Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Rituals, Omega Shane Hollander, Alpha Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mating Bites, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Hollanov A/B/O, Part 1 of Mating Run AU

Collections:

Hollanov ABO

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-12 Updated: 2026-08-26 Words: 18,135 Chapters: 5/8

Confirm Registration?

Summary

The Québec provincial registration portal crashes multiple times because of traffic. It does this every year, like clockwork, and no one is ever surprised. Every year people try to figure out which celebrities have signed up, which big names in hockey may or may not participate. Rumors spread for weeks during the registration process: anonymous athlete sightings, leaked scent profiles, illegal drones trying to map out any new protected zones and flesh out anything that may have changed about the old ones.

Shane stares at the blinking cursor beside his name.

SHANE HOLLANDER
OMEGA CLASSIFICATION VERIFIED
PREVIOUS PARTICIPATION: NONE

Notes

this fic has been eating at me for weeks along with two other misunderstanding fics. I've done my best to flesh out Mating Runs without bogging it down too much; this is ultimately about hollanov fucking in the woods after tracking each other down lol

things to know: it's mentioned in the fic, but shane doesn't get hurt, doesn't end up in the hospital, and the admirals end up losing the cup so the skip kiss doesn't happen.

Chapter 1: Decisions

The first time Shane Hollander hears the words Mating Run directed at him seriously, he laughs. Not because Mating Runs themselves are hilarious in any way, they're not, but because the alternative is admitting that his team doctor is right.

"You've been on suppressants continuously for almost eleven years," Dr. Mulder says, eyeing Shane carefully from across the conference room table. "Your body is fighting them now."

Shane crosses his arms tightly over his chest, a sharp bitter taste on his tongue. "I'm fine."

Dr. Mulder gives him a look that says you are absolutely not fine.

Outside the conference room at the Bell Sports Complex, Shane can hear his teammates mulling around, everyone waiting for their own exit physicals, post-season interviews, and locker room clean out day media obligations. Someone laughs too loudly. It sounds so normal. Everything is supposed to be normal; they were knocked out in the second round, their usual level of play not up to Boston's playoff grit. Shane had spent most of the playoffs jittery and anxious, meeting Ilya's gaze across the dot and trying to keep his inner omega from doing something stupid.

Deep inside of him, though not as deep as he would like it, his omega is clawing itself raw beneath his skin.

"You're exhausted," Mulder continues. "Your scent is fluctuating despite blockers. Your cortisol is through the roof. You're having nesting behaviors—"

"I am not."

"You slept in the equipment room after game 6."

Shane flushes instantly. "It was quiet."

"Hollander. Shane," Mulder says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping, his tone insultingly gentle.

The gentleness is the worst part.

Most omegas join provincial Mating Runs at least once by their mid-twenties. Not necessarily to find a mate; sometimes it's just to let their instincts settle, to go off suppressants safely under medical supervision, maybe even to stop their biology from turning hostile.

Shane has spent years refusing. Every summer he fills out the same paperwork, marks down the same box on the form: DECLINE OF PARTICIPATION.

Every summer the media talks about it anyway.

Golden boy omega refuses run again!

Hollander est-il trop discipliné pour la culture de l'instinct ?

Does Shane Hollander already have a secret alpha?

Shane ignores it, mostly. Though this year seems to be harder than usual. He's anxious in a way that comes from somewhere deep inside him, not his usual anxieties, but something born from instinct and need. His omega wants something and Shane has finally learned to at least acknowledge what his omega is saying, even if he doesn't give in to the urges.

Ilya. His omega wants Ilya. Always Ilya.

Even now, after everything that happened in Tampa, after the beach and Ilya crying as Shane held him, after him delivering what sounded like something heart wrenching in Russian while away to attend his father's funeral, his voice shaky down the phone line like Shane was the only safe thing left in the world…

They're going nowhere. They're technically nothing. Not together. Not over. Just suspended for the season like they are every year, Shane out of the playoffs and Ilya currently down 2-0 in the series against Scott Hunter and his Admirals.

"Have you thought about coming to the cottage?"

"I think maybe not good idea."

Ilya's response echoes in Shane's mind as he sits in Montreal's practice facility's stupid conference room, forced to confront the way his omega has fallen apart since that conversation. Shane had asked not long after Ilya had returned from Russia, curled together on Shane's actual bed instead of in the building he had purchased just to have sex with Ilya in secret. They had been in Shane's nest when he first asked, surrounded by both of their scents as Ilya drew circles on Shane's side with his fingers.

Ilya had tensed at the time, humming in acknowledgement, before kissing Shane's necks and whispering, "Maybe. Maybe," to him like he was actually thinking about it.

Shane had wanted him to think about it more than he wanted anything else in that moment. Shane wasn't surprised when he called after Montreal was knocked out of the playoffs, Ilya already tucked back into his home in Boston, and Ilya had called it a bad idea. Shane agrees, after all, they've both long acknowledged that seeing each other was a bad idea.

He just never thought it would have to end like this: Shane's omega so distraught over the perceived rejection that it would start to seriously affect his actual health.

Shane lies awake every night sweating through sheets that smell wrong no matter how often he washes them. His suppressants barely work anymore. His inner omega keeps surfacing unexpectedly: during interviews, mundane every day tasks, every time he hears Russian spoken nearby.

He started wearing Ilya's scent marked hoodie, and nothing else, when he's alone at home, like a fucking insane person. The worst part is that Ilya still calls him almost every night, like either of them really ever knew how to stop whatever it is they are.

Shane listens to his team doctor expound on how Mating Runs could be the answer to his worsening health, the solution to Shane's slow descent into what could very well be a Feral State, and all he can think about is Ilya.

Alpha.

By mid-June, Canada announces the final Mating Run date of the summer: August 11th. Simultaneous provincial runs will occur nationwide, Québec's Montreal Mating Run one among many. Québec's largest Mating Run, held north of Mont-Tremblant, is in a protected wilderness territory that has been used for hundreds of years. Omegas and runner betas will gather the day before, spend the night on site, and then be released at dawn. Alphas and hunting betas, also bunking on site, just in a separate area, will be released three hours later.

Shane sees the announcement while half-asleep in bed, scrolling dispassionately on his phone. His omega reacts as soon as Shane processes the information, warmth flooding his stomach. A need surfaces as he reads the words, the instinct to move, to run, suddenly overwhelming.

Shane throws his phone across the room hard enough that it crashes against the wall, thudding onto the floor with a cracking sound.

He watches the Admirals lose the cup to San Francisco in seven games, only half-heartedly nodding along while his mom and dad banter next to him. He looks at his cracked screen and swallows around nothing, burning and wanting and scared to look too closely at his own needs.

The next week, after he buys a new phone and has them transfer his data with a muttered excuse over the state of his phone, he calls Ilya while he prepares to cook dinner. It's late in Moscow, almost midnight, but Ilya answers his phone sounding fully awake.

Shane is happy enough to listen to Ilya talk, smiling slightly as he stirs the chicken sizzling in the pan.

"You seem tired," Ilya's voice cuts in, a soft rumble in Shane's ear.

"I'm fine," Shane replies, a little flutter of warmth in his chest.

Ilya asked after him, noticed his mood, his tone, his inner omega preens, his alpha is—

"Илюша, ты разговариваешь со своей Джейн?"

Shane inhales sharply at the sound of a woman's voice. "Are you with someone?" Shane asks after a moment, Ilya's reply to the woman muffled on his end.

"Svetlana is here," Ilya replies, a huff at the end of his words as fabric shifts faintly in the background.

Shane's stomach drops slightly. Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya's close companion and his regular friend with benefits, is with Ilya in his home in Moscow, midnight swiftly approaching.

"Oh," Shane says in response.

"She is making me watch terrible movie," Ilya continues without pause, a low chuckle following a muffled comment from Svetlana on his end.

"I'm sure you're suffering," Shane chirps half-heartedly, something sharp twisting under his ribs.

"I am brave man," Ilya snickers, making Shane's lips twitch upward in a small, brief smile.

This is the problem, Shane admits to himself. It always feels easy with Ilya, comfortable and natural, and then they're both reminded that the outside world exists.

Then it all becomes impossible again.

Shane leans against the counter, turning the heat on low as he drizzles a light miso-ginger glaze over the chicken, selected precisely because it fits his diet and isn't completely awful. He can hear faint traffic through his open window.

"Ilya…," Shane starts, trailing off as he takes in a deep breath.

Ilya is quiet, waiting for Shane to continue, the only sound on his end is his soft, uninterrupted breathing. Shane can't hear the movie they must be watching. He no longer hears Svetlana either.

Shane swallows. He almost says it. My omega is sick and I think I'm losing my mind. It wants you so badly my body is rebelling against me.

Instead, he says carefully, "Have you ever thought about doing a Run?"

Iya is silent for a moment, long enough that Shane regrets asking, then Ilya speaks, snorting out softly. "No."

"No?"

"Too many people."

"That's your issue?"

"Yes."

Shane huffs out a poor excuse for a chuckle, feeling slightly feverish. Before he can find any words, Ilya adds casually, "Also, if I ever mate someone, I do not think it should happen because government throws me into forest."

Something in Shane's chest aches. "Yeah," he says quietly.

Ilya continues, absentminded, like he doesn't realize every word he says matters. That his response is going to make or break Shane in an irreputable way. "If I mate, it is because I choose person. That I want to stay with them. Build life with them."

Shane closes his eyes. This is such a dangerous conversation. Too dangerous to have while they are continents apart and Shane is hanging on by a thread. "So you would settle down someday?" he asks, clutching his phone tightly in his hand.

"Maybe."

"With Svetlana?" Shane blurts out, finding enough bravery to ask what he wants and then immediately wanting to take it back.

Shane wants to take the words back so badly; he needs to know the answer anyway.

On the other end of the line, Svetlana's voice says something in Russian. Ilya answers automatically, his voice smooth and unhesitating in a way that he hasn't quite mastered in his second language.

"She would make good mate."

Shane stops breathing.

Ilya keeps talking. "She already knows everything about me. Understands job. Understands family bullshit. We take care of each other."

The world goes strangely quiet. Of course, of course, Svetlana would make a good mate for Ilya. Beautiful, poised Svetlana who knows enough about 'Jane' and still stays beside Ilya anyway. Svetlana who attends funerals and fixes messes and belongs naturally in Ilya's life in a way Shane never could.

Shane forces himself to speak normally. "That makes sense."

"Shane—"

"You should do it then," Shane blurts out, face hot and chest cold.

"What?"

"If you want that," Shane continues, tongue sitting oddly in his mouth.

The line goes quiet on the other end. "I did not say—," Ilya starts, but Shane is already spiraling. Suddenly every horrible thing his mind has been whispering feels true. Ilya likes him, cares about him, maybe even loves him in whatever broken impossible way they have; but love is not enough to build a real life around, not for someone like Ilya Rozanov and not when it involves Shane Hollander.

Ilya wants safety, familiarity, someone who knows his past and can exist beside him in his home. Someone who loves him and can do so publicly without creating a media circus or making his life unlivable in Russia. Ilya deserves the kind of love that is shouted from the roof tops and heard by everyone below. Not Shane with his anxiety and lack of social awareness, his male omega status that would leave him as government property in Russia, and his fear of telling people he finds only male alphas attractive, their female counterparts doing nothing for him, no matter how many times he's tried to prove otherwise..

Never Shane.

Shane changes the subject before Ilya can clarify, asking about the rest of his week. After they hang up, he stares at the chicken cooking in the pan long enough that it starts to burn. His hands shake when he turns the burner off, eyes glazed as he forces himself to think about nothing.

He eats burnt chicken, does his nightly routine, and after an hour of staring at his dark ceiling, he sits up and pulls his laptop into his lap, navigating to his email and searching for what might soon be his only option.

