The Prisoned Alpha

Chapter 10

The day was a slow, agonizing crawl towards an inevitable end. Xander was a raw nerve, every muscle in his body coiled with a restless, anxious energy. He could feel it in the air, a primal hum of power that was growing stronger with every passing hour. The full moon was tonight.

Every werewolf knew the curse and the blessing of the full moon. It was the one night a month when a werewolf lost all control of his human side, forcing the animal inside to take over completely. It intensified everything—the strength, the speed, the rage, and most of all, the mating instinct. For ten years, the full moon had been a brutal, solitary war that he had fought in the pitch-black darkness of a solitary cell in the basement. But now, everything was different. He had found his mate. His human mate.

And he knew, with a terrifying certainty, that Bane would now do everything in his power to get to her. The wolf, an animal that had been denied its mate for over a decade, would be a raging, unstoppable force of nature.

The clanging of his cell door being unlocked and the sound of heavy footsteps pulled him from his dark thoughts. A guard with a pissed-off look on his face walked in, his eyes dark with a familiar contempt.

“In the middle of the room, Mahon,” the guard said, his voice a low, hard command. “Hands visible.”

Xander did as he was told, his body a monument of still, watchful stone. He knew what this was. This was the start of his nightly lockdown.

Then, she walked in.

As soon as her eyes, bright hazel and full of a profound, professional calm, met his, his heart, a cold, still thing for ten years, gave a powerful, resounding jolt. His breath caught in his throat. Her long, thick, wavy hair was down, a soft, sandy blonde cascade around her shoulders. Her lips, so full and plump, were a perfect, sensual curve on her face. He couldn’t help it. He found a small, genuine smile touching his lips. He was so caught up in her beauty that a dark, guttural hum, a low, satisfied sound, filled his mind.

"Oh, yes," Bane rumbled, the words a low, satisfied growl. "She is even more beautiful up close. I want to taste her. She looks extremely sweet."

Olivia walked closer, a small, kind smile on her face that was a beacon of light in the dim, stale air of his cell. "How are you feeling, Alexander?" she said, her voice a soft, melodic sound that was a profound, shocking contrast to the brutal sounds of the prison. "Any pain or discomfort?"

Xander felt a shiver run down his spine, a primal, animalistic jolt of pleasure when she said his full name. It sounded like a promise, like a prayer. He wanted to hear her say it again, to hear her say it a thousand times.

"I bet other sounds sound just as sweet coming from her mouth," Bane’s voice was a low, lecherous thought that made Xander’s jaw tighten.

He cleared his throat, the small, human sound a desperate effort to maintain control. “No,” he managed to get out, the word rough and unfamiliar on his tongue.

Olivia nodded and handed him a small paper cup with two pills and a small cup of water. He took the pills, the small, white tablets a pathetic antidote to the poison in his system.

"If anything doesn't feel right, or if you feel any pain, you come see me immediately, ok?" she said, her voice a low, genuine whisper.

Xander looked into her eyes, those beautiful, searching eyes, and he felt the pull, the undeniable need to reach out and touch her, to hold her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. He involuntarily started to move his hand, an unconscious effort to reach for her. But before he could even raise it, the guard’s voice, a sharp, cold command, cut through the moment.

“Hands at your side, inmate!” he yelled, his eyes fixed on Xander’s hands.

Xander’s body tensed, and a low growl, a deep, animalistic sound, vibrated in his chest. He balled his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the primal rage that was begging to be free. He turned to Olivia, who was side-eyeing the guard with an equal measure of contempt and annoyance.

She gave him a soft, reassuring smile, a private look that was just for him. “Goodnight, Xander,” she said, the words a soft, gentle goodbye.

Xander, his eyes fixed on hers, felt a small, triumphant smirk touch his lips. He was in a cage, in a place of death and despair, but she was looking at him with a tenderness that made him feel alive. “Good night, Olivia,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly sound that was a promise, a confession, and a raw, guttural growl of his deep, primal desire.

Olivia’s pulse quickened, and her body, from her stomach to her toes, suddenly felt hot, a flush of pure heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He had said her name. Not with a professional tone, but with a low, possessive growl that was a sound of ownership. She watched as the guards led him from the room, and she knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified her, that her world had just changed forever.

The journey to the lower levels of Black River Prison was a descent into a cold, suffocating darkness. The air grew colder with every step, the scent of mildew and damp stone replacing the usual institutional funk.

The guards, their faces grim and their grip on his arms like a vice, led Xander down a long, winding stone staircase, its steps worn and slick with age. The sounds of the prison, the distant shouts and the rhythmic clanging of doors, faded into a low, echoing hum. The silence of the lower levels was a profound, heavy thing, broken only by the sound of their footsteps.

