Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was pretty pathetic that a single little kiss sent Ren into heat.
Ren glared up at the ceiling, hating how his body always betrayed him.
He wasn’t uncomfortable yet. The heat was only just beneath the surface of his skin, making his veins hot and his head spin.
His scent must be driving the other prisoners, as well as his guard, crazy with how it spread out, extra thick in the stale, moist air.
He had stopped trying to cover himself——his blankets and clothing were scorching.
They were forcing him further into his heat too quickly.
“Falk,” he said loudly, drawing out the word. He knew Falk wouldn’t answer him;—he hadn’t spoken to Ren in weeks, not since the coronation. “Falk,” he repeated, his voice breaking on the word, a sob threatening to escape his lips. “Please.”
He turned over onto his side, scowling as pained tears slid onto his cheeks.
Falk was sitting where he always sat, gaze fixed on Ren with his arms crossed over his chest. His lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Please,” Ren whimpered. “It hurts so badly, Falk.”
And this was barely the beginning. Ren had only experienced one heat before, and hadn’t made it further than a few hours before it was relieved by the new pain of Alphas’ knots pressing into him over and over again.
He knew the pain would get worse from here—knew it was all-consuming from how Omegas talk about it.
Ren’s legs trembled, a horrible, anxious energy flowing through them, thicker than his blood.
He kicked a few times, trying to rid them of the tingling that started in his toes and was slowly filtering up to his knees and thighs.
He knew what the feeling was, even if he didn’t want to admit it—his body wanted, no needed, an Alpha to make it feel better.
“Please,” Ren whispered again, lips barely moving. “Can I please at least have one of your sweaters?” His store of Falk’s clothing had stopped smelling like the Alpha a long time ago—Ren had cried the first time he pressed his nose into them and only smelled himself.
Falk didn’t move, didn’t even show he had heard Ren at all.
“Falk!” Ren screamed, hoping the volume of his voice at least would make him jump. But Falk stayed statue still. “Falk, please.”
Falk had every right to not give him special treatment after Ren betrayed him. When he blinked, Ren still sometimes saw the look of hurt in Falk’s eyes, saw him flat on his back under Ren’s foot.
He also had never seen Falk look as angry as he had when he dragged Ren back to the castle. He didn’t stop marching forward even as Ren stumbled and tripped over his feet, landing hard on his already bloodied knees. Ren had known not to complain at the time, though.
He realized he had truly screwed up when that anger didn’t leave Falk’s shoulders even after a few days.
Falk barely even looked at him as he handed Ren the exact amount of food he was allowed on his plate.
Falk ignored the prisoners shouting at him to give Ren their bread, and ignored Ren’s pleas for extra food and water.
He argued he was still healing—his body was still weak.
But Falk just stared at him, expression blank.
It had been weeks now of the same treatment, and Ren thought he would lose his mind here without even Falk to talk to. He was glad Falk didn’t take away his ball or books, but he wasn’t bringing down anything new for Ren to chase away his boredom with.
Ren didn’t think Falk would ignore him for so long, had assumed Falk’s soft spot for him ran deep enough he would forget about what Ren had done.
“You have to understand why I tried to run,” Ren said, interrupting the string of pleas he was whispering.
It seemed to catch Falk’s attention. His gaze moved to Ren’s before he could catch himself.
“You have to understand why I would try to get away whenever I can—I am sentenced to life down here, I have nothing left to lose.”
Ren thought Falk would stay silent like he had for weeks now. But Falk’s lips moved enough to speak through gritted teeth, “Of course I understand.”
Ren sat up a bit, mouth hanging open. “Then why are you punishing me like this?” he whispered incredulously.
“I understand why you want to run away,” Falk said slowly. “What I don’t understand is why you had to do it… in that way. I don’t understand why you had to play with me like that.”
Ren wanted to answer, he really did, but a fresh wave of nausea and pain in his lower stomach washed over him.
He groaned loudly, turning over to press his face into his pillow and wrap his arms tighter around himself.
All he could focus on for a few seconds was trying to steady his breathing and keep his heart from pounding right out of his ribcage.
Ren flinched at the sound of the wooden chair scraping against the stone floors.
Ren’s eyes went round as he forced himself to sit up and scoot back a bit, terrified Falk would come through the bars of his cell and attack him.
