//C//W// still imprisoned//
The morning light never truly reached his quarters.
It crept in as a thin, grey suggestion through the narrow upper vents, enough to mark time but not enough to warm the stone.
Damien had not slept. He remained seated where he'd been all night, back against the wall, one knee drawn up, arms folded loosely as if holding himself together by habit alone.
Felicity slept on the bed he had offered her.
Fully clothed. Curled on her side. Hands tucked beneath her cheek like a child who trusted the world far more than it deserved.
He hadn't touched her.
Not once.
The restraint burned worse than hunger.
The scent lingered in the air, soft but unrelenting. Not the sharp edge of fear or the sour tang of despair he was used to.
This was warmth. Clean. Alive. It threaded through his lungs and wrapped around his spine, settling somewhere behind his ribs like it had always belonged there.
Mate.
The word surfaced again, unbidden, and he crushed it down with practiced force.
Impossible.
He had come here for a transaction. That had been the plan. Cities did not welcome scaled beastmen. Not anymore. Not after the purges, the fires, the whispered propaganda about poison blood and cold hearts. He had been turned away from gates with weapons raised, offers refused before they were spoken.
Even trade hubs treated him like a liability. But everyone traded with this place.
So he'd heard the rumors.
A human warehouse. Ex-prisoners. Undesirables. Assets to be bought, sold, exchanged. He hadn't liked it. But he had solar panels. Pre-collapse tech, restored and functional. Power meant leverage. Leverage meant entry. Entry meant survival.
One woman, traded cleanly, used to buy passage into a city that would otherwise spit at his feet. That was the plan. He'd expected resistance. Spite. Eyes full of hatred or calculation. He'd braced himself for violence, for a woman sharpened by cages and cruelty.
He had not expected her. Even before she spoke, he'd known something was wrong.
She was too clean. Not just physically. There was a stillness to her, a softness that hadn't been eroded. Her eyes held fear, yes, but not the kind born of guilt or rage.
She didn't look like a convict. She looked like a model set carefully into the wrong world, something displayed rather than discarded.
A prize.
Which meant lies. When she had lowered her gaze and thanked him, something in his chest had fractured. No one thanked him here.
He watched her breathe now, slow and even, chest rising and falling. Her scent shifted subtly with sleep, sweeter, unguarded. It took everything in him not to move closer.
When her eyes finally fluttered open, she startled only slightly, sitting up too quickly before catching herself.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to"
"You did nothing wrong," Damien said, voice rough from disuse.
She blinked, then nodded, accepting it without argument. That, too, unsettled him. He rose and turned away, giving her space, pouring water into a metal cup. "You're safe here. For now."
She accepted the cup with both hands. "Thank you. For letting me stay."
Letting.
The word cut deep. "I didn't bring you here for that," he said quietly. He hesitated, then continued, surprising himself. "I came to trade." Her fingers tightened around the cup, but she didn't interrupt. "I was told the women here were prisoners," he went on.
"People no one would miss. Fighters. Criminals. I expected… resistance." His jaw tightened. "You don't fit."
Felicity met his gaze then, calm despite the weight of his words. "I think that's on purpose." That confirmed it. He exhaled slowly. "I planned to exchange you. Solar panels. Enough to buy passage into a city that doesn't want my kind." Silence stretched. "I didn't expect this," he admitted, the truth burning its way out. "Your scent. Your presence. Whatever you are."
Her lips parted slightly. "I'm just… me." The lie was gentle.
He didn't challenge it.
"I'm not giving you back," he said. Not a threat. Not a promise. A fact. Outside his door, people would assume possession. Use. Pleasure. Inside, Damien stood rigid with a love he did not yet have language for, already ruined by a woman who had done nothing but exist kindly in a place that devoured such things whole.
And for the first time in ages, he did not feel alone.