by Ava Lore
The wild beast beneath his clean, calm thoughts had awoken. It demanded its mate. The duality of sanity and instinct warred inside him, and instinct was winning.
"Mate!" One shrieked. Beneath his skin, desire crawled like ants, hungry and insatiable. "Mate, mate, mate—!"
Again and again he threw himself at the bars, demanding, need overwhelming him. Across from him the twins howled, frightened, and Five laughed and laughed and joined in, until they were both battered and bruised, assaulting their prisons with the only thing their captors had given them—their monstrous strength.
The crash of the door opening. More thundering footsteps. One howled in rage as he beat against the sides of his cell, fury brimming inside him, and the first dart did nothing to faze him. The next one in his side only slowed him a little. It wasn't until the third dart embedded itself in his flank that he began to calm, a false sleep settling over him, though underneath his rage still bubbled and boiled.
Panting, he surged at the side of his cell again, but he couldn't get his limbs to cooperate. The stark world, all florescent lights and gray concrete, tipped and tumbled over itself, and he stumbled, crashing headfirst into the steel bars.
Get up, he thought, and it was a thought of instinct, spurred from deep inside. Get up and find her. But he couldn't move. The fog was descending.
Outside his cage, an older man, bald and red-faced, wearing gold-wire glasses and a white lab coat, crouched down and inspected him. His scent was rancid and foul, and One wanted only to get away. His body would not stir. Between his legs, his cock ached.
"A mate," he heard the old man say. "So he wants a mate, does he?"
The people around the old man didn't respond, though through the descending darkness Number One sensed their fear and disgust.
"I suppose we shall have to give him what he wants, if we don't want him killing himself..."
Yes, thought the beast inside him.
No, thought the man.
Then sleep overtook him, and Subject Number One passed out.
Michelle sat in her tiny kitchen, drinking a cup of tea and worrying. She had slept badly, and her dreams had been confused tangles of fear and desire. It had been very wrong of her to touch Subject Number One just to satisfy her curiosity. What it meant to him and what it meant to her were two very different things. She was sure of it.
If only she could convince her body of that.
She had to go into work today. It was very important that she do so, that she reestablish herself as the staff psychologist. She didn't want to be seen as a victim, or as someone who couldn't carry her own weight on the project, and she had to repair whatever damage she'd done through her illicit interaction with one of the subjects—both damage to the subject himself, and to her reputation.
Her stomach knotted, and almost without her conscious consent, she found her hand picking up her cellphone and scrolling through the numbers to call her mother.
She'd always been very close to her mother, though taking this job had strained their relationship somewhat. The contract she'd signed swore her to secrecy, and there was nothing she could do about that. She couldn't speak of her work with her parents or siblings, and moving across the country from California to this little town in Texas meant that the friendships she had reveled in back home were now stretched out and thin, unable to bear the weight of much more than quick phone calls and messages on Facebook. Michelle felt the loss of those things very keenly, though she tried not to show it. She'd hoped the lab would become like a second family to her, but with a director like Dr. Wells such a thing was impossible.
She missed her friends. She missed her family.
Her thumb hovered over the call button.
Michelle wavered.
I want to go back home, she thought, but fast on the heels of that thought came another:
If I go back, I won't even remember it.
Because that was the catch of the job. It paid well. Very well. But she had to have security clearance, and if she ever wanted to quit, she was certainly allowed to do so... for the price of her memory.
The very thought sent a shudder through her. The memories of the creatures in the lab had been wiped where they could, and she knew the side effects and scope of the procedure. The poor wolves, quite aside from the manipulations that turned them into monstrous wolfmen for most of the month, also seemed troubled and half-mad when they tried to remember anything before their confinement. The technology was not precise, as Dr. Wells would say.
More like a blunt object to the head, Michelle reflected bitterly. She was stuck, unless she wanted to forget her entire life.
But she could still call her mother, couldn't she?
Her thumb descended.
Her phone rang.
She'd been so wrapped up in her musings that the loud buzz in her small, confined kitchen caused her to jump nearly a foot in the air, her flight response triggered. The number of the lab shone up at her, but Michelle had to catch her breath for a moment before she was able to answer. In the back of her head she knew she had suffered a bit of trauma yesterday and she probably needed some sort of treatment for it, but, of course, who could she talk to?
She hit the button and brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"
"We need you in the lab right away."
Dr. Wells. Even the sound of his voice on the phone made her tense and worried, but all she was able to say was, "Yes, sir. Right away."
"Hurry," he snapped at her, then hung up. With a sigh, Michelle downed the last of her tea and stood up. She didn't need a shower this morning, so she was already dressed. Fixing her hair up with a simple clip, she grabbed her purse and perused the kitchen one last time to make sure things were in order.
Everything was in its place. Perfect, and clean, and empty.
She shut off the light and headed out the door.
As soon as she let herself into the lab, Michelle knew something was wrong. Something even more wrong than the escape of Subject Number Four. A deathly pall hung over the place and everyone was keeping their head down. The moment she met someone's eyes, they looked away, and the knot in her stomach grew tighter and harder.
