3. Torn

Zenith's Pov:

My boots slammed against the stone stairs of the cells, every Alpha guard I passed was pressed against the wall, their eyes wide and their breathing heavy. They could smell it, I could smell it.

I reached his cell and ripped the heavy door open so hard the hinges groaned in protest.

The moment I walked in, the scent hit me like a physical blow. It was sweet, like crushed jasmine and cream, but laced with the sharp, metallic tang of pure distress. It was the smell of an omega in pain, in heat, and it made my inner Alpha roar with a protective fury I couldn't control.

My eyes immediately settled on his trembling form at the corner of the cell, his skin was pale and slick with sweat. Without a word, I reached down and gathered him into my arms.

He was so light in my arms, almost as if he weighed nothing, the discovery alone shocked me as I tucked his head into the crook of my neck, and the moment his ragged breath touched my skin, my alpha instincts spiralled against my control.

I marched out of the dungeon with my jaw set so tight it ached. Any Alpha in the hallway who dared to even glance in our direction was met with a low, vibrating growl that sent them scurrying into the shadows.

They made sure to keep their heads down, sensing the lethal energy radiating off me.

When I finally walked out of the doors that lead to the cells, Elara was waiting at a distance, she couldn't come close, she was also an Alpha. She took one look at the limp, whimpering boy in my arms and her eyes turned into daggers.

“You son of a bitch,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom.

I didn't even look at her, simply because I didn't have the breath to argue. I walked past her, my heart hammering against my ribs as I headed straight for my room.

I kicked my door shut and crossed the room in three long strides, placing him not so gently on my bed. As I pulled my hands away, with my hands now off of him, I regained my senses halfway, and I felt a surge of white-hot anger at myself.

The sight of him, as my supposed mate, in my bed, unnerved me in every way possible. How the hell did it get to this? Was the Moon Godess playing some sort of tricks with me?

I was the Lycan King. I was supposed to be cold, calculated, ruthless and untouchable, even if I was to find my mate, it would be a female alpha, not this. I was not gay.

And yet here I was, my pulse racing for a mere, useless Omega who was probably a spy sent to destroy me. Part of me wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he wasn't breathing, until I didn't have to feel this maddening pull anymore. But as he curled into a ball on my pillows, looking small and broken, another part of me wanted to tear the world apart to keep him safe.

“Alpha…”

The whimper was small, barely there, if not for my sharp senses, but it hit me harder than any physical blow. My inner Alpha went feral at the sound, wanting to protect, my claws beginning to prick at my palms as I clenched my fists to ground myself.

Did he even know he was calling out to the man who had thrown him in a cage? But his body knew mine, and the way he breathed in my scent, searching for comfort in the middle of his pain, made me want to howl at the moon in frustration.

When he whimpered again I snapped at him.

“Quiet,” I growled and stood over him, watching the way his chest heaved. I fought the urge to crawl onto the bed and pull him against me until my scent drowned out the smell of his suffering.

I loathed the way my heart hammered against my ribs, all for an Omega. I completely loathed it. I stood over his small, trembling form. Marvelling at how he looked broken, fragile, and utterly out of place on my bed.

“Stop that.” I snapped when he whimpered again. “Stop making that sound.”

His scent was beginning to get to me, although I had the strength to control myself from succumbing to the inviting scent. But he wouldn't stop, I could smell his arousing essence, the way he reeked of nothing but pure seduction as his fingers clutched at my sheets.

He arched his back, a low, pained groan vibrating through the jasmine-scented air. My Alpha roared in my head, demanding I move, demanding I claim, demanding I soothe the agony that was going through my omega, but I refused. I would not succumb to such taboo desires.

But he was suffering, and if I didn't do anything, it would take no time for my alpha to take over me completely and I don't think I'll like the consequences.

“You're pathetic.” I hissed, leaning over him and my hands moved on their own accord, gripping his shoulders, sparks ignited at the touch and I gripped him tighter, refusing to acknowledge the way the bond pulsed between us.

But the moment my palms pressed against his burning skin, the aggression drained out of my limbs like water.

He was so hot. Too hot.

He leaned into the touch, his head lolling back to expose the pale, unmarked column of his throat. I gulped when I realized what he was doing, even though it was unconsciously. He was offering himself up, a silent plea for the one thing that would stop the fire in his blood. My mark.

“Alpha...please.” he whispered again, his eyes fluttering open. They were glassy, unfocused, and filled with a desperation that made my gut twist.

I gripped the back of his throat and pulled him to me. “You don't even know what you're doing.” I growled, my face inches from his. I let my thumb brush over his bottom lip, which was bitten raw and bleeding. “I am the nightmare you were supposed to run from. Trust me, omega, you don't want me as your mate.”

I meant for it to be a threat, but my inner Alpha was no longer interested in war, it wanted to shield him. It wanted to lick the blood from his lip and make him ours in every way possible.

I released his neck and sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of my body making him roll toward me. He didn't hesitate, he tucked his face into the crook of my thigh, seeking the source of my scent like a drowning man seeking air.

“Damn it,” I cursed under my breath, my hand trembling as it hovered over his dark hair.

I hated him, I hated the bond, I hated that I could feel his pain as if it were my own. But as I finally let my hand settle in his hair, he pulled in closer, using my body as a shield against the very world I ruled.

“You’re a mistake,” I whispered into the quiet room, even as I draped a heavy, protective arm over his waist. “A beautiful, ruinous mistake.”