Chapter 2
Damon
"You are trapped here with me," I said, the words rumbling from my chest in a low growl, a sound that vibrated through the very ground between us. It wasn't quite speech, not fully human, but enough to convey the message.
He wouldn't understand the nuances, the subtle undercurrent of possessiveness woven into the phrase, not yet.
His name was Elliot. I knew everything about him—his lineage, his anxieties, the quiet desperation that fueled his flight.
Some people would say that was creepy, but not me. It was in my nature to be like that.
I knew about the Archive, the stifling expectations, the hidden magic simmering beneath his delicate surface. But he knew nothing about me. And in that moment, he was afraid—very, very afraid, as he should be.
Being afraid was good. It meant he wasn't an easy prey.
I felt it, a ripple of raw terror emanating from him, a tangible wave of scent. It was intoxicating, undeniably. And also… utterly fascinating. He smelled of fear and old books, of longing and suppressed yearning. A dizzying combination, and one I'd find myself savoring for a while.
He thought I was going to eat him. The foolishness of it was almost endearing. Yes, I was going to devour him—but in an entirely different way. The physical consumption would be… unnecessary.
He was going to be one. All of him.
I lowered my head further, nuzzling his shoulder again, a gesture that was intended to be reassuring, even though it likely felt like anything but. My fur brushed against the thin fabric of his shirt, and I registered the faint, sweet scent clinging to it—a trace of his own unique omega musk, barely there beneath the layers of fear.
"Quiet," I rumbled, the word escaping as more of a vibration than an actual sound. It was meant to quell the frantic pounding in his chest, to assert a fragile semblance of control. "No need for that." I tilted my head, observing him with those golden eyes. "You're not going to be hurt."
I had to say that. Otherwise, he might have a heart attack, and I didn't want that, of course.
He didn't respond, of course. He simply stood there, frozen, trembling slightly, like a captured bird. A very delectable-smelling bird, I thought wryly.
"Do you… understand?" I pressed, the question laced with a hint of amusement. My voice remained low, a guttural murmur that seemed to resonate within the confines of the forest. It was a test, more than anything else. To gauge his comprehension, to assess the depths of his fear.
I just wanted to know what he was like. This was our first interaction.
I paused, allowing the silence to settle between us. Then, I added, almost casually, "Your father… There are some things about him I have to say. Not all of them are bad, though."
The flicker in his eyes, a brief flash of surprise, quickly masked by renewed terror, told me everything I needed to know. He hadn't expected that. He wasn't prepared for it. That was going to be a lot of fun.
I let out a low puff of air through my nostrils, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "Don't be afraid," I repeated, softer this time, trying to promise him that, even though he was trapped with me here, everything was going to be fine. "There's much more to come."
"You're remarkably quiet," I continued, the sound vibrating through the forest floor and into Elliot's trembling form. "Most humans have a lot of questions when they find themselves cornered by large canines."
He swallowed audibly, a tiny, panicked sound. "I… I don't know what to say."
And truly, what could he say? Not much, I realized.
"Truth is always a good start," I countered, tilting my head, letting my gaze linger on his face. He was so cute. "Though I understand it's hard in your situation."
"Why? Why me and what's going on here?" The words were barely above a whisper, strained and fragile. Fragile, just like he was.
"Why not you?" I responded, smirking. "You were running. You ran right into me."
A shudder rippled through him. "I didn't run into you."
"Oh? Then what was that?" My voice deepened, a low growl vibrating in my chest. "That frantic energy? The scent of fear practically radiating off you?"
He flinched. "I… I had a reason."
"Reasons are fascinating," I mused. "Tell me them, then. Don't keep anything from me, otherwise…"
"It's… complicated," he mumbled, his gaze darting around the forest floor. He seemed to be avoiding my eyes. Seemed? I immediately thought. He definitely was.
"Most things are," I agreed. "Life is rarely straightforward, is it?" I paused, allowing the silence to hang in the air. "Tell me a little about your family."