I'm going to get fired and lose all my memories, she thought. They all know it.
Her hands trembled as she placed her purse in her locker and pulled out her lab coat. She knew better than to show her fear, but it was hard when her limbs had turned to jelly. Carefully she threaded her hands through her sleeves and settled her clothes, though her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. When she was younger and she had brought home anything less than an A on her report card, she had felt the same way. About to face the music, and the shame of failure.
"Dr. Dimaano."
She turned to see Dr. Wells behind her. He stood flanked by two of her co-workers, Dr. Martin and Dr. Sandsoff, both men who had tried to date her in the past. Neither of them would look at her now. Martin stared somewhere over her left shoulder while Sandsoff studied his shoes. Only Dr. Wells met her head on. He was that sort of man.
She had no choice but to continue as though everything were normal, though she felt as if she were about to faint. "Yes, Dr. Wells?" she asked.
"Come with us to my office."
God. His office. She could barely see straight, but somehow Michelle propelled her body forward, following Dr. Wells out of the employee locker room, through the lab, and into the large office tucked behind the conference room at the back of the building. The other two doctors fell into step behind her, and she felt as though she were being herded toward the inevitable. There was no room for escape.
When they reached Dr. Wells' office, she was lightheaded, but when Dr. Wells offered her the chair in front of his desk she almost didn't take it. She didn't want to be seated. She didn't want to be vulnerable.
Well, it was too late for that. She sank into the chair, and Dr. Wells perched himself on the edge of the desk, looming over her. He crossed his arms and stared down at her. By the door,
her two colleagues took up positions as though they were sentinels.
Don't panic, Michelle told herself. Don't panic.
"I'm disappointed in your performance, Dr. Dimaano," Dr. Wells said at last. "The escape of Subject Number Four is a serious matter that, as the staff psychologist, you should have seen coming."
Michelle swallowed. She wasn't quite sure how she should have seen it coming, seeing as how she was never allowed to speak with the subjects directly, but it didn't matter now. She had failed. She nodded and stared down at her hands. They looked bloodless and pale where they lay in her lap, bleached out against the white of her lab coat, under the harshness of the institutional lights above her.
Dr. Wells was quiet for a moment, then continued. "However," he said, "your interaction with Subject Number One has had unexpected consequences. Interesting... results that we had not anticipated. The wealth of information we have started to gather with this turn of events may prove to be... invaluable."
She looked up sharply. What was he talking about?
A humorless half-smile graced his face. "Since your run-in with Subject Number One yesterday, he has been throwing himself against the walls of his cage. We fear he will kill himself if he continues, and it is not possible to keep him sedated for long periods of time. His body has been shaking off the effects of each dose of tranquilizer with more and more efficiency, and we are afraid higher doses may also kill him. But there seems to be a possible solution." Behind her, she heard Dr. Martin cough and clear his throat, but Dr. Wells stared down at her, hard and implacable.
"He keeps asking for a mate," he finished.
Michelle blinked up at him for a moment. "A... a mate?" she said. Did they know he wanted her? Yes, of course they did. But surely they didn't expect her to...
No. That was ridiculous. Best to play it stupid... "Another wolf?" she asked. "Where would we find one?"
The sudden silence in the room, heavy and dark, told her everything she needed to know, even if Dr. Wells' eyes hadn't flicked back to the two men at the door.
Two men at the door. Sentries. To make sure she wouldn't escape.
Panic flooded her. She was a rabbit in a trap, led there by the foxes, and about to be thrown to the wolves. A vision of her wearing bunny ears and a tail flashed across her mind, and the thought was so incongruous with how she thought of herself—serious, studious Michelle, who never cared about boys and never seemed to want a boyfriend, who had never masturbated, who had only felt release in her sleep since coming to this project—bookworm Michelle as a sexpot bunnygirl forced a tiny giggle to bubble up from her chest and burst through her nose. It came out as a snort, a desperate, hysterical laugh that she knew made her sound even weaker than they already thought her to be.
But surely they didn't mean to ask her to 'mate' with Subject Number One? That went far beyond the bonds of decorum and law. There was no way they could force her... was there?
The lab operated in secret, she realized. Those who dissented had their memories erased. Who was to say that they couldn't throw her in the beast's cage and stand back and watch?
Determined to reassure herself that this option was beyond the pale, even for a scientist as unscrupulous and uncaring as Dr. Wells had proven himself to be, Michelle sniffed and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to cover up her lapse in sanity. "For a moment I thought you'd brought me back here to force me to... um..." Her face reddened, flushing with shame. Don't say it out loud! she thought. Then they truly would know she was depraved, a terrible woman who lusted after a man with the body of a monster...
But in front of her, Dr. Wells exchanged a glance with the men behind her again, and cold realization settled down into her stomach.
That was exactly what they were asking of her.
She'd dreamed of it. But the thought of going through with it terrified her and shamed her. How could she?
"I believe," Dr. Wells said, intruding on her inner thoughts, "that Subject Number One has developed a fixation on you, the first woman he's seen in months. We were hoping that perhaps you could provide him with... companionship. Inside his cage. You yourself have told me of the value of touch for the psychological health of the subjects. Perhaps such a thing would soothe him and negate the need for tranquilizers."
