Voss's eyes burned into hers, sharp as razors. Then, without another word, he turned.
"Follow me."
His voice was clipped, all command and no patience. His stride was long, every step a statement. Leah's body screamed from the fight, but she forced herself forward, her heart a drumbeat in her ears.
Two floors down.
A lab.
The elevator doors slid open with a low hiss. The space beyond was sterile, sleek—walls of tempered glass, metallic consoles humming softly, and a cold, clinical scent of antiseptic and ozone. The room felt like a vault—no windows, no sound from the outside. Isolated.
Voss didn't hesitate, his presence carving through the room. A security panel flashed as he placed his palm against it—green light, instant access.
The main console flickered to life—biometric screens, gene-mapping software, and neural diagnostic tools.
A lab. Private. Fully equipped.
And not a place built for someone else.
Leah's eyes narrowed. "You keep a full genomic lab on-site."
Voss's voice was cold and flat. "I like answers. Fast." His gaze sliced to her. "Get on the scanner."
Her lips pressed thin, and she stepped forward. A sleek medical pod, angled like a reclined chair, opened with a soft hiss. Leah's pulse pounded, but she slid in without a word.
The restraints activated—soft, magnetic, locking her arms and legs in place with a faint hum.
Voss moved to the terminal, his fingers dancing across the controls. The pod glowed, and a soft pulse swept over her body—scanning every cell, every thread of her DNA.
Leah's heart hammered. This was it. The hard line. The truth—no lies, no bluffing. Either she matched his profile, or she didn't.
Voss's eyes stayed locked on the screen, his expression cold and unreadable. The machine processed—calculating, analyzing—then—
The result flashed.
Compatibility Rate: 5.23%
The air seemed to stop.
Voss's gaze—sharp, burning—locked. His jaw worked once, tight and sharp.
Leah's chest heaved, her voice breaking through the silence:
"Told you."
But Voss's voice—soft, lethal—cut like glass:
"A 5% match means unstable." His silver eyes turned, cold and predatory. "Do you know what that means?"
Leah's lips, dry and cracked, lifted slightly. "Yeah." Her voice was hoarse, raw. "It means… there's a chance."
Voss's silver eyes burned into the screen, the cold green numbers—5.23%—etched sharp and clear. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking once. "Unstable," he said, his voice flat and edged. "That's a death sentence."
Leah's lips curled into something sharp and bitter. "Only if you're stupid about it."
His eyes sliced to her, cold and hard. "You sound like you know something I don't."
Her voice came low, scraped raw from something old and ugly. "I've done it. Five times."
The air between them froze.
Voss's eyes sharpened instantly. "What."
Her throat worked once, tight and bitter. "Blood exchange. Five Alphas. Five attempts. Five failures."
His gaze pinned her, voice a blade, precise and deadly: "You survived five instability trials?"
Her head tilted slightly, her voice dry and cutting. "If I didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
The tension in the room turned sharp, electric—
And Voss, his voice cold and lethal, cut straight to the bone:
"You're insane."
A short, cracked laugh broke from her lips, humorless and sharp as glass. "Yeah. I figured that out around the third time."
His voice dropped, low and dangerous: "And what—did you enjoy bleeding out?"
Her voice snapped, hard: "I enjoyed living."
The air cracked—his power, her defiance—two forces slamming head-on.
Then, her voice, low and biting:
"I know how this goes, Voss. The first exchange feels like your body's trying to tear itself apart. You burn, you break, your heart feels like it's about to explode—" Her eyes flashed. "But it won't kill you if you don't let it."
Voss's jaw was tight, his eyes cold razors. "That's a hell of a sales pitch."
Her lips pressed. "I'm not selling. I'm telling." She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing. "You want pointers? Fine. I'll give you one—Don't panic. It's just blood. The reaction's fast and violent, but it stabilizes if you hold your ground."
Voss's eyes narrowed. "And how would you know that?"
Her voice, tight and bitter: "Because I felt it. And the worst part?" Her jaw clenched. "It's when the connection breaks. When they pull out. That—" her voice hitched, "—that's when it rips you apart."
The silence that followed was razor-edged. Voss, his face a mask of cold calculation, spoke, his voice low and lethal:
"And after five failures, you just gave up?"
Her eyes flashed with something raw, something frayed.