With anger crossed over his face, his lips pulled back in a near snarl, Falk looked more like an Alpha than ever before.
The silence that settled between the two of them was deafening, Ren barely dared to breathe.
He almost wanted Falk to scream at him, to throw that anger at him—it would be so much easier to write him off as just another Alpha if he did.
But of course, Falk didn’t do anything Ren would expect from an Alpha. Instead, he huffed and turned to leave. He stomped up the stairs, steps quicker than usual, trying to run from Ren even though he couldn’t chase after him.
When Falk didn’t return immediately, Ren wondered if he ever would.
He wondered if that anger would be the last thing he ever saw of Falk.
He wondered if Falk would be replaced by a new Alpha guard who would mock and abuse Ren rather than comfort and care for him.
The thoughts made Ren’s entire body ache even worse than the heat.
He couldn’t think about it for long because that night his heat fully hit.
The Alphas in the other cells groaned in distress as Ren writhed in pain.
He twisted and turned every direction he could, screaming into his pillow in frustration, but nothing helped.
He sobbed, entire body heaving, as he trembled and fought through wave after wave of fire coursing through his spine.
“Falk!” he screamed over and over again. “Please, please, I’m sorry—please help me.”
Delirium from pain and wracked sobs consumed him, his head spinning enough that, when a figure did finally appear outside of his cell, he had assumed it was a hallucination. Falk couldn’t have actually come back.
Ren threw himself off of his mattress the moment he noticed Falk standing right outside, gazing in at him. He couldn’t read the expression on his face, what the pinched lines around his nose and eyes indicated. And the heat screaming inside of his head didn’t care.
Ren slammed into the bars, thrusting his hands through them and grabbing for Falk. He couldn’t believe it when he was actually able to grab onto his shirt, tugging him forward as he sobbed. “Alpha, Alpha please—please help me.”
He didn’t know why Falk just stood there, staring at him, when he should be coming into the cell and helping him with the pain he was in.
Ren wanted to bury his nose in the Alpha’s neck, wanted to lick the skin there to be able to taste the spicy scent that had sunk its way into his dreams. He needed it—needed Falk.
“I brought you some clothes.”
Ren didn’t even register the words, whining loudly as he tried to rip Falk’s shirt from his body, trying to somehow pull him through the tiny gaps in the bars.
Ren finally noticed the bundle of clothing Falk had brought when he shoved his hands away from him, making him howl in distress. Falk put the sweaters and shirts into Ren’s hands and pushed them back into his cell.
It took Ren a moment to realize what he had been given before he shoved his face into the fabric.
Alpha, Alpha, Alpha.
Once his conscious mind caught up to him, he paused. He sniffed the sweater again—a gray one, rather than the normal black color Falk wore—and was confused when he smelled crisp, cold air with a hint of sweet berries rather than the spicy, smoky scent he wanted so badly.
Ren looked up, glaring at the Alpha. He threw the sweaters through the bars at him, scowling when Falk ignored the assault entirely and let the clothing drop to the ground at his feet.
“What is this?” Ren screeched. “I don’t want this!”
“These are clothes from an Alpha,” Falk said slowly. “You need an Alpha’s scent to?—”
“I want your clothes,” Ren growled. “I don’t want just any Alpha’s!”
Falk’s jaw tightened, the quickest flash of the look he had given Ren in the woods the day they had kissed passed over his face—the one Ren couldn’t figure out how to read. “Well, that’s what you get,” Falk whispered after a moment.
Ren threw himself against the bars again, reaching out, trying to grab Falk by the shirt again.
Falk stepped back, just out of his reach.
“Give me it! Give me your scent,” Ren screamed.
Fresh streams of tears fell down his face as he begged.
“Please, Falk. Please don’t do this to me.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I made you mad, Alpha. Please.”
Ren sobbed harder, loud, hysterical sounds as Falk stepped fully back until he could sit in his chair, far out of Ren’s reach—far out of the radius in which he could even smell him.
Ren fell to his knees, rubbed his hands over his face, and cried harder. He reached through the bars again to grab the sweaters that had fallen. Falk gave him an incredulous look, mouth dropping open as Ren crawled back to his bed.