At the bottom, a single, flickering lightbulb cast long, dancing shadows, revealing a short, grimy corridor that ended at a heavily reinforced door. The door was a monstrous thing of thick, welded steel and iron bars, a fortress built to contain a force of immense, unholy power.

Standing in front of it was Warden Barnes. He was a silent, imposing figure, the cherry-red tip of a cigar glowing in the dim light. A thin wisp of smoke curled from his lips and dissipated in the stale air. His cold, emotionless eyes were fixed on Xander, a look of profound, chilling amusement on his face.

"Getting awfully cozy with the new doctor, aren't we, Mahon?" Barnes said, his voice a low, gravelly sound that seemed to scrape against the concrete walls.

Xander said nothing, his eyes, those brilliant, soul-deep blue eyes, narrowing into a cold, piercing glare.

Barnes took a slow, deliberate puff of his cigar, the red tip glowing in the dark, and stepped closer, the smell of his cologne and the acrid smoke a powerful, cloying presence in the air. "I'll tell you this once," he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "She's a part of our staff. You keep your distance from her, or else."

A low growl, a deep, guttural sound of pure rage, rumbled in Xander’s chest. "I will kill him," Bane’s voice roared in his mind, a violent, all-consuming fury that wanted nothing more than to tear the warden limb from limb. "He is a threat to her. He is a threat to us. I will tear his throat out."

The guards, their faces grim and set, shoved Xander toward the door. They fumbled with the locks, a dozen heavy bolts clanging open with a brutal, echoing sound. They then pushed him, hard, into the reinforced room. The room was a dark, suffocating box, the smell of old blood and a raw, animalistic fury a thick, cloying presence in the air. The walls were scarred with deep, vicious claw marks, a testament to the rage of the beast that was contained within.

The guards quickly shut the door behind him, the sound of the locks clanging shut a brutal, final note in the silence. The warden, his face a cold, triumphant mask, opened the small peephole in the door and looked in at him, his lips curled into a cruel, humorless smile.

"Enjoy your night," he said, his voice a final, chilling whisper before the peephole slammed shut, plunging Xander into a profound, all-consuming darkness. He was alone, in a place of torment and madness, with nothing but the low, guttural growl of his wolf to keep him company.

The last whisper of light from the peephole vanished, leaving Xander in a profound, suffocating darkness.

He was alone with the cold, the silence, and the mounting, undeniable pull of the full moon. It was coming. He could feel it in his blood, a deep, ancient rhythm that was growing stronger with every beat of his heart. His pulse began to quicken, a frantic drum against his ribs, his body heating up from the inside out, until sweat dripped from his brow and his skin felt like it was on fire.

For ten years, this monthly battle had been a brutal, solitary war. A werewolf’s shift was a thing of instinct, but for Xander, who could only shift once a month, it was an involuntary act, and a profoundly painful one.

He gritted his teeth, a low, animalistic groan escaping his lips as the first wave of agony hit him. His bones began to ache, a deep, resonant pain that felt like they were being crushed and reshaped from the inside. His skin felt prickly, a thousand tiny needles pricking his flesh as the transformation began. His heart raced so fast he thought it would explode, a frantic, wild thing in his chest.

And then, there was Bane.

The wolf, a creature of pure, unrestrained instinct, was clawing at the surface, his desire for their mate now a feverish, all-consuming need. "I want her," Bane’s voice was a low, guttural roar in his mind, a sound of pure fury. "She is so close, I can smell her. I want to find her, to taste her, to take her! I will break out of here! I will kill them all! I will find our mate!"

Xander breathed heavy through the pain, a raw, ragged sound in the darkness. He felt his bones and muscles trying to tear and reshape under his skin, a sickening, grotesque dance of raw power and agonizing change. He was no longer a man. He was a battlefield. The scent of her, that intoxicating scent of strawberries and mint, was a constant, maddening torment in his mind, a promise of a future he couldn’t have, a pleasure he was being denied.

He felt his body shifting, the sickening cracks of his bones reshaping with a brutal, echoing sound in the dark. His muscles stretched and tore, his human flesh shedding away, his skin giving way to a new, living layer of pitch-black fur. It was going to be a long, agonizing night. He was going to spend it in a cage, a beast screaming for a woman he couldn’t have.

And then, in a single, fluid second, the battle was over.

The man, a tormented, broken thing of bone and blood and pain, was gone, pushed back to the farthest, darkest part of his own mind. The animal, a raw, terrifying creature of instinct and rage, was now in control. Bane, a massive, powerful black wolf, emerged with a deafening, soul-shaking roar that tore through the prison, shaking the walls, shattering the silence, and leaving a thousand terrified men to wonder what kind of monster was being held beneath their feet.