"No," she bit out, her voice tight and shaking. "I didn't give up." Her throat burned, her voice cracking. "They stopped."
Voss's voice, soft, dangerous: "Why."
Her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms, and her voice—low, tight, brimming with something old and bitter:
"Because I wasn't compatible." She met his eyes, her voice shaking but unyielding: "I wasn't worth the risk."
The tension snapped, the room coiled with something dark, unspoken, lethal.
Voss's voice, flat and cold as death: "They used you."
Her lips pressed tight. "Yeah. And when they realized I wouldn't fix their perfect Alphas, they bled me dry for the Omegas instead."
The air burned, electric with something hotter than rage—Voss's eyes glinting, his jaw tight with iron fury, every line of him coiled with restrained violence.
And then, his voice—soft, too soft—cut through the heat like a blade of pure ice:
"So what makes you think I won't rip you apart?"
Her heart hammered, her breath shallow—
But her voice—cold and burning—answered without flinching:
"Because I'll show you how to survive it."
The hum of the lab pressed against the silence, the green glow of the scanner still flickering with that damning number: 5.23%. Leah's chest heaved, her pulse a thunder beneath her skin. She saw it in Voss's eyes—the calculation, the cold, dissecting weight of his instinct as he measured her against risk. Against death.
But she didn't give him the chance to speak first.
Her voice, low and edged with iron: "It's not about what they did." She met his eyes, steady and sharp. "It's about what they didn't."
Voss's gaze narrowed, razor-sharp. "Explain."
Leah's throat worked once, but her voice stayed cold and sure. "The blood exchange—it's a system shock. Your body fights it because it's trying to reject me. The genetic mismatch triggers a full cellular meltdown. But here's the thing—" her eyes burned, "—they always stop too soon."
Voss's eyes flashed, a cold flicker of lethal curiosity. "Because the reaction becomes fatal."
Leah's lips pressed. "They think it becomes fatal." Her voice dropped lower, sharp and raw. "But they never let it hit. They always cut the connection the second your body rebels." She felt the heat rising in her throat, her fists tight. "That's the mistake."
Voss's voice, smooth and dangerous, sliced through the air: "And what happens if they don't?"
Her eyes met his—hard and burning.
"You break," she said simply, the word like crushed glass. "You shatter—inside and out. Your body tears itself apart trying to resolve the mismatch. It's agony. But—" her voice hitched, then sharpened, "—if you hold through it—if you stay in—"
Her eyes flashed, fierce and unrelenting: "It rebuilds."
Voss's jaw shifted, the muscle tight, his eyes pure silver razors. "You're telling me the only way to survive an unstable exchange—" his voice dropped, "—is to let it kill you first."
Her breath was a sharp blade. "No. It'll try." Her gaze burned into his. "But it won't."
His voice, cold, dissecting: "Why."
Leah's voice dropped to something raw and lethal:
"Because the second you break—" her eyes, dark and unblinking, "—you stop fighting it."
The silence cracked, his gaze digging, slicing through her—
And her voice, stripped bare, cut through the air:
"It's not the pain that kills you." Her lips pressed, her voice hoarse with the weight of truth.
"It's the fear."
A flicker—sharp, dangerous—passed through his eyes. "Fear," he echoed, his voice cool, cold—testing her.
Her chin lifted, her eyes blazing. "Yeah. Fear."
She stepped forward, the faint hum of the pod casting shadows against her face. "I learned the trick on the third trial," she said, her voice low, tight. "Because that's when I stopped fighting." She felt her throat burn with the memory, but her voice didn't break. "I didn't pull away. I didn't panic. I let it hit." Her eyes locked with his, burning and unyielding: "And when it was done—" her breath was shallow, "—I was still here."
Voss's voice was a blade through the tension: "And the Alpha?"
Her lips pressed tight. "Didn't make it."
The air coiled, sharp with something dark, and Voss—his eyes cold, lethal—spoke softly, the edge unmistakable:
"You survived. He didn't."
Her voice—cold, flat—burned back:
"Because he was the one who panicked."
The tension snapped tight—Voss's power coiling like a predator scenting the exact moment to strike. His voice, soft and deadly:
"So the 'trick'—" his eyes flashed, "—is not running when it breaks you."
Leah's voice hit like a blade, sharp and final:
"It's about holding through the burn—because the second you stop fighting it," her eyes blazed,
"—It rebuilds you from the bones up."