He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. "My father… he works for someone powerful."
There was something he didn't say. He was thinking that I knew more about his father than I was letting on. And in some way, he was right.
"Powerful how?" I pressed subtly, feigning ignorance for now.
"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, burying his face in his arms.
"That's not very helpful," I commented. The understatement of the century, I thought amusedly.
"I'm just scared, okay?" Elliot snapped out suddenly. "Can you… can you shift back?"
The question surprised me slightly. It was direct and desperate, a plea for normalcy in a situation that was anything but. I considered it, weighing the implications. Revealing myself would be a risk. But so was prolonging this tension.
"Patience," I rumbled, a low vibration in my chest. I had already made my decision, and he wasn't going to like it. "Everything in its time. There are protocols to follow."
"Protocols?" Elliot echoed, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "You're following protocols while you have me trapped in the middle of nowhere?!"
I let out a soft huff of amusement. "Everything is protocol. Even this, little omega."
"But why? What do you want from me?" He was becoming more assertive, and it intrigued me.
"That's a question you'll find an answer to," I replied cryptically. "Eventually."
He glared at me, or rather, at the wolf that was me. "You're not helping."
"I am providing context," I countered. "You ran away from something. You're seeking sanctuary. And you've stumbled into my territory. That is all that there is to it."
"Your territory? So, you own this forest?"
"In a way," I agreed, the word laced with a subtle undertone of power. "Everything has its rightful owner. Don't you agree?"
He didn't respond, just stared at me in silence. He didn't know what to say, which was understandable.
"You have a sharp mind," I said finally, breaking the quiet. "It's a shame you're wasting it on fear."
"And you have a very strange way of putting people at ease," he retorted, defiance flickering in his eyes.
I let out a low chuckle. "Perhaps. But I am known for my unconventional methods."
"Unconventional is one word for it," Elliot replied, his voice still trembling slightly but gaining a hint of steel. He was fighting, and I found myself appreciating that, even as I knew he would lose. They always all did.
"Indeed," I rumbled, circling him again, slower this time, savoring the way his scent sharpened with anxiety. "Though I prefer 'efficient.'" I paused, letting the word hang in the air before adding, with a playful smirk, "Time is precious, Elliot. Best not to waste it on unnecessary fuss."
He glared at me, or rather, at the large wolf that was currently orbiting him like a predator around its prey. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Amusement is an important part of survival," I countered smoothly, letting my gaze linger on his face. It was such an adorable face, framed by those unruly curls and illuminated by those wide, apprehensive eyes. A perfect little omega face. "Besides, it's not every day I encounter a runaway with such… potential."
He frowned, clearly unsure what to make of my words. "Potential for what?"
"For everything," I replied, letting the word trail off, letting him wonder what he should be thinking in that moment. The air around us thickened, almost feeling suffocating. I could feel his pulse quickening, his omega scent intensifying. Delicious.
"I'm not a toy," Elliot retorted, a flash of anger momentarily eclipsing the fear in his eyes.
"Of course not," I agreed smoothly. "You are far too valuable to be a mere plaything. You are… a project." My voice dropped to a low murmur, sending a fresh shiver down his spine, if my senses were accurate. "A fascinating study. And, ultimately… mine."
The words were meant to unsettle him, to test the boundaries of his defiance. And they certainly seemed to be doing so, as a wave of genuine alarm washed over him. Good.
"You're insane," he whispered, shaking his head slightly.
"Perhaps," I conceded, tilting my head. "But insanity is often merely perspective. And my perspective is, quite simply, that you belong here, with me." A possessive warmth bloomed within me, a deep, visceral certainty. He was going to be mine. It was inevitable, as natural as the changing of seasons.
I could practically feel it already—the way he would scent-mark our territory, the quiet contentment of his presence, the unwavering loyalty in those hazel eyes. He wouldn't resist for long. Omega's rarely do. They crave protection, belonging—a place to call home. And I offered all of those things, wrapped in an alluring package of dominance and power. And in his case, he craved home more than anything else.
