Page 33 of Into the Fire: After
Then it hit me.
Fucking withdrawal.
He’d been on the supplements for as long as he’d been an alpha—rut suppressants, scent blockers, pheromone dampeners.
Cold-turkey was a fucking bitch. If anyone would know, I would.
Daytime came—or so we assumed, since two new trays of food arrived—and he only got worse. He couldn’t sit still for more than a moment at a time, standing to stretch or pace. Every little sound made him wince, and even the flickering of one of the lightbulbs had him growling.
A role reversal for the ages, and I had no goddamn tools to help him. Fuck, he’dsavedmystrung-out ass years ago. Given me purpose and support as I went through addiction recovery, then as I adjusted to daily life without the alpha meds everyone else depended on.
Instead, I sat there like an asshole, watching the sleek surface of Lin grow pitted and jagged.
On and on it went, for hours. Tense, tedious, exhausting hours.
Until the moment I felt the break in him. The leg of the desk giving way and sending the whole thing crashing down.
He stopped his pacing mid-stride, head snapping toward the door.
“Lin?”
Our bond thrummed with tension, but he didn’t so much as twitch at my voice.
Did he even hear me?
His chest expanded and fell with heaving breaths, his eyes glazing over. His hands shook. Blood rushed up his neck and face, turning it blotchy and red.
I stood, approaching carefully. “Breathe, Lin.”
Wrong move.
He bolted, jumping past me to the steel door of the room, pulling uselessly on the handle and pounding his fist against the metal with all he had. Harsh grunts and growls tore from his lips, his scent a cacophony of explosive sour blackberry and raging alpha aggression.
I ran to him, pinning his arms to his side and pulling him from the door. “C’mon, Lin,” I muttered between clenched teeth as I dragged him backwards. “Do what you always tell me to, yeah?”
Snarling, gasping, clawing, he broke from my grasp and made back for the door, beating at it like he thought he could actually tear his way through. Unintelligible shouts tore from his throat.
“Lin!” I shouted. “They willfucking kill you!Get your shit under control!”
His flying fists grew slower, weaker with each swing. His furious yelling melted into despondent sobs. “Taryn,” he whispered. “Can…can smell…” He met my eye. “Pain.”
My heart thumped once in my chest, hard, like one of Lin’s strikes. I sniffed the air, but couldn’t detect even a suggestion of Taryn’s scent.
Could he actually smell her? His senses would be on high alert, more sensitive…
My hesitation, my momentary panic in our bond was enough to let his alpha regain control. He stood again, snarling, pounding at the door. Shouting his rage. Streaks of red from his busted knuckles smeared over the steel.
Inside my chest, my own alpha rose, responding to its leader giving the go-ahead on unfettered feral rage.
Fuck, Caine, fight it.I squeezed my eyes shut, fisting my hands as I willed the beast inside to retreat. Both of us couldn’t fall apart. They’d get rid of us, and Taryn would be alone. If she was hurt—if they were hurting her—we owed it to her to stay sane. Stay alive.
The alpha receded. I unleashed an exhausted sigh.
But Lin was still all feral fury.
Had to calm him. Sedate him.
How?
