Saving You (Tempest #1)

Jorak

The static of Redbrook is still crawling under my skin, a thousand tiny needles of corrupted power that refuse to settle, the city's sickness clinging to me.

The mission was a success, if everyone listens to the suits at the ESA, but successes usually don't involve two Guides being hauled off on gurneys.

I watch them go, my chest heaving. One is limp, head lolling like a broken doll. The other is vibrating so hard I can hear their teeth clicking together, the sharp, sour tang of burnout flooding the hallway. It's the smell of failure. It's the smell of me.

Nobody looks at me, though. They look at the floor, the walls, their clipboards, anywhere but at the S-Class Enigma who just fried two of their best assets. They treat me like a natural disaster that just happens to wear boots.

Granted, it’s not my fucking fault that they keep putting me out there to fix a problem without the right support.

What’s worse is that the leftover corruption from the suppression node running through me isn’t the only problem.

It's my rut. It's hitting early, sparked by the adrenaline and the friction of too much power with nowhere to go.

"Into the wing, Jorak," Mercer says, standing there in his tailored suit, the human face of my cage, watching as the orderlies start stripping my field gear away. “It’s time to medicate and diagnose this past mission.”

"The medication won't work," I rasp. My throat is dry, tasting of black cedar and the metallic bite of the Black Current energy of my Esper humming in my marrow. "The pressure is too high. I need to bleed it off."

Dr. Rue doesn't even look up from the tablet. "We're adjusting the dosage, Jorak. The suppression levels will be sufficient once the sedative peaks. Secure the restraints."

They lead me into the containment room, a space of brushed steel and reinforced glass that I know better than the back of my own hand.

The air here is filtered, lacking the grit of the city, replaced by the sterile hum of the suppression grid built into the walls.

Every time I step inside, the Black Current inside me snarls, recognizing its predator.

The orderlies work in a frantic, rehearsed silence.

They strap my wrists into the magnetic locks, the cold metal biting into skin that already feels feverish.

I don't resist because that’s just more energy for them to measure and more data for Rue to log in a file that is already thick with my transgressions.

I focus on a small scratch on the far wall, a tiny imperfection in the ESA's perfect control.

Heat bleeds hotter through me, pulsing in my gut as my cock throbs in my pants, demanding something I can't have.

It wants a Guide who won't break, an Omega that can bend to my Enigma.

My energy wants a scent that doesn't smell like fear and burnt circuits.

"Vitals are spiking," a technician says from the observation booth, their voice tinny over the intercom. "Black Current output is at thirty percent and climbing. He's resisting the intake."

"He's not resisting," Rue says, finally stepping toward the glass. "His body is rejecting the stabilization. Increase the sedative flow."

I feel the cold rush of the drugs entering my system through the IV, a heavy, synthetic blanket that tries to smother the fire in my veins.

For a second, the world blurs, the edges of the room softening into a gray haze.

I want to let it take me. I want to disappear into the numbness where the Black Current can't find me.

But the corruption from the Redbrook node is still there, reacting to the sedative as the pressure continues to build.

"Stop," I choke out. "You're trapping it. If you don't let it out, the feedback will—"

"We are aware of the risks, Jorak," Mercer interrupts, the Alpha standing right against the glass now, his eyes tracking the flicker of black energy dancing across my knuckles. "This is for your safety. And for the safety of the staff."

Safety. It's the lie they use to keep me in chains.

He doesn't care about my safety; he cares about his weapon staying functional.

He cares about the reports he has to file when I break a Guide's mind.

He doesn't see the person strapped to the table.

He sees a failing battery that needs a jumpstart.

The second dose hits and my vision snaps into terrifyingly sharp focus.

The Black Current isn't just humming now; it's screaming.

I can see the energy in the room, the flow of electricity in the overhead lights, the magnetic pulse of the locks, the bio-rhythms of the people behind the glass. It's all too much. It's all noise.

The restraints begin to hum as a thin wisp of black smoke curls from the magnetic lock on my left wrist. I can smell the ozone, sharper than before, mixed with the scent of my own arousal. The rut is twisting, turning from a need into a weapon.

"Get them out," I growl. I'm not looking at the scratch on the wall anymore. I'm looking at Mercer. "Get everyone out of the room. Now."

Rue hesitates. I see his hand hover over the override button. He's a scientist; he knows when a reaction is going critical. But Mercer places a hand on his shoulder, a silent command to stay the course. Mercer believes in his systems. He believes the ESA has accounted for every variable.

He's wrong.

The Black Current erupts, the locks around my wrists disintegrating as the metal turns to fine gray dust in a heartbeat. The monitors in the booth explode in a shower of sparks, plunging the room into a strobing, chaotic darkness.

I hear the screams, the sound of bodies hitting the floor as the shockwave of my power rolls through the room. I control it just enough to push, feeling the resistance of their fear, a physical barrier I have to shove through to get to the door.

The emergency lights kick in, casting everything in a sick, pulsing red. I'm off the table before the orderlies can even reach for their suppression batons, the rut-heat fueling the energy until I can feel the very molecules of the air vibrating around me.

I don't look back at Mercer. I don't want to see the expression on his face, the calculation, the lack of surprise. He'll have a contingency for this. He always does. But he won't expect me to run into the city. He expects me to stay here and be the monster.

