Which is dangerous considering Bane is sitting right next to me.
The door opens. Not the woman.
A guard. Mid-thirties. Thick neck. A nasty, ugly smirk. He's carrying the syringe—holding it up between two fingers like a cigarette. Casual. Amused.
"Medication time," he says.
He doesn't come in. Leans against the doorframe. Eyes moving between me and Bane—Bane slumped slightly against the wall, still a little glassy-eyed from the sedative. But more alert than before.
"Interesting setup." The guard rolls the syringe between his fingers. "Alpha and omega in a box." His gaze drops to the mattress. To how close Bane and I are sitting. "Real cozy."
I don’t speak. My stomach knots.
“Very uncommon for one of you to have a visitor in here. And a potential buyer at that.” His ugly smirk turns into a sneer. “Veryinteresting.”
I swallow hard and drag myself to my feet so he will have easier access to my arm. I hold one out in front of me. "Just… give me the shot," I say.
"You know what happens if I don't?" He tilts his head. "Your heat breaks through in, eh, four to six hours. And your little alpha friend gets to experience what an omega in heat smells like in a ten-by-ten concrete box with no ventilation." He glances at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. "Might be fun to watch."
My heart skips a beat. For a scary second, my thoughts scatter. "Give me the shot. Please."
"Nah." He pockets the syringe. Shrugs his thick shoulders. "Think we'll skip tonight. See what happens."
He winks at the camera.
The door closes. The lock buzzes.
I stand in the middle of the cell. My hands are shaking. My breath is coming too fast—shallow, tight, the beginning of a spiral.
"Max." Bane's voice. Slurred but present. He heard everything. I can see it in his face—the sedative haze burning off just enough for understanding to break through.
"You know what this means." Not a question. My voice is thin. Shaking. "You've smelled me at the estate. I’ll be…" I shake my head. “You’ll–”
"I know." His jaw is tight. His pupils are already wider than the sedative accounts for. "I've been smelling you since I walked into this cell, Max. Even through the blockers. Even through the drugs."
"Then you know it’s only going to get worse. And there's no way out of this room." I twist, looking around me at the concrete walls. My feet take me to the door that I know is locked, and still I try it–my fingers desperately searching for any way to trigger the buzzing lock and run.
Out of here, away from him.
Where no one can find me.
"Max. Come here."
“Bane, you don't understand—when it hits, I–I won't be able to think clearly. I'll—my body will—" The panic is rising. My chest is tightening. The room is shrinking. "I'll want things. I'll beg for things. And you–. It's not—I can't—"
"Max." Firmer. "Come. Here."
I don't move. The panic has my feet rooted to the concrete as I sink back against the door. My vision is narrowing. My breath is a thin whistle through a closing throat.
Bane pushes himself up from the wall. Sways. Crosses the cell on unsteady legs and wraps his zip-tied arms over my head, pulling me against his chest.
"Breathe."
"I can't—"
"You can. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Feel my chest. Match it."
I press my face into his shirt. Feel his ribcage expand. Contract. Expand. Slow. Steady. I try to match it. The first three breaths are ragged. The fourth catches. The fifth holds.