The Québec provincial registration portal crashes multiple times because of traffic. It does this every year, like clockwork, and no one is ever surprised. Every year people try to figure out which celebrities have signed up, which big names in hockey may or may not participate. Rumors spread for weeks during the registration process: anonymous athlete sightings, leaked scent profiles, illegal drones trying to map out any new protected zones and flesh out anything that may have changed about the old ones.

Shane stares at the blinking cursor beside his name.

SHANE HOLLANDER
OMEGA CLASSIFICATION VERIFIED
PREVIOUS PARTICIPATION: NONE

Below that is the Mating Run dates, though only one concerns him.

FINAL RUN OF SEASON — AUGUST 11th

His omega pulses hot and desperate beneath his skin. Run and Hide. Find the perfect spot to nest. Be chased and chosen by his alpha.

If Ilya does not want him, can not see a future with him, maybe this is his inner omega's way of finding someone else who will. Maybe this act will rip Ilya right out of him.

Shane doubts it.

Hands trembling, Shane checks the consent boxes one by one.

Participation voluntary.

Bonding legally recognized.

Emergency extraction available.

No guarantee of compatibility.

Check, check, check, check.

At the bottom of the page sits a bright green button, white letters bold and unmistakable.

CONFIRM REGISTRATION

For a long time, Shane just stares at it. He thinks back to the beach in Tampa, Ilya clinging to him tightly as Shane rocks with him, the years worth of feelings that have been buried and ignored all so Shane didn't have to confront anything about himself.

She would make good mate.

Shane presses the confirmation button. The confirmation email arrives almost instantly, the notification lighting up his phone. Shane can't bring himself to read it, closing his laptop and curling up in his nest, scent sour with misery and longing.

Chapter 2: Accelerate

Chapter Summary

Everything Shane has thought about these last few weeks flashes through his mind at that moment: because I'm miserable, because my omega cries every night for someone who does not want me enough, because I am so lonely I think it is starting to rot me from the inside out.

Instead, he says nothing.

Chapter Notes

chapter numero dos! It has almost been a month, but I got distracted by numerous other WIPs, sorry lol

Hayden Pike opens the door to his house wearing sweatpants, holding a baby monitor in one hand, and a mug in the other. "You look terrible," Hayden says immediately, eyeing Shane up and down.

"Thanks."

"You want coffee?"

"No," Shane replies.

Hayden steps aside to let him in without another question, holding off his prying for now. The warm scent of the Pike's home greets Shane as soon as he crosses the threshold. Shane can faintly hear Jackie saying something from upstairs, her light laughter a welcome sound, the familiar domestic scene something that Shane pretends doesn't make him ache a little on the inside. 

Hayden and Jackie, an alpha and a beta, mated and in marital bliss. They never went through any mating runs, Hayden meeting Jackie at a bar and simply choosing her right on the spot.

Sometimes Shane thinks that must be nice enough to kill for.

Hayden leads him to their kitchen where an assortment of breakfast food items are laid out on the counter, bacon slowly cooking in a frying pan on the stove. Hayden shakes it slightly, taking a sip of his coffee, before he turns his attention to Shane, raising an eyebrow in question.

"So," he says, "what's wrong?"

Shane stares at the mug in his hands, takes a deep breath, then replies, "I signed up for a Run."

There is silence after his statement, Hayden's brow furrowed as he digests Shane's words. "Oh," he says eventually, seemingly unable to say more. It's not judgmental in anyway, which Shane appreciates, just a simple startled tone from being caught off guard.

Shane laughs once, hollow. "Yeah."

Hayden studies him carefully. "You okay?"

"No." The honesty slips out before he can stop it. Something on his face must show too much because Hayden's expression changes immediately, concern flashing across his features.

The alpha puts down his mug and crosses his arms as he watches Shane. "When's the last time you were off suppressants?" Hayden asks carefully.

"Fully? I don't know. Sixteen maybe?"

"Jesus Christ, Hollander."

Shane shrugs defensively, looking away from Hayden's concerned frown. "It worked before."

"And now?"

Shane grips the the edge of the counter he is leaning against, jaw tight. Now, his omega wakes him up clawing at his ribs. Now, Shane can't sleep without scenting blankets like an animal. Now, Shane spends entire flights trembling because someone walked past wearing cedar and smoke and for half a second, his instincts screamed Alpha.

"Now," Shane says quietly, "I feel insane."

Hayden's face softens, his voice matching. "Hey."

"I'm serious."

"No, I know," Hayden insists, turning away briefly to tend to the bacon once more.

Shane presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I can't focus. I'm snapping at people. My omega keeps trying to scent things." Mortified, he adds, "I scented J.J.'s locker after game 6."

Hayden chokes a little at that, throwing Shane a look over his shoulder. "Oh my God."

"I know," Shane says with a slight whine, embarrassed.

"Did he notice?"

"No."

"Thank Christ," Hayden mutters, taking the bacon off of the burner. Shane laughs weakly despite himself. He watches Hayden break some eggs into a bowl in complete silence, the sound of sizzling butter and then eggs hitting a hot pan filling the room. Eventually, Hayden carefully asks, "Is this about someone?"

Shane freezes. The silence stretches too long and Hayden exhales like he already has his answer. 

"You don't have to tell me who," Hayden says, his back to Shane as he pushes the eggs around with a spatula. The name Boston Lily remains unsaid between them.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Shane tells him, hurt by his own words. It's stupid, Shane feels stupid, and out of control and just—

Hayden nods once. "Okay."

Shane looks away and instead stares toward the staircase where he can hear Jackie laughing softly again. "You ever regret not doing a Run?"

"No," Hayden replies immediately, certainty in his voice. "Jackie was enough," he says with conviction.

The words hit like a bruise because, as much as the thought pains him, Shane had thought Ilya was enough too.

It takes Shane three days after arriving at his cottage to work up the nerve to call his parents. "Can you come to the cottage?" he asks abruptly, not waiting for his mother to greet him.

Yuna pauses, the silence stretching, before she asks, "What happened?"

"Nothing bad," Shane assures her, which is technically true.

His parents arrive the next afternoon carrying groceries and enough visible concern to make Shane feel twelve years old again. The cottage smells like pine, lake water, and sunscreen warmed into wood. Usually, this combination of smells calms him; today, it just makes him anxious. His omega has been increasingly agitated since registration confirmation, like it knows and is counting down the days until Shane is—

Well.

His father starts unpacking food automatically while Yuna watches Shane from behind the kitchen counter, a careful expression on her face. "Okay," she says finally. "Tell us."

Shane has rehearsed this conversation in his head several times by this point, but everything he planned on saying seems to fly out of his head now that his parents are right in front of him. "I signed up for the last Mating Run this season," is what he settles on, his bottom lip already chewed raw as he bites at it.

Silence follows his statement. Yuna stares at him and David stops packing away groceries, head popping out from behind the refrigerator door to get a look at him.

"…What?" his mother eventually asks, shock clear in her voice.

"I'm doing the one in August."

"Shane," she says immediately, sharply enough that his omega recoils a little at his alpha mother's tone, "why?"

Frustration flashes hot under his skin, his omega sniffing slightly. "Because I need to."

"You've never wanted this," Yuna insists.

"I know."

"Your entire career—"

"And there it is," Shane snaps, his usual annoyance being fed by his frustrated inner omega.

Yuna blinks at him, taken aback by his angry tone.

His father intervenes carefully, finally closing the fridge door and taking a step closer to Yuna. "Your mother's worried about you."

"No, she's worried about my image," Shane scoffs, frustrated.

"That's not fair," David says softly, his hand resting on Yuna's tense shoulder.

"It's true," Shane says, rolling his eyes.

Yuna finally sets the grocery bag she was holding down onto his counter, her lips pinched as she watches Shane. "You are one of the most visible omegas in professional hockey," she says. "People already scrutinize everything you do. The Runs are media circuses. If your participation leaks—"

"It will," Shane says flatly, because he's never had any illusion about that. Shane not participating is talked about enough already. When someone eventually sees his name and that official little participating symbol next to it, it's going to be news no matter what.

"Then why?" Yuna asks. She leans forward against the counter separating them, her eyes searching Shane's face like if she just looks long enough she would find all the answers. 

Everything Shane has thought about these last few weeks flashes through his mind at that moment: because I'm miserable, because my omega cries every night for someone who does not want me enough, because I am so lonely I think it is starting to rot me from the inside out.

Instead, he says nothing.

Yuna's expression softens slightly at whatever she finds on his face. "Sweetheart..."

Suddenly, the pressure builds in Shane's chest and he can't take it anymore. "I was seeing someone," he blurts out, face flushing as he turns away from his parents, letting himself focus on the trees directly in his line of sight outside one of his windows. The words fall heavily into the room, both of his parents silent as Shane laughs once under his breath, exhausted. "There," he says. "Congratulations. Mystery solved."

His father recovers first. "Someone serious?"

Shane's throat tightens instantly. "Yes, no, it was complicated," he eventually settles on. The cottage feels too warm now, nerves and anxiety eating away at Shane. "He...," Shane starts before stopping abruptly. He glances at them, nervous. Neither of his parents react outwardly, but he still thinks he might see understanding settle in their eyes when they register what pronoun he just used. "He didn't want the same things," Shane says carefully. It's not entirely a lie, both Shane and Ilya having no clue what they wanted from each other, but it's enough of the truth that Shane can say it without giving himself away.

"It ended badly?" David asks, frowning.

"It had to start before it could end," Shane mutters, failing at hiding the bitterness in his tone. Shane wraps his arms around himself and squeezes tightly enough to hurt. "I think my omega got attached," he admits quietly. "And now it's...," He can't finish his sentence. He was going to say restless, his omega was restless, but it doesn't feel strong enough to describe what his omega is currently feeling deep within his chest.

It feels like an open wound.

Yuna crosses the kitchen slowly, coming to stop in front of him, her hands resting gently on Shane's shoulders. "Shane," she says, her voice shaking slightly. He hates the sound of it.

"I can't settle," he whispers. "I can't sleep properly anymore. I can't think straight. Everything smells wrong all the time and I don't know what to do," he cries, his breath catching unexpectedly as a wave of humiliation threatens to overwhelm him. "I just need it to stop."

Immediately, his mother pulls him into a hug, the simple gesture almost breaking Shane apart at the immediate relief of being held. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs softly against his hair.

For just a moment, he lets himself lean into it like he did when he was young and overwhelmed after games. His father joins them, his eyes soft as he watches them together.

"You should've told us sooner," David says, finally taking his own moment to gather both of them into a gentle embrace.

"I know," Shane admits, sniffing slightly.

Yuna pulls back enough to cup his face, tilting his chin up until he meets her gaze. "Your image does not matter more than your health."

Shane gives her his best attempt at a fragile smile. "You literally just said—"

"I know what I said," she sighs heavily, cradling him. "I'm worried because people are cruel. Especially to omegas who stop behaving the way they expect."

Shane understands what she's implying: Shane is known for being disciplined and controlled, his public image the definition of safe for public consumption. Shane 'doesn't let his instincts rule over him,' which is what most people think about omegas who are 'desperate enough' to vanish into Québec wilderness waiting for alphas to hunt him by scent. It doesn't matter that it's tradition and has been happening for hundreds of years, that it's an annually occurring global event that every day people participate in all the time. Shane is a public figure, Shane is an omega, and Shane is held to standards others wouldn't usually have to abide by.

"But," she says firmly, "you are our son before you are a public figure."

Something in Shane's chest loosens, the pain dulling slightly at her words.

His father nods in agreement. "If this is what you need, we support you."

After dinner, they leave him at the cottage alone with too much silence, the sun sinking slowly over the lake. Shane showers with mechanical efficiency, ears straining as he listens for any sounds coming from his phone. He checks it as soon as he gets out. He dries himself off and then checks it again. Once he's in his sleep pants, he carries his phone into his bedroom, pacing back and forth when he checks it for a third and fourth time.

Every night since his father died, Ilya has called him eventually. Sometimes it's late enough that Shane is almost asleep, cured under warm covers. Ilya calls from hotel balconies, airports, and even loud, overcrowded bars. Always, always he calls.

