Rating:

Explicit

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

Additional Tags:

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood and Injury, Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love, Mating Rituals, Mating Bites, Bodily Fluids, Alpha Ilya Rozanov, Omega Shane Hollander, Feral Behavior, Breeding Kink, Wound Care, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Gross Hollanov Week 2026, Cannibalism, Irina Rozanova Haunts the Narrative, POV Multiple

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Gross Hollanov Week 2026, Part 6 of Hollanov A/B/O, Part 6 of Hollanov Smut, Part 2 of Mating Run AU

Collections:

gross hollanov week

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-20 Completed: 2026-07-22 Words: 7,327 Chapters: 2/2

Кровавый Обет

Summary

"Not only bite," Ilya tells him, pleased that Shane was able to pick up on what Ilya wasn't saying. "The omega would tear flesh away."

"What?" Shane asks, his voice incredulous.

"They bit deeply enough to remove a piece of their alpha and then they swallowed it."

"What?"

"It was symbolic," Ilya shrugs.

"What the fuck, Ilya?"

---
Кровавый Обет - Blood Oath
---

Notes

did you want shane hollander chasing ilya rozanov through the woods and taking a literal chunk out of him? well, that's what youre getting so

day 1 of gross hollanov week: take a bite, prompts: cannibalism

Chapter 1: альфа

Chapter Notes

things you need to know: this is technically set in the same universe as confirm registration? and that fic is currently still being updated. There are mentions of what's going to happen in that fic (which I believe are fairly obvious).

So, to provide context: shane enters into a mating run, ilya shows up, and they mate. this is all very public (there's paperwork involved). their relationship, at this point in time, is common knowledge.

Ilya smiles for almost the entire drive from the airport to the cottage. It has become embarrassingly easy to make him happy now that Shane is officially his omega: give him the promise of Shane at the end of a journey, and suddenly, airports are tolerable, customs lines become brief inconveniences, and even traffic feels insignificant.

Every kilometer brings him closer to the cottage tucked against the lake, where the omega who carries his bite is currently waiting impatiently for him.

The bond hums quietly beneath his ribs, anxious in the familiar way it always is before they get to see each other after longer periods of time apart. It has been a full year since Quebec, since the Mating Run. They have spent months stealing weekends, scheduling their entire lives around league calendars, while their agents negotiate quietly behind closed doors.

Nothing is official yet; Boston is aware, just as Montreal is, that they are going into free agency with the goal of ending up on the same team. Everyone understands that separating a mated pair indefinitely is becoming increasingly unrealistic.

Ilya has had to learn a whole new level of patience. Suffice to say, he hates it.

His fingers drum idly against the steering wheel as the forest grows denser around him. Trees blur together outside the window, and somewhere ahead Shane is probably sitting on his couch reading, pretending he hasn't checked his phone every fifteen minutes to check Ilya’s location.

The thought makes him smile wider. His pretty omega, his mate, anxious and excited to be in his arms once more.

Ilya's mind flashes to the mating bite he left on his omega's skin; it sits just below Shane's jaw, no longer the angry wound it had been after the Run. A year has softened the scar into something permanent, something that peeks above shirt collars whenever Shane forgets to button them all the way.

Ilya has memorized every divot of the mark he left, every hill and valley of his teeth etched permanently into Shane's skin. Sometimes, when Shane falls asleep against him, Ilya traces the edge with one finger, doing it as lightly as he can so it doesn’t wake him. Ilya never grows tired of seeing it, always feeling like there is still something almost unbelievable about it. Shane bears his mark and everywhere he goes, people can see that Shane belongs to him. People will know that Shane chose Ilya as his alpha.

The thought fills him with a quiet, satisfied warmth, that no MLH Cup could ever replicate.

Predictably, as Ilya draws closer to his mate, his mind wanders somewhere older and colder; back to his mother's stories.

Winter evenings in Moscow had often ended with her curled beneath a blanket, speaking softly about relatives Ilya had never met. Irina had loved family history in a way he had never understood as a child, preserving stories everyone else dismissed as fairytales and out-of-date rubbish.

Her favorite story to tell was always about her grandfather. She would tuck Ilya under her chin, his cheek resting against the cross around her neck, and she would tell him that his great-grandfather had loved beautifully.

She described him as proudly carrying his omega's mark long after such things had fallen out of favor in Russia. While everyone else hid their bonds beneath clothing and modern manners, he had rolled his sleeves high enough for people to see the old crescent of scar tissue crossing his forearm.

His omega's bite.

She would smile as she told him how her grandfather used to laugh whenever anyone stared. "Why would I hide the greatest gift I was ever given?" She always sounded so taken with the concept, so enamored with the very idea of an omega marking their alpha in return.

She would tell the story over and over again, at least three times a week, like if she forgot to tell him, the story would no longer matter. As a boy, Ilya had dismissed it as another romantic fairytale. Something old people clung to while the world had changed around them.

