Little One

POV Declan

Standing directly underneath the unconscious body of a severely pissed-off, scumbag shifter, I look down and find the most beautiful, yet completely lifeless, teal eyes I have ever seen. They belong to a severely battered, entirely naked Omega female cowering in the shadows of her filthy cage. Instantly, my inner wolf, Bram, furiously surfaces from the depths of my consciousness. A single, overwhelmingly aggressive command echoes in my mind, rattling against my skull with primal intensity: *“Protect.”*

Acting on pure, unfiltered instinct, I step forward and deck the bastard warden with a crushing, brutal blow to his jaw. Bone crunches satisfyingly under my heavy knuckles, the impact sending a jolt up my forearm. As the scumbag stumbles back, eyes rolling back in his head, Cassian effortlessly flanks him. My Beta raises his weapon and casually fires two heavy tranquilizer darts straight into the bastard’s ass. The warden hits the cold concrete floor like a sack of dead weight, groaning once before going completely limp.

We need to preserve our pack healers' energy for our own people. Wasting their gifts on healing a bullet wound on an enemy is out of the question. Besides, we need to keep this piece of shit conscious enough for future, agonizing torture. I want him to feel every ounce of pain he inflicted on the people trapped in this facility.

I turn my attention back to the tiny Omega. She huddles blindly in the very back of her cage, utterly terrified and trembling violently. I step closer, my heightened senses dialed to the max. She carries the distinct scent of a shifter, but Bram frantically notes that he absolutely cannot sense her inner wolf's presence. My chest goes dangerously cold. It is a terrifying indicator of a devastating, and very often fatal, wolf abandonment. A wolf only severs the bond and leaves its human due to extreme, prolonged trauma. Most shifters don't survive the severance; they lose their will, fail to thrive, and deteriorate rapidly. It is a tragic, devastating thing to witness, and knowing she has endured enough pain to cause it makes my blood boil.

Her delicate skin and long hair are as white as untouched mountain snow, making the damage inflicted upon her all the more glaring. Her frail body is painfully marred by an array of ugly, yellowing bruises and deep, bleeding cuts that crisscross her pale flesh. I squat down in front of the cold steel bars, lowering my voice as much as my rumbling chest will allow. I try to offer soft, calm words and reassurances to comfort her, but as I lean in, her unique lavender scent hits me. It is a jarring, deeply emotional reminder of my late mother's favorite smell. My mother used to cover herself in lavender, planting it all around our old estate. But right now, that beautiful, nostalgic scent suddenly spikes with the sharp, acidic tang of pure fear.

The bitter scent deeply aggravates my protective wolf. Bram is pacing, snarling, fighting me for control, ready to tear this whole facility to the ground to keep her safe. I cannot afford to shift in front of a terrified girl. I quickly mind-link Nolan, our pack's best healer, demanding his assessment immediately.

Nolan steps in a second later, his medical bag already open. He takes one look at her severely emaciated and deeply traumatized physical state and shakes his head. He firmly advises immediate chemical sedation. If we try to move her while she is this panicked, her heart rate will spike, and she will trigger a severe, potentially fatal anxiety attack.

Nolan crouches down, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my simmering rage. He reaches slowly through the bars, placing his bare hands gently on her bruised legs. I watch as he channels his warm healing gift into her system. It’s just enough to slightly relax her tense, trembling muscles, pulling her out of her blind panic for a fraction of a second. It gives me the brief, necessary opening to slip the syringe into her upper arm and sedate her quickly and efficiently.

Once she goes completely limp, I unlock the cage door and pull it open. I carefully sweep her frail, blood-matted body up into my arms. She weighs next to nothing, her bones sharp against my grip. I hold her tightly against my chest, shielding her from the harsh reality of the dungeon around us as I carry her out of the hellhole.

During the long, tense drive back to the Obsidian Pack territory, Bram stirs restlessly. He paces relentlessly in my mind over the unconscious Omega secured securely in my grip in the back seat of the heavy armored SUV. I can’t stop staring at her pale face, tracking the shallow rise and fall of her chest, wondering what kind of monsters could do this to someone so fragile.

Cassian, lounging in the passenger seat up front, turns back to look at us. He is a lethal, bloodthirsty killer with a pretty boy smile, and he can never just sit in silence.

"Can't say I remember the last time you held a girl in your arms this long, Declan," Cassian smirks, his tone dripping with his usual taunting amusement.

"Shut up and watch the road," I snark back, tightening my hold on her slightly. I don't do relationships, and Cassian knows it.

He ignores my warning, a knowing glint in his eye. "You know, she smells highly distinct. That lavender—"

My chest tightens like a steel vise. A low, threatening growl tears from my throat, immediately filling the confined space of the vehicle. "I said drop it, Cassian. Now."

I forcefully shut the conversation down, entirely unwilling to discuss the painful memories that the lavender scent evokes. Cassian holds his hands up in mock surrender and turns back around, finally leaving me alone with the ghost of my mother’s memory and the broken girl resting against my chest.

Upon arriving at our pack hospital on the pack grounds, the quiet calm of the ride completely shatters. Nolan immediately takes charge the second I carry her through the double doors of the medical wing. He loudly barks precise medical orders at his staff, demanding a full work-up, extensive imaging, multiple blood panels to check for poisons, a full body MRI, and the application of bed restraints.