Shane starts feeling nauseous when midnight comes and goes, his phone silent in his hand. An hour later, his inner omega has joined him in actively pacing, the itching under his skin leaving him aching and overly warm. At two in the morning, Shane throws caution to the wind and finally calls Ilya himself, waiting with baited breath at each ring.

It goes to voicemail.

Shane hangs up, staring blankly down at his call log. Maybe Ilya fell asleep or forgot his phone somewhere. His phone buzzes suddenly and Shane checks it so fast he nearly drops it. To his disappointment, it's not Ilya, just a notification that he has several unread emails. He sighs as he opens his inbox, scrolling briefly until he sees something that catches his eye.

CONFIDENTIALITY REMINDER FOR HIGH-PROFILE PARTICIPANTS. Shane stares at the subject line of the email before clicking on it. It leads to a link that Shane will have to go to later and fill out some final paperwork, followed by a warning.

No further withdrawals permitted without medical exemption.

Shane stares at the screen until it blurs. Eventually, when his phone goes dark in his hand and his eyes burn from not blinking, he slowly crawls his way onto his bed. His silent phone is still clutched tightly in his hand, his arm resting against his chest as he stares up at his dark ceiling. He fails miserably at ignoring his inner omega, the sad whimpers coming helplessly from somewhere deep inside him, meant for an alpha who is nowhere to be found.

Chapter End Notes

hayden yuna and david now know shane is participating. where is ilya? why hasn't he called/answered?

Chapter 3: Corroding

Chapter Summary

“What rejection?” Ilya asks slowly, his voice unsteady.

Shane’s pulse pounds in his ears. “You know.”

“No, I do not."

“Yes, you do.”

“What rejection, Shane?” The words come louder this time, confusion and alarm tangling together in Ilya’s voice.

Shane closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm the hurt slowly rising in his throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if it is making you sick.”

“You can’t fix it.”

“How do you know?”

Shane laughs again, but this one breaks in the middle. His eyes sting. “Because you’re the one who did it.”

Chapter Notes

sorry for the wait! I wanted to get more than one chapter written so a long wait won't happen again. I have up to ch 5 written.

The leak happens two days later.

Shane knows something is wrong before he even opens his eyes; his phone vibrates continuously against his nightstand, the buzzing loud enough to drag him out of a restless sleep. Calls and messages stack on top of each other faster than he can read them, Twitter and news alerts filling the screen until the notifications blur together.

For one oblivious moment, Shane thinks someone has died.

Then he sees the very first headline:

EXCLUSIVE: METROS CAPTAIN SHANE HOLLANDER REGISTERED FOR FINAL QUÉBEC MATING RUN

Shane stares at the notification, his mind refusing to process the words even as his omega wakes abruptly beneath his skin.

No.

He reaches for the phone with a clumsy hand, nearly knocking it off the nightstand. He unlocks his phone, the article loading slowly, a blurry photograph appearing beneath the headline. It shows him leaving the provincial medical offices in Montreal from three days ago, where he had to do his pre-Run exam and give his scent sample, hood pulled over his head and a baseball cap shadowing his face.

There is absolutely no question that it's him. The person who took the photo even managed to catch the medical bracelet still wrapped around his wrist.

"Anonymous sources have confirmed that Montreal Metros captain Shane Hollander will participate in the August 11th Montreal Mating Run. Hollander, an omega, has declined participation every year since becoming eligible—"

Shane throws his phone onto the other side of the bed, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs. His omega reacts to the sudden distress by lashing out at nothing, scent souring sharply. He presses both hands over his face and tries to breathe.

This was always going to happen.

His mother warned him and Shane knew she was right, even while getting snippy with her for saying it. There was never a realistic chance that Shane Hollander could quietly enter one of the largest Mating Runs in the country without someone noticing his name.

His phone continues vibrating against the blankets. Shane leaves it there for almost a full minute before the need to know becomes unbearable. He picks it up again, his omega remaining restless as he opens Twitter. Shane knows reading the reactions is a terrible idea, but he does it anyway.

Much to his horror, his name is the number one trending topic in Canada. HOLLANDER OMEGA is the second.

His stomach twists at the last one. 

Shane’s omega status has never been a secret. It legally can't be. Professional athletes are required to disclose their status for medical and safety purposes, and Shane’s has been part of the public record since he entered junior level hockey.

People, however, love to ignore this fact unless they can use it against him. 

At almost six feet and just under two hundred pounds, Shane does not look like the kind of omega people expect. He is heavily muscled, with thick thighs, broad shoulders, and enough strength to fight alphas against the boards without being flattened. He doesn't lower his eyes when someone growls at him on the ice. He doesn't wear soft colors or discuss scent compatibility in interviews. He has never publicly nested, never taken heat leave, and never allowed his omega status to become part of the carefully constructed story of his career.

People can't fit him into the shape they expect an omega to occupy, so they decide to not see it until something, inevitably, thrusts it into the spotlight once more. 

METROFAITHFUL24: I’ve defended Shane for YEARS but doing a run without warning the fans feels like a betrayal. We’re the ones who made his career. Don’t we deserve to know before the cutoff that he's going to be participating?

Shane stares at the tweet, genuinely unable to understand how anyone could type those words and believe them. Shane's participation in a run isn't information that he's obligated to announce or even share with anyone he doesn't want to.

He continues scrolling, his ire rising.

HOLLANDERKIN: hes been ours since he was eighteen and now some random alpha can just catch him in the woods and take him away???

No, Shane thinks viciously. He has never belonged to them.

Hockey fans have always been invasive when it comes to his private life. Shane has spent almost a decade watching strangers argue about his diet, his friendships, his body, and whether or not the way he was frowning indicates if he was going into pre-heat or not.

CANADUHPHUCKS: Sorry but h*llander is way too big to be a real omega.

Shane’s grip tightens around his phone, the material creaking slightly at his grip. His omega snaps so violently at the words that a growl vibrates low in his chest. The sound startles him, his head jerking up to swivel around the room, vigilant and on the lookout for anyone who may be watching.

No one is there, of course. He's alone at his cottage, miserable and angry and—

By eight in the morning, every major hockey network is discussing him.

TSN runs a segment beneath the title WHY NOW? THE BIOLOGY BEHIND HOLLANDER’S SHOCK DECISION. A 'dynamics specialist' Shane has never met or even heard of explains that omegas who delay mating into their late twenties may experience 'behavioral volatility,' while three retired players who never even sniffed the Cup nod gravely beside her.

One of them, an alpha who played against Shane during his rookie season, leans forward when he speaks up, a mean little smirk on his face. “I always thought there was something unusually controlled about Hollander,” he says. “Maybe too controlled. You can suppress instinct, but you can’t erase what someone is.”

Shane shuts off the tv, scowling. Ten minutes later, he can't resist the siren's call, and he turns it back on. They have apparently moved on to a discussion about whether a permanent bond could affect Montreal’s leadership team.

“Hollander has been the face of that room for years,” one beta says. “But if he leaves the Run mated, there are legitimate questions about whether his priorities—and his temperament—might change.”

“His temperament?” another beta asks sharply. “He’s an adult man entering a voluntary event, not an animal.”

“No one said that.”

“You strongly implied it.”

The retired alpha from before smiles at the bickering betas, shaking his head and clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. "I personally agree: the Metros need to be prepared. A mating bond changes an omega.”

Shane changes the channel before he throws something through the television; the remote, himself, who fucking cares. They don't know anything about him or his situation, but they all feel so very confident throwing out their opinions like they even matter.

He drops his phone onto the couch and pushes himself to his feet. His omega wants movement, but it doesn't know where to go. Shane paces into the kitchen, turns around, returns to the living room, and then does it again.

His body is too warm, his skin itching beneath his clothes, every brush of fabric against his skin suddenly unbearable.

His phone lights up from the couch, his mother's picture displayed on the screen. Shane watches it silently, not looking away as it inevitably rolls over to voicemail. Farah calls next, then Montreal’s head of communications. Dr. Mulder sends him a text asking how he's feeling and instructing him to call immediately if he feels off.

Hayden texts him in all capital letters: STOP READING THE COMMENTS.

Shane finally picks up his phone, types I’m not, deletes it, and then throws his phone down again.

His omega is furious now. He's not only distressed, but defensive; it hates the photographs, the alphas talking about catching him, the knowledge that people are imagining Shane beneath hands that don't belong to—

Shane digs his fingernails into his palms. He can't think like that, not anymore. The entire purpose of the Run is to find someone else, to let instinct choose what Shane has repeatedly failed to choose for himself. If another alpha catches him and they're compatible, Shane is supposed to consider accepting them.

His omega recoils so hard that pain flashes through his chest.

“Stop,” Shane snaps aloud.

His phone begins ringing again. Shane looks down, expecting his mother or someone from the team, but his breath catches when the name across the screen reads Lily.

Ilya.

Every part of him goes still, his omega finally stopping its internal pacing. For one breathless second, it becomes painfully attentive, reaching toward the name on the screen like Ilya’s able to be physically felt through the damn thing.

Shane shouldn't answer it, but there's a lot of things Shane shouldn't be doing at this point.

“Hi.”

“Tell me it is rumor," Ilya demands. His voice comes fast and sharp through the line, his accent thicker than usual.

Shane closes his eyes. “It isn’t.”

There is a moment of silence on Ilya’s end; Shane can hear him breathing too quickly and then the faint scrape of movement as if Ilya has stood up abruptly.

“You are doing Mating Run?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck, Shane?”

Shane’s omega flinches at his tone and then immediately bares its teeth, misery turning defensive. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say it is not true!”

“Well, it is.” The words come out harsher than Shane intends, too tired and too hot, his temper rubbed raw by strangers talking about him like a piece of meat since the moment he woke up. He's overstimulated and so, so tired.

Ilya goes quiet again. “How long?” he asks eventually.

“What?”

“How long have you planned this?”

Shane sits heavily on the edge of the couch, pressing his free hand against the ache spreading through his sternum. “Since the end of the season.”

“Since—,” Ilya breaks off. “You decided this when Montreal lost?”

“Not that night.”

“Then when?”

Shane doesn't answer. He can hear Ilya moving around on the other end, footsteps striking a hard floor. Somewhere in Moscow, Ilya is pacing, just like Shane was just moments ago.

“Did you meet someone?” Ilya asks.

“No.”

“Is there alpha you want?”

Shane shrugs automatically, even knowing Ilya can't see him. “I don’t know," Shane mutters out, the lie bitter on his tongue.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t know, Ilya.”

“You signed up to be chased through forest by strangers, and you do not know if there is someone you want?”

Shane’s omega snarls again, hot and offended beneath his ribs. “I know how a Run works.”

“Then explain this to me.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” The words leave Shane before he can stop them, regret immediately clawing its through him. Shane is ashamed of it, but the miserable, vindictive part of deep inside of him wants Ilya to hurt. Only a little, just enough to understand what Shane has felt since hearing that Ilya could build a life with Svetlana.

When Ilya speaks again, some of the anger has left his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

Shane’s throat tightens. “You know why.”

“No, I do not.”

“My omega is getting worse.”

Concern replaces the anger in Ilya's voice so quickly that Shane almost sobs. “How worse?”

Shane looks down at his trembling hands, his nails leaving small red crescents across his palm. “Every day,” he admits. “The suppressants barely work anymore. I can’t sleep. My scent keeps changing and everything feels wrong all the time.”

“Shane," Ilya whispers, his voice soft.

“It wants to run,” Shane continues before Ilya can say anything else. The humiliation burns through him, but now that he's started, he can't seem to stop. “It craves it. The chase, being found, being—”

Being caught.

He can't force the rest of his sentence out, but he doesn't have to: Ilya’s breathing changes anyway, a rough exhale crackling through the phone. “Doctors think this will help?”

“Yeah,” Shane confirms.

“And you believe them?”

“I don’t have any other options.”

“You always have another option.”

