Kissed By The Alpha's Enemy

Chapter 4: The Handler’s Smile

POV: Riven

The corridor sways. Or maybe it's me. Blood loss blurs everything, greasing my vision. My boots drag. I can't lift them anymore. Can't lift my head either. The bone jutting from my arm remains slick with blood and filth. My body twitches forward, held up by two guards. I'm too heavy to carry, too stubborn to fall.

Everything smells sterile. Bleach and silver and something colder underneath. The walls shine with white panels, too smooth for the Pit, too quiet. Where are the screams?

A shadow glides beside me—Seren Vale moves like she owns the silence.

Her boots are clean. Her voice is sugar: "You're stronger than we expected."

I grunt something raw.

"That response in the Pit," Seren murmurs, coaxing, like we're sharing a secret. "It was extraordinary. A rare bloom in hostile soil."

What the f**k does that mean?

We turn a corner. Only I falter as pain tears through my side. My body wants to collapse. My pride refuses.

Seren clicks her tongue. "Don't fight it. You've done enough, Riven."

She says my name like it's hers.

The door hisses open—real tech, not rusted bars. Inside, everything glows false-holy white. Too clean. The kind of clean hiding something.

This is not the pens. The pens were s**t-stained concrete and iron stench. This is luxury. A private medical bay. One raised bed. One counter with instruments too delicate for torture. I think.

I shouldn't be here.

The guards lower me onto the bed. I hiss as my bones shift wrong.

Seren dismisses them with a finger flick. The door hisses shut.

Now we're alone.

She turns, smile unreadable. "You're safe now."

Liar.

"Why?" My voice scrapes. "Why pretend to care?"

Seren picks up a vial of pale green liquid. I tense.

"Relax," she murmurs. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Bullshit.

She smooths salve over my broken skin. It burns like fire laced with glass. I bite my tongue against screaming.

"What is that?" I manage through locked jaw.

"A healing blend. Accelerates tissue regeneration. Pain means it's working."

"You didn't answer me. Why... all this?"

Her eyes hold something—curiosity? Admiration? Hunger?

"You're not like the others. You broke protocol. Survived the Pit on your terms. That's... unusual."

I bark a laugh like choking. "You mean I didn't die the way you wanted."

She smiles. Calm.

She touches my scarred arm where restraints once bit in. "You don't belong with animals, Riven."

I jerk away.

"You deserve better," Seren says.

It hits something raw inside me. Not because I believe her. Because part of me wants to. And that's dangerous.

Seren prepares more salve, movements ritual-like.

"This'll sting," she murmurs before applying it without warning.

Heat blooms sharp under my skin like fire ants across raw nerves. I twist away, but her hand lands firm on my forearm. Inevitable.

"You're alright," she says softly. "It's working."

"Working at what? Burning through my veins?"

Her smile is practiced. "Cleansing. You bled in the Pit. Whatever was on those claws doesn't belong in you."

I grit my teeth as she treats my ribs. It smells of crushed herbs and metal—too clean. Something custom. Private.

"You could've let me die," I mutter.

She raises an eyebrow. "You think that's what I do?"

"I think kindness here costs something."

She hums, pausing over the burn scar on my wrist from when I tried removing my scent tag. Her feather-light touch makes me flinch.

"You don't belong with animals," Seren repeats, voice like morphine-soaked lullabies. "You deserve better."

I jerk back. "You don't know what I deserve."

"No," she agrees calmly. "But I know what you could become."

Could. A promise wrapped around a leash.

I laugh bitterly. "This is your play? Treat me soft, throw fancy words, expect me to roll over?"

She tilts her head. "I don't expect anything. But I do offer. Some wolves need breaking. Others... blossom under care."

Her too-warm smile feels wrong. Like teeth behind it.

She tosses a real protein bar beside me. "Eat. Heal. We'll talk more once you're steady."

She checks a data pad while I ignore the food.

"What happened in the Pit?" I ask. "That thing with the spine-mouth. What was it?"

"It was meant to test your thresholds."

