Chapter 5

The room they threw Eyrix into was small, white, and far too clean. The door shut with a heavy clang, sealing him inside with nothing but the faint hum of electricity and the weight of the collar around his throat.

He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, the echoes of Ryder’s gaze still clinging to his skin like frost.

Then the memories came. They always did when he was trapped.

Ironclaw Dominion had smelled of smoke, stone and blood of old power and older cruelty. He could still see it if he closed his eyes—the high, arched ceilings, the banners stitched with their sigil, the throne carved from the bones of fallen enemies. It had been beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful and just as deadly.

You are a disgrace, Aeron’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and cold. He remembered kneeling in the center of the great hall, wrists bound behind his back, blood dripping onto the polished floor. Markus and Darius had stood on either side of him, their faces hard, their eyes glowing with barely restrained fury.

An Omega, Markus had spat in Ironclaw blood.

Eyrix had lifted his head, even then. Even broken, he had refused to look away. I didn’t choose it.

You chose to be weak, Darius had said, kicking him in the ribs. The pain had been blinding. You chose to shame us.

They had beaten him that day. Not to kill him. Not even to truly punish him. To remind him. To carve his place into his bones. Later it had been worse.

The room they locked him in during his heats had no windows. No light. Just cold stone and iron bars. They had stripped him of his clothes and his dignity, forcing him to curl up on the floor as his body burned and begged for release.

Don’t let anyone smell him, Aeron had ordered. I don’t want Ironclaw tainted by his filth.

So they had sealed the room. Drowned out his scent with wards and silver. Left him alone to endure it.

Eyrix had learned then what it meant to be unwanted, unclaimed and unseen.

His chest tightened as the memory faded, replaced by the present.

Blackfang pack, different walls, different Alpha, same chains.

The door opened. Two pack members entered—one Alpha, one Beta—carrying towels, a basin of steaming water, and folded clothes. Neither met Eyrix’s eyes.

“Strip,” the Alpha ordered.

Eyrix’s jaw tightened. No.

The Alpha’s lip curled. Don’t make this harder.

Eyrix lifted his chin. I’ve been naked in cages before. If you think that scares me, you’re wrong.

For a moment, the Alpha looked uncertain. Then he stepped forward and grabbed Eyrix’s sleeve.

Before Eyrix could react, the collar pulsed.

A wave of pressure surged through him, not pain, but a heavy, suffocating force that made his muscles lock and his wolf recoil. Eyrix gasped, stumbling back.

Ryder said to keep you compliant, the Alpha muttered, releasing him. Don’t fight it.

Eyrix swallowed hard, hands shaking as he slowly removed his torn shirt, then his pants. He refused to look down. Refused to let the humiliation show.

The Beta stepped closer, carefully pouring warm water over Eyrix’s shoulders, washing away blood and dirt. The touch was impersonal, almost clinical, but it made Eyrix’s skin crawl.

You don’t have to…. Eyrix began.

We do, the Beta said quietly. Orders.

Eyrix closed his eyes as the water ran down his body, carrying away the grime of Ironclaw and the forest. With it came the ache of everything he had endured.

They dried him with soft towels. Dressed him in clean black clothes that fit too well, like something chosen to display rather than comfort. Like a pet.

When they were done, the Alpha nodded once. Ryder will see you.

They left without another word.

Eyrix sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the fabric of his pants. His chest felt tight, but not with the familiar hollow despair he’d known in Ironclaw.

Something else burned there now. “Defiance.”

Ryder entered without knocking.

His gaze swept over Eyrix, sharp and assessing, taking in the clean skin, the neat clothes, the collar still gleaming at his throat.

For a moment, something unreadable flickered across Ryder’s face. Stand up, he said.

Eyrix did.

Ryder circled him slowly, like a predator evaluating prey. You clean up well.

Eyrix met his eyes. Is that what you wanted? A pretty thing to look at?

Ryder stopped in front of him. I wanted you under control.

Do you feel in control? Eyrix asked softly.

Ryder’s jaw tightened. Don’t push me.

You’re already pushed, Eyrix replied. You just don’t like where you’re standing.

Ryder stared at him, something dark and volatile simmering beneath his calm. You think I enjoy this?

“I think you don’t know what to do with me,” Eyrix said. So you pretend I’m just another Omega you can own.

Ryder leaned in, eyes flashing. You are mine.

Eyrix’s heart pounded—but he didn’t look away. Then why does your wolf keep trying to eat me?

Ryder froze.

You felt it in the forest, he continued. You feel it now. Whatever I am, it doesn’t fit your rules.

The collar hummed faintly, as if sensing the tension.

Ryder exhaled slowly. You should be afraid.

I am, Eyrix said. But I’ve been afraid before and I didn’t break then either.

Ryder’s hand rose, hovering just inches from Eyrix’s throat. Not touching the collar. Almost afraid to.

You don’t know what you’re provoking, Ryder murmured.

Maybe not, Eyrix replied. But neither do you.

For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved.

Then Ryder turned away sharply. You’ll stay here until I decide what to do with you.

Eyrix watched him go, the door closing behind him with a soft but final click.

Alone again, Eyrix pressed a hand to his chest.

They could chain him. Dress him.Try to make him into something small. But the thing stirring inside him—whatever it was—was not meant to be owned. And it was waking up.