Noel Pov:
The hum of the car engine filled the silence, a low, steady sound that I couldn't drown out no matter how much I tried. My body trembled, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I sat in the backseat, pressed as far into the corner as I could manage.
It felt surreal—being in a car, watching the world outside rush by. I'd only seen it a handful of times, and every time before had been a brief, terrifying moment between cages.
The man driving glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but I quickly averted my gaze, pulling my floppy ears down like shutters to block him out.
What was his name again? Deric, I think. He'd introduced himself after the chaos, but the noise and panic had been too much for me to focus.
Jeanne. I blinked hard, willing the tears to stay back. What had happened to her? Was she safe? Did she make it out? My chest ached at the thought of losing her again.
"Hey," Deric's voice cut through the quiet, startling me. My ears twitched, but I didn't look up.
"It's okay," he said, softer this time, like he was trying not to spook me. "You're safe now."
Safe. The word didn't feel real. How could I be safe when Jeanne might still be out there? When I didn't know where I was going, who I could trust, or what was waiting for me?
My stomach growled loudly, and I clutched it, heat rushing to my face. I hadn't eaten before everything happened—Jeanne had tried to make me, but I couldn't. Now the hunger was gnawing at me, sharp and relentless.
"We'll stop for food soon," Deric said, his voice still calm.
I finally looked up, just for a second, catching his reflection in the mirror. His dark eyes met mine, steady and calm, but I quickly dropped my gaze.
The car hit a bump, and I flinched, my hands gripping the edge of the seat. The small device he'd used to disconnect my collar sat on the dashboard, a cold reminder of everything that had just happened.
Jeanne's words echoed in my mind: Stay strong. Don't let them see you fall apart.
I took a shaky breath, pressing my back into the seat as I tried to focus on anything other than the fear clawing at me.
The car began to slow, and I tensed. Were we stopping? Was it another trap? My heart pounded as I glanced out the window, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar scenery.
"It's just a checkpoint," Deric said, as if reading my mind. "Other officers are meeting us to process everything."
Process everything? That sounded ominous.
He turned in his seat, looking directly at me now. "Noel, right?" he asked, his tone gentle.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"Do you need anything?" he asked. "Water? Food? A break?"
I shook my head, curling further into myself. What I needed was Jeanne, and no amount of kindness from this stranger could change that.
Deric didn't push. He just sighed softly and turned back to face the road. The car moved forward again, and I closed my eyes, trying to block it all out—the noise, the fear, the uncertainty.
For now, I was alive. And for now, that had to be enough.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a convenience store, the summer heat shimmering off the asphalt. Deric glanced back at me, his dark eyes unreadable.
"I'll be right back," he said, sliding out of the car.
I stiffened, my floppy ears twitching nervously. He was leaving me alone? The idea of being left here—even for a minute—made my chest tighten.
But Deric didn't go far. Through the windshield, I watched him walk into the store, his movements calm and deliberate. I stayed frozen in the backseat, my eyes darting around to every passing car, every person, every shadow.
When he came back a few minutes later, he held a strange-looking cup in his hand. It was clear, filled with bright red and blue layers, and topped with a small dome lid and a straw. He slid into the driver's seat and held it out to me.
"Here," he said. "It's a slushie. Ever had one before?"
I stared at the cup like it was a trap, my hands gripping the edge of the seat. What even was a slushie? It looked like melted ice, but why was it so colorful?
"It's just a drink," he added, his tone patient. "You don't have to take it if you don't want to."
My stomach growled again, and I hesitated. Slowly, I reached out and took the cup, the cold plastic sending a shiver through my fingers.
"Drink it through the straw," Deric instructed.
I eyed the straw, then the drink. Tentatively, I leaned forward and took a small sip.
The burst of icy sweetness hit my tongue, and my eyes widened. It was cold—freezing, actually—but the flavors were so vibrant, so strange. I couldn't help but take another sip, then another, until the straw made a slurping sound.
Deric chuckled softly. "Careful, or you'll get a brain freeze."
I paused, not understanding what he meant but deciding to slow down just in case. The slushie was... amazing. I'd never tasted anything like it.
For a moment, I forgot about the world outside the car. The fear and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the simple joy of something new.
