some part of him was remembering — even if he didn't understand why.
Elian blinked up at him.
"Are you the sponsor guy?" he asked.
Riven cleared his throat. "I suppose I am."
"Your voice is in the ads at the train station."
"Is it?"
"You talk weird," Elian said seriously. "You sound like you're reading a poem."
Alec froze, mortified. "Elian—"
But Riven laughed.
A real one. Low, warm, and unexpected.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said.
Elian shrugged. "You have the same eyes as me."
Alec's breath caught.
The words were casual. Innocent.
But Riven's face changed.
Not much. Just a flicker.
His gaze snapped back to Alec.
It was fast. Not a question, not yet. But a flicker of… something. Unease. Curiosity.
He looked at Elian again.
And for a moment, Alec saw it: that alpha instinct, dormant until now, pressing against the edges of reason.
"I like your hair," Elian added.
That softened the tension. Slightly.
Riven offered a faint smile. "Thanks."
Elian leaned close to Alec and whispered—loudly, still in that blunt, childish tone, "He doesn't smell like anything either."
Alec managed a strangled sound between a cough and a laugh. "Alright, buddy, time to head back in."
He gave Riven a brief nod. "Thanks again for coming."
He didn't wait for a reply. He took Elian's hand and walked away before the world could tilt any further.
Behind them, Riven stood motionless, gaze fixed on the boy.
The boy with his eyes.
And the beta father who didn't smell like anything at all.