"Thresholds?"

She looks up thoughtfully. "Everyone reacts to trauma. Pressure. Fear. Pain. But few trigger a full-body override like you did. That response isn't trained. It's born."

Her eyes weigh me. "Tell me what you saw."

"Why?"

"Because we're mapping you. Understanding what makes you different."

"I saw its nerves," I say slowly. "The thing. I saw how to kill it."

"You didn't hesitate."

"I wanted it to stop breathing."

She nods like I've given her something valuable. "Rare. Like a flower blooming in hostile soil."

"You said that already."

"Because it's worth repeating."

I shift, ignoring my side's pull. "So what now? You study me until I snap again?"

Seren sets down the pad and approaches. "No. I prepare you for what's next."

"And what's that?"

"You'll see soon."

Alone finally, I test the walls like a caged animal. No surprise—reinforced panels hum with a suppression field that dulls my reflexes. Red dots in corners watch me. Surveillance dressed as safety. Still a pen. Just prettier.

Footsteps return—too light for a soldier. Her.

Seren slides in carrying folded fabric—soft grey and black. "These should fit. Not a uniform. Nothing branded. Just... yours."

I cross my arms. "Don't need a costume to know I'm still locked up."

"No," she agrees gently. "But you deserve dignity."

Silence stretches between us.

She arranges water, cloth, and comb by the sink like staging a portrait.

"You'll be more comfortable in these," she says. "But no one's forcing you."

Except they are. Not with fists. With softness. Kindness hiding hooks.

Still, I take them. The pants are soft, drawstring. The top—loose, dark enough to hide blood.

When I turn, she's already behind me with the comb.

I flinch.

"Your hair's tangled," she murmurs. "Blood crusted near the scalp. Let me help."

"Why? What do you get out of this?"

She keeps brushing. "I believe in potential. In recovery. And in power that's been overlooked."

"You mean control."

"I mean survival," her tone silk and ice. "Which often looks the same."

Her fingers ghost along my scalp, intimately disturbing.

"This fortress eats the defiant," Seren says. "But you? You're something else. The Pit didn't break you. That makes you dangerous. And precious."

"You don't know me."

"I'm learning."

Her hand rests at my skull's base. "Allegiances here are currency. Alone, you'll be spent. But with the right allies... you might thrive."

She speaks like offering temptation with threat underneath.

"I don't need a pack," I lie.

She hums. "Everyone needs something."

And I wonder what I've already started giving her.

I press my ear against the door. Nothing but mechanical humming. I test the handle again. Locked.

It slides open suddenly—Seren standing there with a steaming mug, perfectly timed.

"Curious little thing," she murmurs. "Still wild."

She enters smoothly. "That's fine. Wild can be tamed."

I turn away. She lets me, placing the mug nearby and crouching close.

"You won't survive here alone, Riven," she whispers. "But with me? You'll thrive."

I say nothing. Because I don't trust her. But the starving part of me—that never got warmth without bruises—wants to believe her promise of survival.

And that's worse than any threat.

She leaves as silently as she came.

I don't sleep at first, counting each breath. Eventually exhaustion claims me, but my gut keeps churning.

Something's wrong. Always has been. But this is wrong differently.

Because for the first time in years, I want touch not for control—but from desperation for someone to hold my pieces together. Even her. Even the monster with soft hands and quieter teeth.

A howl slices through silence—raw, twisting, broken.

I jolt upright, heart slamming against ribs. My claws itch. My mouth floods with copper taste and wild instinct.

I bury it deep. But my wolf knows that sound.

Pain. Loneliness. Someone is losing their mind or mate or body—and the fortress doesn't care.

I try pretending I didn't hear it. Try pretending I don't want to answer.

The lights dim.

As I drift, the speaker clicks. A whisper slides through: "Sleep well, Riven."

Seren's voice. Not warm. Not cold. Intimate. Wrong.

"Tomorrow... the Mating Trials begin."

Silence rushes in. My breath catches.

The room feels smaller than before.