Elias couldn't breathe.
His body was burning from the inside out, every nerve ending screaming, demanding something he refused to acknowledge.
And the Alpha—
He was right there.
Solid. Unmovable. A force of nature holding him in place, preventing him from losing himself completely.
Elias should have been grateful.
But instead, it only made the ache worse.
His skin was too tight, too sensitive. The Alpha's grip was searing, branding him, even though he wasn't moving—wasn't even doing anything except holding him back.
Elias's breath shuddered out of him, uneven and ragged.
"Let… go," he rasped.
It wasn't an order.
It wasn't a plea.
It was just—desperation.
Because if the Alpha didn't let him go, he didn't know what he would do.
Didn't know how much longer he could fight himself.
The Alpha exhaled slowly, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
"If I do?" he murmured, voice dangerously soft. "What will you do, Elias?"
Elias hated him.
Hated the way he knew.
Hated the way he could see—through him, into him, past all the fragile barriers Elias had spent years perfecting.
"This isn't… me," Elias forced out, his voice shaking. "This isn't real—"
"Oh, but it is," the Alpha whispered.
The worst part?
He wasn't mocking anymore.
That infuriating amusement, that smugness—
It was gone.
What was left was something far more dangerous.
Something dark.
Something interested.
The Alpha studied him, gaze dragging over every trembling inch of his body, every unsteady breath, every little way Elias fought himself.
"It's the drug," Elias bit out, trying to convince himself more than the Alpha. "That's all—"
"Maybe," the Alpha allowed. "But tell me…"
He leaned in.
Not touching.
Not pushing.
Just close enough that Elias felt him.
"Why are you only fighting it now?"
Elias stilled.
His breath caught.
Because that—
That wasn't—
"You felt it before, didn't you?" The Alpha's voice was barely above a whisper now, sliding beneath Elias's skin, sinking deep. "You fought it then, too. Pretended it wasn't there. But now…?"
Elias's fingers twitched.
Because the Alpha wasn't wrong.
That terrifying heat, that suffocating pull—
It hadn't started tonight.
It had been there before. Lingering beneath the surface. Ignored. Suppressed. Denied.
Until now.
Until it had become unbearable.
Elias gritted his teeth, trying to force words past the burning lump in his throat.
"Let me go," he whispered.
The Alpha exhaled sharply.
And for the first time, Elias thought he heard something—
Something strained.
Something barely leashed.
"If I let you go," the Alpha murmured, "you'll pounce on me again."*
Elias flinched.
Because it was true.
The shame hit him hard.
His legs nearly gave out.
But the Alpha didn't let him fall.
Didn't let him collapse under the weight of his own unraveling.
Instead, he did something far, far worse.
He lifted a hand—
And brushed Elias's trembling fingers away from his shoulder.
It was gentle.
Deliberate.
A quiet, cruel kind of mercy.
"Go to sleep, Elias."*
Elias choked on a breath.
Because the Alpha was leaving.
Because the Alpha was letting him go.
And for some reason—
It hurt.
The door clicked open.
A rush of cool air flooded in.
Elias shuddered, his burning skin crying out in protest.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't watch as the Alpha walked away.
Because if he did—
He knew he would break.