The syringe gleamed under the surgical lights like a promise I had no intention of breaking.
Controlled dosage.
I had calibrated it myself — a precise cocktail of regenerative serum laced with a neural sensitizer that would heighten every sensation in Justin’s body while keeping his physical recovery locked at exactly forty-three percent. Strong enough to keep him alive. Weak enough to ensure he remained utterly dependent on my hands for every breath, every movement, every drop of pleasure he would never receive.
I entered the treatment room at 2200.
Justin was already waiting, strapped down, trembling. The political ripples from my meeting with Darius Kane had reached him through the open audio feed I deliberately left active. He knew the realm was shifting. He knew another Alpha had