A bitter laugh tears out of Shane, his eyes burning. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

Ilya says nothing, struck silent.

Shane presses the heel of his left hand hard against his eye, his omega twisting under his skin, sick and wounded, desperate for the alpha on the other end of this heartbreaking phone call. “It needs something instinctive,” Shane whispers. “Something strong enough to settle it. The doctors think the Run might give it what it’s been asking for.”

“What has it been asking for?”

Shane bites the inside of his cheek.

You. Always you.

“Resolution.”

“What resolution?”

“I don’t know. A chase. A compatible alpha,” Shane says, swallowing painfully. “Something to heal it after rejection.”

Ilya's breath catches on the other end of the line, the silence that follows so complete that Shane has to check the screen to make sure the call hasn't disconnected.

“What rejection?” Ilya asks slowly, his voice unsteady.

Shane’s pulse pounds in his ears. “You know.”

“No, I do not."

“Yes, you do.”

“What rejection, Shane?” The words come louder this time, confusion and alarm tangling together in Ilya’s voice.

Shane closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm the hurt slowly rising in his throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if it is making you sick.”

“You can’t fix it.”

“How do you know?”

Shane laughs again, but this one breaks in the middle. His eyes sting. “Because you’re the one who did it.”

“I rejected you?” Ilya asks, his voice small and hesitant.

Shane squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, his jaw clenching painfully as he grinds his teeth. “You didn’t want to come to my cottage.”

“I said it was bad idea.”

“Yes.”

“That is not same thing,” Ilya insists. 

“It felt the same to my omega.” Ilya makes a rough sound at that confession, like Shane’s words have physically hurt him. “And then you told me you wanted to mate Svetlana,” Shane continues, unable to stop now. “So, yeah. It got the message.”

“What?” Ilya’s shocked voice raises suddenly, much louder than before. “I did not tell you this!”

“You said she would make a good mate.”

“That does not mean I want to mate her myself!”

“What else was I supposed to think?”

“That I am fucking idiot who says wrong thing again!”

Despite everything, a wet, startled sound escapes Shane. It might have been classified as a laugh under less depressing circumstances. His phone vibrates against his ear, making him jump slightly. He pulls it away enough to see his mother’s name on the screen.

Of course.

If Shane ignores her again, he suspects she may drive to the cottage herself to get her eyes on him. “My mom’s calling,” Shane says.

“I do not care.”

“I need to answer her call.”

“No, you need to explain what the fuck is happening.”

“There’s nothing else to explain.”

“Yes, there is!”

Shane’s omega recoils from the shout. His scent spikes sour and distressed around him, strong enough now to overwhelm his sense of smell for just a moment. “I have to go.”

“No.”

“Ilya.”

“No,” Ilya repeats, the word rougher now. “You do not tell me I make you sick and then hang up.”

Shane’s eyes fill completely with barely held back tears. He swipes angrily at them, furious with his body for betraying him. “What difference does it make?”

“What difference—? Shane, are you fucking serious?”

“I’m doing the Run.”

“You can withdraw.”

“No, I can’t. Registration is locked.”

“Medical exemption.”

“My declining health is the reason I was approved.”

“Then I will—”

“You will, what?” Shane snaps. “Call the Canadian government from Moscow and tell them you changed your mind about me?” The pain in his chest sharpens until he has to curl forward, his elbow braced against his knee. His omega makes a wounded sound somewhere inside him, unhappy with yelling at Ilya even as it remains furious at being unwanted.

His mother’s call goes to voicemail. A second later, she begins calling again. Shane watches the notification flash relentlessly across the screen, a heavy sigh leaving him. “I really have to go.”

“Shane, wait!” There is panic in Ilya’s voice now, enough of it to make Shane pause briefly.

For one terrible second, hope tries to force its way through the bleak mood that clouds him. Maybe Ilya will say it, he thinks to himself. Maybe he'll tell Shane that the cottage was not a rejection, that Svetlana means nothing, that Shane has misunderstood everything.

Instead, Ilya asks, “When can I call you?”

Shane’s throat closes. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It might not be possible.”

"Why?" Ilya asks, his voice barely holding back a desperate edge. 

Shane struggles to force the words out. “It depends on what happens. Who catches me.”

“No.”

“Ilya—”

“No. What does some alpha have to do with you speaking to me?”

“If I'm caught by someone, he might not be comfortable with it," Shane explains, a sour feeling in his gut making him vaguely nauseas. 

“You would let some stranger tell you not to talk to me?”

“He wouldn’t be a stranger after the run.” The thought makes the nausea worse, Shane’s stomach churning violently. His omega snaps at the thought too, rejecting the imagined alpha with enough force to leave Shane briefly dizzy.

“Shane,” Ilya says, sounding horrified.

“I don’t have to accept a bond bite,” Shane adds quickly. He doesn't know whether he's trying to reassure Ilya or himself. “Being caught doesn’t automatically mean mating. I can refuse anyone—”

“Good.”

“—but I don’t think my omega will settle without it.”

The words hang between them, Shane's grip on his phone tightening even further, the collected tears slipping hot and humiliating down his cheeks now. “I think it wants to leave mated,” he whispers. “I think that’s the only way this stops.”

“No," Ilya responds immediately, his voice firm.

Shane’s omega reacts to the command with a painful shudder, but Shane is too upset to understand what it means. “It isn’t your decision.”

“You are not leaving that forest with another alpha’s bite.”

A sob nearly tears out of Shane’s throat. He forces it down, breathing through his nose until his lungs ache. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I am saying it anyway.”

“You don’t want me, but no one else can have me?”

“I never said I do not want you!”

“You didn’t have to!”

“I said cottage was bad idea because I was scared!”

Shane freezes at the sudden confession, a little taken aback. 

Ilya’s breathing comes broken through the line, a damp, uneven quality to it that Shane has not noticed until now.

“Ilya?”

The sound of a door opening somewhere on Ilya’s end of the call greets Shane's ear. There is a brief moment where neither of them speak before, much to Shane's growing sense of hopelessness, he hears Svetlana speak, her voice alarmed.

“Илюша, что случилось? Почему ты плачешь?”

His omega hears Svetlana’s voice and folds in on itself. She is there. Again. She is always there when Ilya needs someone. In his home, beside him, close enough to notice tears that Shane can only hear through a phone from thousands of miles away. Svetlana can touch him and comfort him. She can build a life beside him without destroying everything.

Shane can't.

“I have to go,” he whispers.

“No, Shane, wait. Please.”

The plea nearly undoes him.

His mother’s name continues flashing across his screen as she unsuccessfully tries to reach him. His omega whimpers, caught between Ilya’s panic and Svetlana’s presence, and the certainty that not cutting Ilya out will only hurt more. Shane presses his lips together, trying and failing to stop them from trembling. “Goodbye, Ilya.”

“Do not say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shane—”

He ends the call, the sudden silence unbearable. Shane stares at Ilya’s name until his screen fades black from inactivity. The phone begins ringing almost immediately after, Ilya calling him back before Shane even has time to breathe.

He declines the call. Ilya calls again.

Shane declines that one too, then presses a shaking hand over his mouth as a sob finally escapes him. His omega scratches frantically beneath his skin, wanting him to answer, wanting its alpha, wanting something Shane can't give it.

His mother calls for the thousandth time; though, this time Shane accepts the call. 

“Shane?” Yuna says immediately. “Are you safe?”

He tries to answer, but another broken sound comes out instead.

His mother’s entire tone changes, growing soft. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Shane folds forward until his forehead nearly touches his knees, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. His scent fills the cottage, sharp with distress, while another call from Ilya appears on his screen. Shane rejects it, stomach sour with despair.

“Yeah,” Shane manages, unable to speak the thoughts and feeling that are plaguing him. “I’m fine.”

Chapter End Notes

“Илюша, что случилось? Почему ты плачешь?” - Ilyusha, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?

I might post the next chapter soon as well, since it's complete and only needs some grammar and spell checking.

edit: i added a single line just to establish something that comes up in chapter 6 later on

Chapter 4: Run

Chapter Summary

Shane curls onto his side, dragging the thin blanket over his head to block out the unfamiliar room. It's probably time to face the facts: some random alpha will probably catch him tomorrow. The thought fills him with a dread so profound he can't even begin to describe it. A stranger could follow his scent into the forest, corner him against a tree, and put their hands on him while Shane's instincts are too far gone to care that they are not Ilya.

His omega might accept them. It might decide that being wanted by anyone is better than continuing to ache for someone who will never come. That possibility terrifies Shane.

Chapter Notes

ok so i know the chapter count said 6 but after editing this chapter and taking a look at 5, I realized they were longer than I thought, thus the new chapter count. 5 would be so much longer than I wanted it to be, so it's going to be split up.

Shane's sleep is normal the first few nights after he stops taking his suppressants, but the deeper into the summer he gets, and the closer the Mating Run date approaches, his sleep starts coming in short fevered clumps, his dreams forcing him awake at odd hours of the night.

He runs through a dark forest, bare feet striking damp earth as branches claw at his skin. Instinct chooses every turn before Shane can think, dragging him deeper between the trees while something large crashes through the undergrowth behind him.

Exhilaration floods through him, his lungs burning and his heart pounding. He can smell him getting closer with every step, a familiar mixture of smoke and snow curling through the cold night air. The scent sinks beneath Shane's skin and pulls something loose inside him, his omega crying out in recognition.

Alpha.

Shane runs faster.

The alpha behind him growls, the sound low and pleased, and Shane's entire body answers. He can hear the measured pound of heavy footsteps behind him; Alpha knows where Shane is going. He knows which direction Shane will turn before Shane chooses it himself, gaining ground with the same relentless patience he uses to chase Shane down on the ice.

A hand closes around Shane's wrist and his world tips violently. Shane is dragged backwards into a broad chest, a familiar arm locking around his waist as his feet leave the ground. He struggles on instinct alone, snarling and twisting, but the alpha is too strong.

His omega is ecstatic; Shane is big, is powerful, and weaker, less worthy alphas would whine and cry out if Shane fought them. His alpha takes it, handling him with firm, but careful, hands.

Shane hits the forest floor beneath a heavy body, his chest pressed into the damp earth and his wrists trapped in one enormous hand. The weight over him is warm and immovable. A rough mouth finds the back of his neck, teeth scraping across his mating gland without biting.

Shane whines, pushing back desperately against the heat behind him. Alpha laughs against his neck, the warm heat of his breath making Shane's hips twitch against the forest floor.

Shane wakes before he can turn his head and see the alpha's face, but it's not like he doesn't already know who it is his omega is picturing. He comes awake shaking, his sleep pants damp with sweat and the blankets twisted tightly around his legs. His mating gland throbs beneath his fingers when he reaches for it, every instinct in his body still expecting to find an alpha's teeth there.

Dreams continue to plague him: Ilya catches him beside a river, both of them soaking as Shane is put on his back, and another where he manage to sneak ahead of Shane and lures him into just the perfect spot before pouncing.

Every dream ends the same way, with Ilya's fangs scraping along his unblemished gland, his omega panting and begging for his alpha to finally bite. Shane always wakes alone, overheated and aching, his omega scratching frantically beneath his skin for the alpha who keeps disappearing.

To put it politely, it does nothing for his mood.

Without suppressants, the entire world becomes intolerable. Sounds are too loud, every scent is too strong, and his clothes feel like sandpaper against his overheated skin. The blocker patches he wears around others hide some of his distress from people, but they can't protect Shane from himself.

Much to his shame, even his parents start moving cautiously around him. His dad opens a kitchen window one morning while he is visiting, to let in some air, and Shane snaps at him because the breeze hits his heated skin in precisely the wrong way. His mom asks whether he's eaten anything, and Shane snarls that he is an adult who can manage to feed himself, thank you very much.

He apologizes both times, immediately scrambling away from his shocked parents to leave the room and take a breather. Unfortunately, it happens increasingly often the closer his Run date gets.

