"Hold up! Nobody move!" a man shouted, his voice sharp as he rose from his seat inside the bank.
Four others stood from scattered corners of the room. The first Beta fired into the ceiling, the crack splintering the air. Screams erupted as civilians ducked and scrambled. The clerks at the counters crouched beneath their desks, shaking violently.
The air reeked of fear — the sharp tang of sweat and adrenaline — but without the suffocating pull of Alpha pheromones, the Betas' dominance came only from their weapons.
The security guard barely had time to react. A gunshot rang out, and he collapsed in a heap, crimson blooming across his chest. Cries and shrieks spread like wildfire.
Two Betas stationed themselves by the doors, guns raised. The others approached the counters, tossing black duffel bags onto the glass.
"Fill them," one barked.
The clerks fumbled, hands trembling as they shoved stacks of bills inside.
Outside, the rising wail of sirens cut through the chaos. Police cars screeched to a halt, officers and SWAT units taking positions.
"Police!" one of the Betas at the door hissed, his voice betraying panic.
Through a megaphone, an officer called out: "This is the police! Surrender peacefully and no one else will get hurt!"
The leader sneered. "They won't take us." He slung a bag of cash over his shoulder and moved toward the exit—only to be tackled by a desperate man.
The struggle was brief and violent. Hope flickered in the room, only to die when the Beta overpowered him.
A deafening shot. The man collapsed, clutching his stomach as blood seeped between his fingers.
"Dad!" A child's scream pierced the silence.
The boy broke free from the crowd, stumbling toward the man bleeding on the floor. His gaze locked on the Beta, raw fury blazing through tears.
The Beta leveled his gun. "Anyone else want to try? You'll end up like him."
The boy glared back, unyielding. No pheromones, no strength — only stubborn defiance.
The Beta's sneer twisted. He lowered the gun to the child's forehead.
"You've got his eyes. Want to follow him to the grave?"
But before the trigger could be pulled, a young man stepped forward.
The moment he moved, the room changed. Heavy Alpha pheromones rolled through the air — rich, commanding, suffocating. The Betas stiffened instinctively, the primal response hitting before they could think.
"That's enough," the Alpha's voice cut through the panic, low and sharp as steel. He pulled the boy back against him, shielding him. His presence alone pressed down on the Betas like a weight.
The leader's hand trembled on his weapon. His glare faltered, caught between rage and the instinctive urge to bow his head.
The Alpha didn't waver. He crouched beside the bleeding man, pressing firm hands against the wound to slow the bleeding.
"You're going to live," he said firmly, his tone both command and promise.
Behind him, the boy clung to his sleeve, trembling but still glaring at the Betas.
And the air, once reeking of fear, now vibrated with the sharp, undeniable dominance of an Alpha daring them to make their next move.
"Hey. It's okay." The young man's voice was calm, steady, as he pressed his palm firmly against the bleeding man's stomach. He looked at the boy kneeling beside them, eyes red with tears. "We'll save your father. I promise."
Then he turned to the armed Beta looming over them.
"Mister, he's losing too much blood. We need to get him to a hospital now, or he won't survive—"
The young man's Alpha pheromones had been rolling heavy, pressing on the room like storm air, keeping the Betas on edge. But as he spoke, he pulled them back, letting the hostages breathe again. The suffocating dominance thinned. Fear-sweat and gunpowder cut through the air instead.
The moment his pheromones eased, his defenses slipped. The Betas felt it instantly. One of them surged forward, gripping his arm and yanking him upright with a harsh jerk.
"I don't care!" the Beta snarled, his own scent sharp and bitter with agitation. "Who the hell are you to order me around?"
The Alpha's jaw tightened, but he held his ground. "There are police and SWAT outside. Do you really think you'll escape alive? If you surrender now, your sentence might be lighter."
The leader scoffed, lips curling. "You talk too much." He raised his hand to strike.
A gunshot cracked.
The robber's hand snapped back, blood spraying across the Alpha's cheek. The Beta screamed in pain, clutching his shredded palm.
The young man froze, stunned by the sudden warmth of blood streaking his face. His pulse hammered, and for a moment his legs threatened to give way.
Then the ceiling above burst open. Flash-bangs clattered onto the floor, explosions of white light disorienting the Betas. From the smoke, two armored operatives descended on ropes, rifles raised.
Precise bursts of gunfire followed. Bullets tore into the Betas' arms and legs, forcing them to the ground. Their weapons clattered away as they writhed, groaning in pain. The air filled with the acrid tang of smoke, iron, and fear.
The young man staggered, his own pheromones flaring again instinctively—thick, heavy, protective. But the surge left him reeling. His body trembled, chest heaving as if the weight of dominance itself had drained him.
Strong hands caught him before he collapsed. One of the armored operatives steadied him.
"Hey. Are you okay?" the man's voice was muffled through his helmet.
The Alpha blinked up at him. The visor and mask hid the stranger's face; only sharp eyes met his. His eye color was strikingly unique — a vivid blue with golden and green flecks radiating from the pupil, almost like a solar flare or a gemstone catching light. It wasn't a flat shade; it shimmered with layers, giving the impression of depth and mystery.
"Can you stand?" the operative asked, softer this time, guiding him back onto his feet.
Still dazed, the young Alpha nodded. His knees shook, breath ragged. Around him, the scene blurred—SWAT flooding the room, shouting commands, hostages being ushered to safety. Medics rushed in, lifting the bleeding father onto a stretcher.
The boy stumbled after them, sobbing, clutching his father's bloodied hand as the medics pushed the stretcher toward the exit.
The young Alpha stood rooted, his hand still stained red, his pheromones faint but trembling in the air. His eyes tracked the fallen Betas sprawled across the floor, broken and defeated. Relief seeped in—but the sharp memory of blood spraying across his skin refused to fade.
"Are you hurt?" the mysterious man asked, his eyes flicking down to the Alpha's bloodstained hands. The metallic tang of the robber's blood still clung to his skin, streaking his face where it had sprayed earlier.
"I-I'm okay," he managed, though his breathing was shallow and uneven. His chest rose and fell too quickly, as if his body hadn't yet caught up to the fact that the danger was over.
The mysterious man studied him for a moment. His gaze lingered on the Alpha's eyes — pale lavender, soft violet with a misty, almost translucent quality, like the faint bloom of twilight or the first light of dawn. They weren't bold or commanding; instead, they shifted with the light, sometimes silvery-lilac, sometimes deep and melancholic.
They didn't strike fear. They invited it away, drawing out curiosity and tenderness instead. Fragile at first glance — but when looked at closely, there was an unspoken strength in them, like glass that refused to break.
The mysterious man gave a small nod. "Good. You did well—braver than most would've been." Before the Alpha could respond, the man's hand rose and rested lightly on his head. The touch was brief but grounding, sending a ripple of warmth through him that startled him more than the chaos had.
His heart hammered, a confusing mix of fear, relief, and something he couldn't name.
Then, just as quickly, the hand withdrew. Without another word, the man turned away, his presence already shifting back to duty.
A medic hurried over and gently guided the Alpha toward the exit. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he let himself be led. Still, he couldn't stop himself from glancing back.
The mysterious man stood at the center of the ruined bank, surrounded by armed SWAT. His posture was firm, his voice low but commanding as he issued instructions. Even without raising his pheromones, authority clung to him like armor.
And in that moment, the young Alpha knew — this man wasn't just a rescuer. He was a figure carved out of legend: dignified, unshaken, a soldier with eyes sharp enough to see strength in fragility, and hands steady enough to carry the weight of others.