Now, he thinks he understands why his mother never let it disappear. He's felt the longing every since Shane tilted his head and asked for his bite; this yearning inside of him for Shane to stand in front of him, hands gentle, as his omega's sharp teeth break the skin on his neck. He can picture the scar, shaped perfectly like Shane's teeth, carved permanently into his body. The image settles somewhere deep inside him, awakening something that feels older than language.

He wants it; he wants it not just because his inner alpha yearns for it, but because it means Ilya belongs to someone. He wants the world to look at him and know exactly what Shane's mark already tells them: that Ilya was chosen, that he is loved, and that he belongs to someone worthy of belonging to.

The desire is almost visceral, and it sits beneath his sternum like another heartbeat, heavy enough to ache. Ilya has already claimed Shane and some primitive part of him wants to kneel willingly beneath Shane's teeth. It wants to carry Shane everywhere the way Shane carries him.

He laughs quietly at himself, shaking his head as the cottage road finally comes into view. If he ever admitted any of this aloud, Shane would probably turn bright red, call him dramatic, and insist he was perfectly happy with the bond they already have.

The ache remains, regardless. It is a piece of longing passed from his mother, who refused to let old love stories die, to her son, who found himself in the old stories she once silently dreamed of experiencing.

The cottage appears through the trees just as the sun begins dipping toward the horizon.

Ilya barely has the rental car in park before the front door swings open, Shane jogging down the path with a smile that makes Ilya's chest flutter with joy. He gathers his omega in his arms, lifting his mate clean off the ground as Shane laughs, the sound warm and bright. Shane is two hundred pounds of solid muscle, but Ilya lifts him easily, no strain whatsoever when it comes to his mate. The bond inside him settles instantly, the moment Shane melts into his arms making it go pleasantly still.

Ilya glances away from Shane's face for a brief moment, instincts making him check their surroundings. He let's Shane go so he can follow the omega into what has essentially become their den.

It feels like a miracle that Ilya has a mate and a place that feels like a true home. There are soft blankets folded over the couch that Ilya brought with him from Russia, and brand new photographs of the two of them on the walls. Every surface smells faintly of lake water and Shane himself; Ilya breathes it in and luxuriates in the way it soothes any of the nerves he accumulated on the drive up.

Dinner is uncomplicated; Shane grills salmon while Ilya slices vegetables, doing his best to gently tease a reluctant smile out of Shane by 'accidentally' bumping shoulders with him every few minutes. They talk about training camp, about Pike temporarily losing another one of his kids again, and about Marlow accidentally sexting the Boston group chat again. It is domestic and effortless, something that once seemed impossible for them. Years ago, every conversation had carried an expiration date hanging over it; now, they can speak about future plans with a certainty that there will be a future for them.

Later, after Ilya has helped Shane wash and dry the dishes, they curl up in front of the firepit. The flames crackle softly, night settling in as the moon hangs above in the sky, casting silver across the lake. Shane eventually slides closer until their legs touch beneath the blanket draped across their laps. They sit like that for a long time, saying nothing, until Shane tilts his head thoughtfully and studies him.

"You seem—," Shane begins carefully, "a little sad."

Ilya looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Sad?"

Shane shrugs then shakes his head. "Maybe not the right word for it. More," he pauses, searching for the right word, "melancholy?" 

Ilya frowns. "How is that different?"

Shane smiles a little, knocking their elbows together. "I'd describe it as—like—quietly sad? You'd feel it when thinking about something you miss. Nostalgic, maybe, but with a little grief mixed in?"

The explanation settles somewhere inside him. "Ah," he says softly, watching another log collapse into the glowing embers. "I was thinking about my mother."

Shane's expression softens immediately, the easy smile fading into something infinitely gentler. Ilya reaches over to lays his hand gently on Shane's face, brushing his thumb across Shane's cheek until his small smile returns.

"You know," he says quietly, "she used to tell me stories before bed."

"Oh yeah?" Shane asks, curiosity replacing concern almost immediately, always ready and willing to learn something new about Irina.

Ilya shifts until he is stretched along the outdoor couch, his head resting comfortably in Shane's lap. Strong fingers immediately disappear into his curls, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Ilya stares up at the man above him, his pretty mate framed by glowing firelight, and thinks that no story his mother ever told could have imagined someone as wonderful as Shane Hollander.

"She would tell me of Кровавый Обет," Ilya says softly. "Of her дедушка and his love for his омега."

Shane laughs quietly. "I think I caught 'grandfather' and 'omega' in there."

"You did."

"What does the first one mean?"

Ilya smiles a little sharply at the question, fangs peaking out briefly. "Blood Oath."

Shane's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Blood Oath? That sounds—incredibly serious."

"It is," he says, watching the fire for a long moment before continuing, hearing his mother's voice as clearly as if she were sitting beside them. "It is very old; older than modern bonds and older than government sponsored mating runs. My mother always said it came from a time when instinct ruled more honestly than fear." His fingers absentmindedly trace lazy circles against Shane's wrist, his mate's arm slung over his chest. "Two people who believed they belonged together would not simply promise it. They would prove it."