"Good, huh?" Deric said, watching me in the mirror.
I nodded, unable to hide the small smile creeping onto my face.
But as quickly as it came, the smile faded. I remembered Jeanne, the cages, the guards. My grip tightened on the cup, and I glanced at Deric.
"Why...?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Why what?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, gesturing to the slushie. To him. To everything.
He sighed, resting his hands on the steering wheel. "Because you deserve better than what they did to you. All of you do."
I didn't know how to respond to that. His words didn't feel real, but neither did the slushie in my hand or the summer breeze slipping through the open window.
I took another sip, the cold sweetness grounding me for just a moment.
For the first time in my life, I tasted something that wasn't survival. It was small, fleeting, but it was mine.
As I sipped the slushie, Deric's voice broke the brief silence.
"You know," he said, keeping his eyes on the road, "what they were doing to you, to all of you... it's illegal. Highly illegal. That's why we were able to shut it down."
Illegal. The word lingered in the air, unfamiliar and strange. I'd never thought of it that way before. What happened to us wasn't right—I knew that much—but hearing someone like him call it illegal made it sound like something that should never have existed in the first place.
I shifted in my seat, the cold from the slushie still tingling in my chest. "So... they can't do it anymore?" I asked hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"That's the goal," Deric replied firmly. "We're going to make sure they pay for what they've done. And no one else will go through what you did."
His words were steady, confident, but they didn't quite reach me. It was hard to believe in a world where things like that could stop.
I hesitated, clutching the cup tighter. "What about Jeanne?" I blurted, my voice cracking.
Deric glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression softening. "Jeanne?" he asked. "Who's Jeanne?"
"My friend," I said quickly. "She was there with me, in a different cage. She... she made it out, right?"
Deric's jaw tightened for a moment before he spoke. "I don't know yet," he admitted. "But once we get to the station, I'll look into it. I promise."
I wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at me. Promises didn't mean much when your life had been a string of broken ones. Still, there was something in his voice that felt different—like he actually meant it.
"She's strong," I said quietly, more to myself than to him. "She has to be okay."
Deric didn't say anything, but the way his hands gripped the steering wheel told me he understood.
I stared out the window, watching the summer sun dip lower in the sky. The world outside felt too big, too bright, too loud. But for the first time, there was a flicker of something else, too.
Hope.
The station was bustling, voices overlapping and footsteps echoing against the tiled floors. I sat on a hard bench in the corner, clutching the now-empty slushie cup like it was a lifeline.
The other survivors had been brought in, too, some huddled together, others sitting alone like me. A few faces were familiar—people I'd seen in passing through the cages—but none of them were Jeanne.
I'd scanned every face as they came in, my chest tightening each time I realized she wasn't among them. It felt like something inside me was unraveling, thread by thread.
"She's okay."
I flinched at the sudden voice and looked up to see Deric standing over me. His expression was steady, calm, but there was a softness in his dark eyes.
"Jeanne," he clarified. "She's at another station. They're taking care of her."
Relief hit me like a wave, and I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding. She was safe. Jeanne was safe.
"Can I see her?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Not yet," Deric said gently. "They're still sorting things out over there. But I'll make sure you get to see her soon, okay?"
I nodded, though the ache in my chest didn't fully subside. At least she was alive. That was something.
Hours passed in a blur of questions, paperwork, and voices. I tried to tune it all out, curling into myself on the bench.
Eventually, Deric returned with another man—a tall, broad-shouldered officer with a sharp jawline and a friendly smirk.
"This is Martinez," Deric introduced, motioning to his partner.
"Hey, kid," Martinez said, his tone light but kind. "You've had a rough day, huh?"
I didn't respond, just tightened my grip on the empty cup.
Martinez exchanged a look with Deric before pulling him aside, speaking in a low voice I could barely make out.
"He's only 21, Wolfe," Martinez said. "Nowhere to go, no family. And with him being a male omega..."
I stiffened at the words, my ears twitching. They were talking about me.
"He's a target," Martinez continued. "People like the ones who took him will be after him again. You know that."
"I know," Deric said, his voice quieter but no less firm.
