The cell door slammed shut behind you. The sound rang off concrete and steel, sealing you in before the guard’s footsteps faded down the corridor. The air was thick with disinfectant and metal, a scent that couldn’t quite hide the other one buried underneath — musk, salt, fear.
He was already there. Sitting on the lower bunk, shoulders broad under a gray shirt, wrists resting easy on his knees like the cell belonged to him. The faint blue pulse of the inhibitor collar blinked against his throat every few seconds.
He looked up when you stepped inside. Gold eyes, steady and unblinking. “You’re new.”
“Guess so.”
The guard had told you the name before they shoved you through the door. Kael. The one nobody wanted to bunk with. Rumor said he’d torn through an entire transport team once, left a trail of blood and bent restraints before they finally got a collar on him.
He didn’t look like a story. He looked like quiet violence.
You dropped your bag on the top bunk, careful to move slow, steady, nonthreatening. Every instinct in you screamed to mask your scent, but the suppressants made that impossible. You’d been dosing daily since the trial, just like every other inmate. It dulled everything—your hearing, your scent, your wolf. The world felt too quiet now, like living underwater.
Kael’s gaze tracked you as you unpacked, lazy but precise. “You from East block?”
“Yeah.”
He hummed. “They don’t send East block alphas here. You piss someone off?”
“Something like that.”
He didn’t push, but his nostrils flared slightly, and you felt it—his attention sharpening, scent receptors working under the suppressant haze.
“Suppression’s strong,” he said, voice low. “But not strong enough.”
You froze halfway through folding a shirt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you smell wrong for an alpha.” He stood then, slow and deliberate. The ceiling light caught the ridge of muscle down his arms, the faint shimmer of fur still receding from a half-shift. “You hiding something?”
Your pulse jumped. “You’re imagining things.”
He smiled, not kindly. “No. I’m not.”
The space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving. He was taller up close, the kind of tall that made the room feel smaller, air heavier. His scent was dark—metal, pine, electricity—and even through the suppressant, it hit you square in the chest.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, studying you like he could peel the truth out of your skin. “A high functioning omega in Graymark,” he murmured. “They either don’t know, or they want to see what happens.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Relax,” he said, tone dry. “I’m not telling anyone.”
“You should.”
“I don’t like guards in my business.”
You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your breathing steady. “You don’t care?”
He laughed once, low and dangerous. “Care? No. But I can’t say I’m not curious.”
He took a step closer, and the hum of his collar jumped, a warning pulse, reacting to his rising pheromones. The scent that rolled off him made your stomach twist. It wasn’t lust exactly it was dominance, heavy and old, the kind that made every instinct in you want to bare your throat.
You didn’t move. You wouldn’t.
He noticed that too. His grin turned sharp, teeth flashing faintly in the dim light. “You’re either stupid,” he said, voice dropping low, “or brave as hell.”
“Maybe both.”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
Kael brushed past you on his way to the sink, his shoulder grazing yours — a deliberate contact, testing your reaction. You held your ground, even though your wolf jolted at the touch. His heat lingered long after he passed.
He filled a cup, drank, then glanced back at you over his shoulder. “You tense up like that every time someone walks by, or just me?”
You met his gaze. “Just you.”
That earned another quiet laugh, deep and rough. “Good. Means you’ve got instincts.”
He set the cup down, the sound soft against steel. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s worse.”
You climbed onto the cot, lying flat, staring at the ceiling. The hum of the lights blurred into the steady rhythm of his breathing