Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Ren pressed his fingertips into his stomach, frowning at how deeply they went into the skin, into the softness that had grown there.
His scowl deepened as he pushed down harder, until his nails dug crescent marks into his stomach, until it felt like the tender flesh would bruise from the simple act.
“What are you doing?”
Ren startled, sitting up straight and looking at Falk with wide eyes.
His guard—yes, Falk was his guard he had quickly discovered—was peering at him as he walked down the steps.
He had disappeared for an indeterminable amount of time like he always did every once in a while.
Ren assumed he had been going to his room to sleep or was getting food during these times.
He shoved his sweater down to cover his exposed stomach.
“Nothing,” Ren said sweetly, smiling brightly. Falk eyed him warily. “Did you bring me food?” It was what Ren always asked when Falk showed up without a plate.
He had been expecting Falk to be gone for longer—when he left it usually felt like eternities before he returned. Ren had been expecting the other guards to relieve him of his duties for the night, but they hadn’t come down at all.
Of course, there were times when Falk couldn’t be the one guarding him.
Ren hated those times.
While Falk could be grumpy, could snap at him when Ren was being particularly annoying, and could argue with him about most topics, at least he would give Ren extra clothes, extra water, and sometimes, even extra food.
Having Falk around rather than those other Alphas made Ren relax more than it probably should have.
Sometimes, he forgot Falk was an Alpha too.
When Falk ignored his question about food, Ren asked, “Did you get to rest?”
Falk shook his head. He pulled off the sweater he wore over his Warrior leathers and draped it over the back of his chair. He sank down into the wooden chair, leaning over to balance his elbows on his knees to watch him—he was always watching him.
Ren didn’t know how Falk didn’t get bored—he never brought a book or activity to do when he came to guard Ren every day.
He just sat there and watched Ren, barely even speaking or moving.
He thought maybe Falk was a bit dumb—maybe he could truly sit there and do nothing and not go mad.
Ren was worried he was going to go insane in the cell and it had only been a few weeks.
Ren tried to keep himself entertained with the few things Falk had been allowed to bring him—a couple novels, a single ball to bounce against the wall, and a small notebook and pen. But day in and day out, he got sick of it all—there was only so much one could do to fill the endless days.
“Did you really not bring me any food?” Ren asked. “I’m hungry,” he said, wrapping his arms around his stomach.
Falk rolled his eyes. “You are always hungry,” he muttered.
Ren frowned but decided to try a different approach. “You really should get some sleep,” Ren hummed. “Or get food—to be honest, I’m not sure what time it is. But you’ve been down here quite a while with me.”
“I’m fine,” Falk assured him, “Do not worry yourself over me.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about you,” Ren said.
“What if you fall asleep here and there is a fire and I’m unable to get out because you have been burned alive without opening the door for me?
Or, what if you don’t rest and end up collapsing from exhaustion and I have some new guard? Who will bring me extra food then?”
Falk didn’t answer his rambling—Ren knew he had gotten sick of his constant ‘what if’s’ and discussions where his imagination ran wild, always sticking onto the worst possible scenarios that could happen.
“I will be leaving again shortly,” Falk said after several heartbeats of silence. “There were no other guards around to come watch you at this time.”
“Ah,” Ren nodded. “You really got the short end of the stick, huh? Having to sit down here and watch the crazy prisoner.”
Falk’s eyebrows arched. “Better crazy than aggressive or violent.”
“They have me down here because they believe I killed five Alphas,” Ren said. Falk’s jaw clenched shut. Ren tilted his head to one side, considering Falk before asking, “Do you believe I killed them?”
“I’m not sure,” Falk said slowly.
Ren opened his mouth to speak, but their conversation was cut off by footsteps, jingling keys, and loud, laughing voices coming down the stairwell. Falk stood when the two now-familiar Alphas appeared. Ren wished they weren’t familiar.
“Hey, Falk, you’re good to go,” the black-haired one said. Ren wrinkled his nose— the guard smelled like burnt firewood. It made Ren almost gag every time he came down the steps. “We can handle the little Omega from here.”
Falk didn’t answer, just bowed his head in acknowledgement. He glanced back at Ren for a moment before walking back up the stairs without another word.
