FENN DRAX
When I open my eyes, my body is jostled by movement.
Right. The damn orderly must've unlocked the wheels on my gurney. He’s rolling me somewhere, and my head drifts into a foggy haze, same as always after they take a lot of blood.
I feel like absolute crap, like I barely have control over my limbs anymore.
Wilhelm pushes me down a hallway while fluorescent lights slide overhead in perfect intervals, cold blue-white rectangles passing above me like some endless geometric pattern. Their faint electrical buzz reaches me through the haze of exhaustion.
His breathing grows ragged. Pushing my wheeled bed takes a considerable amount of effort.
I weigh nearly nine hundred pounds, and the rolling gurney had to be specially reinforced for me because every standard one eventually fell apart under my mass.
Wilhelm clearly isn't thrilled that he drew the short straw and ended up with the daily job of hauling me through the facility's corridors.
My legs catch on the aluminum edge trim of one of the wall panels as we round a corner, and Wilhelm curses under his breath. "Do you have to be this damn long? You're going to be the death of me one day."
I don't answer him.
Why would I? I'm busy surviving myself.
Then I hear him pull something from his pocket, the snap of a deodorant cap, and I tense immediately.
Wilhelm starts spraying me with it, and I curl up with a groan.
"Please, no!"
I’m allergic to all anti-pheromone deodorants. They give me a nasty rash, and if the dose is too high, I can even go into anaphylactic shock.
But Wilhelm doesn’t listen. He’s probably doing it so the program participants won’t catch my scent and lose their minds over my pheromones, but knowing about my allergy, it only adds another item to the long list of his cruelties.
I clamp my lips shut, fighting for breath.
I’m wearing nothing but a pair of thin hospital pants, my chest left bare so they can have easy access for all their medical procedures.
"It burns…" I mumble, but Wilhelm ignores me.
So I turn my eyes away from his grim expression and fix them on the ceiling.
We move again.
The harsh fluorescent lights eventually give way to warmer LED panels that almost feel like daylight.
Other sounds begin to reach me as well. Voices. Footsteps. Different scents drifting through the air.
Without much interest, I turn my head. My skin feels like it’s burning alive, so I just focus on fighting the horrible sensation, feeling miserable.
For a brief moment, we’re moving through something that looks like an underground promenade, but Wilhelm quickly turns into a side corridor. Even that one isn’t empty. The whole sector is designed for AA program participants, after all.
I notice a small line of people standing along one wall. It looks like there’s a tiny convenience store there, probably selling snacks the cafeteria doesn’t carry, maybe cigarettes or alcohol too, if I had to guess.
Wilhelm curses when one of the gurney wheels gets stuck, and he kicks it in frustration.
More out of boredom than curiosity, I glance at the people waiting.
The participants are all alphas. Unlike the previous program I was part of on Calsing Island, I don’t interact with them, so I don’t even know why I’m looking. Still, my eyes drift across the group.
There are six alphas in line, and the moment I reach the last one, my attention locks onto him like a spotlight.
And… wow.
I’ve rarely seen anyone that beautiful.
His hair falls all the way to the middle of his back, rich brown with a deep auburn sheen catching the light. He turns toward us when he hears the rattle of the gurney wheels.
And his face…
It’s simply too beautiful.
Subtly chiseled, almost too delicate for an alpha. There’s something melancholic about it, something wistful, like he’s carrying an old hurt around with him.
For some reason, his presence hits me instantly, like we’re two strings tuned to the exact same note.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
Of course I automatically draw in a breath, but there’s nothing to catch. The participants’ pheromones are suppressed. Even with my enhanced senses, it’s hard to pick up anything, especially from this distance.
Still, I somehow know his eyes are mint-silver, like the pale treetops of a mountain spruce.
The gurney starts moving slowly; Wilhelm decides to force it forward, with one wheel still jammed, and I realize we’re about to pass the perfect alpha, so with a loud groan I jerk both arms upward.
Unfortunately, they’re still cuffed to the metal frame of the bed, which sends a burst of rattling chains through the corridor.
"Stop!" I shout. "Wilhelm, stop! I need to talk to him!"
Wilhelm leans down toward me.
"Who?"
"Him!" I point toward the line.
"Calm the hell down, Drax. You don't get involved with program participants. You remember how well that worked out for you at the last facility, don't you? You really want to repeat that?"
"Wait! No!" I shout. "Stop!"
I reach toward the stranger.
I see him turn, surprised, noticing my gesture. Confusion flashes across his face.
