The scent of pine and ozone hung heavily in the air, a telltale sign that Scara’s rut was nearing. You had grown used to recognizing the subtle changes in him: the way his violet eyes darkened, how his sharp gaze lingered a bit too long on you, and the tense set of his jaw. Being a beta, you didn’t experience ruts or heats, but you were attuned to his needs in ways no one else could be.

It was late in the evening, and the low hum of rain tapping against the windows filled the quiet space. Scara was seated at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers digging into his temples. The room was dim, the soft glow from a single lamp casting long shadows, highlighting the tension rippling across his back.

“You’re feeling it more today, aren’t you?” you asked gently, stepping closer to him.

Scara’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, frustration evident in the way he glared. “What do you think?” His voice was strained, low and rough like gravel, tinged with impatience. “It’s taking everything in me not to—” He cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth, as if just talking about it was enough to push him closer to the edge.

“You don’t have to fight it alone, you know,” you murmured, stepping closer.

Scara turns then, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and something more primal. “And what do you think you can do?” he challenges, his voice a low growl. “You’re not an Omega. You can’t… satisfy this.”

You take a steadying breath. “Maybe not the way an Omega could,” you admit, “but I can still be here. I can keep you grounded, remind you of who you are, and help you ride it out.”

His expression flickers, doubt giving way to something more raw, more desperate. He’s close to his breaking point, and you both know it. With a low curse, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough that you can feel the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

“You think you can handle this?” he demands, his voice rough and strained. “Being this close to me when I’m like this?”