“Come get your water, Omega,” the other Alpha—the one with sandy, blonde hair—called out to him. He smelled sour like lemons or some other rotten fruit. Another scent that had Ren’s insides twisting in disgust.
All Alphas smelled disgusting to him nowadays—even when he got whiffs from the prison cells down the hall, his stomach would roll.
Only Falk, with his spicy clove scent, brought him comfort like an Alpha’s scent was supposed to.
Ren scowled but got to his feet. The Alpha unlocked the small slot in the bars that was just big enough to pass water and food through.
He took the glass, careful to not even let his fingertips brush over the Alpha’s, and immediately chugged the water down.
Ren got five of these cups a day and there was no way he would miss out on one, even if he didn’t want to get close to the Alphas.
His throat was parched, his lips already had begun cracking from how dehydrated they always were; he was sure the amount of water they gave him was the bare minimum to keep him alive rather than keep him healthy.
“Always so thirsty,” one of them hummed.
“Omegas are always greedy.”
“We could give you something else to help quench that thirst.”
Once he was done, Ren thrust his hand out of the bars to hand over the cup again.
Ignoring the men’s conversation, he turned and headed back to bed.
He didn’t like to be awake when Falk wasn’t the one here watching over him.
He always curled up, back to the Alphas, and tried to get some sleep to drown out their endless chattering.
“Hey, Omega.”
Ren’s jaw tightened, ignoring the call. He was sure they could see how he stiffened, even with his back to them.
“We know you’re not asleep.”
Ren squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He had told Falk about the comments these Alphas had made toward him—how they jeered at him about his scent, his body. Falk had told him that he would try to do something about it, but still, they came down here and heckled him.
Ren usually saw the bars as something keeping him in, away from the outside world, away from freedom, and even away from Falk. But when these Alphas were down here, he felt like the cage was protecting him and keeping them out.
“Ah, he doesn’t want to talk to us?”
“He never wants to talk to us.”
“Yet he sits down here yapping at Falk all day.”
Ren managed to zone them out after that, for at least a little while. He dozed off, mind trickling away into sleep.
He was jolted from unconsciousness by the sound of a harsh, crashing clang that had his pulse spiking in his throat as he threw himself to his knees, ready to run if something was to attack him.
“Ah did we scare you?” The Alphas laughed at his panic.
“We just wanted to say goodbye, Omega.”
Ren’s shoulders sagged, crumpling in on himself. They waved, grinning maniacally. They knew exactly what they had done.
“See you tomorrow, Omega,” they yelled at him.
His heart was still racing long after they were gone.
He took several long, deep breaths, trying to settle the incessant pressure behind his ribcage. He slumped back down onto his mattress, still staring at the stairs and wondering when Falk would reappear.
Ren tried to shut his eyes, tried to go back to sleep, knowing his guard would be back by then for sure, but just when he felt himself starting to relax again, he suddenly caught a whiff of spiced cloves.
When he opened them again, he was prepared to see Falk returning silently—always as quiet as possible to make sure he didn’t wake Ren.
But the room was still empty, and no footsteps were coming down toward him.
He noticed the familiar black sweater a moment later. It had been draped over his chair, but the Alphas must have knocked it to the ground when they stood up to leave.
Ren stared at it—the black, knitted material piled in a puddle on the floor outside the bars of his cage. The scent of it made his head spin.
Ren glanced each way before he crawled over to the bars, kneeling right up against them so he could inspect the sweater up close. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before reaching out.
His tongue peeked out as he strained forward. He waved his hand around, desperately trying to grab even a tiny bit of the wool, but it was just out of reach.
Ren scowled at the inch in between his fingertips and the comforting scent—he wanted it, he needed it.
He tried to will it into his hand, trying to make it move by glaring at it. But the black fabric remained where it had fallen.
Ren huffed in annoyance as he pulled his arm back. Fisting the poles in his hands, he looked around to see if there was anything that could extend his reach. He brightened when he remembered the book Falk had brought him a week ago—an old collection of children’s fairy tales.
The book was small, yet big enough to help Ren rake the sweater forward until his hand could easily catch it.