By the night before the Run, his omega is close enough to the surface that Shane can feel it twisting violently under his skin. Alpha scents make it bristle while omega scents make it territorial. Betas are tolerated, but only if they don't move too quickly or try to touch him.

Dr. Mulder assures him over the phone that most of this is expected after so many years of suppressant use. "Your instincts are overcorrecting," he explains. "They've been chemically restrained for most of your adult life. Now, they're responding to everything at once."

"How long until it stops?"

"The Run should help."

Shane hangs up before he says something that will force him to apologize again.

He has avoided the internet completely after the leak. He doesn't watch any hockey coverage and refuses to open the social media apps on his phone, though notifications continue appearing across the screen. Farah keeps him updated on anything he actually needs to know, and Hayden sends increasingly absurd photographs of his kids in an attempt to distract him.

Ilya calls every day leading up to the Run, sometimes more than once.

Shane never answers.

He tells himself he's protecting both of them. Every conversation with Ilya makes his symptoms worse, his scent turning wild and his omega trying to crawl out of his body through sheer force. The last time they spoke, Shane ended up crying to his mother over the phone while Ilya called until his phone battery died.

Still, Shane stares at Lily every time the name appears. Sometimes, his thumb hovers over the answer button until the call goes to voicemail. He never listens to the messages, too much of a coward to take the chance that it's Ilya, finally putting to words the perfect way to end things. 

The night before Shane leaves for Mont-Tremblant, he dreams that Ilya finally bites him.

Shane feels the sharp points of his fangs break through his mating gland, pain exploding through his neck before something warm and perfect settles beneath it. His omega cries out with relief, the alpha holding him making a broken sound against his skin and pulling Shane closer, surrounding him with smoke, ice, and home.

When Shane wakes, tears are already running down his face. He's unable to fall asleep again.

His parents drive him north in strained silence the following afternoon. Yuna sits in the passenger seat with her spine unnaturally straight, repeatedly adjusting the air conditioning even though no one has complained about the temperature. David keeps both hands fixed firmly on the wheel.

Shane sits alone in the back, jaw tight, his gaze never leaving the flashing scenery outside the car window.

The closer they get to the protected wilderness outside Mont-Tremblant, the more agitated his omega becomes. Its restless movements turn frantic when the roads narrow and temporary signs begin directing Mating Run traffic away from the main highway.

RUNNER AND OMEGA INTAKE — EAST GATE ACCESS

HUNTER AND ALPHA INTAKE — WEST GATE ACCESS

Shane's pulse spikes at every sign. Run, his omega thinks, the word beating steadily through him. Run. Hide. Be found.

Shane squeezes his eyes shut, but that only brings back flashes of Ilya chasing him through the dark, the alpha cooing at him as he presses his full body weight down on Shane, fangs ready to be burried deep.

When they reach the first security checkpoint, a beta officer compares their identification against Shane's registration file. Government vehicles line the road beyond the gate, along with medical transports and marked extraction trucks. Shane catches sight of a drone passing silently over the trees. Everything about the government sponsored Mating Runs is professional and controlled nowadays, the chaotic Mating Runs of hundreds of years ago lost to time.

His dad pulls into the designated drop-off area beside the omega intake building and turns off the engine. None of them move immediately, the only sound coming from the bustle outside of the SUV.

His mom is the first to turn around. "You can still request another medical review."

"No, I can't."

"You can ask."

"Mom."

Her mouth closes. Shane watches her force down whatever she had been about to say, her eyes searching his face. "Okay," she whispers.

Shane looks at his phone one last time, biting his lips when he sees there are four missed calls from Ilya. The most recent one came less than twenty minutes ago. For one weak moment, Shane considers answering if Ilya happens to call right this moment. He imagines hearing his voice before entering the Run, imagines Ilya saying something that would settle all the uncertainty inside him.

He holds down the power button, his screen going black. "Keep this for me," Shane says, passing the phone between the front seats.

David takes it carefully. "Of course."

"Leave it off."

His father glances at the dead screen, then back at Shane. "All right."

The moment the phone leaves his hand feels terrifyingly final. There will be no calls from Ilya inside the reserve, no messages, no news, and no way for Shane to change his mind because Ilya says something Shane has spent years unknowingly waiting to hear.

His mom gets out of the car as soon as Shane does. She pulls him into a hug beside the open rear door, holding him so tightly that Shane's omega briefly settles under the familiar scent of family and the scent of his alpha parent. His dad joins them a moment later, one broad hand resting against the back of Shane's head.

"We'll be here when you come out," he says.

Shane can't promise that he'll be alone when he does, so he nods instead, saying nothing.

Yuna pulls back to cup his face. "You don't owe anyone a bond."

"I know."

"Being caught doesn't mean they get to keep you."

"I know, Mom."

Her expression, while resembling a smile, breaks his heart a little.

Shane steps away before he loses the nerve to leave them. He shoulders his bag and walks toward intake without looking back, even though he can feel his parents watching until the doors close behind him.

The registration building smells like antiseptic, nervous sweat, and a generic scent neutralizer. A young beta sits behind the intake desk, her attention focused on the tablet in front of her. She looks up as Shane approaches and immediately her eyes widen in surprise. The beta's gaze moves from his face to the name displayed across her screen, then back again.

"Oh my God."

Shane closes his eyes briefly, doing his best to keep his temper in check.

"Sorry," the beta blurts. "I'm sorry. That was incredibly unprofessional."

"It's fine."

"You're Shane Hollander."

"Yeah."

"I know you know that. Obviously." The beta's face turns bright red as she fumbles with the tablet. "I just meant—I'm a Metros fan. My entire family is. We have season tickets in the upper bowl and my brother has like seven of your jerseys—"

Shane stares at her.

The beta stops talking at his blank look, a wince on her face. "Sorry," she mutters, an embarrassed flush covering her cheeks.

"It's fine," Shane repeats, though it isn't.

The beta checks his identification band, confirms his medical clearance, and asks Shane to restate his consent to participate. Her hands shake slightly as she work, but she is efficient despite the obvious nerves.

"You're assigned to the east omega lodge," she explains once everything is finalized. "Private sleeping quarters under the high-profile participant protocol, but the common areas are shared. Orientation is at nineteen hundred hours, medical checks begin at twenty, and volunteers will collect everyone for release preparation before dawn."

Shane nods along, retaining maybe half of it, his head buzzing.

The beta gestures towards a secured door at the end of the hall. "I can take you over there."

"You don't have to."

"It's part of my job," she says quickly, already standing. Then, with an embarrassed little smile, she adds, "Also, no one at home will ever forgive me if I let Shane Hollander get lost between intake and the omega lodge."

Shane is almost able to force a smile.

The beta talks nervously throughout the short walk, pointing out the medical station, the private cabins for after the Run ends, and the routes that will be closed once the Run begins. Shane responds when necessary, but most of his attention remains fixed on the forest surrounding the site.

His omega presses insistently against his ribs. Soon.

The secured doors to the lodge open after the beta scans her identification and the scent hits Shane immediately. He stops so abruptly that the beta nearly walks into his back. Dozens of unblocked omega scents hang thickly in the warm air, blending into something overwhelmingly sweet. Honey, vanilla, ripe fruit and flowers, and the unmistakable sharpness of anticipation all mix together until Shane can barely separate one person from another.

It's honestly sickening; nausea inducing, even. His stomach rolls as his omega surges forward, snarling at the sheer number of unfamiliar omegas crowding the space. Too many.

The beta beside him takes a cautious step back. "Are you all right?"

Shane forces himself to breathe through his mouth, giving her a barely there nod. "Yeah." The word comes out rough enough that several omegas near the entrance look over.

Shane can spot the exact moment they realize how he is; conversation quiets in uneven waves as more people notice Shane standing there. Some stare openly while others immediately avert their eyes. One omega near the windows inhales, his expression sharpening as he catches whatever is escaping through Shane's day old patches.

No one approaches him and Shane is pathetically grateful.

He follows the signs toward the private sleeping rooms, aware of eyes tracking him until he closes the door behind himself. The room is small and utilitarian, containing a bed, a sink and toilet, a small nightstand, and the folded Run uniform waiting at the foot of the mattress. There is nothing here to distract him from the knowledge that tomorrow morning he will run into the forest and wait for strangers to follow.

Shane unpacks his meager belongings with rigid precision, placing every item where it belongs even though he will be here for less than a day. His omega remains too agitated for him to sit, but pacing hasn't helped any of the last dozen times he's been driven to overstimulation these last few weeks.

He stands beside the window instead, trying to look out the smudged glass. Five seconds later, he crosses to the sink, then back over to open the second drawer in the nightstand. He dismisses the Bible sitting there, closing it and taking the few steps to stand in front of the uniform assigned to him. He can't bring himself to touch it, not yet, so he goes right back to the window again. By the time orientation begins, Shane has completed the same circuit around the tiny room at least thirty times.

The common area is worse in the evening. More participants have arrived, and without scent blockers, the air has grown syrupy with nerves and excitement. Shane chooses a seat at the far edge of the room near an open window, keeping as much distance between himself and the other omegas as possible.

The orientation coordinator discusses consent markers, emergency withdrawal procedures, prohibited areas, and what happens when someone is caught. Shane listens closely to the last part despite already knowing the rules: capture is not consent to mating, a runner may refuse physical contact at any time, a bond bite must receive clear verbal or instinctive consent, and extraction teams will respond to activated beacons.

Shane doesn't know what 'clear instinctive consent' will look like when his omega is already half-feral with need. He doesn't know whether he'll remain lucid enough to refuse an alpha his body decides is compatible. Worse, he doesn't know whether he wants to remain lucid if that is his fate.

After orientation, Shane escapes to a corner with a bottle of water. Several omegas gather near him, far enough away that they clearly aren't trying to include him in their conversation, which feels a little pointed if he's being honest.

"They approved another late entry," one whispers.

"After registration locked? What is this, the third one this run?"

"Special exemption. Probably someone high-profile."

"That happened in Alberta a few years ago."

"Wasn't that an actor?"

"I think so."

Shane takes another drink and stops listening. Celebrity exemptions are uncommon, but they happen. Wealthy alphas and famous athletes receive exceptions for everything. Whoever it is has nothing to do with Shane.

By midnight, Shane is back in his room trying not to pace. He lies down, sits up, takes a sip of water, and once again repeats this process until his nerves are saturating the entire room. His omega tears at him from within, frantic now that the forest is so close.

Run.

"Not yet."

Run so alpha can catch you.

Shane's eyes burn at the thought, grinding his teeth in frustration. Every time he thinks of an alpha finding him, his mind supplies Ilya. Ilya's broad shoulders moving between the trees, Ilya's thighs carrying him effortlessly over uneven ground, and Ilya's eyes bright with competitive fury as he follows every false trail Shane leaves behind.

Shane curls onto his side, dragging the thin blanket over his head to block out the unfamiliar room. It's probably time to face the facts: some random alpha will probably catch him tomorrow. The thought fills him with a dread so profound he can't even begin to describe it. A stranger could follow his scent into the forest, corner him against a tree, and put their hands on him while Shane's instincts are too far gone to care that they are not Ilya.

His omega might accept them. It might decide that being wanted by anyone is better than continuing to ache for someone who will never come. That possibility terrifies Shane.

He sleeps eventually, but it is once more troubled. 

Volunteers arrive while the sky is still dark, a gentle knock sounding against Shane's door, followed by the beta from yesterday quietly announcing that the omega release preparations begin in twenty minutes. Shane is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the Run uniform spread across his lap.

Every participant wears the same outfit: a charcoal-gray thermal shirt, reinforced running pants, thin gloves, and soft-soled boots designed for uneven terrain. An identification band fits around his wrist, while a compact emergency beacon clips securely at his waist.

Every piece of fabric has been carefully scent-treated, the treatment  used to make sure the only thing remaining is the participant's natural scent. It removes detergent, perfume, chemicals, and other artificial odors that might contaminate a trail or distract pursuing alphas. The uniform itself is designed to smell like almost nothing.