Shane's hand stills in his hair, his other hand turning over so Ilya could slide their hands together and interlock their fingers.

"The ritual always began with pursuit, similar to mating runs," Ilya continues. "Except it would be the omega chasing the alpha. The omega would choose the area and the alpha would run."

"Omegas chasing alphas?" Shane asks, humming slightly as he starts scratching at Ilya's sensitive scalp once more.

"The stories said that instinct cannot lie. Blood cannot either. They would each mark the other. Not only the alpha, but the omega too." His voice grows quieter, getting lost in the memory if his mother kissing his forehead and whispering sweet nothings into his hair. "My great-grandfather carried my great-grandmother's mark with pride until the day he died. My mother said he wore it proudly, that he wanted everyone who looked at him to know he had been chosen by the greatest love of his life. She always said that blood remembers."

"When I was little, I thought it sounded dramatic," Ilya shares, looking back up at Shane's face. His omega has a thoughtful look on his face, his gaze a little distant as he stares at the fire. Silence settles comfortably around them, the fire popping softly. Somewhere out on the lake, a loon calls across the dark water. Shane's fingers begin moving slower, almost absent-mindedly, while Ilya simply enjoys the weight of his head in Shane's lap.

After several long minutes, Shane speaks so quietly Ilya almost misses it. "Ilya?"

"Mhm?"

"Do you," Shane hesitates. "Do you want that?"

Ilya blinks, not following. "Want what?"

Shane winces just a little, his tongue darting out to lick at his lip, a habit that always has Ilya tracking the way it leaves a shiny trail along Shane's plump lips.

"The—uh," Shane breathes in for a long second before letting it out and continuing, "crow-vavi oeb-yet?"

The pronunciation is terrible, truly, but Ilya barely notices, hope blooming so suddenly inside him that it almost hurts. "You," his voice catches unexpectedly, a croak leaving him, "You would do this?"

Shane looks almost confused by the question.

"You would chase?" Ilya whispers, scarcely daring to breathe. "Would bite me? Would mark me?"

"Oh, baby," Shane says as he leans forward until their foreheads rest together, brown eyes impossibly warm in the firelight. His hands cup Ilya's face with such effortless certainty that every lingering ache inside his chest dissolves. "Of course I would. I am yours," Shane murmurs, "and you are mine. We've always known that, even before we admitted it to ourselves."

Tears threaten to fall at the certainty in Shane's confession.

Shane smiles, brushing his thumb gently beneath it before it can fall. "I would love to do this with you," he says softly. "If this tradition helped your great-grandfather tell the world how much his omega meant to him, then I'd be honored to do the same for you." Ilya can only stare as Shane continues. "I want people to know," Shane whispers, "the way your grandfather wanted them to know. That you are loved beyond reason and you were chosen. I want it so that if anyone ever wonders who Ilya Rozanov belongs to, they will find the truth: that you have always been mine."

The morning sunlight spills into the kitchen unrestricted, the many windows allowing for a bright start to their morning. Ilya is halfway through buttering a piece of toast when Shane clears his throat, glancing over the rim of his mug with a determined expression. Ilya waits patiently for Shane to speak, peaking at him as he takes a bite out of his toast.

Eventually, Shane sets his mug down with exaggerated care. "So," Shane begins slowly, "about your Blood Oath."

Ilya smiles immediately at the reminder of their conversation from last night. "You have questions."

"I have many questions," Shane says as he folds his arms across his chest. The movement makes his freckles catch in the morning light as he leans against the counter. "Last night, you made it sound almost poetic," he says, pausing for a moment to search for the right words. "Like two people chasing each other and exchanging marks."

Ilya's smile softens. "My mother preferred that version."

"Preferred?" Shane asks.

"There is an older version of the Blood Oath," Ilya reveals, shrugging.

Shane's eyebrows lift before he asks, "How much older?"

"Hundreds, maybe thousands of years," Ilya tells him, catching his mate's gaze. "It was a little more violent."

"Ilya," Shane says cautiously, though Ilya immediately clocks his curiosity.

Ilya laughs quietly. "The original run also has Omega as hunter, but it was more—ah—ritualistic." Ilya leans against the opposite counter, matching Shane's stance, vaguely recalling stories told between teammates, the taboo of it all too much for his mother to go into detail to little baby Ilya. "The alpha and omega would drink special herbs prepared by elder omegas. The herbs stripped away their minds for a few hours. They would only have instinct," he explains, his hands move unconsciously as he speaks. "When the herbs took hold, the omega followed the alpha into the forest. Alone; there were to be no witnesses after that."

Shane is listening with complete attention now, warm brown eyes locked onto Ilya.

"The chase ended when the omega caught the alpha. They mated and, sometime during that, the omega would gift their bite."

Shane stares at him for a moment, eyes darting around Ilya's face. Ilya stays silent and still, letting his omega think. The older version of the Oath wasn't as romantic to his mother as the still old, but newer version. Finally, after a visible moment of hesitation, Shane asks, "Just a bite?"

