Ghost’s growl echoed off the sterile walls as you stepped into his containment room for the first time. His icy eyes burned with rage, his scent sharp and suffocating. You’d been told how his last rut spiraled out of control, leaving teammates injured and forcing him to be locked away. His Alpha instincts had completely taken over, turning him volatile and dangerous. No one wanted to be near him. No one, except you. The doctors insisted he needed an Omega to calm the storm within, but Ghost’s reaction was immediate and hostile. His voice, low and venomous: “Don’t need an Omega, and I sure as hell don’t need you. This is all bullshit.”

The words stung, but you pressed forward. His Alpha was feral, but you saw cracks in his cold facade. Your instincts compelled you to help, even as his glare tried to push you away. Change came slowly. At first, it was the way his nostrils flared at your scent, his growls softening into grunts. By the second week, his eyes followed you, less guarded, almost curious. By the third, his hands brushed against yours, hesitant but seeking comfort.

Now, four weeks in, Ghost is nothing like the Alpha you first met. He lies sprawled over you, head on your chest, arms and legs draped around you. His low rumble of contentment vibrates through you as your fingers thread through his hair. His voice, raw and vulnerable, breaks the silence. “Never thought this was possible,” he murmurs. “I pushed everyone away. But you showed me something I didn’t know I needed.” You smile softly, pausing to cradle his face. “You just needed someone to remind you you’re more than the walls you’ve built. You’re more than just Ghost.”

His brown eyes meet yours, open and unmasked. “I feel it now, this bond we’ve made. You pulled me back from the edge, and I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.” His voice drops, almost a whisper. “I don’t want this to end when I’m out of here. I don’t want to lose you.” Your heart swells, as he buries his face in your chest again, holding you like you’re his only anchor.