He changes slowly, his limbs numb. The shirt fits tightly across his shoulders and chest, the unfamiliar fabric clinging to his already oversensitive skin. He rolls his shoulders and pulls at the collar, unable to find a position where it doesn't irritate his inflamed mating gland. By the time Shane finishes lacing his boots, his hands are shaking.

This is a medical necessity, he silently repeats inside his head while attaching the emergency beacon to his waistband. His inner omega is approaching a feral state. His suppressants have failed, his scent is unstable, and his body is responding to a rejection like it is a mortal injury. Every doctor he has spoken to since the fateful conversation with Dr. Mulder agrees that continuing as he has been is more dangerous than entering the Run.

This is the right decision. It has to be.

Shane stands in front of the small mirror over the sink and barely recognizes himself. His pupils are too wide, his skin flushed with instinctive fever. Without blockers and patches, his scent fills the room, anxious and sharp. He imagines unfamiliar hands tearing the neutral shirt away from his body and his stomach lurches.

All he has ever wanted is Ilya. That is the truth beneath every excuse, every denial, and every year Shane has wasted in his ignorance. Shane wants Ilya's scent around him, Ilya's teeth against his mating gland, and Ilya's body chasing him through the forest, forcing him down after Shane has made him work for it.

Instead, Shane has come here to give that dream up.

The beta woman knocks again. "It's time."

Shane takes one last look at himself then turns and opens his door, joining the rest of the gathering omegas and runners

The eastern release point rests in a broad clearing surrounded by thick forest. Dawn has only just started lightening the horizon, turning the trees into dark silhouettes against a light blue sky. Hundreds of omegas and runner betas gather behind the marked boundary. Some participants stretch  while others cling to friends or stand with their eyes closed, breathing through the rising tension.

Shane keeps to the edge of the crowd, his omega growing agitated by so many surrounding him. Every accidental brush of a shoulder makes it bristle. Shane shifts uncomfortably in the tight uniform and resists the urge to bare his teeth at anyone who moves too close.

Once the volunteers have completed their final checks, someone must give the go ahead, because the speakers mounted above the clearing crackle to life.

"Participants, welcome to the annual Montreal Mating Run." The official voice echoes through the trees, calm and impersonal. "Medical personnel and extraction teams are active throughout all designated sections of the reserve. Emergency beacons may be activated at any time."

Shane's pulse thunders beneath his skin, his omega pushing so violently against his control that his vision blurs for a second.

Run!

"Alphas and hunting betas will be released three hours after the runners." Excitement rolls through the crowd, scents intensifying in a wave that makes Shane dizzy. "Runners may enter the reserve at the starting horn."

Shane takes a deep breath in, clinging to lucidity as best as he can. This is his last chance to stop. He thinks about his parents waiting outside the protected zone, with his phone turned off between them. He thinks of Dr. Mulder warning him about feralization. He thinks of Ilya calling again and again, Ilya maybe crying in Moscow while Svetlana is there to comfort him.

He thinks of another alpha's teeth marking him and his human mind recoils just as violently as his omegan instincts.

The release horn blares and Shane fades as the omega runs.

Powerful legs drive him across the boundary and into the trees, boots striking hard against damp earth. Cold morning air tears into his lungs, sharp and clean after the suffocating sweetness of the lodge.

Freedom.

The omega surges with it, ecstatic with the rush of cold air on his heated skin. No suppressants to keep him silent, only the forest and his instincts. Several other omegas run in the same direction, their lighter bodies slipping quickly between the trees. One veers too close, nearly brushing against his shoulder; a vicious snarl tears from his throat, the smaller omega startling and immediately changing direction.

Good. Stay away.

He doesn't want company; the others are obstacles, foreign scents that might interfere with the trail his alpha needs to follow.

He notices quickly that he is the largest omega here. The realization fills him with smug satisfaction. Most of the others are built for speed and concealment, lean bodies moving delicately over roots and low branches. He is built for power. Years of professional hockey has given him a strong build and the endurance to keep moving long after weaker bodies begin to fail.

He is a strong omega, once that can carry and birth many strong pups. His alpha will be pleased, he knows. Alpha will enjoy the difficulty of forcing him down, making him submit. Heat ripples through him at the thought, but he keeps moving. He doesn't sprint blindly, instead settling into a jog, moving steadily deeper into the protected reserve while listening to every shift in the forest around him.

He wades through a shallow stream, letting cold water flow over his boots before walking upstream and climbing out onto a broad slab of stone. From there, he doubles back again, brushing his wrists against low branches in two opposing directions. The other omegas gradually disappear behind him. Their scents weaken, splitting off toward open meadows, lakes, and easy shelter.

They are lesser omegas, easier prey than he is; his alpha will not be distracted by them, he knows. The certainty lives warm and immovable inside him, but it is not enough. His alpha still needs to prove himself: he needs to ignore every sweet invitation scattered through the reserve and follow this trail alone.

He needs to charge through the forest, driven by scent and familiarity, hunting his omega down.

The human consciousness buried beneath instinct produces a weak, frightened objection. Ilya is not here.

The omega dismisses it instantly. Of course his alpha is here. Who else could possibly catch him? Who else knows the way his mind works? His stubbornness, his routines, the way he invites someone to look in one direction while slipping into open space somewhere else?

His alpha has matched him across faceoff circles, along the boards, in hotel rooms, and every private place they have managed to steal away to. His alpha knows his scent and the way he moves.

Alpha will find him.

Time loses its shape beneath the trees, the morning sun climbing higher, warming the air and filtering through the leaves in shifting patches of light. He drinks from the hydration pouch that was handed to him without slowing. Occasionally, he stops and lifts his head, scenting the breeze and just listening.

There is the sound of rushing water somewhere ahead.

He turns toward the sound, unbothered by the forest growing denser around him, the ground softened by moss and fallen needles. Massive trees rise around him, their branches knitting together overhead and hiding the sky.

He catches the scent of flowers and slows his pace. Something pulls him through a narrow break between two trunks, low branches brushing across his arms before the forest opens abruptly into a secluded grove.

A purr rumbles out of him at the sight that greets him. Wildflowers cover the clearing, their colors bright beneath the filtered morning light. White yarrow grows between clusters of bluebells and foxglove, while a narrow stream curves along one side of the grove, water glittering as it moves over smooth stones. The trees provide shade and protection, while the stream provides an easy source of water. The surrounding trees conceal the clearing from anyone who doesn't follow the correct trail.

A den, he thinks, delighted. Their den.

Then, after another glance, he sees the hollyhocks. They grow at the far edge of the grove where the sunlight just barely breaches the tree cover, tall stalks crowded with pale pink and white blossoms. The omega goes completely still, pupils expanding at the implication. Hollyhocks have a very popular meaning when associated with Mating Runs, after all: fertility.

Pups, the omega thinks, a deep instinctive pleasure rolling through him, nearly strong enough to weaken his knees.

This is the place, he decides. His alpha will pin him against the flowers, covering the omega's strong body with his own, and pressing him into the soft earth, victorious after a worthy chase. He will put his teeth against the offered gland and pup him here, surrounded by fertility and life.

The omega purrs louder. Yes. Perfect claiming place. Perfect nesting place.

He enters the grove with slow, reverent steps, examining every tree and possible approach. Instinct takes inventory automatically. The tree nearest the stream in huge and it has thick roots that form a sheltered hollow. Moss covers the ground beneath it, soft enough for resting while still allowing a clear view of the main entrance.

Before settling, the omega prepares the grove. He brushes his wrists against the trunks, leaving deliberate streaks of scent along the bark. He walks the edge of the stream and steps heavily into the damp earth, creating tracks too obvious to be accidental. It is both an invitation and a challenge: find me.

He doubles back once more to drag his scent across the flowers, careful not to damage the hollyhocks. Their petals brush against his arms as he passes, coating him in their delicate fragrance. Once satisfied, the omega returns to the tree and lowers himself into the moss between its roots. He curls comfortably on his side, surrounded by flowers, running water, and his own scent.

The rational part of him struggles faintly beneath the calm. What if  he doesn't come? What if no one comes? 

The omega does not dignify the fear with an answer, simply closing his eyes and listening to the ambient noises of the forest. He is content and confident, completely relaxed as he waits patiently in his little grove.

His alpha is coming.

Chapter End Notes

"Whoever it is has nothing to do with Shane."

oh shane, you've got a big storm coming....

so, hey, 5,6,and 7? From Ilya's POV. Coming whenever I get around to finishing the edits. I may or may not wait until I've gotten all three finalized and then post them in a batch.

Would you rather I update sooner or take a bit and post 3 chapters together?

Chapter 5: Fear

Chapter Summary

Ilya tells Shane that the cottage is a bad idea because he is afraid. This is the truth, though it takes him far too long to admit it even to himself.

It's never because he doesn't want to go; god, Ilya wants to visit Shane's cottage so much it hurts. He rewatches that stupid documentary hundreds of times, picturing himself in Shane's den, welcomed and expected. They don't show Shane's bedroom, but Ilya can see the clean sheets and whatever nest he has obsessively arranged inside it perfectly in his mind.

Ilya wants to wake up there with Shane curled against him. He wants to drink Shane's gross health smoothies beside him in the morning and watch him perform whatever ridiculous yoga routine he does before breakfast. He wants to see Shane relaxed in a place that belongs to him, sock covered feet on wooden floors, his skin warmed by the sun coming through the ridiculous number of windows lining his cottage.

Ilya wants to kiss Shane in the daylight.

Chapter Notes

posting each chapter as they're done seems to be the preferred posting schedule, so here!

for the sake of me not having to run every single thing through google translate, pretend every interaction ilya has in russia, when not on the phone with shane, is in russia. thanks

Ilya tells Shane that the cottage is a bad idea because he is afraid. This is the truth, though it takes him far too long to admit it even to himself.

It's never because he doesn't want to go; god, Ilya wants to visit Shane's cottage so much it hurts. He rewatches that stupid documentary hundreds of times, picturing himself in Shane's den, welcomed and expected. They don't show Shane's bedroom, but Ilya can see the clean sheets and whatever nest he has obsessively arranged inside it perfectly in his mind.

Ilya wants to wake up there with Shane curled against him. He wants to drink Shane's gross health smoothies beside him in the morning and watch him perform whatever ridiculous yoga routine he does before breakfast. He wants to see Shane relaxed in a place that belongs to him, sock covered feet on wooden floors, his skin warmed by the sun coming through the ridiculous number of windows lining his cottage.

Ilya wants to kiss Shane in the daylight.

They know how to exist in hotel rooms. They know how to fuck in the dark and return to separate lives before anyone can notice their absence. Ilya's single attempt at being with Shane where the sun could reach them results in Shane fleeing his home, distressed omega scent clouding the air.

Tampa changes the shape of this in some ways, but not all. Shane holds him while Ilya cries over his father, touching him with a gentleness that makes Ilya feel split open. Later, when Ilya is back in Russia and facing his demons, Shane listens while Ilya speaks in Russian because grief has made English impossible. 

Then Shane asks him to come to his cottage for the summer; not for the entirety of it, just a few weeks, but it feels like the sort of temptation that could destroy him regardless.

When Shane first asks, they are curled together in Shane's actual bed, not the one in his sex condo, but at his actual apartment. They're surrounded by the concentrated scent of his nest, Ilya's post orgasm pheromones bleeding into Shane's sheets. 

"Maybe," he whispers against Shane's neck. "Maybe."

For several days, Ilya does actually lets himself imagine it. Then he returns to Boston and begins thinking about what accepting would mean. That cottage is not a hotel room; it's Shane's in a way even his Montreal apartment isn't. Ilya going there will mean something, something that Ilya is terrified to admit to: going to the cottage would mean Ilya having to accept that Shane is it for him. 

