Ezra's mind went blank.
Rut.
The word echoed in his head, heavy with meanings he'd only ever heard whispered late at night among his knights.
Alphas and Betas speaking carefully, half-joking but never lightly, as if even saying it aloud invited trouble.
An alpha's rut wasn't just desire.
It was a relentless, days-long drive. The need to mate, to claim, to dominate, to breed.
An instinct so strong it drowned out logic and restraint.
Much like an omega's heat, a rut came in cycles. Every two or three months. Or worse, it could be triggered by a compatible omega at the peak of heat.
Ezra swallowed.
'No,' he thought faintly. 'That can't be right.'
They should be done.
Ezra should be on his way back to his home.
Unlike an omega's heat, which was often painful and humiliating, an alpha's rut wasn't something endured quietly.
It was all-consuming.
And dangerous.
Not so much to the alpha themselves, but to everyone around them.
