The Prisoned Alpha

Chapter 9

The steel door to Xander’s cell clanged shut with a familiar finality, a brutal, echoing sound that was the last word of every day. The guards had unchained him and left, leaving him in the solitude that had been his only companion for a decade.

But today, the solitude was not a comfort. It was an empty, echoing space filled with the memory of her. The cold, damp air of the cell was a sudden shock to his senses after the warmth of her touch, the scent of her hair, and the captivating light in her eyes.

He sank onto his small, metal bed, his back leaning against the cold stone wall, his body still humming with the phantom touches of her hands. His mind, which had been a quiet, desolate fortress for ten years, was now a vibrant, churning sea of thoughts, all of them centered on one woman.

He thought of her hands, her gentle, careful hands as she had stitched his wound. He had felt no pain, only the profound, surprising warmth of her touch. He thought of her voice, a melodic, gentle sound that was a stark contrast to the harsh, guttural sounds of the prison. He thought of her sassiness, the fierce, defiant look in her eyes as she stood up to the guard, a man who was four times her size. She had no fear. She had simply looked at him and seen a bully, not a threat, and she had stood her ground, her small body a perfect, unwavering wall of pure will. She was a contradiction, a small, beautiful human with a backbone of steel.

"Our tiny little human is fearless," Bane’s voice rumbled in his head, a low, satisfied growl that was filled with a possessive pride. "She is a perfect mate. She will not break. She will not bow down. She will be a queen."

Xander let out a long, weary sigh, the sound a low, almost imperceptible whisper in the quiet of his cell. She can't be our mate, Bane, he thought, the words a cold, bitter truth that was a weight on his heart. She isn't a werewolf. There’s no way she would survive the marking. The change… it would kill her. Her body is too fragile. She wouldn’t be able to mark us in return.

Bane, the great, powerful wolf, went silent for a moment. He was a creature of instinct and desire, a creature that operated on a primal need that had no room for logic or reason. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, desperate growl, a sound of profound, animalistic hunger.

"But I want her," he said, the words a simple, brutal truth that was an unanswerable question. "I want her, Alexander. I need her."

Xander’s heart, a cold, unmoving thing for ten years, gave a small, painful lurch. He leaned his head back against the wall, the cold stone a familiar comfort against the profound, emotional turmoil in his mind.

He was a king in a cage, a man who had long since given up hope, and now he had found a second chance, a beautiful, compassionate, fearless human who was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of, and he couldn't have her. He was a monster, and she was a human.

"I know, buddy," Xander whispered, the words a soft, heartbreaking sound in the dark. "I know."

The morning light was a cold, indifferent gray as Olivia made her rounds. The prison, usually a dull roar of noise, was a low, simmering hum of tension. She could feel it in the air, a palpable sense of unease that had nothing to do with the usual threats of violence.

The guards were more vigilant, their hands resting on their batons, and the inmates, usually a restless tide of energy, were now huddled in small, nervous groups, their eyes darting around as if expecting something to happen.

She made her way through the east wing, her voice a calm, professional sound in the heavy silence. She was administering the daily medicine and checking on her patients, but her mind was fixed on one man.

Her first patient, an older man with a long list of psychiatric disorders, was trembling as he accepted his medication. His eyes were wide with fear, and he looked at her with a desperate, pleading expression.

"You need to be careful, Doctor," he whispered, his voice a low, frantic sound. "The full moon is tomorrow night. The beast will be in the basement."

Olivia, her brow furrowed in confusion, tried to maintain her professional calm. "A beast? What do you mean?" she asked, her voice soft and reassuring.

The man’s eyes, a pair of haunted, frightened things, darted nervously to the floor. "You can hear it, you see," he whispered, a mad, terrified glint in his eyes.

"Roaring and growling, tearing things apart. They lock it down under the prison, by itself. The warden, he makes sure no one goes down there during the full moon. The beast in the basement comes out to play."

Olivia, trying to make sense of his words, tried to reassure him. "It's alright," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "It's just the full moon. It can have a strange effect on people."

She moved on to the next patient, a young, nervous-looking inmate who was pacing his cell like a caged animal. He took his medication from her, his hands trembling. He looked at her with a desperate, fearful expression, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"The beast in the basement," he said, his voice a low, terrified whisper. "You can hear it coming from the floor. He's furious. And they're not even feeding him."

"A beast?" she asked again, her voice still calm. "What kind of beast?"

The inmate just shook his head, his face a mask of profound fear. "The kind that wants blood," he said, his voice a low, guttural growl. "He screams and roars and tears things apart. They lock him in a cage, a big cage, and they just leave him there all night. He's gonna get out one day, Doctor. He's gonna get out and he's gonna kill us all."

Olivia, a woman of science, a woman who believed in logic and reason, felt a cold, icy dread settling in her stomach. She moved through the rounds, her mind a whirlwind of questions and a professional confusion she couldn't shake. What was a beast? Was it a man with a severe, untreatable psychological disorder that was so violent they had to keep him locked away?

Was it a myth, a legend they all shared to cope with the reality of their imprisonment? Was it a story the guards had told them to keep them in line?

She had no answers. Only a hundred new questions. She knew one thing for certain—she had to find out what was in the basement. She had to find out what kind of beast was locked away.

The soft light of the streetlamp outside her window cast long shadows across Olivia's bedroom. Her apartment, a sanctuary of muted colors and soft textures, was usually a place of profound comfort, but tonight it felt like a cage. She lay in her bed, the sheets tangled around her legs, her mind a frantic, restless thing that refused to shut down. The air was cool and still, but her body was on fire, a deep, unsettling heat that had nothing to do with the temperature.

She was thinking about him. She couldn't help it. She had tried, with every ounce of her professional will, to push him from her mind. She had gone over her other patient files, she had put on a movie, she had even tried to meditate. But all of it was a futile effort, a useless dam against a rising, powerful tide. He was in her mind, a constant, consuming presence, a living, breathing paradox of calm control and contained violence.

She thought of his demeanor. His quiet, emotionless face, a mask of stone that seemed to hide a thousand years of pain and a thousand secrets. He had barely spoken, yet his every movement, every subtle change in his expression, was a story in itself. She thought of his sheer size, the massive, muscular body that had filled the infirmary with an aura of power and dominance.

The way his muscles had rippled under her touch, the hard lines and defined sinews that spoke of an immense, brutal strength. She had wanted, with a profound, almost desperate need, to run her hands over every inch of him, to trace every line, every scar, every tattoo. She wanted to know what his body felt like, what it smelled like without the antiseptic, what it would look like without the prison uniform. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to trace every line, to kiss every inch.

She shook her head, a desperate, silent prayer for sanity. He was an inmate. A stone-cold killer. A psycho, according to his file. He was a man who had murdered his own wife, a man who was deemed too dangerous to be a part of the general population. He was not a man you desired. He was a man you feared. She was a professional. She knew better. This was a textbook case of a patient using his power and his presence to manipulate a doctor. This was dangerous. This was wrong.

She rolled onto her side, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to force the image of him from her mind. But it was a losing battle. The more she fought it, the more he was there. He wasn't a monster from a file. He was a man with a profound, terrifying secret.

And that secret was a magnetic, all-consuming force that she was powerless to resist. She was an intelligent, determined woman, but in this moment, she was utterly helpless. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. She was lost in the vast, confusing, dangerous labyrinth of her own mind, a mind that was now completely, irrevocably consumed by one man.