I guided the boy—who still hadn’t introduced himself—into the nearest cell by the door upon arriving at the pack’s underground prison. He didn’t resist. Sitting beside him on the carved stone bench, I studied him in the dim light.
He looked exhausted, as if sleep had been a stranger to him for days. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and fading bruises painted his arms with remnants of past suffering. What unsettled me most, though, was his size. Even among werewolves, he was startlingly small. My smallest Omega was a girl, delicate by nature, yet she still carried more weight and strength than he did. The realization left an uncomfortable knot in my stomach.
The idea of consistent meals was likely foreign to him. The scent of mold and rotting wood clung to his skin, thick and undeniable, s
