CHAPTER 5

Aria stirred, her limbs heavy as though weighted by sleep thick as mud. Her lashes fluttered, revealing the stark, sterile white ceiling overhead. The light was soft but cold, clinical—nothing like the chamber she'd blacked out in. Her head pulsed dully, and her throat was parched.

Where am I…?

Flashes of memory struck like lightning. A dark room. Chains. Heat. His eyes.

Her hands.

Her mouth.

Her shame.

She turned her head with effort, her neck stiff, and found the Doctor looming beside the bed, his expression calm but edged with concern.

"Ah, you're awake," he said, his voice a practised blend of authority and empathy.

"You gave us quite a scare. But I have good news—our examinations revealed nothing unusual. Your body is functioning as it should."

Aria blinked at him, trying to focus past the haze.

The words barely registered.

Nothing unusual?

She almost wanted to laugh.

How could he possibly say that when nothing felt normal anymore?

Her body didn’t feel like her own—it hadn’t since stepping into that chamber.

And...

Functioning as it should?

No.

That wasn’t right.

That didn’t explain why her body had betrayed her—why it had wanted him. A complete stranger.

"I…" Her lips parted, voice hoarse.

"What happened to me?" she asked, her voice low and shaky. Her fingers twisted in the blanket covering her legs.

"I don’t act like that… not ever. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It didn’t even feel like me."

Her words came out in a rush, trembling with disbelief.

"It was like I was watching someone else in my body—doing things I shouldn't even be thinking about. I couldn't stop. I didn’t want to stop. Why would I… why would I do something like that?"

The Doctor didn’t answer right away.

He stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, his expression unreadable.

His silence made her stomach twist.

Was he judging her?

Did he think she was broken?

Or worse—did he know something he wasn’t telling her?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He finally spoke, voice measured and clinical.

“We’re still reviewing the data, but there was no evidence of toxins or hormonal tampering. It appears your reaction was… spontaneous.”

“Spontaneous?” Aria echoed, incredulous.

“You’re saying I chose to act like that? That I wanted to—”

She cut herself off, the memory of her mouth on the stranger’s chest flashing in her mind. Her cheeks flushed hot.

“No. That’s not right. Something happened to me in that room. I wasn’t in control. It felt like—like something inside me just... snapped.”

She rubbed her arms as if she could scrub the memory away.

“I don’t even know who I was in that moment.”

Aria turned her face away, heat rushing to her cheeks—not just embarrassment but shame.

She remembered the way her fingers had traced the lines of his chest, how the ridges of muscle had trembled beneath her touch.

The taste of his skin. The heat of him. And worse, the need that had flooded her, made her forget reason or control.

She had wanted him.

Desperately. Rawly. Shamefully.

And it terrified her.

She wondered how she could have been so forward, so uninhibited.

She had never done anything like that before, and the memory of her behaviour left her feeling both ashamed and strangely exhilarated.

The Doctor, noticing her discomfort, swiftly redirected the conversation.

"Now that you're awake, there are some matters we need to discuss. All future 'sampling' will become your responsibility. You seem to have a unique connection with our subject, and your presence appears to be beneficial to his... recovery."

Her gaze snapped back to him.

"What?" she asked, voice sharper than she intended.

"Sampling?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

"You will need to tend to his needs and ensure his well-being. It's crucial for our research."

"But..."

“It’s protocol,” he said gently, but with finality.

“He responded… uniquely to you. None of our other handlers triggered such a strong physiological connection. The Board believes a consistent point of contact may help regulate his behaviour.”

Aria opened her mouth to protest but found no words.

What could she say?

That she’d practically thrown herself at a test subject? That she wasn’t sure who she had been in that room?

So instead, she nodded stiffly.

........

The next morning, she stood before the reinforced door to the lower chamber, trying to calm her racing heart.

This time, the lights were on.

No shadows.

No mystery.

And yet, the dread pooling in her belly was no less potent.

The moment the door slid open, a sterile breeze met her face, tinged with something faintly coppery—blood.

Her eyes adjusted, and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the sight of his body.

He was still hanging, restrained by thick chains anchored into the wall, his massive form slumped forward slightly.

But now, in the light, she saw it all—dark bruises blooming across his ribs, long welts slashing across his back, deep gashes crusted with dried blood.

His skin was a canvas of violence.

“Oh my god…” she whispered, stepping in cautiously.

How had she not seen this before?

She crouched beside him, uncapping antiseptic with trembling fingers.

And then—

A sharp intake of breath.

His eyes, which had been closed, suddenly snapped open, fixing her with a predatory, alert gaze.

There was a wildness in his eyes—a raw, feral hunger that sent a cold shiver racing down her spine.

Aria froze.

The antiseptic pad trembled between her fingers, suspended inches from his battered skin.

