Chapter 3 #2
The moment the sweater was in his hands, Ren squealed, falling back to sit on his butt and press the wool to his nose.
It barely even smelled like Falk—his scent always faded quickly, so light and easily overpowered by everything around it.
But this sweater was the strongest he had ever smelled the spicy cloves.
Ren didn’t know how long he spent pressing the sweater to his face, lost in the scent that lingered there.
He was startled out of his trance by a sudden clang of metal further into the prison, followed by a yell for food by one of the inmates.
Ren let himself shut his eyes for a minute more before turning and rushing back to his mattress to find somewhere to hide his new possession.
Ren figured the beginning of the summer months in the valley had finally begun when Falk stopped wearing jackets.
He was almost upset, hoping Falk would leave another sweater behind for Ren to snatch. The one beneath his mattress didn’t even smell like Falk anymore, and it made Ren frown every time he pressed it into his nose.
He wished he could go up to the castle and valley to feel the sun—feel the warmth everyone else was experiencing. He was so cold down here, shivering even in his sweater. The cold seemed to have crept into his bones and never left.
But nowadays, Falk walked down to the prison in short-sleeved shirts that made Ren’s gaze stay a bit longer on his biceps and chest. The bare skin pulled taut over the muscles was always the first thing he looked at when Falk appeared and the Alpha had definitely noticed.
Ren realized he was staring when Falk had to literally snap his fingers to grab his attention.
He quickly scrambled to his feet when he saw that Falk had brought down his food.
“Gimme,” he said, pressing himself to the bars and thrusting his hand out.
Falk held the plate away from Ren’s hands that were desperately trying to grab it, making Ren pout out his lips in annoyance. He had to wait several moments for Falk to decide he had been properly tortured by the smell of food before opening the small latch in the bars to hand him the plate.
Ren snatched it out of his grip before running to sit on the pathetic excuse of a mattress he had, and shoving the food into his cheeks. He barely even tasted it—barely even registered what exactly it was—he was far too focused on chewing and swallowing as quickly as possible to think about taste.
“Slow down.”
Ren jerked his head, glaring at Falk.
“You’re going to make yourself throw up.”
“You need to bring me more food then,” Ren said with a mouthful of bread he had bit off. “You’re starving me.”
“I bring you three meals a day,” Falk scoffed. “That is more than you ate up on the cliffs.”
Ren chewed thoughtfully before nodding—it was true. He was lucky to get lunch and dinner back on the cliffs, most days it was usually one or the other. “Well, I’m hungrier now,” he hummed as he shoved the last bit of rice into his mouth.
Falk said nothing, just crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.
“Hey.”
Falk and Ren’s heads both whipped to the side at the call. Falk was on his feet instantly, walking toward where the other prisoners were kept.
Ren didn’t know why they were so far away from him—there were several cells in between him and the nearest prisoner. There was a guard who came down with food for them three times a day, but besides that, they didn’t have a guard staring at them the entire day like Ren did.
“What is it?” Falk asked the prisoner.
Ren was on his feet in a flash, pressing himself against the bars again and trying to get a look at whoever Falk was talking to. He blinked in surprise when an arm reached out of the bars, holding a bread roll.
“He can have mine. I don’t need it,” the Alpha said.
Falk eyed the offering curiously, looking over his shoulder at Ren whose gaze was fixed on the bread. His mouth was already salivating.
“He can have mine too!” Another hand appeared, a little further down, holding a similar chunk of bread out of the bars.
“You will not be getting anything out of this,” Falk said to them. “You will not get extra food. You will not be in anyone’s favor for helping another prisoner.”
“Come now,” the first Alpha said, waving the roll at Falk. “Let us help the little Omega—he’s been complaining he’s hungry for days now.”
“We are feeding him plenty,” Falk argued. “He doesn’t need your food.”
“Falk, please,” Ren whined, curling his hands around the bars pressing into his cheeks. He tried to shake them even though he knew they wouldn’t budge. “Please.”
Falk hesitated for a few moments, glancing between the Alphas and Ren. It was silent for a few heartbeats, before Falk took the rolls and brought them back over to Ren.
Ren grabbed them from Falk the moment they were within range.
He rushed back to his bed with the bread, practically throwing himself onto the mattress so he could shove the food in his cheeks again.
“Stop acting like that,” Falk said sharply. “Stop acting like you’re that hungry—you eat plenty.”
