I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 48: Mine

Abel stood at the tree line, chest heaving.

It wasn’t from exertion. It was from the pure, primal force of the emotion roaring through him. The low growl had stopped, but the silence that replaced it was worse. Thicker. More dangerous.

Every soldier in the clearing froze. They knew that sound. It was etched into their bones from a hundred battlefields—the sound of their commander’s fury before he broke an enemy line. It wasn’t the confused noise of the man they saw in the manor halls. This was Captain Abel Valerian. And he was livid.

One man swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet.

Another, without thinking, grabbed a nearby leather boot and held it in front of his chest like a tiny, absurd shield.

”Oh, no,” another whispered, eyes wide as saucers. ”He’s in there. He’s *all* the way in there.”

Then Abel moved.

He crossed the distance from the trees to the center of the clearing in two long, powerful strides. There was no hesitation. No question. His focus was absolute.

He didn’t shove Aster aside. He simply flowed around him, a force of nature ignoring an obstacle. His large hands shot out. One arm hooked under Orion’s knees, the other around his back. In one smooth, terrifyingly strong motion, he snatched Orion right out of his standing position.

Orion gasped, a sharp ”*Uff!*” of air punched from his lungs as the world spun violently. The cookies and tea churned in his stomach. He was lifted, turned, and then crushed against a solid, heaving chest. Abel’s arms locked around him like iron bands, spinning him away from Aster, putting his own body between his husband and the captain.

The scent of furious Alpha—cedar turned to smoke, honey boiled to a bitter syrup—engulfed Orion completely.

A low, guttural word was growled into his hair, vibrating through Abel’s chest and into Orion’s very bones.

**”Mine.”**

Then, softer, a desperate, possessive litany against his temple. **”Myorion. Mine. Mine.”**

Orion struggled to draw breath, his face pressed into Abel’s neck. ”Abel...?” he managed, voice muffled and shaky.

Aster had taken one automatic step forward when Abel first moved. Now he took two very deliberate steps back. He raised both hands, palms out, in a gesture of pure surrender. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were watchful, calculating.

*Nope,* his entire posture screamed. *Absolutely not. Not getting in the middle of this.*

From the sidelines, a soldier elbowed his friend, whispering behind his hand. ”Five coins. You think Captain Abel’s gonna punch Captain Aster?”

”Shut *up*,” the friend hissed back, staring.

Abel’s burning gaze was fixed on Aster. The growl returned, lower now, more focused. ”You,” he snarled, the word dripping with accusation. ”You were hugging my husband.”

Aster kept his hands up, his voice calm and level, the voice he used to talk down spooked horses and green recruits. ”He was falling. I only caught him.”

”You were *touching* him,” Abel ground out, his arms tightening around Orion until Orion squeaked. ”Hugging him.”

Orion managed to wiggle an arm free. He placed his palm on Abel’s stubbled cheek, trying to turn his face. ”Abel? Look at me. I tripped. He only helped me. He kept me from hitting the ground.”

Abel’s eyes flickered down to Orion’s for a second, but the fury didn’t abate. ”He was *hugging* you,” he insisted, as if that were the ultimate crime.

”He *wasn’t*,” Orion said, putting as much firm patience into his voice as he could while being held aloft like a prized doll. ”It was just a catch. See? I’m fine.”

He tried a different tack, his thumb stroking Abel’s cheekbone. ”Abel, look at him. That’s Aster. Try to remember. He’s your friend. Your lieutenant. Remember?”

Abel’s glare shifted back to Aster. The name seemed to ripple through him. His brow furrowed, the absolute certainty of his anger wavering for a split second.

Aster saw the opening. He slowly lowered his hands, but kept his posture non-threatening. ”Captain,” he said, the title soft, respectful. A reminder.

”He touched my Omega,” Abel said again, but the growl was less certain now. It was a statement, laced with confusion and a deep, instinctive hurt.

”He was keeping your Omega from getting a face full of dirt,” Orion said gently, still cupping his cheek. ”Try to remember him, Abel. He’s the one who... who said he’d play strategy games with you. With the wooden soldiers. Remember?”

*Play.*

The word did something. Abel blinked. Slowly. Like a man coming up from deep, dark water. The terrifying rigidity in his frame softened a fraction. The wildfire in his eyes banked, replaced by a dawning, bewildered recognition. He looked at Aster, really looked at him—past the uniform, past the intervening years, past the accident.

The angry lines of his face smoothed. The possessive snarl faded. His breathing began to even out from its ragged heaves.

”I...” Abel’s voice was rough, hoarse. He cleared his throat. ”I am sorry.”

The apology, so simple and direct, hung in the air.

Aster shook his head, a small, weary movement. ”No need, Captain. No harm done.” His eyes flicked to Orion, still suspended in Abel’s arms, checking silently for reassurance.