Her breath hitched as his gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unblinking, like a predator sizing up prey.

“Um... hi,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I—I was just... you’re hurt, and I thought I should...”

Her words tangled and fell apart under the weight of his silence. His eyes dropped briefly to the pad in her hand, then slowly lifted to meet hers again, unreadable.

“I won’t hurt you,” she blurted out, raising her hands slightly, the pad still caught between her fingers.

“I’m just here to help you,” she added, forcing a weak smile, though her pulse was pounding in her ears.

He said nothing.

"I'm just going to clean your wounds..okay.."

She moved slowly, her hands trembling as she reached for the supplies she had brought with her.

His eyes tracked her every move like a wolf assessing prey—or perhaps something else.

Curiosity. Hunger. Recognition?

He remembers me.

She moved carefully, not wanting to startle him. His eyes followed her every move, sharp and intense, making her skin prickle.

She cleaned his wounds slowly, trying to stay focused.

Her hands were steady, but her heart wasn’t.

The way he watched her—silent, intense—made the air feel heavier.

Still, he didn’t pull away.

There was something between them now. Not quite trust, but something close. Even bruised and bound, he gave off a quiet strength that unsettled her… yet made her feel oddly safe.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

“I don’t know what they’ve done to you, but…”

He shifted, so subtly it barely registered.

His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring as if catching some scent in the air.

A moment later, she felt it.

His breath was on her neck.

She stiffened.

He’s smelling me.

Her blood froze.

Before she could react, he dragged his tongue across the sensitive skin of her neck, the rough texture sending shivers down her spine.

It was intimate, invasive, and strangely arousing. No one had ever touched her like that, and the primal nature of his action left her breathless.

Her hand flew to her throat, fingers trembling.

“W-What are you doing?” she gasped, her voice barely more than a breath.

He didn’t answer. Just stared—intensely, unreadable—as he leaned in again, slowly, deliberately.

“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“Don’t…”

That made him pause.

His eyes stayed on hers—dark, unreadable, and almost... questioning.

His brows knit together, a flicker of confusion crossing his face like he didn’t understand her fear.

Then slowly, silently, he leaned closer—not with menace, but curiosity.

His nose hovered near her throat, inhaling deeply as if her scent answered something he couldn't put into words.

Aria froze, her heart hammering.

She felt it—an ache blooming low in her belly, her body betraying her in ways she didn’t understand. Her breath caught.

Her skin prickled.

She could feel her nipples tightening beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, her thighs pressing together instinctively.

She hated how aware she was of him. Hated the fire curling through her veins despite the danger.

"Stop," she whispered again—though her voice was softer this time, uncertain.

His breath ghosted across her skin, but he didn't move closer.

He just watched her with a quiet intensity, like she was the only thing that made sense in a world he didn’t recognize.

“ —this isn’t right,” she whispered.

“I shouldn’t—I'm not…”

She took a deep breath, her hands stilling on his chest as she met his gaze steadily.

"Just let me help you," she said softly."

He seemed to consider her words, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deception.

After a moment, he nodded slightly, a silent agreement passing between them.

She let out a shaky breath, her hands resuming their work as she continued to clean his wounds.

As she tended to him, she couldn't help but notice the way his body responded to her touch.

His muscles tensed and relaxed under her fingers, and she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

It was a heady sensation, one that left her dizzy and disoriented.

She had never been so aware of another person's body, of the raw power and vulnerability that lay beneath the surface.

His hungry eyes locked onto her chest, and she felt her nipples betraying her, hardening into stiff peaks despite the terror coursing through her veins.

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze, focusing on her task with renewed determination.

She had never been so exposed, so aware of her own body and its reactions. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Almost done," she murmured, her voice steady despite the chaos within her.

"Just a few more..."

As she finished cleaning the last of his wounds, she stepped back, her eyes meeting his once more.

There was a new sharpness in his gaze now, not reverent but curious—like she was a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out.

His eyes tracked her every movement, intense and unblinking as if trying to understand.

She gave a small, uncertain nod—a silent promise that she would return—and turned to leave the chamber.

As she walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on her back, the weight of his gaze a physical presence that followed her out of the room.

She took a deep breath, her mind racing as she processed the events of the day.

She had tended to his wounds, gained his trust, and in doing so, had formed a connection that went beyond the physical.

She felt a sense of accomplishment, of having overcome her fears and proven herself capable.

The Doctor was waiting for her outside the chamber, his expression inscrutable as he took in her flushed cheeks and trembling hands.

"How did it go?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"He's... different," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But I think I can handle it. I can tend to his needs."

The Doctor nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I knew you could. You have a unique gift, and I have every confidence that you will succeed in your new role."

As she left the facility, Aria couldn't help but feel a sense of purpose, a determination to see this through.