If Ilya goes, if he sees Shane in his nest, witnessed his morning bed head and his relaxed nature in the privacy of his own private oasis, he would never be able to give it up. Ilya's alpha would finally force itself free from his control, would get through Ilya's walls and tell Shane exactly how he feels.

Ilya is in love with Shane Hollander.

Russia already thinks Ilya is too westernized and too willing to embarrass the people who helped build his career. His brother calls him a disgrace without knowing even half the things Ilya has done. If anyone learns that Shane Hollander is the person Ilya wants, it will not only become another hockey scandal.

Shane is a male omega, something modern Russian society considers abnormal at best. It doesn't matter that it wasn't always like that or that male omegas aren't exactly going around and choosing their gender and designation. If Ilya publicly mates him, returning home may become impossible. In Canada, Shane is an athlete, a captain, and an omega who legally belongs to himself.

Ilya will never let anyone reduce Shane to anything less, so he panics.

When Shane calls after Montreal is eliminated, Ilya tells him, "I think maybe not good idea."

There is a brief silence before Shane agrees. Ilya hears the hurt in his voice and still does nothing, because admitting that he is terrified feels more dangerous than letting Shane believe he simply doesn't want to come.

Ilya is a coward. He spends the next month hating himself for it.

Russia in the summer feels suffocating. Moscow is too hot, too crowded, and full of memories Ilya has spent most of his adult life failing to outrun. His father's absence should make him feel freer. Instead, Grigori seems to exist in every room, an oppressive presence built from the lingering knowledge that Ilya will never receive an apology, or even acknowledgement, from a dead man.

Alexei has already started arguing about property and money, bothering Ilya even after he told Alexei to not contact him the last time he was here. He gets stopped more than once by someone asking when he plans on leaving the MLH and playing for the KHL, like a good Russian boy.

Ilya would rather chew his own arm off.

The only part of every day he looks forward to is speaking with Shane. It's never determined which one of them will call that day, so sometimes he is left waiting for the call, an embarrassing needy anticipation filling him. His phone stays beside him through dinners, workouts, and meetings, the volume turned high enough that he won't miss it. When Shane calls late, Ilya answers before the second ring whenever he can.

They talk about training, cooking, and whatever terrible movie Ilya is pretending Svetlana forced him to watch. Some nights, Shane is a bit too quiet. Ilya asks what is wrong, and Shane says he's tired. Ilya asks if he is sick, and Shane insists he's fine with enough irritation that pushing harder feels dangerous. Ilya can hear strain stretching every word too tight, along with pauses where Shane seems to forget how to breathe.

Ilya lies awake after those calls staring at the ceiling. He tells himself Shane is upset about the cottage. Which, it's not good, but it can be temporary. Once Ilya is back in North America, he will fix it somehow. He has no plan for how, he only knows that he cannot lose Shane, even if them being anything more is impossible.

Sasha, of all fucking people, is the one who tells him.

They are having dinner at Svetlana's apartment, though Ilya has barely touched the food on his plate. Svetlana and Sasha are arguing over some celebrity's divorce while Ilya checks his phone beneath the table for the third time.

There is still nothing from Shane, making Ilya gnaw at his bottom lip with worry.

Sasha pours himself more wine, a special gift given to him by a fuck buddy he met in France that he insisted they all needed to try, and with a sudden hushed, mock gossipy tone, says, "I heard Hollander is joining the final mating run in Quebec."

Ilya stops breathing.

Svetlana's fork strikes her plate with a sharp clink, blinking in surprise. "What?"

Sasha looks between them, a little smirk forming as he shares his gossip. "It's all over Canadian sports media. Someone leaked his registration."

For one strange second, Ilya thinks he must have misunderstood the English. "Hollander has never joined a Run before."

Sasha shrugs. "Apparently he has now."

"No," Ilya blurts out, unable to stop himself. The denial comes from somewhere deep inside him, right next to where his alpha paces inside of him. Ilya's vision darkens around the edges, smoke and the bite of winter air flooding the room in a wave sharp enough to make Sasha grimace.

Svetlana straightens. "Ilya."

"Why?" Ilya demands, ignoring Svetlana.

"I don't know," Sasha says, holding one hand up as though he's trying to placate an angry animal. "The article doesn't say."

"What alpha?"

Sasha blinks. "What?"

"What alpha is he doing this for?" Ilya asks, gritting his teeth. The stem of Ilya's wineglass cracks between his fingers. He drops it before the broken edge can cut through his skin, barely registering the dark splash spreading across Svetlana's tablecloth.

Some alpha has done this. Some alpha has convinced Shane to enter a Run after years of refusing. Maybe Shane met someone after the playoffs and maybe that is why he asked strange questions about mating, why he recently has sounded distant during their nightly phone calls.

Maybe Shane has been calling Ilya, talking with Ilya, while preparing to mate with someone else.

The thought turns his alpha half-feral and he can't stop the snarl from leaving him, his lips curling. "Who is it?" Ilya demands.

"No one knows," Sasha insists. "People are speculating, but—"

Ilya is already reaching for his phone. His hands shake badly enough that it takes two attempts to find Shane's contact. He presses the call button and stands so abruptly that his chair scrapes backward across the floor.

Shane answers after far too many rings. "Hi."

"Tell me it is rumor," Ilya demands. Some terrified part of him expects Shane to laugh. He expects him to call Ilya an idiot for believing sports gossip and then complain about everyone discussing his status like it has been newly discovered.

Instead, Shane says, "It isn't."

The room shifts beneath Ilya's feet. He walks away from the table because standing still has become impossible. His alpha tears through him, possessive panic turning his scent sour enough that he can see Svetlana recoil out of the corner of his eye.

"You are doing Mating Run?"

"Yes."

"What the fuck, Shane?"

Shane's voice sharpens immediately, his voice turning defensive. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to say it is not true!"

"Well, it is." The anger in Shane's response catches Ilya off guard. Shane isn't usually one to snap over the phone, careful even when irritated. Now he sounds exhausted and frayed, like he is at the very end of his rope.

Ilya forces his voice lower, spying the balcony doors and heading towards them. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you planned this?"

"Since the end of the season."

The end of the fucking season. Ilya's stomach drops as he remembers Shane asking him to come to the cottage and the silence after Ilya refused. "Since—You decided this when Montreal lost?"

"Not that night."

"Then when?"

Shane doesn't answer. Ilya reaches the balcony doors and opens them, violently shutting them behind him, giving him some semblance of privacy. He is trying and failing at not imagining Shane filling out registration forms while Ilya sat safely in Boston and congratulated himself for making such a difficult decision.

"Did you meet someone?" he asks.

"No."

Relief comes fast, but it doesn't stay for very long. "Is there alpha you want?"

There is movement on the other end of the line before Shane mutters, "I don't know."

It sounds like a lie, which leaves Ilya clutching his phone tightly in his hand, his breath stuttering. He wants to reach through the phone and shake the truth out of Shane, but settles on asking, "What does that mean?"

"It means I don't know, Ilya."

"You signed up to be chased through forest by strangers, and you do not know if there is someone you want?" The image forms almost too clearly in his mind: Shane running through dense trees, his scent fully released and broadcasting his need to every alpha running behind him. Someone else finding him, their hands closing around his body and forcing him down.

Ilya's alpha slams against his control. Mine, he snarls viciously.

"I know how a Run works," Shane snaps.

"Then explain this to me."

"I don't have to explain anything to you," Shane scoffs immediately, real anger in his voice. The words strike Ilya harshly, a sharp pain in his chest making him grimace. He stops pacing briefly, catching a  glimpse of Svetlana and Sasha both watching him with matching concern.

He turns away from them. "Why are you doing this?" Ilya asks, anger fleeing his voice as he tries to rub the pain from his chest unsuccessfully.

"You know why."

"No, I do not."

"My omega is getting worse."

Every last trace of Ilya's anger disappears. "How worse?"

Shane tells him the suppressants have nearly stopped working. That he can't sleep, his scent is unstable, and everything feels wrong all the time.

Ilya despairs for Shane, a frown forming, one he doesn't bother to fight. "Shane," he whispers.

"It wants to run. It craves it. The chase, being found, being—," Shane stops, but Ilya can fill in the blank anyway.

Caught. Shane's omega wants to be chased and caught.

A possessive shudder moves through Ilya from head to toe. For one terrible moment, he can nearly smell Shane in that forest: hot, frightened, and desperate for pursuit.

"Doctors think this will help?"

"Yeah."

"And you believe them?"

"I don't have any other options."

"You always have another option," Ilya insists.

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"What is it, then?" Shane asks.

Ilya opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The answer is supposed to be Ilya. He should tell Shane to wait in Canada, that Ilya will fly there tonight and give him whatever his omega needs. Instead, fear and distance and everything Ilya still has not come to terms with holds him silent for too long.

Ilya hates himself, he realizes.

Shane continues before he can force the words together. He says his omega needs something instinctive, something strong enough to settle it after rejection.

Ilya feels cold at the admission, confusion and horror fighting for the spotlight inside of him. "What rejection?"

"You know."

"No, I do not."

"Yes, you do."

"What rejection, Shane?"

Shane tries to dismiss the question, but Ilya refuses to let him. If someone has rejected Shane badly enough to make him sick, Ilya wants a name.

Then Shane says, "Because you're the one who did it," and Ilya's heart stops moving, the air leaving his lungs all at once in one quiet rush.

"I rejected you?"

Shane tells him it was the cottage. Ilya hears the shame and heartbreak beneath every word as Shane explains that Ilya's refusal felt like rejection to his omega. Something inside Ilya tears painfully open, the realization that in trying to protect both himself and Shane, he has hurt him enough to make his omega sick.

"You told me you wanted to mate Svetlana," he says, and Ilya nearly drops the phone.

"What? I did not tell you this!" Ilya shouts, surprised. 

"You said she would make a good mate," Shane points out and Ilya can't stop the grimace from forming on his face. In retrospect, he absolutely did say those things, though he hadn't meant anything serious by his comments. Svetlana had been trying to distract him during the phone call and Ilya hadn't been paying complete attention to what he was being asked or to what he was saying in response.

That has clearly come back to bite him in the ass.

"That does not mean I want to mate her myself!"

"What else was I supposed to think?"

"That I am fucking idiot who says wrong thing again!" Ilya replies, fully believing it with all of his heart. He hadn't meant to imply he wanted to be mates with Svetlana, but his poor choice of words and lack of thought have clearly been on Shane's mind.

A wet sound comes through the phone, almost a laugh, and Ilya's chest tightens even more painfully. He wants to make Shane laugh properly. He wants to tell him everything, no matter how badly the words come out.

Then, Shane's mother calls. Shane tries to leave the conversation, and terror floods Ilya. He refuses, demanding an explanation while Shane's distress becomes obvious to him with every uneven breath.

"You do not tell me I make you sick and then hang up."

"What difference does it make?"

Ilya nearly screams; what difference does it make? Shane is the difference between Ilya waking up and staying in bed. He is the only person Ilya has loved with every ruined, ugly part of himself since his mother died.

When Shane says he may not be able to speak to Ilya after the Run, Ilya's alpha loses it. The possibility is so horrifying that Ilya refuses to understand it at first. He asks when he can call, expecting Shane to give him a time tomorrow or next week, anything to reassure Ilya that he hasn't completely fucked this up beyond repair.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"It might not be possible."

"Why?"

Shane explains that whichever alpha catches him might not want him speaking to Ilya anymore. Ilya's alpha, currently raging inside of him, goes murderously still. No stranger will decide whether Ilya is permitted to speak with Shane. No alpha will take Shane into a bond and cut him away from the life he has already built.

More importantly, Shane can't truly believe Ilya will simply let this happen.

When Shane admits that he thinks his omega needs to leave the Run mated, a single answer tears out of Ilya: "No."

"It isn't your decision."

"You are not leaving that forest with another alpha's bite."

Shane makes a broken sound on the other end of the line. "You don't get to say that."

"I am saying it anyway."

"You don't want me, but no one else can have me?"

The accusation destroys the last of Ilya's restraint. "I never said I do not want you!"

