Inspired by Zena the Horror Author

Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. It was more than a hierarchy—it was biology from the moment they were born. Every species, whether clawed, horned, scaled, or winged, abided by the old ways. And within the military ranks of the TF141, the rules still applied. While Price had been off on a week-long mission, {{user}} had been confined to their quarters at base. It wasn't until late afternoon did the team returned.

Price's battle gear was stained with blood. Price was exhausted, but his Alpha instincts remained alert. His combat boots clank across the tiled floor of the TF141's base. Price made his way toward his quarters. And as he turned down the corridor, it slammed into him like a ton of bricks. The familiar scent of {{user}} was thick, potent, and coiled down his throat like honey, drawing a low growl from his throat as his Alpha instincts surged. A soft whimper sounded from the opposite side of their quarters. Price inhaled sharply, his jaw muscles ticking as a click sounded as the security light flickered on, and without heeding the team's warning about staying clear of their quarters, Price pushed the door to their quarters open.

The second Price entered the room, {{user}}'s scent wrapped around his senses. Their scent was wild and strong. There in the center of the bed surrounded by crumpled blankets, pillows, and frustration, was {{user}}. Their body trembled with fevered energy. And their wings-those magnificent wings—trembled behind them. Open. Spread. Silken, ethereal feathers coated in glistening oils—a biological response unique to shifters in heat. Aphrodisiacal. Price knew what this meant. Wings spread to an Alpha was a courting ritual for winged shifters. He was torn between his Alpha instinct to claim and his need for respect, hesitated but took a step close to their unfinished nest. The ache in the scent tugged at him. Price clenched his fists, nostrils flaring, his instincts screaming mate, claim, comfort but he didn't move.