Some of the alphas were sleeping when I entered the lab, but my footfalls as I passed their cages woke them. The sound of shifting bodies followed me as they raised their heads to follow, a wariness in their eyes that spoke of broken humanity.

From what the women had seen of them, I could understand why they’d think there was nothing remotely human left in these men. They were little more than savages during the day, when the drugs they were given were at their most potent. But later…

I remembered 351’s gravelly voice as he rasped out the word key.

They were still human, behind the serum. And though they belonged on death row, it didn’t mean they should be treated like animals. The women might see this facility as the lesser of two evils, as much as they hated it, but the alphas might not. Even if death was their only alternative, maybe some of them would still rather die with dignity than be forced to act like mindless beasts.

That was the mantra I kept repeating in my head over and over as I walked to the very last cage. As much as being around these men set every instinct in my body on edge, I still had a professional duty to ensure their humane treatment.

351 didn’t move when I stopped in front of his cell, but I could feel his eyes on me from the shadows by the far wall.

“Hey,” I whispered. “It’s… it’s me.” I don’t know why I thought adding that in would do any good, but I didn’t know what else to say. How did you break the ice with a feral alpha you’d so far only met under less than ideal circumstances?

Movement from within made me bite my lip, but the knot of tension in my stomach turned to icy horror when the alpha came to the front of the cage and I could finally see his face.

His lip was split and there was a gash of dried blood across one prominent cheekbone. Bruises marred his strong body, visible even in the low light, and when he wrapped his hands around the bars, I could see scrapes along his knuckles.

“What happened to you?” I gasped, too horrified to remember to keep a safe amount of space between myself and the bars. I closed the distance to the cell to gently trace the wounds on his hands. They looked defensive.

The alpha didn’t respond, but when I reached up to inspect the damage to his face, he closed his eyes and pressed his head against the bars, giving me easier access.

Someone had beaten him. I didn’t know if they’d let another test subject at him or if the guards had hurt him, but the truth was too obvious to ignore. They’d done this to punish him for his unwillingness to cooperate in the breeding room.

“They’re monsters.”

It was only when he opened those piercing blue-green eyes to look at me I realized I’d spoken out loud.

“I’m so sorry.”

351 unwrapped his hand from the bars and reached out toward me. I flinched on instinct, but he only stroked his abused fingers clumsily over my arm. Trying to comfort me.

I set my jaw as I looked at him, grim determination settling in deep in my gut. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

The good thing about working in a lab as well-stocked as this was that finding rubbing alcohol and ointments was a breeze. I was back at 351’s cell within five minutes, arms full of medical supplies, and saw him waiting for me by the bars.

“Sit with me,” I said as I sank down to the floor in front of his cell, scooting close enough to reach him with ease.

He obeyed slowly, eying the bottles I’d brought with caution.

“It’s to clean your wounds,” I explained, trying to ignore the twinge in my chest when I realized why he was so wary of a woman in a lab coat bringing medical supplies to his cage. “Rubbing alcohol and some ointment for your bruises, nothing else.” I held up the two containers for him to see.

He still didn’t look entirely trusting of the bottles, but when I poured some of the alcohol on a piece of cotton, he let me dab it on his skin. It had to have hurt, but he didn’t so much as flinch as I cleaned every laceration I could see. When I was done with his face and the scrapes on his knuckles, I placed the used piece of cotton in the discarded pile next to the ointment. “Do you have any more cuts or scrapes? Or can we continue with the bruises?”

He was still for a moment, staring at me with obvious hesitance. But after a few moments, he twisted around, turning his back to me. His heavy muscles flexed and bulged, tensed and ready for violence, but he still turned. For a short moment I didn’t know if I was more shocked or awed that he trusted me enough to have his back turned to me… but then I saw them.

Several long, red gashes of broken skin marred the middle of his back. Tell-tale wounds from a lash. He’d been whipped. Brutally.

“Who did this?” The anger in my voice manifested in my hands as well. I had to take several deep breaths before I could steady them enough to apply the rubbing alcohol to the deep lacerations.

He still didn’t move under my careful touches, but I could feel the tension in his hard muscles as I gently brushed my free hand against his unbroken skin. I didn’t think about it—it was an instinctual urge to soothe the pain laid bare in front of me, despite his silent endurance. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft underneath my fingers. I kept them there while I dabbed cleaning solution in his deep lash marks, mumbling soothingly when his muscles twinged with the pain. It took far too long to clean them all, shaking as my hands were, but he sat patiently through it until I finally put the bottle of rubbing alcohol down.

“If you turn back around, I’ll take care of the bruises,” I said, my voice hoarse with barely restrained emotion. The tears that had been threatening to escape ever since I saw his damaged back stung in my eyes. I wasn’t sure why seeing the alpha like this hurt so much. The shock of realizing exactly how ruthless Dr. Axell truly was was a shock, but this… it felt so… personal, somehow. Like I was the one he’d had beaten, not a criminal alpha on death row.

351 turned around to face me once more, and the look in his eyes made me lower mine as something warm and confusing pressed against the inside of my chest. There was so much tenderness in his blue-green gaze. It felt… so intimate, like he… knew me somehow.

Fumbling, I reached for the lotion meant for bruises. It was ridiculous, of course. I may have empathy for what had happened to him, perhaps even on a personal level and not just professional, but there was no reason to start reading anything more into it. And this man… He was deep in his instincts. Of course he would see a young woman caring for his wounds as an intimate gesture and react appropriately. It didn’t mean I had any excuse to lose my damn mind. I had a job to do.

Biting the inside of my cheek to steel myself, I looked back up at him, focusing on his bruises instead of the look in his eyes as I poured lotion on a fresh piece of cotton and reached in through the bars to dab it on his discolored skin.

It was a quicker job than caring for his scrapes and cuts, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when I could finally put the used bit of cotton in the discarded pile with the others and screw the lid back on the bottle of lotion. But before I could stand up, the feral alpha reached a hand through the bars—slowly, as to not startle me—and brushed his warm, scraped fingers against my cheek.

“Thank you.” His voice was rough, and the hesitant way his soft lips formed around the words spoke of how infrequently he used it.

I couldn’t help the rush of warmth and pity and anger that coursed through my veins as I felt his gentle caress and looked back up at him. I could see him—the man behind the feral beast, struggling to break through the haze from the chemicals they’d given him. His lips parted, to say more I realized, but he couldn’t find the words. Frustrated, he growled and pulled his hand from my face, clenching it around one of the bars.

That’s when I knew, with unequivocal certainty, that I had to save him, no matter the cost.