FRAGILE

Chapter 9: Within the Hidden Room

As Maximus approached the main room, he saw Saxon, his Beta, standing near the stage. Saxon's nose twitched, his eyes locking onto Maximus with an intensity that took him by surprise. There was something in his gaze—recognition, concern, and an edge of desperation. And then it hit him.

The boy in the office. Saxon's mate.

Maximus cursed silently. He hadn't realized the connection, hadn't sensed the bond between them. Saxon's eyes held a mixture of fury and anguish, and though he knew his Beta would want answers, this was not the time. "Collect him," Maximus ordered, his voice low but firm, knowing Saxon needed no further explanation.

Saxon nodded, already moving toward the back where the unconscious boy lay.

Maximus turned his attention back to the makeshift stage, where the remaining slaves were being led away. And then, in the midst of the chaos, something caught his attention—something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

A scent.

It was faint but unmistakable, threading through the air like a beacon, calling to him in a way that made his heart pound. His wolf surged forward, almost feral in its intensity. His mate. The realization hit him with a force that nearly brought him to his knees. He hadn't been searching for a mate, hadn't expected one to be here, of all places, but the scent was undeniable.

Maximus leapt onto the stage, his eyes scanning the room, following the scent with single-minded focus. It led him toward the far corner, where a solid stone wall stood, unassuming but clearly out of place. His heart raced as he approached, and then he heard it—muffled, faint, but unmistakable.

A scream.

His wolf roared to the surface, taking control as Maximus slammed into the wall, using his strength to tear through it with ease. The stone crumbled beneath his hands, and behind it, he found a hidden room. The sight before him sent a wave of fury crashing through his body, and his vision tinted red.

There, sprawled on the bed, was his mate—a small, fragile figure, battered and broken. The sight instantly ignited a fire within Maximus that burned hotter than anything he had ever felt. On the bed, his mate—a small, pale boy—was pinned beneath a man, his body writhing in pain as the slaver violated him.

His mate's pale skin was marred by bruises and fresh burns, the acrid scent of seared flesh hanging heavy in the air. The source of the stench was clear—the branding iron, still cooling on a nearby table, had been used to carve the number 2197 into his mate's chest. The brand was fresh, angry red against the already scarred skin, a permanent mark of cruelty and ownership.

Maximus' eyes locked on the man looming over his mate, the slaver's body pressed against the boy's delicate frame, violating him without a shred of remorse. The sickening combination of blood, fear, and burning flesh overwhelmed Maximus' senses, sending his wolf into a wild, uncontrollable frenzy. His wolf surged forward, taking full control, and in that moment, there was no reason, no restraint—only vengeance.

The slaver cursed, eyes wide with panic as he tried to scramble away, but he didn't get far. With a guttural roar that echoed off the stone walls, Maximus lunged forward, his powerful hands closing around the man's neck and tearing him away from the boy like he weighed nothing. The man hit the floor with a sickening thud, but Maximus was already on him before he could even attempt to rise. His claws extended, lethal and deadly, and his teeth bared in a savage snarl as he stared down at the man who had dared to harm his mate.

There was no hesitation. No pause to consider mercy. Maximus' wolf had taken over completely, and his sole focus was on ending the life of the man who had brought pain to the one he was meant to protect. With one swift motion, Maximus slammed the man into the floor, his claws digging deep into the flesh of the man's throat. His growl vibrated through the room, low and menacing, as he tightened his grip, slowly crushing the man's windpipe. The slaver clawed weakly at Maximus' hands, his face contorted in terror, but his struggles were in vain.

Maximus' claws sank deeper, his grip unrelenting, until the man's body went limp, the last traces of life draining from his eyes. The only sound left in the room was the sharp intake of Maximus' breath as his chest heaved with barely contained rage. The lifeless body of the slaver lay crumpled beneath him, his throat torn and mangled.

But Maximus wasn't finished. His wolf, still surging with fury, urged him to tear the body apart, to destroy every last piece of the monster that had hurt his mate. His claws twitched, ready to rip the corpse to shreds, but then—a sound. A soft whimper, so faint it almost went unheard, cut through the bloodlust consuming him.

His mate.

The small, broken boy lay on the bed, his body trembling, his breath shallow and weak. The sight snapped Maximus back to himself, and with a growl, he wrestled control back from his wolf. His fury receded, but the protective instinct remained, stronger than ever.

Maximus rushed to his mate's side, his heart pounding in his chest as he knelt beside the bed. The boy's eyes fluttered open, glazed with exhaustion and pain. He was barely conscious, his fragile form hovering on the edge of collapse. Maximus gently, almost reverently, reached for him, scooping his mate into his arms as if he were the most precious thing in the world. His hands were careful, avoiding the fresh brand on the boy's chest, cradling him with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the violence that had just unfolded.

The boy's skin was cold to the touch, his body wracked with small, uncontrollable tremors. Shock. Exhaustion. Trauma. Maximus' heart twisted painfully in his chest as he looked down at his mate, seeing the depth of the suffering he had endured. He had been through hell—used, broken, and scarred. And yet, despite it all, he was still here. Still alive. Still breathing.

Maximus tightened his hold on him, pressing his mate's fragile form against his chest. His wolf was still bristling with anger, but underneath it was something else—an overwhelming need to protect. To keep his mate safe from any more harm. He would never allow anyone to touch him again. No one would ever bring him pain like this again.

Without another word, Maximus stood, his mate secure in his arms, and strode out of the hidden room. His mind was already working, racing with plans on how to get him out of this nightmare and back to safety.