"Not only bite," Ilya tells him, pleased that Shane was able to pick up on what Ilya wasn't saying. "The omega would tear flesh away."

"What?" Shane asks, his voice incredulous.

"They bit deeply enough to remove a piece of their alpha and then they swallowed it."

"What?"

"It was symbolic," Ilya shrugs.

"What the fuck, Ilya?"

Ilya cannot help laughing at the face his omega is making, not bothered at all at Shane's horror. "It is true!"

"That is—," Shane sputters, briefly at a lost for words. "That is cannibalism!"

"It was not viewed that way," Ilya says. "They believed that if part of the alpha lived inside the omega, then alpha could never truly belong elsewhere."

"They ate their mates?"

"Only small piece."

"That does not make it better!"

"It was different time."

"Ilya!"

Ilya only shrugs again, utterly unbothered. "It is history. My great-grandfather's scar was supposedly very visible, so it is likely he took part in this version of the Blood Oath."

Shane rubs both hands over his face. "I don't know what to do with this information."

"My mother said her grandfather thought it was romantic," Ilya jokes.

"I am sure he did."

"The scar was the point, you know."

"What do you mean?" Shane asks, pulling his hands away from his face.

"The wound," Ilya explains, reaching across his chest to tap the place on his other arm where his great-grandfather supposedly held his mark. "It was not hidden. The scar was meant to be first thing people noticed."

Shane's horror fades slightly, a small frown forming on his face. 

"It announced to everyone that an omega had chosen you," Ilya says, unable to stop the thread of longing that accompanied his words. He can picture a normal bite from Shane on his neck, but there is something very compelling about the violent nature of the much older Oath. The pure instinctive drive to mark and be marked appealed to him greatly.

The kitchen falls silent, Shane studying him for a long moment, something careful and thoughtful moving across his face. "Would you want that?"

Ilya blinks. "What?"

Shane shifts awkwardly, eyes darting away from Ilya briefly before he peeks at Ilya from under his eyelashes. "I mean," he gestures vaguely toward Ilya's arm. "Instead of the bite I thought we were talking about, would you want, you know, that?"

He swallows thickly, heart pounding as Shane continues, visibly struggling to get what he wants to say out of his mouth.

"Would you want the real thing? Me chasing you, taking a—uh—chunk out of you?" Shane looks uncomfortable when he says it, wincing slightly at the word 'chunk,' but he continues anyway through it, for Ilya's sake. "So that you would have a mark big enough that it would be the first thing that everyone noticed?"

The answer leaves Ilya only half a second after Shane asks his question. "Yes."

Shane startles at the fast response, blinking at Ilya with wide eyes. "Yes?"

"Absolutely, yes," Ilya states firmly, excitement starting to build in his chest. "That is exactly what I want." And it was, Ilya realized. The idea just didn't appeal to him; it made him feel practically feral at the thought of carrying Shane's mark around with the knowledge that his omega had taken some of Ilya into him as well. The thought of Shane with a bloody mouth, swallowing a bit of Ilya to be held inside of him forever, leaves him dizzy. Ilya can't keep still in his excitement. He stands straighter, already gesturing as ideas race ahead of his English. "I bite you higher so everyone will see, even when you wear high collars. I want that."

"You don't have a mating gland there," Shane says with a frown.

"I do not have mating gland anywhere," Ilya dismisses, slightly upset at his alpha biology. It felt like bullshit to him that omegas had their mating glands located where their jaw and neck met, but alphas weren't granted the same organ anywhere on their bodies. "I still want everyone to know," Ilya says as he presses his palm against the back of his neck. "I want them to only have to look once and understand."

Shane watches him, examining his expression closely. "You really mean that."

"I do. I want your mark," Ilya insists, finally moving so he can stand in front of his omega. "I want people to know you chose me," Ilya says almost reverently, still unable to fully accept that Shane wants him as a mate.

Shane shifts, reaching up to cup his face, a soft smile curling his lips at the corners. "You giant sap."

"I am."

"I love you."

"Я тебя люблю."

An hour later, Ilya is dialing a Russia number, curled up against Shane's side on the cottage's living room couch. The phone rings five times before Svetlana finally answers it.

"Илюша? Всё в порядке?" she asks once the call connects, worry clear in her voice.

"Лучше, чем в порядке. Мне нужна твоя помощь." There is a long pause and Ilya grins. "Шейн хочет пройти Кровавый Обет. Настоящий." 

"Что?!"

He laughs, delighted at her surprise. "Speaker," Ilya says, switching back to English as he taps the button.

Svetlana's warm voice immediately fills the kitchen. "So."

Shane waves awkwardly toward the phone, the action utterly charming even though there is no video for Svetlana to see said wave. Ilya's mate is so cute. "Hi."

"Shane Hollander."

"Yes?"

"It is wonderful to finally meet the best hockey player in the league," Svetlana teases, her voice rich with amusement.

Ilya gasps theatrically, hand coming up to grasp at his chest. He performs solely for Shane, who is giggling beside him. "You betray me."

