Vengeful Bonds S3 - Episode 11 - Deke (Patreon)

Look for more Warlock/Fighter this weekend. I'll post Night Movers and Learning Curve next week.

Deke

The research rooms always freaked Ollie out, but Deke didn’t mind them. The air was always a few degrees too cool, humming faintly with recycled air and electricity, but to Deke it felt clean—predictable.

Ollie liked to pretend he was always calm and in control, but Deke was an expert at reading his mate. Maybe it was the bite or maybe it was just proximity, but no matter how composed Ollie was on the outside, Deke could always feel his anxiety vibrating under the surface. It lived in the tight set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers hovered near Deke’s wrist like he might grab him at any second and drag him out of there.

Not that he’d let Ollie know that. Ollie needed to be in charge, needed to be caring for someone else. Deke was happy to be that person as long as it wasn’t to Ollie’s detriment. Ollie’s peace had always come from a plan, from looking at something from every angle, from being the calmest person in any room. Deke would never take that from him.

But their differences were never so obvious as when they were stuck in the back rooms of Veritas, Deke being poked and prodded while Ollie pretended he wasn’t freaking out. The smell of antiseptic and anxiety clung to Ollie’s clothes long after they left, sharp and sour against his ever-sweetening omega scent.

Ollie couldn’t understand why Deke wasn’t more alarmed by all these invasive tests. Ollie might have been more relaxed if Deke would just…act like he objected to being their lab rat. But Deke really didn’t mind. The sting of needles barely registered anymore. The cool press of electrodes against his skin felt almost grounding.

So far, it was blood work and wires and them trying to provoke him in various ways. He actually found the lab…kind of soothing. The lights didn’t flicker. The staff followed scripts. Even the machines beeped in steady, reassuring rhythms.

Was that weird?

As much as Deke had loved makeup, acting, being creative, it was a field that mirrored the chaos of his home life. A drunk abusive father, seven brothers who, not only didn’t stop his father, but just piled on whenever they got the chance. Deke had lived in this constant state of readiness. Always on guard. Hypervigilant of his surroundings. Even if he was having fun on the surface, he was never truly relaxed.There had always been the anticipation of impact—physical or verbal—just beneath his skin.

But this place was different. Nothing changed in the lab. All the rooms were the same. All the techs looked the same. The computers, the lab equipment, the ugly commercial grade carpet, all looked the same regardless of where they were in the research department. No sudden shouting. No slamming doors. No unpredictable hands.

Research came with parameters, protocols, checks and balances, even in a place like Veritas. If something went wrong, there was a procedure. A button. A containment plan. There was safety in that. Or at least the illusion of it.

Before he’d presented, Deke had always feared being a victim—of his father, his brothers…life. But now, he feared being the villain. The shift from unpresented to mythological being  had been violent and absolute.

He couldn’t trust himself. He didn’t know how to control this. That made him dangerous. He didn’t want to endanger the people he loved most in the world. The people who loved him, for better or worse. Sometimes he could feel it under his skin—the pressure, like something vast and electric coiled inside his ribcage waiting for…something to trigger him.

In the lab, someone was always watching, someone was always there to pull him back from the edge before he accidentally did something he couldn’t take back…again. There were cameras in the corners. Heart monitors clipped to his chest. Sensors tracking every spike and dip. He found comfort in the surveillance even if his alpha didn’t.

Ollie thought they were exploiting Deke, blackmailing him into being their research subject in exchange for their safety. Which was how it started, but now the lab was a safety net. Safety for Ollie. Safety for Pop-Tart. Safety for his pack. Every vial of blood, every test, every measured reaction was proof that he was trying, that there would come a time when he was no longer a biological weapon.

Safety was the reason Deke did everything. It was the one thing he’d never had and the one thing he’d always wanted. And just when he got it, he became the thing that wasn’t safe. 

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

But here, he was contained. He was monitored. Here, if he became a weapon—a catalyst—there would be witnesses. The researchers measured everything. Body temperature. Sweat production. Heart rate. Brain wave activity. Whenever he was there, electrodes tugged faintly at his chest when he shifted, adhesive pulling at fine hairs. The steady beep of the monitor had become background noise, comfortingly consistent.