"Wait! I want to talk to you!" I call after him, completely convinced for some reason that it's incredibly important for him to hear me. More important than anything else.
A matter of life and death, really.
That's when Wilhelm loses patience.
He swings his baton and cracks me straight across the cheekbone. It's his favorite punishment tool, and he never hesitates to use it.
My head snaps sideways, but it takes more than that to knock me out, so I twist back around and reach toward the beautiful stranger again, my cuffs rattling loudly.
"Wait! Please, just one second!" I call. "What's your name? Who are you?"
Damn. That sounds tacky as hell. Seriously, that's the best I've got?
But I don't know what else to say. I've never had a real relationship. I know sex, sure, but flirting? That's completely uncharted territory. In the past, my pheromones did the job for me. I didn't need much foreplay.
The man opens his mouth.
"Marlow. But are you—"
Before he can finish, Wilhelm hits me again, and this time he puts his full weight behind it.
Finally, that one rattles me slightly.
The beautiful man reacts immediately.
"Hey! What the fuck?" he snaps with outrage in his voice. "Do you really need to hit him?"
Blood runs from my split eyebrow into one eye, but I refuse to quit.
"Please," I say, still reaching for him again. "I just want… I just—"
The words die in my throat because the truth is I don't even know what I want from someone like him.
Who am I, really?
A mutant. A monster. Some ugly beast locked up in a cage. The outside world knows me as a disgusting rapist and a would-be killer.
Wilhelm shoves the gurney forward angrily, trying to force the jammed wheel loose, but then Marlow speeds up and catches us.
His mint-colored eyes, slightly slanted and strikingly bright, study my face with curiosity and…
concern. His eyes land on my skin burned by the deodorant, an angry hive-like reaction, my chest in some places showing raw tissue almost breaking through the damaged skin, and there's also the mess of wounds left by the IV cannula.
"Are you Fenn Drax?" he asks suddenly. Something in his expression suggests he knows of me, which wouldn’t be surprising. After the Calsing Island event nine months ago, my name was all over the media. But if he has heard about me, he’s probably disgusted. After all, I was called a rapist.
Feeling tightness in my chest and a wave of shame, I whisper.
"Yeah. But they lied. Please—"
I try reaching for him again, but Wilhelm smacks my hand with the baton, catching my knuckles dead on.
That hurts like hell.
A low grunt escapes me.
And then…
Beautiful Marlow steps forward and yanks the baton right out of Wilhelm's hand.
Oh.
Wow.
I definitely wasn't expecting that.
Judging by the look on Wilhelm's face, neither was he.
"Stop it," Marlow hisses. "He didn't do anything wrong. He just wants to talk. You don't have to beat him like an animal, you idiot!"
Wilhelm's expression hardens as his usual attitude returns.
"Stay out of this, varia," he growls, reaching for the baton, but that turns out to be a lot harder than he expected.
Marlow slips neatly out of the way. The movement is shockingly quick and smooth.
"You're not hitting him again," he says firmly, narrowing those incredible eyes and lifting his chin in challenge.
He’s beautiful, breathtaking!
He's got at least two inches on Wilhelm, who isn't exactly the biggest or strongest alpha around here.
"Oh yeah?" Wilhelm grumbles. "And what are you gonna do about it? This isn't your business."
Marlow frowns.
Wilhelm lunges for the baton again, but there's absolutely no chance.
Marlow is simply too fast.
He keeps sliding effortlessly out of Wilhelm's reach with such ridiculous agility that I almost want to whistle. This guy has to know some kind of next-level jujitsu or something.
The whole thing starts looking downright comical, Wilhelm hopping around trying to catch him while Marlow casually slips away with a faint smile every time.
It's a masterclass in dexterity.
I can't help but watch the way his lean body moves. A shiver runs through me. Beneath his shirt, I can make out perfectly defined abs, the outline of shapely thighs, and a pert ass through his jeans…
Seriously. The man is perfection in motion and appearance.
Eventually Marlow seems to get bored with the game. He lets out an exaggerated yawn and says,
"Give me thirty seconds with him, and I'll give you your precious baton back."
Wilhelm scowls and snaps, "You’re not gonna stand here and tell me what to do."
"Then you’re not taking him anywhere until I get my thirty seconds."
Wilhelm hesitates, a vein twitching at his temple, and from the way he’s breathing, it’s obvious he’s still winded from trying and failing to get his baton back.
"Fine, jerk." He steps back and folds his arms across his chest, then starts counting down in an intentionally irritating tone:
"Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…"