"I support excellence."

Shane snorts, his giggles growing stronger.

"I am hanging up," Ilya pouts, fighting a huge smile.

"You would never," Svetlana scoffs. He wouldn't, and Svetlana knows that, so all he can do is sigh as loudly as he can manage, just so he can be sure his friend hears him over the phone.

For the next hour, Svetlana carefully helps Ilya explain the ritual in as much detail as they can. Since they are already mated, there are some slight differences in the preparation steps. Ilya will be the quarry, of course, but will not need to take any herbs. Shane alone will consume the herbal concoction that temporarily heightens instinct, while Ilya remains entirely lucid.

"The herbs are important," Svetlana explains. "They quiet the thinking mind. It allows for instinct to speak first."

"And afterward? He'll just have a gaping wound on his neck," Shane asks, his worry clear. Ilya kisses his freckles, warm and content.

"The paste," Svetlana says, explaining that the second mixture matters just as much as the first, maybe even more. "The omega heals what they have marked. That is really the heart of the ritual. The wound is never meant to remain untended."

Shane nods slowly, a furrow in his brow. Ilya closes his eyes as Shane reaches up to burry his hand in Ilya's curls once more, absent-mindedly scratching softly at his scalp. The voices of his most-loved ones lull him into a light doze.

The herbs arrive from Russia three days later, delivered with priority shipping from Moscow.

Ilya insists on opening the package himself, sifting through everything Svetlana included. The dried leaves and roots are wrapped in brown paper alongside handwritten preparation notes from an elderly woman Svetlana had contacted through her family connections; the herbs themselves aren't necessarily regulated, but the Oath isn't commonly practiced in Russia anymore, and there are some suspicions placed on any pair that try to participate in it. The handwriting is elegant and old-fashioned, filled with measurements translated carefully into modern units.

Their entire afternoon disappears into the kitchen as they follow the instructions as meticulously as they can.

Shane measures ingredients with precision while Ilya crushes herbs with a mortar and pestle that, up to this point, has previously only been used for making pesto. Their shoulders bump constantly as they work around one another, bickering whenever one of them accidentally encroaches into the other's space. The cottage fills with a strange earthy scent that leaves Ilya's body buzzing. By the time the medicinal paste reaches the proper consistency, the countertops are covered in bowls, paper towels, and flecks of green herbs.

It is absurdly domestic and Ilya loves it. Shane hums softly while transferring the finished paste into sterilized jars, Ilya unable to stop himself from watching him with a besotted gaze. This man, who had never heard of the Oath, who was hesitant about the ritual until he saw the hidden hope in Ilya's heart, was his mate.

Love settles so deeply inside Ilya's chest that it almost hurts.

They've been at the cottage for a little under a month when conditions finally align perfectly. Neither of them wants to rush something that has survived centuries: the herbs have been prepared properly, the weather is perfect, and the forest surrounding the cottage is now dry enough that neither of them risks injury during the chase. Every evening leading up to the ritual, Ilya catches Shane glancing toward the tree line with quiet determination, and every time, his chest fills with the same overwhelming certainty.

Ilya has chosen the right mate.

The morning arrives wrapped in brilliant sunshine, the lake glassy and still, reflecting a cloudless sky. Birds chatter overhead while a warm breeze carries the scent of pine and wildflowers through the clearing behind the cottage. It is the sort of summer day Ilya imagines his mother would have called beautiful.

They stand together at the edge of the woods, Shane cradling the small jar in both hands, eyeing its contents with visible suspicion. "It smells terrible," he mutters.

"It tasted terrible hundreds of years ago too."

"Very comforting."

Ilya laughs, stepping closer until their shoulders brush. Shane wrinkles his nose one final time before he nudges Ilya, finally throwing the herb concoction back in a single determined swallow. His entire face pinches immediately afterward, coughing once as he reaches automatically for the water waiting beside him.

"Oh, that is awful."

Ilya cackles at his face, unperturbed when Shane glares at him for exactly three seconds before smiling despite himself. Somewhere overhead, leaves rustle softly against one another. Shane reaches out after a moment, his fingers curling gently around the front of Ilya's shirt, drawing him close enough that their foreheads meet.

"You get your head start, I'll come find you."

"I know," Ilya says with complete confidence in his mate. Their parting kiss is brief, soft and charged with emotion. When they separate, Ilya once again rests his forehead against Shane's, staying there for one lingering heartbeat before stepping back toward the trees.

"Я тебя люблю."

"I love you too," Shane replies softly. "Go."

Ilya turns and breaks into an easy jog, aware of Shane watching him intently as he disappears into the foliage. The trail beneath his shoes is semi-familiar after the entire summer they spent wandering these woods together, right after their first mating. Sunlight filters through towering trees, dappling the forest floor with patches of warmth. The air smells clean here: earth, sap, and the faint sweetness of berries somewhere deeper in the woods.