Ren ignored him, focusing far more on chewing the gummy, flavorless bread.
With his stomach finally feeling a bit fuller—the painful gnawing in his gut ceasing for once—he sighed contentedly and curled up on his side.
He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as he peered around his cell.
He was already sick of looking at it; he couldn’t fathom what a lifetime down here would feel like.
He would rather be dead. Maybe he should have let the King kill him.
Ren groaned and turned over onto his back, kicking his feet to shove the blanket away from him.
He hated that blanket. It wasn’t very warm, and it smelled awful.
The clothes Mont had given him when he first arrived also felt horrible and itchy against his skin; they smelled so strongly of Ren, not a single trace of the Alpha who had worn them before him was left.
The feeling of his clothes, the stale smells around him—unchanging, always there—permeating under his skin. He wanted to peel it off, get the discomfort out of his veins. Ren ran his hands over his arms, as though preparing to do just that. He had too much energy, he needed to do something.
Ren hauled himself to his feet, scowling as he paced in circles, trying to get his nerves to settle down.
Eventually, he threw himself at the bars, smiling sheepishly when he saw Falk startle slightly. “Talk to me,” he said.
He knew Falk wasn’t going to respond.
Ren turned, grabbing one of the books he had already finished, and walked back over to the bars. Falk scowled deeper when he realized what Ren was planning a moment before he threw the book.
Ren giggled when it hit the Alpha directly on the forehead. He clapped, bouncing on his toes when Falk’s face didn’t change at all—still frowning, still glaring, as always.
“Throw it back,” Ren said, putting his hands out of the bars and making a circle with them. “Try to get it in here.”
Falk didn’t move, but Ren could have sworn he saw the corner of his lip twitch.
“Well, at least read it then,” Ren shrugged. “You sit down here doing nothing. How do you not feel insane?”
“You are plenty entertaining.”
Ren blinked, surprised he had even spoken. The shock of hearing him had his mind taking a few seconds for the words to catch up. “Me? How am I entertaining?” He laughed.
“You’re very strange,” Falk deadpanned.
“Me?” Ren gasped in mock offense. “I am not. I am horribly offended that you’ve said this to me.”
That was definitely a twitch of his lips. Ren laughed when Falk had to shut his eyes to be able to fully school his features.
“I think you are the strange one, Mr. Falk,” Ren hummed, spinning on his heel a few times before sitting heavily on his bed. “You are so strange. You take your job too seriously.”
“Most people take their jobs seriously,” Falk said simply.
“Not me,” Ren shook his head. “I was an apprentice to a tailor. I wasn’t good at it though.
I guess maybe I am a little strange. Who has ever heard of an Omega who couldn’t sew?
It was unfortunate that I got put there.
I think I would have been better at something like farming or maybe being a chef.
I like cooking.” He leaned his elbow on his knee, propping his chin up with his palm.
“Too bad I am stuck in here.” Ren sighed, throwing his arms up, over his head, and flopping onto his back “Too bad I am stuck in here forever.”
“Too bad,” Falk echoed.
Ren sat up again, pouting. “Is there truly no way for me to get out? I feel like it is a waste for me to be down here. I could be helpful to the castle.”
“You murdered five people, Ren.”
“Allegedly,” Ren said.
“They do not want you having access to murder more people. You are only alive because of your age. Do not forget that.”
Ren definitely hadn’t forgotten—had to constantly remind himself of his lie whenever it was brought up.
“Hey,” Ren said suddenly, jumping to his feet yet again. “Will you?—”
“You are much more like a rabbit than a wolf,” Falk said, interrupting Ren. “You jump around so much. How do you have so much energy?”
“Will you give me your clothes?”
Falk’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. His jaw dropped open, finally cracking the unchanging expression he always wore. “My clothes?” he asked. “Can I ask why?”
Ren rocked back and forth on his heels, trailing his hands over the poles.
He wasn’t going to admit that he wanted it to replenish his stock of the Alpha’s scent since the sweater had dulled so much recently.
“I want to build a nest.” This was actually true—his instincts were screaming at him that that is what would help his frayed nerves settle—would help him feel less restless.
But he had nothing in here besides the clothes on his back and the awful blanket.
“Are you going to deny an Omega of his instincts?”
Falk looked between Ren and his bed. “Why do you need my clothes?”