Chapter 35
Chapter 35
Rane
The world is heavy. Not the weight of chains—not just that. This weight is inside me. Bones. Blood. Breath. Sedative fog presses in. A dull choke. My muscles want to move but the air is thick, the walls thick, my mind thick. But then—
Her.
The scent cuts through everything. Thin at first. Faint. But it moves inside me like fire moves through dry leaves—quiet, then fast, then everywhere. She was here. I know it. The door. The air. Even the walls remember her. The chain at my ankle scrapes the floor. I shift. My wrists bite against metal. The guards always strap me like this. Two points on the floor, one high at my throat when they think I might try to lunge. They always think I might. But now—
My lungs pull in the scent again, deeper, until the world tilts. Something wakes. Not hunger. Not rage. Other.
I've never been through it so I almost don’t know the shape of it. I growl low, tasting her on the air. My mouth is wet. My body moves against the restraints—slow at first, then harder. The fog cracks just enough for instinct to pour through. The chain snaps tight. The collar bites. But it doesn’t matter. I can feel it—deep, hot, wrong. The heat the drugs never gave me. The heat I refused them for decades. But now it climbs my spine from her scent alone. I pull harder. Muscles burn. My cock aches against the cold air, swelling in a way I haven’t felt in years—not from their poison, but her. They notice. They always notice.
Boots hit the floor fast. Doors slam open. Voices—low at first, then sharp.
“Get somene in here—now!”
I snarl, teeth bare. The chains rattle. They move to the edges of the room, dragging women with them. Humans. Perfume-sick. Wrong. Not her. One comes close, eyes wide, trying to smile like it might help. I move before she can breathe. The collar strains. My teeth sink into flesh. I hear the scream before they drag her away, blood warm on my tongue. Another tries. I break the chain at my ankle, lunge. The rest scatter before they even reach me. Her scent is still here. Not theirs. Not theirs. Mine.
The noise swells. Metal clashing. Orders barked. I twist in the chains, the scent still clawing at me. I can’t get enough of it—can’t get it out. My skin feels too tight, every breath scraping like teeth against bone. Hands try to grab me from the side. Wrong hands. Wrong smell. I snap at them. Hear the shuffle of retreat.
“Hit him—double dose!”
The hiss of the injector comes. I pull against the collar, slam a shoulder into one of them, feel bone give under the impact. A shout. The sedative bites, cold and sharp through my veins. The world tilts but my body refuses to still. My muscles fight the drug, fight the hands, fight everything that isn’t the scent. I’m on my knees now, but the chain in my hands is tight enough to bend. I use it. Jerk one handler forward—his head smashes into my shoulder, blood pouring hot and fast. They scream his name. Drag him back. No one else comes close. They keep throwing voices around the room, shadows moving in the corners. More boots. More restraints. Someone shouts for heavier sedatives. It doesn’t matter. I lean forward, nostrils flaring. The scent is weaker now—fading under metal and blood and chemicals. The loss makes something deep in my chest snap. My growl rattles through the floor. They start sealing the doors. One last look from a handler—fear in his eyes. Not the usual fear. This is different. This is knowing I’m not supposed to be able to do this.
The second hit of sedative comes hard. My body jerks, limbs heavy, head falling forward until the floor meets my cheek. My vision narrows to black edges. But the heat is still there. Small. Coiled. Waiting.
Not theirs.
Never theirs.
The dark isn’t quiet.
It hums.
Low.
Relentless.
The sedative drags me under, but not far enough. My body twitches, restless against steel. The chain at my throat bites when I shift, when I turn my head like maybe I’ll find it again.
That scent.
It’s gone from the air, but not from me. It lingers under my tongue, pressed into the back of my teeth. My lungs keep reaching for it, greedy and aching. The world tilts in pulses—sound one moment, silence the next. Voices fade in and out. Metal doors. The scrape of a boot. A low argument about dosage. They think I’m still. I’m not. Every muscle is tight under the weight of the drug, but the pull in my chest hasn’t stopped. My skin prickles with phantom heat. The scent teases memory I don’t want to name. My jaw locks, teeth grinding against the gag.
The rut they tried to force into me—
This isn’t it.
That was empty, mechanical.
This…
This is alive.
A sound slips from me, low in my throat, almost unintentional. One of them glances over but says nothing, turns away. They’re busy cleaning the blood, dragging out the bodies. The chain at my wrists trembles as I flex my hands. Just enough to feel it. To know I could. The sedative swells again, heavier now, blank edges closing in. My eyes burn to stay open but the dark is too thick.
Still—
even as the black takes me—
my pulse stays sharp, fast, wrong.
Waiting.
For what, I don’t know.
For who, I refuse to think.