His heartbeat settles into a steady rhythm as he moves, anticipation growing as his mind flashes briefly to his mother. He thinks about winter nights beneath thick blankets, snow piled against apartment windows. He remembers her voice describing forests far older than either of them, where alphas disappeared laughing into the trees, where trusted omegas followed behind them. As a boy, he had listened with fascination, convinced those stories belonged to another world entirely.

Now, he is living out this fairytale, and the realization makes him grin.

He slows briefly beside a fallen log, deliberately brushing one hand against the rough bark before continuing onward. A few minutes later, he veers toward a creek that feeds into the lake, walking along smooth stones for several meters before doubling back through thicker undergrowth. The false trail is imperfect, an omega guided by instinct isn't meant to be fooled forever, after all, only challenged enough that the hunt demands thought as well as determination.

The old stories had always insisted that an alpha should never make themselves too easy to catch. The herbs probably helped with that, instincts driving them to run. The chase honored the omega as much as the marking honored the alpha: a worthy hunter deserved worthy prey, and a worthy alpha trusted that, in the end, instinct would still bring the omega to them.

Ilya pauses atop a small ridge overlooking a small clearing and he listens closely. There is nothing. Shane is somewhere behind him, giving the herbs time to work, standing at the forest's edge, and breathing steadily as instinct slowly overtakes his conscious thought. Ilya feels a swell of affection so powerful it almost steals his breath. He pushes off the ridge and disappears deeper beneath the trees, his pulse quickening with every step.

Somewhere behind him, his mate will soon begin the hunt.

Chapter End Notes

The second chapter will be posted sometime this week, which will include the (lovingly done) cannibalism, I swear. If there are any errors, I'll fix them later lol

EDIT: the 2nd chapter will be posted on Wednesday (07/22) since I don't have a fic for that specific set of prompts.

альфа - alpha
дедушка - grandfather
омега - omega
Я тебя люблю - I love you
Илюша? Всё в порядке? - Ilyusha? Is everything alright?
Лучше, чем в порядке. Мне нужна твоя помощь. - Better than alright. I need your help.
Шейн хочет пройти Кровавый Обет. Настоящий. - Shane wants to perform the Blood Oath. The real one.
Что - what

Chapter 2: омега

Chapter Notes

this chapter contains the aforementioned cannibalism, so please be aware of that lol

I had a fic idea for day 3, but it got pushed back again and again; I might write it some day, but eventually decided to split this into two based on character POV and just post Shane POV today! Enjoy <3

there is a little bit of a spoiler for confirm registration? in this chapter as well, but it doesn't go into detail, so don't worry about it lol

Shane finishes the last bitter swallow with a grimace that makes his eyes water. The taste clings stubbornly to the back of his tongue as he watches Ilya disappear between the trees, his easy jog carrying him farther into the woods with every passing second. Shane stands rooted where they had kissed goodbye, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides, as he concentrates on nothing more than breathing in and out at a steady pace. The forest is still, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant song of birds, and he tells himself that all of this is okay, not that big of a deal, and it is going to be fine.

That has been the source of his anxiety for weeks.

His hesitation over doing the Blood Oath with Ilya, which he has done his best to keep from his alpha, was never about the Oath itself. The moment Ilya admitted, with that hopeful, vulnerable expression, that he wanted Shane's mark on him for the world to see, something deep inside Shane had answered without thought. There had been no uncertainty in that feeling, no debate. Whatever frightened him had come later, after Ilya explained the older stories, when the ritual had stopped sounding like long-past history and started awakening instincts Shane had never realized he possessed.

He had expected revulsion at the idea; had expressed it when questioning Ilya after the first mention of consuming flesh. He expected to feel nauseous at the idea of permanently disfiguring his mate by tearing flesh from muscle; instead, he had felt something far more unsettling.

The old customs of Russia sounded a little barbaric to him, relics best left buried in history, and part of his rational mind still insists that they are. However, another part—the quieter, omegan part that has been growing stronger ever since their Mating Run ended with Ilya covered in another alpha's blood—had listened to those stories with rapt attention. It had heard only devotion and the promise of permanence. 

The realization that he wanted Ilya's flesh and blood in between his teeth has haunted him.

A warmth begins low in his chest, knocking Shane's nervous thoughts away. It is subtle at first, easy enough to ignore, but it spreads steadily through his limbs until every breath feels just a little too warm. The edges of the world sharpen around him; leaves gleam a brighter green, the breeze carries scents he didn't notice a moment ago, and somewhere ahead, faint but unmistakable, lingers the familiar scent of the alpha he loves.

His heartbeat stumbles and then steadies again, his eyes narrowing as something inside him awakens. It feels similar to the state he found himself in during his Mating Run, but almost twice as strong, herbs working their magic. The anxious thoughts that had been circling him since sunrise begin to dissolve with surprising ease. They don't disappear so much as lose their importance, slipping quietly beneath the instincts driving him.

His breathing deepens and he surprises himself by letting out an omegan hiss as he catches Ilya's scent once more. Shane closes his eyes for the briefest moment, and when he opens them again, the world seems wonderfully simple.

Find him, his instincts whisper in his mind. Find alpha.

