The Prisoned Alpha

Chapter 8

The air in the prison yard was thick with the dust of a thousand footsteps and the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun. Xander was, as always, sitting alone on his bench, a quiet, immovable island in the turbulent sea of inmates. His senses, though dulled by the wolfsbane, were still a constant, low-level hum, and he could feel the shift in the atmosphere the moment the new group of inmates was brought in.

The new prisoners, clad in fresh orange jumpsuits, were a mass of nervous energy, and in their midst was a young kid, no older than twenty, his eyes wide with a profound fear.

A few of the more "violent" inmates, a small, vicious-looking gang that Xander had seen torment others before, had their eyes set on the kid. Their whispers were low and crude, their gestures predatory and mocking. They were circling him, a pack of hungry wolves around a lost sheep. The kid, trembling, was a picture of abject terror, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes darting frantically, looking for an escape that didn't exist.

Xander, who had long since learned the art of looking away, of not getting involved, felt a profound, almost human, sense of pity. He knew what would happen to the kid if he didn't do something. He had seen it before. The thought of a young, terrified boy being broken by this brutal place stirred a deep, righteous anger in his gut, an anger that was a part of him, and a part of Bane.

He rose from his bench, a tall, imposing shadow that seemed to stretch in the afternoon sun. The conversations in the yard hushed as he began to walk toward the circling inmates. He moved with a quiet, lethal grace, his gaze fixed on the leader of the gang, a man with a tattoo of a spider on his neck and a sneer on his face.

“Leave him be,” Xander said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that was a warning and a command.

The leader, a man named Spider, turned to him, his sneer turning into a vicious, mocking grin. “What’s it to you, Ghost? Gonna play hero? The kid ain’t your problem.”

“He is now,” Xander said, his voice a low, cold threat.

The fight was brutal and fast. Spider and his men, a small army of violence and muscle, charged him. But Xander, even weakened by the wolfsbane, was a force of nature. He moved with a speed and a precision that was terrifyingly unnatural. His fists, hard as rocks, were a blur of motion, breaking bones, shattering teeth, and sending men flying in every direction. He fought with a detached, brutal efficiency, a quiet storm of violence. He didn't feel the punches, the kicks, the blows. He barely felt the shiv, a small, cold piece of sharpened metal, that one of Spider’s men managed to sink into his side. It was a fleeting, insignificant sting in the midst of the chaos.

When the guards finally arrived, they found Xander standing over a dozen unconscious, bleeding men, his body a quiet, imposing testament to the power they so desperately tried to contain. He was bleeding from his side, a dark, rich stain that was slowly spreading across his gray prison shirt, but his face was impassive, his eyes a cold, hard blue.

He was brought to the infirmary, his hands cuffed in front of him, and shoved onto the examination table. The flimsy paper crinkled beneath his immense weight, and the smell of antiseptic and fear was a familiar, unwelcome presence. But it was quickly replaced by a new, intoxicating scent, a scent that was a constant, maddening torment to Bane.

Olivia, her face a mask of professional calm, was already standing by the tray, her hands holding a series of tools and a roll of gauze. She had heard about the fight, the brutal, one-sided battle that had taken place in the yard, and a cold fear had settled in her heart. But when she saw him, her professional curiosity, her deep-seated attraction, and her fierce need to help him took over.

She began to clean the wound, her movements precise and gentle. She was forced to cut away his shirt, exposing his chest and his abdomen, a vast, rippling landscape of muscle and old, faded tattoos.

He was a perfect specimen of masculine power, a physical manifestation of everything his presence had screamed at her. She studied his body, the immense strength, the defined lines of his muscles, the raw power that was barely contained beneath his skin. She was supposed to be a professional, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart began to beat a little faster, and a deep, low heat began to build in her core, a profound, undeniable sense of arousal.

Xander, his senses now on high alert from the physical exertion of the fight, flared his nostrils, his eyes fixed on her. He could smell it. He could smell the subtle shift in her scent, the rising heat of her body, the raw, animalistic arousal that was a powerful, intoxicating perfume.

"She wants us," Bane’s voice was a low, guttural growl in his head, a sound of profound, triumphant pleasure. "She wants us, Alexander. Mark her. Take her now. She is ready. Her scent… it is driving me mad. She is ours. She is ours!"

Xander’s jaw tightened, the battle for control now a raging war in his skull. His body was screaming to obey, to listen to the powerful, primal voice of his wolf. He wanted to claim her. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to be free.

As Olivia continued to work, she pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, exposing her neck, the soft, smooth skin where a werewolf would mark their mate. It was the main artery, a place of profound significance, a place of power and connection.

Xander felt his canines, dulled and softened by the wolfsbane, begin to pulse. They were slowly, agonizingly, beginning to grow longer, a physical, visceral manifestation of Bane’s profound, all-consuming hunger.

The door to the infirmary opened, and the guard from the first scene, a grim-faced man with a permanent scowl, stepped in. “That’s enough, Doctor,” he said, his voice a low, cold warning. “Hurry it up.”

Xander narrowed his eyes at the guard, the rage of his wolf now a silent, deadly force. He was about to speak, to snarl a command, but Olivia beat him to it. She looked at the guard, her eyes a flash of fierce, defiant emerald, and a sharp, commanding tone entered her voice.

“Let me do my job,” she said, her voice a low, professional threat. “He took a shiv to the side. I need to make sure he hasn’t lost too much blood, and to do that, I need to talk to him. Now let me do my job.”

The guard’s jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek jumping, but he said nothing, simply backed away, his face a mask of simmering fury.

