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“You said...” Umbra began.
“I know. And I meant it.”
I’d said she was for him. That was why I’d chosen her. And if she was, then I needed to share her scent with Ransom, too.
That evening I was ice cold with dread as I climbed the staircase. Not because her scent wasn’t incredible, but because in the world we lived in, bullets shredded the tapestry of every dream we'd ever dared whisper to life. None were spared. Not ever.
A miracle was incomprehensible.
Yet, I couldn’t bear thatshemight not be enough, because if she wasn’t, then nothing in the universe would be.
So here I was, stepping into Ransom’s room, greeted by the tide of earthy scents that made up Ransom Kingsman. His scent was, perhaps, the only thing that still put on a front of the alpha he’d once been.
At the door, I picked up the metal rod, my heart thundering in my chest, self-loathing sinking its claws in. At the end of the rod was a circular clamp, one that would fit around the neck of even the largest of alphas.
The metal was strong, a type that could withstand the power of an alpha with his aura loose.
Ransom’s room was dimly lit, enough to reveal the shadow of the man I’d come for, and with him, the faintest glint sliding along the chains that held him.
He was asleep.
He could have been peaceful, the way he was curled on his side in the centre of the bed. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling softly. Except there were manacles on his wrists, with chains long enough to give him the most freedom I could manage. He could reach the bathroom, and almost all the way to the door.
Not forever.Too dangerous, I’d been warned.Once his survival instincts go, he could kill himself with those chains by accident.
He was a prisoner. But Ransom Kingsman had been a prisoner of much worse than clinking metal cuffs for a while now.
He had moments of faint lucidity, the lamp would sometimes be on when I’d left it off. But the one time I managed to catch a glimpse of him doing it, I’d realised it meant nothing. The actions were instinct: old pathways in his brain triggering something inconsequential, lighting up and leading the way.
Hewas still vacant.
With the heavy rod still in my grip, I sat at his side carefully, not ready to wake him. I placed the fabric that Shatter had scented before him, air trapped in my lungs as I waited.
His breathing shifted, his brows furrowing, each inhale sharper than the last. A low, unfamiliar growl rose in his chest before cutting off.
What would happen? Would he wake in a furor worse than his usual? Or maybe…
His hand moved, clinking the chains as he reached.
His body went tense as he drew the fabric close, frown deepening. Then his eyes snapped open, a deep chocolate brown, and his pupils blew so wide there was almost no light left in his eyes. A low, loose whine rose in his chest as his fists balled the pillowcase.
My fingers clamped down on the rod, terrified of needing it.
Cold metal crushed my neck, stark against my burning skin. I writhed against it, desperate sounds tearing from my lips.
Rabid. Feral. Broken.
There were two alphas on the other end, pinning me to the ground as I grappled with it.
I couldn’t breathe.
My body was on fire.
This was the consequences of fighting back. Of acting out when the drugs and pain were too much…
I waited.
Nothing. Not for a long, long time.