Michelle heard the unspoken words. Companionship? Right. They all knew the second she got anywhere close to Subject Number One she would end up without her clothes and her legs spread and a huge, beastly cock pumping inside her virgin entrance...
Abruptly she stood, her face hot, her nipples suddenly erect, and she couldn't bring herself to look at Dr. Wells. Instead she stared intently at the floor beneath her shoes. Her sensible flats. Everything about her was sensible. She absolutely could not do this. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't be a companion to Subject Number One. To offer companionship without... consummation... would be cruel to him and detrimental to his psychological well being..." She prayed feigning ignorance would save her. She should have known it wouldn't.
Dr. Wells chuckled, but it lacked humor and she could almost believe he understood what horrible thing he was asking of her. "I think we all know that companionship would not go unconsummated, Dr. Dimaano. I am asking you as your superior to make this sacrifice for the good of the project."
Her knees trembled. She could barely make her tongue work as she tried to formulate her question. The question.
"And if I refuse to make this sacrifice?" she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. It was not in her nature to question the decisions of her superiors, but this was so wrong, so not what she had signed on for, that she could barely comprehend that her greatest fear and shame and desire was suddenly the subject of the cold, clinical calculations of her boss.
"I'm afraid we don't have that option," Dr. Wells said, and she heard, again, a hint in his voice that spoke of regret. But just a hint. "If you do not, you will be sedated, and possibly your memory will be altered. If you wish to retain some dignity and your memories, I recommend you submit willingly."
Michelle thought she might float away, she felt so lightheaded. Her feet would leave the floor and she would drift up to the ceiling. But she stayed where she was, staring at the dirty tiles under her shoes
She couldn't say no. And she certainly could not say yes.
"We don't have a lot of time," Dr. Wells said. "He will be waking soon from his latest dose. Will you go quietly?"
She could do nothing of the sort and retain her 'dignity.' But she also could not lose her memory.
The hot sting of tears pricked high in her nose. She could not make a decision one way or another. She sat heavily in the chair again and studied her shoes.
Shiny leather, well worn. Comfortable. Navy blue. Went well with her white tights.
"We can sedate you, if you like," Dr. Wells said. She felt the warmth of his hand alight on her shoulder, almost fatherly. "If you cannot consent but do not wish to resist, we can make it as easy as possible for you..."
A teardrop fell, splashing against her navy blue skirt, and she stared at it. She hadn't even felt it. In her lap, her whitened hands tightened, clutching at nothing, the nails digging into her palms.
"Will you be watching?:" she whispered.
The fatherly hand left her shoulder. "We must, to ensure your safety..."
Michelle covered her face with her hands.
"Sedate her," Dr. Wells said abruptly to one of her colleagues. Colleagues no more, it seemed.
She didn't even jump when the needle bit into her skin.
Chapter Four
When he awoke, he knew she was there, and he was calmed. Not entirely, but enough that he did not feel the overwhelming urge to throw himself at the bars of his cage again and again. His whole body ached, a giant bruise, but her presence soothed away the pain.
They were in the cell where he first spoke to her. Away from the eyes of his brothers. However the whine of cameras still grated over his ears, though it did nothing to dampen
the arousal her scent stirred in him. He opened his eyes.
On a cot at the far side of the cell, she lay, sleeping. Drugged. Had they forced her into his cell? Did she even know what she was in for? The urge to mate with her was almost overpowering, drowning out coherent thought, and between his legs his cock hardened and his balls tightened, drawing up to his body in anticipation. Underneath the lust, however, the man that he had once been, most of the time, jumped up and screamed.
He mustn't take her without her consent. He had frightened her once already, and now his entire body ached to crush her to him, to bury himself inside her again and again, but he knew he couldn't. Not unless she was awake.
Not unless she agreed.
To do it without her agreement would be wrong, and it would damage their relationship for all time. She would never trust him again if he took her without her consent, and trust was vital to the mate bond.
If only her scent weren't so powerful. So sweet. So beautiful...
She was a perfect mate for him. Strong, resilient. Her smell was that of a field of flowers in the sun, hot and heavily perfumed, faces turned upwards to the light. Vibrant and alive. The smell of summer.
How long had it been since he had seen the sky? How long had it been since the light of the sun had fallen upon him? With her in his cell, it seemed as though he were basking in it right now.
Rousing himself, Number One staggered to his feet and crossed the floor to where she lay, his claws clicking and clacking against the concrete, until he stood above her.
Her lovely face was turned toward him, her sweet brown eyes closed, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her black hair spread around her like a fan. The faintest of tear stains showed on her cheeks, and the desire to lick them away was so strong he nearly lost himself before the man beneath the beast put a stop to it.
No. No touching. He shouldn't touch her while she slept.
But he could smell her, couldn't he? The sweet nimbus of her scent clung close to her in this disgusting cell block, as though it did not want to touch the scents of the dead things that had been kept here previously. He would have to move in close to her. Very close.