"You don't even know me," Elliot protested weakly, but the fight had already started draining out of him.
"That's precisely what makes this so intriguing," I replied, drawing closer, until my muzzle was just inches from his face. The scent of his fear, now laced with a faint undercurrent of something akin to fascination, filled my nostrils. Irresistible. "I intend to find out."
He closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself for… what? He didn't know. I certainly didn't. And that was part of the fun.
"Tell me," I purred, letting the sound vibrate against his skin. "What were you running from, Elliot Hayes?" The question wasn't accusatory, but rather curious. A gentle probing, designed to loosen his defenses and coax out the truth. Because sooner or later, he would tell me everything.
"Don't…" Elliot began, but the words caught in his throat, a strangled sob escaping instead. He pressed his hands against his face, shoulders shaking visibly. "Just… stop it."
Stop? Stop what? Stop this little game we were playing? I don't think so.
I observed him silently, the internal amusement warring with a flicker of something else—a surprising wave of… pity? It was fleeting, quickly suppressed, but there. Still, I registered it. He was crumbling, and frankly, it was rather pathetic. And yet, somehow endearing. More endearing than pathetic, to be honest.
"Stop what?" I asked, feigning ignorance, though I knew precisely what he wanted me to stop. "Providing stimulating conversation? Sharing my… insights?" I almost laughed after saying the last thing.
He lifted his head, face streaked with tears, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He looked utterly wretched, a delicate flower battered by a storm. And yet, even in his distress, there was a spark of defiance still flickering within him.
"You're mocking me," Elliot choked out, the accusation raw and vulnerable. "You're enjoying it."
"Merely observing," I corrected gently, letting my voice soften slightly. "Omegas are fascinating creatures when under pressure. You reveal so much about yourself." I paused, letting the words sink in. "It's quite entertaining, really," I added, almost as an afterthought. The arrogant smirk returned, a subtle flash of teeth amidst the wolfish features.
He flinched at my words, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks. "Why are you doing this?" He pleaded. "Just… leave me alone."
Leave him alone? Not yet. As I thought before, he was mine.
A pang—something akin to regret—twitched within me. I hadn't intended to break him quite so thoroughly. It was almost… messy. Still, I wasn't about to back down. Not now.
"I can't do that, Elliot," I said. "You're here. And you're mine."
He recoiled as if I'd struck him. "How… how do you know my name?" The question was delivered in a rush, fueled by desperation and rising panic. And the answer was simpler than he thought.
The blatant shift in topic caught me off guard for a moment, though. I hadn't expected him to bring that up. Clever boy. "That's a remarkably astute observation," I purred, deliberately prolonging the suspense. I let out a long, slow breath, savoring the way his eyes narrowed, trying to pierce through my facade.
"Stop playing games with me," he snapped. "Who told you?"
"Information is currency, Elliot," I replied cryptically. "It flows freely when properly acquired." I paused, letting the ambiguity hang in the air. "Let's just say I have… sources." And, of course, I wasn't going to reveal them.
He scoffed, a wet, broken sound. "Sources? What, do you have spies in my father's library?"
"Your father is an interesting man," I mused, ignoring his jab. "A collector of knowledge, a guardian of secrets. He has a fondness for certain… arrangements." I let the implication sink in. "He isn't always as discreet as he believes."
Elliot's eyes widened, understanding dawning in their depths. A wave of realization washed over his face, leaving him pale and shaken. "You're connected to him and you know him personally," he whispered. There was no mistaking the horror in his voice.
"Connected is a rather broad term," I conceded, letting my gaze linger on his face. "Let's just say we share… mutual interests." And then, because I couldn't resist, I added, "Besides, it was never a secret that you were the prodigal son of a very important man."
I saw the fight drain completely out of him. He slumped against a nearby tree, defeated.