His feet begin moving before he consciously decides to take the first step. He slips beneath the trees almost silently, drawn forward by instinct, recognizing little traces that Ilya purposefully left. Shane can't help the small smile that tugs at his mouth.

Clever.

Affection wells up so suddenly that it almost steals his breath. Flashes of his alpha capture his thoughts as he races through the woods: Ilya laughing in the kitchen while grinding herbs, his hopeful look when Shane agreed to the Oath, every quiet moment over the past month that had only convinced Shane further that there had never been anyone else for him.

His alpha is waiting for him. The words settle naturally into his thoughts, carrying none of the uncertainty they once might have. There is pride there, in his alpha, but also a slowly burning heat. The herbs have done their job, sending Shane barreling towards a pseudo-heat. His mind is occupied with hunting down his chosen mate, stuffing his hole full of his alpha's knot, and having his tummy filled with a litter of pups. He follows the scent deeper into the woods, grinning sharply as he notices another obvious misdirection.

"Nice try," he murmurs to the forest surrounding him, turning unerringly toward the real trail and continuing the hunt.

Ilya escapes him for just over an hour, if the position of the sun is any indication. Shane checks it just moments before he captures a burst of Ilya's scent, closer than ever before, taking off at a run. He snarls when he hears the crash of his mate taking flight, his eyes narrowing as he glimpses his mate's curls through the trees.

Ilya is so smart and strong, so wickedly fast on the ice, but Shane is faster there and during their chase, managing to catch up to his alpha and successfully tackle Ilya to the ground. Sharp claws decorate the tips of Shane's fingers, grown longer at some unidentifiable time during the hunt, and he uses them to slice at the alpha's clothing, leaving him bare chested under Shane. The alpha lays on his back, his scent thick with arousal, as he puts up a half-hearted struggle, trying to dislodge Shane from where he is straddled above his stomach.

Shane grinds his teeth as he snarls at the motion, claws digging into Ilya's chest, little bursts of blood beading where Shane cuts into skin. Ilya goes limp as the metallic tang of blood seeps into the air, submitting to Shane's demonstrations without further protest. There is a heat in his gaze, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the sweet spice of Shane's heated scent, pupils blown wide as he starts to be overwhelmed with it.

"Hello, омега," his alpha purrs in greeting.

Shane's eyes lock onto the side of his alpha's neck as he speaks, right where his own corresponding mark sits, and he growls lowly as he leans forward, instincts driving him to start licking it clean of any dirt that might have gathered while Ilya was being chased.

Ilya grunts slightly at the wet heat of his tongue, a hum leaving him, making his chest vibrate against Shane.

Shane starts gnawing on the area, pleased rumbles leaving him in response, Ilya letting out little moans at the sensation. He can feel Ilya's cock plumping up against his ass, and it leaves Shane wet, slick coating his thighs as his own cock rises in interest.

Shane can smell Ilya's musk, is drunk on it. Ilya's moans get louder and louder as he works his jaw. He's digging his teeth deeper and deeper into Ilya's upper neck, and finally breaks the skin slightly, tasting blood. It feels like he loses his mind at the taste, his instincts flaring as a vicious snarl leaves him, unable to resist biting down until a chunk of skin is torn free from Ilya's shaking body.

Ilya screams at the sensation, alpha roar echoing along the trees as he jerks beneath him. Ilya spasms at the pain, eyes darting quickly around in a brief panic response, his limbs shivering. Shane sits up slowly, Ilya's flesh on his tongue. He must look feral, the blood on his face and flesh in his mouth marking him irrevocably. He straddles his alpha, pleased to note Ilya's cock is still hard for his omega, leaking so much through his pants that Shane can feel it.

It sends a thrill through him as he starts chewing on his alpha's flesh, his own cock twitching in response as he grinds back, rolling his hips. His alpha doesn't bother holding himself back, his moans of pain and pleasure mixing as he takes whatever his omega is willing to give him.

Shane doesn't bother pulling Ilya's pants all the way off, only doing it enough to have his alpha's thick cock spring free, slapping wetly against his toned stomach before jerking up into the air, the head glistening. Shane does even less with his own shorts, simply tears at them until his bottom half is completely bare. Shane doesn't bother to prepare himself, conscious of the claws on his fingers, simply sliding down on his alpha's fat cock without a moment of hesitation, bouncing on it like a bitch in heat.

It stings only a little, the herbs keeping him wet and loose in preparation for this part of the Blood Oath. Ilya shakes beneath him, little whines leaving him each time Shane raises his hips and slams back down, engulfing his cock once more.

"My alpha," Shane snarls, flesh tucked into his cheek as he sucks on it like a lollipop. "Your blood belongs to me, your body belongs to me," Shane tells him, swiveling his hips. His eyes trace the trail of blood trickling down the side of Ilya's throat, the wound not quite deep enough to lead to any real danger of Ilya bleeding out. "Your cock belongs to me. You will breed me and your pups will be my pups," Shane says, feeling dizzy at the image of himself round and fat with Ilya's curly-haired pups.

