Mr. Trent, who had been diligently toiling away in the adjacent field, gripped his sickle tightly and rushed over with a sense of urgency that defied his age. He had been so engrossed in his own agricultural tasks, the rhythm of the harvest consuming his attention, that he hadn't initially noticed the disturbance. It was only when he straightened his back to wipe the sweat from his brow that his gaze drifted across the boundary line, landing squarely on the unfolding scene: Ewan, the young newcomer, was being cornered and berated by Buck and his insufferable mother.
Mr. Trent knew exactly what kind of people constituted that household. He didn't need a dossier to understand the dynamics at play. Decades of living in the same village had taught him everything he needed to know. They had undoubtedly spotted the young Omega alone out in the open fields, isolated, vulnerable, and without a protector in sight. Coupled with the fact that Ewan was a fresh face in the village, someone without established roots or connections, they saw him as the perfect target. It was a classic, albeit pathetic, attempt to bully the weak to stroke their own inflated egos.
When the middle-aged woman saw Mr. Trent approaching, a flicker of hesitation crossed her face. She was wary, certainly, but her sharp tongue was a weapon she rarely sheathed, and she wasn't about to be silenced easily.
"Well, if it isn't Trent." she sneered, her voice pitching up into a shrill register that grated on the ears: "Look! Just look at this! Look at this thing here! My family came over with the absolute best of intentions, trying to offer a helping hand to this boy, and what do we get in return? He tries to set that monster on us! He was planning to let that abomination burn me to death!"
As she spewed her accusations, she threw her head back and wailed dryly, her hand coming up to wipe away tears that simply did not exist. It was a performance, and a bad one at that. There wasn't a single drop of moisture on her face, but she committed to the act with shameless dedication. Mr. Trent, however, was immune to her theatrics. He was all too familiar with her greed, her irrationality, and her penchant for twisting the truth until it snapped. She was a woman who could argue that black was white if it benefited her wallet.
"Save your breath." Mr. Trent barked, stepping firmly in front of Ewan, effectively placing himself as a physical barrier between the young Omega and the toxic duo. He looked at Buck's mother with a gaze full of undisguised disdain: "You think I was born yesterday? Stop this nonsense immediately! I am neither blind nor deaf, woman. We have lived in this same village for decades. Do you honestly think I don't know the stench of your virtue by now? I can smell your rotten character from a mile away."
He didn't let her interrupt, his voice rising with righteous indignation: "So, what is the plan here, exactly? You saw an Omega alone and decided it was prime time for some bullying? Or perhaps you were thinking of dragging him back to your hovel to be a daughter-in-law, or better yet, a slave for your family? You have some nerve, I'll give you that. Do you realize who he is staying with? He is under Asher Ryder's protection! Aren't you afraid that Asher will come over there and tear the roof off your house with his bare hands?"
The mention of Asher's name seemed to strike a nerve, but instead of retreating, the woman's face turned a mottled shade of red, her embarrassment transforming instantly into defensive rage.
"You... what kind of garbage are you spouting, old man?" she shrieked, her voice cracking: "It was clear as day that I had good intentions! I wanted to help him! Who in their right mind would want to drag this piece of baggage back home? An Omega who shamelessly lives in an Alpha's house like this... who knows how many times he's been pressed down and used? He's nothing but a loose, promiscuous thing! Who would want such damaged goods?"
It was unclear which part of Mr. Trent's rebuke had triggered her so violently, but the floodgates of her vulgarity had been blown wide open. Her tongue lashed out, spewing a torrent of obscenities and slut-shaming insults that were so vile, so incredibly below the belt, that they were unacceptable by even the lowest standards of decency. The air seemed to pollute with her words.
However, just as she opened her mouth to unleash another wave of venomous remarks, a sudden chill ran down her spine. It wasn't a breeze. It was a visceral sensation of dread, a cold shiver of killing intent that washed over her from behind, causing the hair on her neck to stand on end.
She froze, the words dying in her throat, and hurriedly whipped her head around to look behind her.
Emerging from the overgrown trail that led deep into the dense forest was a figure that commanded immediate silence. A man, tall and imposing, walked out of the shadows with a steady, ground-shaking gait. It was Asher Ryder.
He looked every bit the apex predator returning to his den. In one hand, he effortlessly gripped the bound legs of two wild pheasants, their colorful plumage swaying with his stride. In the other, he held a massive, hefty wild hare by the ears. But it wasn't the fresh game that was terrifying, it was his expression. Asher's eyes, which usually held a vague, dormant ferocity, had darkened into abyssal pools of cold rage. His gaze was sharp enough to slice skin, honed like a blade, and he fixed that terrifying stare directly on Buck and his mother.
The hunter didn't say a word initially. He ignored their presence as if they were nothing more than stones on the road, walking straight past them to where Ewan stood. He dropped his spoils of war onto the ground with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Only then did he turn, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the trembling mother and son.
He opened his mouth and uttered a single syllable, cold as glacial ice.
"Scram."
The volume of his voice wasn't particularly high, he didn't shout or scream. Yet, the sheer weight behind that one word caused the middle-aged woman and her oversized son to shudder visibly. In this village, everyone knew the unspoken rule: Asher Ryder was generally a decent, helpful neighbor, but he was absolutely not someone you provoked. He was a hunter who lived by the law of the wild, and he never tolerated anyone crossing his boundaries. Once this man's anger was ignited, there was no guarantee that anyone could stop the ensuing fire.