005: Must Survive

The deathly silence of the lower quarters was choking, though well-acquainted with the fact. Cold stone walls pressed upon her, poor light reflected from one solitary bulb overhead, water somewhere far away dripping constant burble; it seemed the world shrank herself and her thoughts alone.

She drew her knees up to her chest, her hazel eyes staring into the dimness. With the rough handling she'd gotten, her body did ache, but way inside, that was where it hurt.

It sounded like the words of the Alpha still echoed in her head.

"Weak. Pitiful."

She gritted her teeth, the memory of his smirk making her chest tighten. He had dismissed her like she was nothing, just another rogue who didn’t deserve to live. But she wasn’t nothing. She had survived.

Her nails pierced into her palms as a wave of anger flowed through her. "He does not know the things I've been through. What I have lost."

Again, the flutter of her parents' faces danced across her mind, and the sting in her eyes was old news. She had watched them die, unable to do a thing, and that guilt weighed upon her like a stone-one that would never leave her, however hard she tried to push it away.

"I must survive," she said in a whisper to the rooftops as if silence itself needed that whisper. "For them, for the Hibiscus Pack."

But survival sounded so much like an empty accomplishment when she had no plan, was weak, and was left all alone. Her growling belly told her just how precarious a state she was, intake of food earlier kept her alive, yet it hadn't gotten rid of the gnawing ache that held her.

She relaxed her head back on the wall, closing her eyes. For a moment, she let herself dream of escape, of freedom, a life where she didn't have to run or hide.

But those dreams felt as far away as the stars she couldn't see from this prison.

---

Ryland sat in his office, leaned back in his chair, staring at the phone in his hand. The sleek device softly buzzed, the screen showing Serena's name. He let out a sigh and rubbed his temple before answering.

"Hello, Serena," he said, tone neutral.

"Ryland," her voice came through light and playful. "You disappeared after dinner. I thought we could spend some time together.”

"I had work to do," he said shortly.

There was silence and then she spoke again, her tone teasing. "You've been so distant these last few hours. Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he replied quickly, though the irritation wasn't hard to catch in his tone.

She laughed low and soft. "Good. I was starting to worry. You didn't even touch me tonight."

Ryland's eyes closed as his jaw clenched. He could hear the edge of disappointment in her voice, but that only served to feed his frustration.

"I've been busy," he replied shortly.

"Busy?" She repeated it-a change in her voice, softer, almost sulky. "You are always busy, Ryland. You don't miss me?"

He blew out a hard breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course, I do."

"Then show it," she said, her voice again sweet as she said, "Come see me tomorrow. I miss us."

"Fine," he growled low, all but his patience wearing thin.

"Good," she brightened. "I will be waiting."

And with that, she hung up, leaving him to stare at the phone momentarily before he flipped it onto the desk with a frustrated grunt.

He sat back in his chair, focusing on the ceiling. More than a year ago, he'd asked Serena to be his fiancée, a decision not born out of love, but of necessity. Yes, loyal, obedient, and dependable were all those things he had wanted of a partner.

But still, she was lacking. 

She did not excite nor challenge him, and though she was everything he thought he had ever wanted, she just was not enough.

Ryland ran a hand through his wild red hair, and his mind strayed to other thoughts. He'd known since always that he was different back when, as an Alpha wanting more than what traditional dynamics would allow in a mate bond, there was nothing typical about him. To his contemporaries, his tastes had been "wild" and "unusual." And Serena. Poor, lost Serena, she simply had not understood him.

She tried, of course. She was loving and accommodating, but she drew the line at the things he truly desired. The thrill of control, the power dynamics he craved, it wasn't something she could give him.

And lately, it was wearing on him.

His thoughts shifted to the girl in the lower quarters. The rogue. The stray.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since their encounter. She was weak, yes, but there was a fire in her that intrigued him. She wasn't like the others who cowered before him, desperate for mercy.

She had looked him in the eye, defiant even in her fear. It was. Amusing.

Ryland smirked, his wolf stirring at the memory.

"She's just a wild little kitten," he muttered to himself. "Weak, but fiery."

The thought brought a flicker of amusement to his face. He didn't know why she fascinated him, but he wasn't about to ignore it.

Perhaps he would find some entertainment in her after all.

As the night wore on, Ryland was finally alone in his bedroom. The gigantic area was softly lit by moonlight, with curtains dancing gently with every breeze.

He sat on the bed and felt his mind racing. There was no sleep to be found that night, as his thoughts kept coming around to the rogue girl, then to Serena, and the void within his chest when he should already have everything he had always wanted.

And then, there it was.

A fragrance.

At first, it was faint, but it grew in strength until it wrapped around him like a whisper. It was intoxicating, sweet, and utterly irresistible.

His wolf growled deep in his chest. The primal sound vibrated through him.

"What is that?" he murmured. His emerald eyes narrowed.

Something inside of him stirred from the scent, something he had no control over. His wolf clawed at the surface, desperate to be let out.

Ryland stood slowly, every movement was a languid, slow deliberation. His gaze darted to the door, instantly on high alert, trying to place the source.

The scent was drawing him, pulling him as the song of sirens.

"I need to know," he growled low.

With one lurching step forward, his heart was pounding, his chest churning with a mix of curiosity and something more-deeper, more primeval.