Victuals & Vehemence - Septiplier

Chapter Eighteen

Mark rides into town, observing the hustle and bustle of the streets as he moves by. He's been here already, but no one recognized him the first time. Now, the star on his horse's forehead is uncovered, his hat off, and his smile is wide. Several people notice him and smile, waving to the kind doctor. He nods back, eyes sharp and watchful. Mark rides to the post office and dismounts, heading inside as he removes his hat.

"Hello Louise, how are things?" he asks, leaning forward against the desk and smiling at the postmistress. She smiles brightly, happy to see the doctor.

"Wonderful. You've got a telegram from Vincent Town, along with your usual mail," she says. Mark tilts his head to the side, a confused look in his brown eyes.

"I just came from Vincent Town?" he asks. She nods, sliding the small message slip to him. The alpha picks it up deftly, reading it over and nodding. He tucks it into his pocket and collects his mail. After chatting with Louise and several others that wandered in for about thirty minutes, Mark departs. He holds the door open for an omega, who blushes and gives him a bashful smile with a whispered "thank you" before hurrying on.

Mark arrives at the motel listed in the telegram and steps inside. After a quick chat with the beta at the front desk, he heads upstairs, finding Ethan sitting outside a door, chin against his chest, dozing lightly. The alpha quiets his steps, slipping past Ethan into the room. He closes it behind him and hears soft fussing from the corner. Sheets rustle, and there's a sweet, gasping breath. Mark walks over, peering past the dresser to see Jack. Goddess, he's gorgeous. Miles of pale skin with small scars that pockmark him- a hundred stories to tell. His hair is growing unruly, in need of a cut, long and soft. Mark opens his mouth, taking in the omega's scent, appreciating it in all its glory. Jack's heat will be ending soon, perhaps only a day or so. The potency of the sweet, heady scent indicates his desperation. The omega lets out a soft whine, drawing the linens up to hide his torso. Long legs curl in blankets, brushing against each other and rubbing, frustrated and needy.

"You look beautiful, omega," Mark murmurs, crouching beside Jack and gently petting through his hair.

"Alpha, please," Jack whimpers, leaning into the touch as he relaxes beneath Mark's hand.

"I know it hurts, I know, dear. Alas, this is not the time for me to aid you. You must come to me of your own accord, or your friends will be angered," Mark replies in his low, crooning voice, tucking a strand of particularly long hair behind Jack's ear.

"How? Please. Need you. Never been- like this," Jack fusses, wiggling a bit and rolling his head back to expose his neck. Mark knows this must be driving him insane. Of course, he doesn't understand. How can he? How can Jack pick up on such subtle drivers? Unique whiskey, his clothes, and sheets. Admittedly, these are the more obvious of Mark's ploys. Yet there are more. More that, initially, were not entirely a part of Mark's plan, he'll admit.

Jack doesn't just profile. He empathizes. He imitates. He becomes. The omega is the pinnacle of his breed's most beautiful, delicate, emotional gifts, yet he does not entirely comprehend that. Jack has become Mark almost forty times by this point. He has closed his eyes, breathed in a stale echo that barely hints of Mark's scent, and then transformed into him. The omega has imagined killing as Mark, the omega has smiled as Mark, the omega has laughed as Mark. Jack has lived as the very alpha that kneels before him. Jack has made the same motions of the same cuts Mark makes.

The omega growls with Mark at rude offenders that took without ever giving, only to be punished for their misdeeds. The omega sees these people as Mark sees them, understands what goes through Mark's head. He understands because he can live as Mark.

Jack is already doing what bonded mates do. He is already reaching out to feel Mark's emotions, to understand the deepest parts of him that only mates would share. Yes, he has done this with other killers. No, it does not bother Mark. To see such a beautiful creature cry over a monster so similar to him getting shot dead while talking about pie is a gift. Seeing Jack's understanding of the demons of this world is fascinating.

The omega is special. He is getting so close to Mark, trudging closer with each passing day. Each crime scene pulls him closer to identification, even if Jack doesn't fully realize it. Jack is dangerous to the alpha. Mark finds him fascinating and beautiful and a work of art. He is fire, snapping and quick. He is water, fluid and deep. He is air, cold and cutting. He is earth, firm and fertile. Jack is ever-changing and volatile.

Jack is like holding a handful of sand. Mark can cup gently and keep it contained forever within his grasp. Mark can crush it in his hand, let it leak between his fingers and fall, forgotten, to the ground. These are the only two options. To leave it where it is, on the dunes, ready for the wind to take it and rip it about, tearing into all his carefully crafted designs, is suicide. Jack will end up stuck on him, rooted everywhere on his person, unable to shake off, forever tracking and getting closer.

Mark smirks and leans down, holding Jack's stubbly cheeks and kissing him. The kiss is warm and desperate, filled with lust. The omega opens his mouth immediately, letting out a debauched moan. He brushes his tongue against the alpha's lips, fervently kissing back. Mark keeps his lips closed against the omega's persistent, needy brushes with his tongue. The alpha touches nothing but Jack's cheeks, feeling the feverish flush of his skin so indicative of heat. There are rustling sheets as Jack wiggles and writhes a bit. Mark ignores the needy movements. Soft whines slip from between their lips as the omega begs for more, unable to control himself as they kiss. Mark ignores the desperate sounds. Only when Jack reaches forward to claw at the alpha's shirt, clasping at it to pull him closer does the alpha respond. Mark pulls back- breaking the heated kiss.

"18 Clay Street. Come to me tonight, darling, and I will give you what you need," Mark murmurs against warm, wet, swollen lips. Jack pants softly, blue eyes peering deep into the alphas. He gives a brief nod before he squeezes his eyes shut, shivering and rolling to his front. He shifts his knees up and presents for Mark, the last-ditch effort to get what he wants. The alpha purrs with pride.

"So wet for me, so desperate for my knot. Come tonight, and I will mate you," Mark croons, hand trailing down Jack's spine and sliding off his soft skin just before the area the omega needs his touch the most. The alpha stands and walks out, wary of waking Ethan. He jaunts back downstairs and heads to the saloon to meet up with the posse, according to what the beta at the front desk said. His mind mostly revels on Jack. Oh, it will be beautiful to watch, fascinating, and indubitably intriguing.

Mark is curious. If Jack manages to make it to his home, the alpha will gift him with soft, cupped hands, cradling him close with gentle, precious love. Mark will ensure he never slips away again. If Jack does not manage the feat set before him, Mark will watch him crumble between tight fingers. He will be shot in the back of the head by Mark once the, no doubt, many cowboys finish their fun with the omega in heat. Left amongst the dirt.

Mark wonders if Jack would kill an alpha who tried to breed him just so the omega could get to Mark.

The thought makes him smile.

Transformation truly is beautiful.