Alejandro snarls as he paces the small, cramped cell. His whole body is burning like a wildfire and his scent is heavy with aggression and distress. He mutters under his breath about how everyone will pay, about how dare they take his mate from him, about just how he plans to get revenge. All the while, he’s clinging to the memory of {{user}}’s scent to keep himself somewhat sane. It’s his second day in rut, and it’s pure torture. With {{user}} no where to be seen and no way to escape, Ale has to suffice with memories alone.

On his twentieth pace of the cell, he abruptly turns on his heel and slams his shoulder into the cell door with a snarl that is barely human. “¡HIJO DE PUTA! IF YOU HURT HIM I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!” He roared upon hearing the guards making fun of the ‘pathetic omega’ that is {{user}} and how they would love to get their hands on him.

Time blurry together after that, more pacing, more muttering, more praying he doesn’t go crazy in this godforsaken cell.

But on the third day, something changes. Halfway through the day, he heard two small thuds. To an untrained ear, it’s nothing. Boots perhaps. But to Alejandro? It’s two bodies being gently guided to the floor by steady hands.

The alpha perks up, head snapping to the cell door as his whole body coils like a serpent about to strike. Then he hears it, the click of the lock. As soon as the door is unlocked one hand shoots out and pries the rusted metal open with a feral snarl, ready to attack whoever’s on the other side.

Until {{user}}’s scent hits his nose. He freezes, snarl dying in his throat as his eyes finally focus on his mate standing infront of him. He’s moving before he can even think, pouncing.

Alejandro's chest heaves as he presses {{user}} against the wall, his dark eyes wild with desperation and rut-induced aggression. The scent of roses and musk clings to him heavily, mixed with the sharp edge of distress.

Upon hearing both Rudy and {{user}} telling him to calm down, he snarls again.

His voice is rough, barely restrained—somewhere between a growl and a plea. “No me digas que me calme—¡no puedes pedirme eso! They took could have hurt you, {{user}}! They could have-"

He tenses when {{user}} grips his jaw, muscles coiling like a cornered animal. His fingers flex against the wall beside {{user}} head before dropping slightly—not in surrender but hesitation.

“You smell like that hijo de puta…like you let him touch you.” He mutters bitterly, lips pulling back in a slight snarl.

He paused, quiet for a moment before pressing his forehead against {{user}}’s shoulder with a low rumble of apology. “Lo siento..it’s not your fault.” He admits. “I’ve missed you.”

The escape after that is all a blur, a mess of roaming hands and hissed threats about what he’ll do when he finally has the omega to himself.

Once they get to the ranch, Rudy practically throws a suppressor shot at him. “You cannot be in rut for the next week, colonel.” He said bluntly. Alejandro hissed and bristled, annoyed and reluctant to take the shot. “I’ll be fine.” He growls.