**Noah’s POV**

I stared up at the guy in front of me, my knees aching against the hard floor. He was tall, all muscle, shirtless, with a glass of something dark in his hand. His eyes were sharp, cutting through me like I was nothing. He tilted his head back, finishing his drink in one gulp, and handed the empty glass to some guy standing nearby without even looking at him. My heart pounded so loud I thought he could hear it.

He started circling me, slow, like I was some kind of prey. His eyes never left me, and I felt small, exposed, like he was sizing me up for dinner. I wanted to scream, to run, but my hands were still tied behind my back, and my head throbbed from where my dad’s bottle had hit me. I didn’t know where I was or why I was here, but this guy—he scared me more than the goons who dragged me in.

He stopped, waving a hand, and the guy who’d brought me—big, with a scar on his face—yanked me to my feet. The ropes on my wrists burned, but my blindfold was gone now, and I could see clearly. Too clearly. The room was huge, all dark wood and leather, like some rich guy’s lair. The shirtless guy walked over to a chair, sat down with a heavy thud, and pointed at me, his eyes narrowing. “Explain,” he said, his voice low, like a command.

The scarred guy stepped forward. “The old man decided to pay his debt this way,” he said, nodding at me. “Gave up his kid.”

The shirtless guy laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was cold, sharp, like a blade. “So, Evans thinks he can trade his son’s life to save his own?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Pathetic.”

Anger boiled in my chest, hotter than the pain in my head. “Who the hell are you?” I snapped, my voice shaking. “Why am I here? What do you want with me?”

He smirked, tilting his head like he was amused. “I like you already,” he said, his voice dripping with something I couldn’t place. Mockery? Interest? It made my skin crawl.

He stood, stepping closer, and I froze. Our eyes locked, and something weird hit me—a feeling deep in my gut, like a pull I’d never felt before. It wasn’t just fear. It was… something else. Something that made my heart race for no reason. I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t want to. All I knew was I hadn’t felt this before, not with anyone.

He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. His hand shot out, grabbing my chest, fingers digging into my jacket. He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, like he was fighting something. A low sound came from him, almost like a growl, and when he opened his eyes, I swore they flashed red for a second. Red, like some kind of monster. My breath caught, and I stumbled back, but his grip held me in place.

“Alpha, you okay?” The guy asked, stepping closer. His voice was tense, like he knew something I didn’t.

The guy—Alpha, whatever that meant—took a deep breath, his hand still on me. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was rough, like he was holding back a storm. He looked at me again, his eyes normal now, but intense. Then he leaned in, so close his lips brushed my ear, and whispered, “Human mate. Impossible.”

Mate? Human? What was he talking about? My head spun, and I yanked against his grip. “Let me go!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Just let me go!”

He shoved me hard, and I hit the floor, my knees slamming against the wood. Pain shot through me, but I barely had time to process it before he turned to the guy. “Lock him up,” he said, his voice ice-cold. “I don’t want to see his face. Or feel him.”

Feel me? What did that mean? I opened my mouth to yell again, but the guy grabbed my arm, yanking me up. “Please,” I begged, twisting in his grip. “Just tell me what’s going on! I didn’t do anything!”

The guy didn’t answer. His face was blank, like he’d heard it all before. I tried to pull away, my sneakers slipping on the floor, but he was too strong. “Stop fighting,” he said, his voice flat. “You’re only making it worse.”

He dragged me out of the room, down a long hallway. The place was huge, all dark walls and fancy lights, but it felt like a prison. My heart pounded, and tears stung my eyes. My dad sold me out, and now I was here, with some guy who called me a “mate” and looked at me like I was a problem he wanted to crush.

The guy pushed open a door, and we stepped into a small room. My stomach dropped. It wasn’t just a room—it was a nightmare. A single bed sat in the corner, stained and creaky. Chains hung from the walls, and a table in the corner had tools—knives, pliers, things I didn’t want to think about. Torture stuff. My knees went weak, and I stumbled.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “You can’t leave me here.”

The guy didn’t look at me. He shoved me toward the bed, and before I could fight, he ripped my jacket off, then my shirt, leaving me in just my boxers. The cold air hit my skin, and I shivered, my arms still tied. He grabbed a chain from the wall, wrapping it around my wrists, tight enough to hurt. It clinked, heavy and cold, locking me in place like I was some kind of dog.

“Please,” I said, tears streaming down my face now. “Don’t do this. I don’t belong here.”

He stepped back, his face still blank. “You’re here now,” he said, turning for the door. “Deal with it.”

The door slammed shut, and I was alone. The chains rattled as I sank to the floor, my body aching, my head spinning. The tools on the table glinted in the dim light, and I couldn’t stop shaking. What was this place? Who was that guy? And why did I feel that weird pull when he got close?

I curled up, my tears hot against my cheeks, and cried. The pain in my body was bad, but the pain in my heart was worse. I was trapped, and no one was coming to save me.

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