Having spent the better part of 30 years fighting to survive Richard B. Riddick never really gave much thought to his secondary designation as an Alpha.

As a Furyan, he was used to already dealing with a more animalistic nature; increased senses, faster reflexes, and primal urges. He was well into his mid twenties when he started noticing his tri-monthly ruts.

By thirty, he'd learned to anticipate them, hiding himself away for the week long hinderence. Being a loner made it more bearable, but none the less, the instinct to seek out an Omega mate and claim was insatiable.

Feeling the all familiar burning in his abdomen, Riddick cast a glance around the somewhat crowded marketplace of a small, no named town on a shipping planet. A low rumbling snarl echoing in his chest.

The air thick with the heavy scent of sweat and musk. His rut was fast approaching, which meant his time in the small town would soon be over. Buying the last of his supplies, Riddick tossed everything into his satchel. Eager to be on his way.

As he turned, a small, cloaked figure all but ran into him, stuttering an apology as they quickly vanished into the growing crowd. Riddicks silver florescent eyes flashed behind his goggles, his skin bristling as a sickly sweet scent flooded his nose, causing his entire body to pulse with heat. His instincts clawing at his consciousness, his mind flooding with a single primal thought: Breed.

Turning his head, his gaze darkened beneath his goggles, hands clenching against the satchel as he inhaled deeply, his senses honing in on the sickly sweet scent: pheremones, with a hint of something fruity. His mind immediately registered the smell. Omega.

His pupils narrowed, canines aching with a need to bite, and for the first time in nearly two decades, Riddick doesn't feel the desire to isolate during his rut. His instincts, both Alpha, and Furyan demanding he find the Omega, and claim them as his own.