I lay her gently on the sterile hospital bed in room one, stepping back so the nurses can work. But when I hear the word restraints, my anger flares hot and fast. Bram snaps his jaws in my head, furious at the idea of tying her down after she just escaped a cage. I step right into Nolan's personal space, towering over the healer.

"Are you out of your mind?" I sternly question him, my voice dropping to a dangerous, commanding octave. "Look at her. You think it's necessary to wake a severely traumatized girl up in heavy shackles after pulling her from a dungeon?"

Nolan doesn't back down an inch. He meets my furious Alpha glare head-on, his medical authority unyielding. "They aren't shackles, Declan, and you know that," he insists firmly. "We have no idea how she will react when she awakens. Due to her extreme abuse, she might violently lash out from sheer terror or drug-induced hallucinations. She could rip her IVs out, hurt herself, or attack my staff."

I stare at the thick padded cuffs in the nurse's hands, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack my teeth.

Nolan softens his tone just a fraction, sensing the battle raging between my logic and my wolf's instincts. "I expect her to sleep peacefully for several days while her body heals. I’m starting her on TPN nutrition to get some weight on her. The restraints are strictly for her own safety."

Recognizing the solid medical logic behind his words, and knowing I need to let him do his crucial job without my interference, I forcefully grit my teeth. I take a deep breath, fighting down Bram’s primal, roaring urge to rip the restraints away, and step back from the bed.

I step out into the quiet hospital hallway, pulling out my phone while simultaneously opening the mind-link to Cassian to ensure our newly acquired prisoner is heavily secured in the holding cells.

*“Is the scumbag locked down?”* I ask through the mental connection.

Cassian answers instantly, joking in a highly exaggerated, snooty butler accent. *“I have prepared the VIP accommodations for our guest, sire. Chains and a piss bucket.”*

I let out a dark, rough chuckle, the heavy tension bleeding out of my broad shoulders just a little bit. *“Drop the accent, idiot. I’m going to head to the estate and grab a much-needed shower to wash off the raid. I will meet you in my private office right after.”*

I cut the link and head straight for my home.

Ten minutes later, I am stepping under the scalding spray of my private, custom-built shower. I turn the heat up as high as the plumbing will allow, letting the punishing water pound against my tense muscles. I grab a bar of soap and scrub vigorously at my skin, watching the dried blood, sweat, and compound dirt swirl into a dark puddle before washing down the drain. But washing the physical filth off my body does absolutely nothing to clear my spinning head.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her. The haunting image of her sad, terrified teal eyes completely and utterly consumes my thoughts. The thick steam rising around me seems to carry the lingering ghost of her lavender scent, invading my senses, filling my lungs, and driving Bram absolutely insane with possessive need.

The potent combination of her stunning beauty and her desperate vulnerability hits me like a freight train. My body reacts without my permission, blood rushing southward with aggressive force. My cock gets intensely, painfully hard, jutting out heavily against the hot stream of water. The erection throbs, demanding immediate attention.

A heavy wave of deep, suffocating guilt washes over me. I press my forehead against the wet glass of the shower wall, cursing myself. I am getting physically turned on by a broken girl who has just endured a decade of unimaginable trauma. She is bruised, starved, terrified, and currently strapped to a hospital bed. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this. It is sick. It is wrong. I try to force the dirty thoughts away, to focus on the interrogation ahead and the logistics of the raid, but Bram is relentless. He flashes her stunning, snow-white face in my mind's eye again and again, pushing my arousal higher and higher until the ache in my groin is agonizing.

Desperately needing the physical release to clear my chaotic head so I can focus on my Alpha duties, my hand moves down. I firmly grip my stiff, aching shaft.

I begin to stroke my erect penis in the hot water. A low, ragged groan escapes my lips, echoing in the large bathroom. I can't stop the vivid fantasy playing out in my mind, no matter how hard I try to suppress it. I imagine her snow-white skin pressed flush against mine, the contrast of her delicate, pale frame against my heavily muscled chest. I picture her soft, pouty lips trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hard planes of my abs, her breath hot against my wet skin.

The strokes get faster, my grip tightening aggressively on my thick cock. Bram growls in deep, rumbling approval, fueling the fire in my blood. I imagine her looking up at me with those mesmerizing, almond-shaped teal eyes, slowly getting down on her knees on the wet shower tile for me. I picture her acting like a perfect, obedient good girl, taking my hard penis deep into her mouth, her wet tongue swirling eagerly around the sensitive tip.

"Fuck," I grit out, my voice hoarse.

My pace quickens drastically, my large hand sliding up and down my slick shaft in a furious, driving rhythm. My breathing turns into harsh, heavy pants that bounce off the tiled walls of the shower. The slick friction of my hand and the intense, dirty mental image of her lips wrapped around my cock push me right over the edge.

I finally release with a heavy, full-body shudder. My hips jerk forward as I pump my fist against my length, shooting thick ropes of hot semen onto the dark tiles. The scalding water catches it immediately, washing my sticky seed away down the shower drain. I stand there for a long moment, chest heaving rapidly, breathing hard against the wet wall while the water beats down on my back.

My mind is entirely, dangerously focused on the claiming of our little omega.

*Ours?*

I snap my eyes open and violently shake my head, the harsh reality of the cold tile grounding me. I stare blindly down at the silver drain, forcing my racing heart and erratic breathing to slow.

No. Not our omega.