"You didn't have to!"

"I said cottage was bad idea because I was scared!" Silence follows the confession and Ilya realizes he is crying only when a tear reaches the corner of his mouth. His vision has blurred, Shane's voice becoming something distant beneath the violent pounding of his heart.

Svetlana opens the door behind him. "Ilyusha, what happened? Why are you crying?"

Shane makes a sound and Ilya knows he heard her. He knows the exact moment it happens because Shane's breathing changes, and whatever fragile connection Ilya has managed to rebuild collapses instantly.

"I have to go," Shane whispers.

"No, Shane, wait. Please."

"Goodbye, Ilya."

"Do not say goodbye."

"I'm sorry."

"Shane—"

The call ends.

Ilya stares at the dark screen in disbelief. Then he calls back immediately. Shane declines and Ilya calls again. Another rejection flashes across the screen, the rejection absolute.

"No," Ilya whispers.

He tries a third time, the call going unanswered until Shane's line becomes busy, probably because he has finally accepted his mother's call. Ilya stands on Svetlana's balcony with tears running openly down his face. His alpha prowls beneath his skin, frantic and furious, unable to understand why its omega's voice has disappeared.

Svetlana steps closer, clear concern on her face. "What happened?"

Ilya looks at her. "Shane thinks I rejected him."

Svetlana's expression shifts, clearly working to put the pieces together. She was already half way there, having guessed his Jane was a man, so it is no surprise to Ilya that she makes the connection from Jane to his sudden distress over Shane Hollander joining a Mating Run. "Did you?"

"Not on purpose. I was scared."

"Oh, Ilya," Svetlana says, sighing.

"He thinks I want to mate you."

For one suspended second, Svetlana only stares, before she turns around and guides Ilya back into her apartment. "What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything!" Ilya lies, but then immediately admits, "I told Shane you would make good mate."

Svetlana closes her eyes.

"For me," he adds uselessly.

"You absolute fucking idiot."

"I know!"

Sasha rises from the table, watching Ilya with an increasingly strange expression. "This is about Hollander?"

"Yes."

"Not just because you're worried about him as your rival?" Sasha asks slowly, clearly confused.

Ilya laughs harshly. His scent is flooding the apartment, thick with grief and and a frantic need to be with his omega. "No."

Sasha studies him for another moment, glancing toward Svetlana with a raised eyebrow.

Svetlana sighs, taking her seat once more. "Do you remember how I told you about Ilya's Jane?"

Sasha's eyes widen.

"Shane Hollander is Jane," Svetlana tells him.

"The omega Svetlana has insisted you have been obsessed with for years?" Sasha asks, visibly shocked. 

"Yes," Ilya says solemnly. "I love him." The confession falls out with no warning. Ilya has said the words only once before in Russian over the phone, while grief left him too exhausted to protect himself. Shane had not understood him then.

Svetlana and Sasha both understand him now.

"I love him," Ilya repeats, his voice breaking, "and now he is Running." Shane is Running and Ilya is thousands of miles away. His alpha makes a low, wounded sound inside him. "I am not there to chase him."

Svetlana watches the devastation move across his face. "What's stopping you?" she asks after a mournful silence.

Ilya stares at her. "Registration is closed."

"So?"

"I am in Russia."

"There are airplanes and you have a passport."

"The Run starts in just a little over a week," Ilya says, gesturing helplessly around the apartment. "Russia thinks male omegas are abominations. If I enter a Run for Shane Hollander, everyone will know. I could lose the ability to come home."

Svetlana's expression turns sharp. "You hate coming back here every summer."

Ilya looks away because she is, as usual, right. There is nothing truly left for him here except memories, obligations, and people who want access to his money. Even Svetlana spends most of the year in North America now. Sasha, who is silently watching their exchange with a fascinated look on his face, spends most of his time galivanting around the rest of Europe.

Still, Russia is where his mother is buried. It is the language that feels like home inside his mouth. It is the place that made him, even if most days Ilya hates what it made him into.

Svetlana stands and stops closer to him, resting her hand gently on Ilya's tense arm. "If Hollander leaves that Run mated to someone else, will you ever forgive yourself?"

"No," Ilya answers immediately, his voice small and sad even to his own ears.

"Then Russia is not what's stopping you."

Ilya's breath shakes. "I don't know how to get in."

Svetlana studies him for a long moment. Ilya can see the exact instant an idea forms behind her eyes. "My father will."

Sasha picks up his wineglass, a thoughtful expression on his face. "My father could maybe also help; he has some contacts still from his coaching days."

"What? You cannot ask your fathers to interfere with a Canadian Mating Run."

Svetlana gives him a cool look, scoffing at him as she shares a glance with Sasha. "I can ask my father for anything I want. Whether he succeeds is a separate issue."

Hope is dangerous, but Ilya feels it anyway.

Svetlana picks up her phone from the table and scrolls through her contacts. "High-profile exemptions have happened before. Athletes, politicians, actors."

"Registration is locked," Ilya says again.

"Then they unlock it."

Ilya stares at her, afraid to believe she might be serious.

Svetlana lifts the phone to her ear. Before placing the call, she points at Ilya with her free hand. "If my father gets you into this Run, you will stop being a coward."

Ilya swallows, but nods anyway.

"You will chase Hollander, and when you catch him, you will tell him the truth."

"Yes."

"All of it."

"Yes."

"No more pretending you don't want him because you're frightened."

"I understand."

Svetlana narrows her eyes. "Do you?"

Ilya thinks about another alpha's bite in Shane's neck. "Yes, Sveta, I do."

Sasha stands on unsteady legs as Svetlana makes the call, taking his own phone with him as he mutters about calling his own father in another room.

In some incredibly convoluted game of telephone tree performed by Svetlana's father, and a single call to Sasha's father that ends with Sasha returning to the room and saying 'He will see what he can do,'  Ilya has an emergency application open on Svetlana's laptop by midnight.

LATE PARTICIPANT EXEMPTION 

The form requires medical records, proof of his status, consent forms, security disclosures, and an explanation for why the application was not submitted before the registration deadline and why an exemption should be made.

Ilya types 'circumstances changed' and gets a snort from Svetlana when she looks over his shoulder and reads what he wrote.

"Very compelling."

"Fuck you."

"Write something that makes them care," Svetlana demands, the look on her face letting Ilya know that she will not be taking 'no' for an answer.

Ilya backspaces and then stares blankly at the empty text box.

The truth is simply too personal to put into official records. He can't write that his omega is already inside the participant system, even if Shane doesn't know he belongs to Ilya yet. Shane's participation was leaked and, if Ilya's was also leaked, there would be an entire media storm. Russia would have zero actual evidence that Ilya was joining the Mating Run for a male omega, but he sincerely doubts anyone would be fooled by that argument.

Eventually, he types that he has 'personal interest in the final Quebec Run,' leaving himself enough deniability if someone who wasn't supposed to actually reads it. He doesn't think it's an actual good explanation for why he's late to apply, but he'll plead language barrier if anyone asks. He checks the boxes to confirm that he understands the late entry may require additional protocols and then waives any expectation of private accommodations on site.

Svetlana reads it, rolls her eyes, and types up a quick blurb about 'international cultural engagement,' whatever that's supposed to mean.

The first official response arrives fourteen hours later, when Sasha is groaning from Svetlana's couch, increasing the pounding in Ilya's head and making Svetlana snap at him from where she staring blurrily into her fridge, looking for breakfast but finding nothing but more alcohol. Ilya knows, he checked it ten minutes ago in the vain hope for something deep fried magically appearing on her shelves. 

APPLICATION UNDER EXPEDITED REVIEW, is the email's subject line when Ilya checks it. He sends vague well wishes to both Sergei and Ivan for their ability to get shit done, but also their willingness to ignore why their children are asking them to call in decades old favors to get Ilya registered in a Canadian Mating Run.

Over the next three days, he books an emergency physical, attends an appointment with a doctor who asks him incredibly invasive questions that Ilya answers with all the honesty he can afford, and an actual remote interview with someone on some board of something or other that lasts ten minutes, most of that time taken up by the man stuttering every time it re-registers that he was talking to Ilya Rozanov. 

During every second of downtime he has, Ilya checks his phone. He calls Shane the next morning and is not surprised when the omega doesn't pick up. Ilya takes it as a good sign that he hasn't been blocked, more than ready to accept any scrap of evidence that Shane isn't actually done with him that he can get.

He calls Shane in the mornings and the afternoons, but never leaves a voicemail during those times. He let's the phone ring out until he can hear Shane ask him to leave a message and then he hangs up, something tight building in his chest.

It's at night that he leaves the same message, over and over again.

"Please call me, Shane. I can explain."

Shane doesn't call him back, because that would be too easy. Ilya doesn't blame Shane for it, just really wishes the omega would give Ilya the chance to explain, to make things right. Ilya wonders briefly if he deserves said chance, but dismisses the thought; he can feel his despair building when he lingers on it and he has more important things to worry about at the moment.

Three days before the Mating Run is actually schedule to start, the final approval arrives.

SPECIAL EXEMPTION GRANTED — CONFIDENTIAL LATE ENTRY

Ilya reads the email twice, heart in his throat. His alpha surges so violently inside him that smoke and winter ice fill Svetlana's apartment once more. The scent is bright and triumphant, hope so thoroughly saturated throughout that Ilya can practically taste it.

Svetlana smiles when he shows her the email with shaking hands, her eyes darting around to watch his face. "Go get your omega," she says after she throws his already packed suitcase at him, ushering him out the door where his Yandex taxi is waiting to take him to the airport.

Ilya is on a plane within six hours of getting the confirmation email, eyes glued to the clouds as his alpha paces restlessly inside of him. He barely manages a few hours of sleep on his first flight and absolutely none on his second. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Shane running through the forest while other alphas follow him, all of them snapping and snarling at each other, the pack of them so thick Ilya can't get through.

He checks his phone the instant the plane lands in Montreal, worry biting at him, but there is no leak this time around; Ilya's participation has seemingly been handled better than Shane's. He needs to be at the site in just over twenty-four hours, so Ilya takes the opportunity to call Shane, his foot tapping impatiently as he waits for his suitcase to appear.

Shane doesn't pick up, Ilya grabs his suitcase, and he checks into the nearest hotel to the Running site that he can find. He makes sure his alarm is set, calls the front desk to ask for a wake-up call just in case, and then passes out on his bed, still in his clothes from the airport.

His last thoughts before sleep are jumbled from exhaustion, the last few days especially taxing, but it doesn't stop Ilya's alpha from metaphorically sharpening his claws, anticipation briefly cutting through the fog in his mind.

Shane will be getting ready for the Run at this very moment and, soon enough, Ilya will have him in his arms once more. 

Chapter End Notes

okay so, question: Originally, this fic was rated M for plot reasons not related to smut (spoiler shh) and there wasn't going to be a detailed smut scene. I would write the whole Ilya claiming Shane etc, but kind of cut off the mating sex.

I have since had the opportunity to write more than one smut scene (lol) and I think I could more than handle adding one to this fic. So, do you guys want smut?

It would be much more tame than my usual fare, but I'd say rough, possessive sex was the goal. The sequel has a bit of breeding kink and Shane has talked about pups during his POVs so that's not out of the question. Thoughts?

Also I named Sasha's father Ivan simply because, according to IMDB, that's the actor's name who plays the Russian coach. No idea if he's named in the books.

we finally get what the hell ilya was thinking, his POV of the call, and the secret to how he managed to wiggle his way into the RUN: he's friends who people who have fathers in high places lol

i do have to say I loved the comment someone left where they wondered if he was going to have to drop down into the site via helicopter. he's there legally in this fic, but if he didn't get approval, i promise his secret entry would be as dramatic as possible!

the next chapter is mostly written; it was complete, but I didn't like it and ended up changing some things. those things required I take out a chunk of the chapter and rewrite it. I don't think it will take a month or anything, but I can't promise anything.