But the storm wasn’t fully past. Abel’s grip, which had loosened, tightened again possessively. He adjusted his hold, tucking Orion more securely against him, turning his body slightly away from Aster. He buried his nose in Orion’s hair, inhaling deeply, as if to overwrite any other scent.

”Don’t touch my Omega,” he mumbled, the words half-muffled against Orion’s dark hair. It wasn’t a snarl anymore. It was a plea. A rule stated to the universe.

Aster gave a single, solemn nod. ”Yes, sir.”

From the crowd, someone—it sounded like Loren—let out a high-pitched, nervous giggle that was instantly choked off.

Orion felt the tension in Abel’s body begin to truly dissolve, leaving behind a tremor of spent adrenaline and a clingy, childlike vulnerability. It was the crash after the storm. He cupped Abel’s face with both hands now, forcing him to meet his gaze.

”It’s alright,” Orion murmured, his voice a soft balm. ”I’m right here. I’m yours. See? All safe.”

He stroked his thumbs over Abel’s cheekbones, wiping away a smear of forest dirt. He smiled, a small, reassuring curve of his lips. ”My big, brave, jealous Alpha.”

That did it.

The last of the defensive fury melted away, replaced by something warmer, more urgent. Abel’s eyes darkened, but with a different kind of intensity. They dropped to Orion’s lips.

Before Orion could say another word, Abel bent his head.

He didn’t kiss him gently. He kissed him with a raw, claiming hunger that spoke of fear soothed and possession reaffirmed. It was deep, consuming, and utterly unconcerned with their audience. One hand came up to cradle the back of Orion’s head, holding him in place as Abel poured every ounce of his chaotic emotion—the jealousy, the fear of loss, the overwhelming love—into the connection.

Orion gasped into the kiss, startled, then melted. His hands slid from Abel’s cheeks to tangle in the blond hair at the nape of his neck. He kissed him back, a silent promise, an anchor in the wild sea of Abel’s feelings.

In the clearing, the silence shattered.

Someone dropped a metal plate. It hit the ground with a loud, ringing *clang* that echoed comically.

Another soldier instinctively clapped a hand over the eyes of the man next to him. ”Don’t look, Jory! It’s too pure! You’ll go blind!”

The dogs, who had been watching the human drama with canine fascination, finally lost interest. One let out a bored *whumpf* and lay down, resting its head on its paws.

Kaelen, who had been observing the entire scene with his usual detached analysis, pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed, a long-suffering sound that carried across the suddenly very attentive yard. ”For gods’ sake,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. ”Three years, a shattered mind, and he’s *still* the most jealous bastard in the kingdom.”

Aster finally allowed himself a small, real smile. He shook his head again, this time in fond exasperation, and turned to walk back to his log. As he passed the two men who had been betting, he paused.

”Pay up,” he said quietly to the one who’d bet on a punch. ”He didn’t hit me. He kissed his husband instead. Smarter move, honestly.”

The soldier grumbled but fished coins from his pocket.

Abel finally broke the kiss, but only far enough to rest his forehead against Orion’s. Their breaths mingled, fast and warm. His eyes were closed.

”Mine,” he whispered again, but now it was a sigh. A truth. A relief.

”Yours,” Orion whispered back, his own heart hammering against Abel’s chest. ”Always.”

Only then did Abel seem to remember they weren’t alone. He opened his eyes, glanced around at the ring of faces—some grinning, some pretending to look at the sky, some openly weeping with sentimental joy (Jax). A faint blush colored the tops of his cheekbones.

He didn’t put Orion down. Instead, he shifted him in his arms, settling him into a more comfortable carry, one that clearly stated he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

He looked at Aster, who was now calmly drinking from a waterskin. ”We’re going home,” Abel announced, his voice regaining a hint of its old, unconscious command.

Aster nodded. ”Of course, Captain.”

Abel turned, Orion secure in his arms, and began to stride purposefully back toward the path that led to the manor. He didn’t look back.

As they disappeared into the trees, the clearing erupted in a wave of released tension and chatter.

”Did you see his face? I thought he was gonna tear Aster’s head off!”

”Never seen a man go from murder to... *that*... so fast.”

”Love’s a hell of a thing, ain’t it?”

”The consort handled him like a master horseman. Didn’t even flinch.”

Loren threw his arms in the air. ”And *my* joke was still better!”

Aster sat back down on his log. He picked up his whetstone and resumed sharpening his sword. The rhythmic *shink-shink* filled the air once more.

After a moment, he spoke, not looking up. ”Alright, you lot. Show’s over. If you’ve got enough energy to gossip, you’ve got enough energy for another round of drills. Form up!”

The groans were immediate and heartfelt, but they were smiling groans. As they moved back into formation, the story was already being woven into the unit’s legend—the day the ghost of their captain returned, if only for a moment, to claim what was his.

And back on the path, cradled safely against the heartbeat of his fiercely possessive, beautifully complicated husband, Orion Valerian hid his smile in Abel’s neck and held on tight.