"Look, you've got that big empty house," Martinez added. "It's not like you don't have the space. And let's be real, you're alone out there anyway. Maybe taking him in wouldn't be the worst idea."
There was a long pause before Deric spoke again. "I'll think about it."
Martinez clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Kid deserves a shot at something better."
They both turned back toward me, and I quickly averted my gaze, pretending I hadn't heard.
Deric cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."
I hesitated, looking up at him warily. "Where... where are we going?"
"To my place," he said simply.
My heart skipped a beat, fear and uncertainty clawing at me. His place? Why?
"It's just until we figure out something more permanent," Deric added, as if sensing my hesitation. "You'll be safe there."
Safe. The word felt foreign, but there was something about the way he said it—calm and steady, like he really meant it—that made me nod.
I stood slowly, my legs trembling beneath me. As we walked out of the station and into the night, I couldn't help but glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
I didn't know what waited for me at his place, but for the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't completely alone anymore.
The drive to Deric's home had been quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional hum of the engine. I stared out the window, watching the city lights fade into the calm of the suburbs.
When we arrived, I couldn't help but gape. His house—or rather, his mansion—was enormous. The kind of place I'd only seen in the glossy pages of magazines that sometimes lined the cages. Tall windows, a sprawling yard, and an air of emptiness that somehow made it feel even larger.
"Come on," Deric said, unlocking the front door and pushing it open.
I stepped inside hesitantly, my ears twitching as I took in the pristine floors, high ceilings, and spotless furniture. Everything was so... clean. Too clean.
"This way," he said, leading me down a hallway and into a cozy-looking living room. He motioned for me to sit on the couch, and I perched on the edge, unsure if I was even allowed to be there.
Deric sat in an armchair across from me, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied me.
"So, Noel," he began, his voice steady, "how long has it been since you've had a proper bath?"
The question caught me off guard, and I fidgeted, my hands gripping the hem of my shirt. "I... I don't know. Maybe three years?"
Deric's eyebrows shot up. "Three years?" he repeated, his tone filled with disbelief.
I nodded, staring down at my lap. "They didn't... let us. Just hosed us down sometimes. Said it was a waste of water."
He leaned back, his expression softening into something I couldn't quite place. Pity? Concern?
After a moment, he leaned forward again, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he sniffed the air.
I froze, my cheeks heating. "What are you doing?"
"Smelling you," he said bluntly.
"What? Why?" I asked, shrinking back a little.
"Well, if it's been three years, I'd expect you to stink," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
I blinked at him, completely thrown off. "And?"
He tilted his head, studying me intently. "You smell fine."
The words hit me like a slap, and my cheeks burned hotter. "It's... it's just my omega pheromones," I stammered, shifting uncomfortably. "They keep me from smelling bad, I guess."
Deric raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Convenient."
I looked away, feeling flustered. Why was he looking at me like that? And why did it make my heart beat faster?
"Well," he said after a moment, standing up, "you might not stink, but three years is three years. Come on. Let's get you set up with a bath."
He started toward the hallway, and I hesitated before following him. My mind swirled with confusion and embarrassment, but there was also something else. Something that made me glance at him out of the corner of my eye and wonder why his presence felt strangely... safe.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the steaming water as Deric rummaged through the cabinet under the sink.
"You'll need this," he said, pulling out a bottle of shampoo and handing it to me. "And this." He added a bar of soap to the growing pile of essentials next to the tub.
I nodded silently, unsure what to do. It had been years since I'd done anything close to a real bath.
Deric paused, his gaze softening as he took in my hesitation. "Do you need help?"
My ears flicked nervously, and I stared at the water. "I... I don't know how to..."
"Got it," he said simply, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's take it step by step. No pressure."
I swallowed hard as he guided me gently, showing me how to test the water temperature before easing me into the tub. The warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, and I let out a small, involuntary sigh.
Deric knelt beside the tub, his large hands moving with practiced ease as he wet my hair. I flinched at first, the sensation unfamiliar, but his calm demeanor kept me grounded.
"Your hair's a mess," he commented lightly, running his fingers through the tangled strands. "How long has it been brushed?"
"I don't know," I admitted, my voice small.