Bane, a silent, amused observer of the scene, let out a low, satisfied purr. "I like her sassiness," he said, the words a dark, lecherous thought in Xander's mind. "I wonder if she is like that in bed as well."

Xander tightened his jaw, his whole body a coiled knot of tension, and with a supreme act of will, he pushed Bane back into the darkest corner of his mind. The fight was over, but the war, a war for his own body, for his sanity, and for the life of the woman he was beginning to fall for, had just begun.

Olivia, her hands steady and professional, finished the last of the stitches on Xander’s side. She had cleaned and disinfected the wound with an efficiency that belied the turmoil in her heart. He was a piece of living, breathing art, and she had spent the last few moments of her time with him studying every hard line and defined muscle of his abdomen. His body, a testament to pure, raw power, was a stunning landscape of strength and resilience. She finished, cut the thread, and stepped back, a small, professional smile on her lips.

“Alright,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I need you to step over to the scale for me. I need to get your weight. It’s not in your file, and I need it to prescribe your antibiotics.”

The guard, who had been watching the interaction with a simmering impatience, immediately stepped forward, his hand on Xander’s bicep.

“There’s no need, Doctor,” he said, his voice a low, cold threat. “His time is up. We have other places to be.”

But before the guard could pull him away, Olivia stepped forward, blocking the way. She stood directly in front of Xander, her small, feminine body a stark and defiant contrast to the guard’s towering frame.

She was looking up at the guard, her eyes a flash of hazel emerald steel.

“I have to get his weight so I can prescribe him some antibiotics,” she said, her voice unwavering.

The guard scoffed, a humorless, ugly sound. “No. He gets one set of medicine, and that’s it. That’s the rule. You know the rule.”

He started to move past her, but Olivia moved with him, a small, unwavering obstacle in his path. “He needs antibiotics in case he gets an infection,” she said, her voice low and furious.

The guard, his face a mask of rage, leaned down, his voice a low growl. “The warden says…”

Olivia cut him off, her voice a low, commanding whisper. “I don’t give a f**k what the warden says. And you can go tell him that. I was hired to do my job as a doctor, and that’s what I intend to do, no matter what.”

The guard, a man who had never been spoken to with such insolence, simply sighed in defeat and backed away.

Xander, who had been a silent, amused spectator of the exchange, felt a small, genuine smirk touching his lips. It was almost comical, this small, feisty woman standing up to a man twice her size. It was a sight that was both amusing and utterly arousing, and he felt a slow, simmering heat building in his core.

Olivia turned to him, the defiance on her face melting away, replaced by a soft, triumphant smile. She gave him a quick, knowing wink that sent his pulse quickening and a shockwave of pleasure through his body. She led him over to the scale, and he stepped on it, the numbers blinking to a stop.

Olivia raised an eyebrow, a small, playful smile on her lips. “Two-hundred and thirty-five pounds. You’re a big boy,” she said, a hint of something more than just professional interest in her voice.

Xander, his smirk now a full-blown grin, simply nodded.

"We got a big boy alright," Bane’s voice rumbled in his head, a dark, lecherous thought that was a reference to his own physical size. Xander rolled his eyes at the wolf’s vulgarity, but the thought was a familiar and powerful one.

Olivia then took his height, her hands on his shoulders as she measured him. “Six-foot-three,” she murmured, writing it down on a chart. She then looked up at him, her eyes searching his, and asked,

“Are you allergic to any medicines? Antibiotics?”

Xander shook his head, and in a low, gravelly voice that was a sound of pure power, he said, “No.”

The word was a physical force, a deep, resonating sound that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. She was a professional, but her body had just reacted to a man’s voice, a man who, according to his file, was a sociopath.

"Touch her," Bane’s voice was now a frantic, demanding whisper. "I want to feel her soft skin, I want to taste it. I want to ravish her until she can’t breathe."

Xander’s mind was a maelstrom of conflicting voices. He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his side, his whole body a coil of desperate tension.

No, Bane, he commanded, the thought a silent, desperate roar. We can’t. Stop it!

Olivia, seeing the raw, physical struggle on his face, a struggle that had no logical explanation, reached out and placed a soft hand on his arm. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice full of a genuine, heartbreaking concern.

"Kiss her," Bane’s voice was a low, seductive whisper. "I want to know what she tastes like."

Xander cleared his throat, the sound a rough, guttural sound that was an effort to regain control. “I’m fine,” he said, the lie a bitter taste in his mouth.

She walked over to the medicine cabinet, her mind a whirlwind of professional concern, and took out a small bottle of antibiotics and a cup of water. She handed them to him, her fingers brushing his, and the touch sent a jolt of electricity through them both.

Xander, who knew that by tomorrow morning his wound would be completely healed, simply smirked.

He didn't need the pills, but he would humor his pretty little human. He took them from her, swallowed them with the water, and handed her back the empty cup.

“You’ll need to take one every day for the next seven days,” she said, a small, professional smile on her face. “I’ll add it to my rounds. I’ll stop by your cell to give them to you.”

The thought made Bane’s pacing in his mind quicken. She was coming to see him. Every day.

Just then, the guard, his patience at an end, walked up and grabbed Xander’s arm. “Time’s up, Mahon. Let’s go.”

Olivia, acting on a sudden, desperate impulse, quickly placed a hand on his massive bicep. She gently traced the hard lines of his muscles, her fingers lingering for a moment, and then, as if she had just realized what she was doing, she pulled back, her cheeks flushed.

“Take it easy,” she said, her voice a low, breathless whisper.

Xander nodded, his face impassive, and with a supreme act of will, he walked out the door with the guard, leaving Olivia alone in the silence of the infirmary, her mind reeling with a thousand new questions and a strange, exhilarating sense of victory.