Rushing toward the stairs, my skin slick with a sweat that smells like cedar and whiskey and desperation, I focus on one thing: getting out.

The facility guards scramble to keep up, but they're too slow.

I burst through the final security gate, the cold night air of Redbrook hitting me all at once.

It's raining now, a fine, misty drizzle that tastes of soot and failing magic.

The city is alive with the same static that's under my skin, the suppression nodes in the distance glowing with a sickly amber light.

I stumble into an alleyway, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

The Black Current is still coiled inside me, restless and hungry, but for the first time in years, the walls around me aren't made of ESA steel.

I lean against the brick wall, the rough texture grounding me.

I need to move. I need to find somewhere to hide before the recovery teams find my scent.

But my body is failing me, the rut-heat turning my blood to lead.

I can feel the pull of the city, the invisible threads of power that connect every failing node, every desperate soul.

Somewhere out there is the quiet I've been looking for, the stillness of a match. I don't know who they are, or where they are, but I can feel the absence of my match, of my mate like a hole in my chest.

I push off the wall and start walking, deeper into the shadows of Redbrook. I’m an S-Class Enigma in the middle of a rut, a living bomb with a shortened fuse, and for the first time in my life, I'm the one holding the trigger.

The neon signs of the Lower Ward bleed into the puddles, shivering in hues of synthetic violet and dying amber. The suppressants Mercer forced into my veins are starting to curdle, making the heat dipping into my cock even worse.

I reach down to adjust myself, a small growl peeling from my lips as my knot throbs against the pressure. If I don’t find somewhere quick, some poor Omega is getting bent over in the streets.

Which wouldn’t be all that bad if I knew they’d survive my Esper connection.

I turn a corner into a narrow passage choked with discarded crates and the hum of a rusted ventilation unit.

My knees buckle and I hit the wet ground hard, the impact jarring my teeth, but the pain is a relief.

It's sharper than the dull, throbbing ache of the Black Current.

I press my forehead against the cold brick, eyes squeezed shut as I try to breathe through it.

My scent thickens, a beacon to any Guide within three blocks who will feel the ripple of my instability like a physical blow to the chest. Any ESA patrol with a decent sensor will be on me in minutes.

I have to move. I have to find a place where the static isn't so loud.

"Can't stay here, big man," a voice rasps from the shadows of the vent. A scavenger, eyes wide and pupils dilated from a cheap hit of flare-dust, watches me.

I force myself up, my muscles screaming in protest as I head toward the Vesper district.

It's a risk, even though the clinics there are monitored, and neutral ground is a fairy tale Mercer tells the press--but there are places in the cracks of Redbrook where identities are traded for credits and questions aren't asked.

I need an anonymous stall, a scent-blocker, anything to muffle the roar of my blood, and then a sweet little hole to knot until my rut is over.

Continuing to push forward, my hand brushes a metal railing and the iron groans, twisting into a spiral as the Current leeches out of my skin. I pull back, tucking my hands into the pockets of my pants, but I can feel the heat radiating off me.

Why did I run? The question flickers in the dark of my mind.

I could have stayed, let Rue pump me full of enough sedatives to turn my brain to mush, and woken up in three days with a clean file and a new set of restraints.

But I saw Mercer's eyes. He wasn't looking at me like a patient or even a soldier.

He was looking at me like a problem he was finally tired of solving.

He's going to replace me, or he's going to break me so thoroughly that there's nothing left to rebel.

The Redbrook assignment wasn't just a mission; it was a test of how much I could take before I shattered. And I've reached the limit.

The sweet smell of Guide essence and Omega scents fill my nose as I make another sharp turn to the right, heading straight for one of the clinics. A growl permeates through my chest as I get closer, the insane need to fuck into something taking over my rational mind.

I push through the door, the interior a stark contrast to the grime of the street with its muted lights, soft music, and the faint hiss of aerosolized stabilizers.

The receptionist doesn't look up immediately, busy with a terminal.

I stand there, dripping water onto the pristine floor, my breath hitched in my chest. When she finally looks up, her eyes go wide, her nostrils flaring as she catches the scent I'm trying so hard to hide.

"I... I need a room," I rasp. My voice is almost gone, a dry husk of a sound. "Private. Emergency intake."

I don't have my credits. I don't have my ID. I have nothing but the clothes on my back and the monster in my blood.

“Right, of course.” The small Alpha fumbles with something in a drawer before producing a small kit and clearing her throat. “I just need to conduct a quick blood test to ensure we pair you with the right Omega.”

I manage to nod, the muscles in my jaw pulling tight as she opens a small pin, jabs it into my finger, and dots the kit paper. She stares for several seconds, her eyes widening impossibly further before she nods.

“Wow, yes. Okay. Please, right this way.”

I don’t know what she found so long as it gets me into a room with someone I won’t kill. The Alpha grabs a key and rushes around the desk before herding me down the hall to one of the rooms at the back.

She flinches as a spark of black static jumps between us, but she’s already moving to close the door.

I don't know if this will save me. I don't know if I'll burn this place to the ground before morning. All I know is that for the first time since I was a child, I’m out of Mercer's reach, and the city of Redbrook is the only witness to my collapse.