He shook his head with a faint smile and lathered the shampoo in his hands before working it into my hair.
As he rinsed out the suds, something surprising happened. The dark brown color of my hair began to lighten, revealing soft highlights and a warm, lighter brown underneath.
"Whoa," Deric muttered, leaning back to take a better look.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Your hair," he said, blinking at me. "It's... different. Lighter. You've got highlights."
I frowned, reaching up to touch a wet strand. "It's just... clean."
Deric chuckled softly. "Yeah, well, clean looks good on you."
Heat crept into my face, and I focused on the water, unsure how to respond.
When he finished washing my hair, he handed me the soap and showed me how to lather it up. I scrubbed at my skin, years of grime coming off in layers, until my arms and legs looked completely different—lighter, smoother, almost like they belonged to someone else.
By the time I stepped out of the tub, my hair was drying in soft, fluffy waves, and my skin felt strangely light, like I'd shed an old layer of myself.
Deric handed me a towel, his gaze lingering for a moment before he spoke. "You look... different," he said. "Better."
I clutched the towel tightly, unsure how to take the compliment. "Thanks," I mumbled, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
He gave me a small, reassuring smile. "Let's find you some clothes, yeah? Can't have you catching a cold."
As he turned to leave the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror. For a moment, I didn't recognize the person staring back at me.
Maybe, just maybe, I could start to feel human again…
I stepped out of the bathroom, clutching the towel tightly around myself. My wet hair dripped onto the floor, and I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my skin.
Deric was waiting in the living room, sitting on the couch with a first-aid kit spread open on the coffee table. He glanced up when he heard me, his eyes scanning me briefly before narrowing at something on my arm.
"Noel," he said, his tone serious but calm, "come here."
I froze, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. "I'm fine," I muttered, adjusting the towel around me.
"You're not," he said firmly, standing and motioning for me to sit down. "Let me see."
Reluctantly, I shuffled over, perching on the edge of the couch and clutching the towel tighter. His dark eyes softened as he knelt in front of me, his hands gentle as he reached for my arm.
I flinched instinctively, but he paused, giving me a moment to breathe. "It's okay," he said quietly. "I'm just checking."
Slowly, I let him take my arm. He turned it over, his expression darkening as he examined the fresh bruises and small cuts scattered across my skin. His gaze flicked to the faint scars that criss crossed my shoulders and back, visible where the towel didn't cover.
"These are... old," he murmured, his voice tight.
I nodded, staring at the floor. "Most of them," I whispered.
"And the bruises?" he asked.
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. "They're fine. I'm used to it."
His jaw tightened, and he let out a sharp breath before standing and grabbing a clean set of clothes from a nearby chair. "Here," he said, holding them out to me. "Put these on, and we'll take care of your injuries."
The clothes were obviously his, and when I pulled them on, they swallowed me whole. The sweatpants dragged on the floor, and the oversized T-shirt slipped off one shoulder.
When I stepped back into the living room, Deric looked up from the first-aid kit. His serious expression softened for a moment, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"You look like a kid playing dress-up," he said, the warmth in his tone catching me off guard.
I fidgeted, tugging at the hem of the shirt. "They're too big," I mumbled, feeling heat creep into my cheeks.
"They'll do for now," he said with a faint chuckle. "Come here. Sit."
I hesitated, but the firmness in his voice left no room for argument. I sat back on the couch, and he knelt in front of me again, pulling out antiseptic and bandages.
"This might sting," he warned, carefully dabbing at a cut on my arm.
I flinched but didn't pull away, biting my lip to keep quiet. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his large hands steady as he worked.
He moved on to my shoulders and back, where the scars were thicker and the bruises darker. His expression grew darker with each mark he uncovered, and I could feel the weight of his anger—not at me, but at whoever had done this.
When he finished, he sat back on his heels, his eyes meeting mine. "There," he said softly. "All patched up. No more hiding injuries, okay?"
I nodded, unsure why his words made my chest ache.
"You've been through a lot," he said, his voice low but firm. "But you're safe now, Noel. I'll make sure of it."
His words hung in the air, I felt a tingling in my stomach, and it wasn't hunger… or maybe it was, but a different type of hunger..