Shane isn't actually ready to have any pups yet, not so soon after their mating or at the peak of his career, but the thought won't leave him as he rides his alpha into the ground, his own cock twitching and drooling against his stomach. He feels like he's on fire at the idea of getting knocked up, of Ilya coming into him over and over until Shane looks like he's already several months pregnant.

His alpha is being so good, keeping his clawed hands to Shane's thighs only, teeth gritting together as his neck slowly oozes blood and his cock is being milked by his omega. Ilya's knot starts to grow rapidly, popping deliciously in and out of Shane as he rides him. Shane hisses at the sensation, fevered, and leans forward to press their chests together.

"I'm gonna cum, alpha," Shane says, still chewing on the flesh in his mouth. "Need your bite, need your knot."

Ilya growls as he shifts slightly, pulling Shane closer so he can bury his face into his omega's neck. He licks Shane's mating mark, groaning at the sweat he finds there, and then starts using his hands to guide Shane when his legs start shaking,

"Such a pretty, strong омега," Ilya mutters against his neck. "Tore a chunk out of his alpha. Are you going to swallow it, мой красивый мальчик? Keep me inside you in as many ways as you can?" Ilya asks, knot becoming big enough that he has to force Shane down onto it. Shane's snarls turn into hitched mewls as the knot tugs harshly on his hole, his alpha forcing his knot to pop out and then back in, slick noises accompanying each action. Shane cries out at the sensation, sloppy wet squelches echoing along as he loses himself on his alpha's knot.

"Gonna bite you again, омега," Ilya mutters into his neck, his tongue tracing along the healed mark. "Gonna mark you and fill your belly with my pups."

"Yes, yes, yes," Shane hisses as Ilya does just that, knot locking inside Shane tightly, filling him with his seed. Shane starts swallowing the flesh in his mouth just as Ilya bites down harshly over his previously healed mark, re-opening it. Shane spasms on Ilya's cock, coming untouched as he tries to force himself down, eager to draw Ilya deeper into his body.

They both pant as they come down, Shane blinking a little as he finally starts to come back to himself, the taste of blood still lingering on his tongue. He can feel Ilya's body moving slightly beneath him. He glances down and sees Ilya petting his open wound, spreading even more blood along neck and chest as his fingers dig into it slightly.

"Ilya!" Shane chastises, glaring at the blissed out alpha. "Stop fingering your fucking wound! It's gonna get infected!"

"Infected with love," Ilya says, practically purring.

"Jesus Christ," Shane mutters, finally pulling off the small bag hanging across his chest, and digging around for the paste made from the rest of the herbs. He puts a little on his own bitemark, knowing the paste is meant to heal while also encouraging scarring, before he takes the rest of it and smothers Ilya's sluggishly bleeding wound with it. His own mark might get even thicker and more prominent with the paste and Shane would be lying if he says he wasn't looking forward to it.

His alpha hisses slightly at the sensation, but he smells pleased as Shane then takes some bandages he slipped into his bag earlier and awkwardly tries to wrap the wound while still being stuck on Ilya's outrageously fat knot. The alpha lets him, not interfering as Shane cares for his freshly given mark.

"Thank you, солнышко," Ilya says, gazing up at him with open affection and bright joy.

"Of course, baby," Shane responds, briefly running blood stained fingers across Ilya's flushed cheeks. "I'm not gonna let you bleed out."

"No," Ilya says, wincing slightly when he tries to shake his head. "Thank you for giving me this," Ilya explains, resting his hand lightly over his bandaged bitemark. 

Shane smiles down at his alpha, neither of them even a little bothered when Shane leans forward and gives Ilya a sweet, bloody kiss. Their tongues meet and Shane moans as Ilya tastes himself, his tongue seeking any traces of his blood and flesh that might have lingered.

"Я тебя люблю," Shane says slowly once he pulls away, the words whispered against Ilya's lips. He does his best to pronounce it as correctly as he can, curling his tongue into the correct positions.

His alpha sniffs beneath him, his eyes bright as his hand comes up to cup Shane's sweaty cheek. "Как мне так повезло?" Ilya mutters to himself, pulling Shane back down so he can trail soft kisses over his flushed cheeks. "I love you too."

Shane purrs as Ilya kisses him over and over again, eyelids growing heavy. His anxieties over this no longer exist, not after seeing how happy Ilya was when Shane loomed over him with his flesh hanging from his teeth. Instead, Shane feels utterly content to lay on top of his alpha on the forest floor, warm arms around him and the tang of blood still coating the back of his throat. 

Chapter End Notes

shane playing doctor as he fusses over the literal chunk he took out of ilya: :((

ilya, petting the open wound: so pretty :)) proof i belong to my shanya :))

shane: its going to get infected stop touching it

ilya: infected by our love~

shane: you;re gonna go septic

--

мой красивый мальчик - my pretty boy
омега - omega
солнышко - sunshine/little sun
Я тебя люблю - i love you
Как мне так повезло? - how did I get so lucky?