If Deke was about to change anyone, they would know well in advance. And until Deke could control his enigma, he preferred to have someone holding the leash. A leash implied restraint. Restraint implied safety. Even if the person holding it couldn’t be trusted. At least, not fully. 

Trust was a luxury. 

Containment was not.

“This test is going to be a…bit different than the others,” Lance said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking far sketchier than usual. 

The fluorescent lights reflected off the thin sheen of sweat at his hairline.

Lance was a strange one. He looked every bit the stereotypical nerd, but more like the Hollywood version, attractive in a bland way, wire rimmed glasses that seemed to appear and disappear at random. He wore Hawaiian shirts under his lab coats like he wanted to prove he wasn’t just the ‘smart one’. 

He wanted to be liked…desperately. Ollie had disliked him on sight. Deke didn’t feel any kind of way about him. In the grand scheme of things, he was just another piece of lab equipment as far as Deke was concerned. Until now. Now, he looked like someone with an agenda. And Deke hated that. Agendas meant variables. Variables meant unpredictability.

A prickle of unease rolled along his skin. It started at the base of his neck and traveled downward, slow and electric.

“What do you mean?”

Lance cleared his throat. “Well, as you know, we’ve been exposing you to specific…stimuli to see if we can isolate what causes you to emit whatever chemical neurotransmitter it is that causes others to change around you. This test is…similar, but we’d like to study it with a different medium.”

“A what?” Deke prodded. 

His pulse ticked up a fraction, grateful the electrodes weren’t on yet, so they couldn’t capture the way his heart galloped.

Lance awkwardly cleared his throat, gripping his clipboard tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “I’m afraid this time we can’t tell you any more than that.”

Deke rolled his eyes even as his stomach churned. “Dude, you’re freaking me out. Can you just speak plain English?”

The humor was thin. Forced.

“We’re going to put you into a functional MRI machine and see which parts of your brain light up when introduced to new stimuli to see if we can pinpoint the part of your brain which causes the secretion of the hormone that allows you to alter people’s secondary genders.”

This didn’t come from Lance but a tall man with gray hair and unnervingly blue eyes. He wore the same starched white lab coat as the others, but somehow his appeared more expensive. Maybe it was because it sat on top of a thousand dollar suit. He was attractive for an old guy, though something about him pinged Deke’s lizard brain, causing it to scream danger. The man’s scent was faint—expensive cologne layered over something metallic and cold, his own alpha scent barely contained beneath his scent patch.

Maybe it was the ease with which he moved about the room, like he owned the place, like he had every right to be there. Was this man why they hadn’t wanted Ollie there? The thought settled heavily in Deke’s gut.

Lance’s head snapped to the man so quickly, Deke could swear he heard his neck snap. “Dr. Hearst. I-I didn’t know you’d be here today.” 

There was deference in Lance’s voice now. And fear.

Deke’s whole body tingled. Not the pleasant buzz he’d felt before—this was sharper, like static crawling under his skin.

Dr. Hearst. As in the Dr. Hearst? Alexander Hearst. The owner of Veritas? Win’s father? The man whose name was printed on every consent form.

Lance looked like he might throw up. Deke didn’t blame him. Hearst had a presence. And clearly a reputation. Lance’s skin was now a chalky white, beads of perspiration appearing on his lip even standing directly under the vents pumping out freezing cold air. Was this what they meant by flop sweat? The sharp scent of fear cut through the sterile room, unmistakable.

Hearst made eye contact with Deke and gave him an almost conspiratorial smile, like they shared a secret. Or maybe he just thought Deke knew what it was like to terrify a room full of people. There was no warmth in it. Just calculation.

Deke suddenly wished Ollie was there. He’d know what to do. He’d know how to play this. Maybe he should have just kept his guard up like Ollie had said. Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable being contained.

“I’ve got this Lance,” Hearst said. “Why don’t you make sure the room is prepped.”

Lance gave a jerky nod and darted off towards the wall of machines in the control room. He moved like a man relieved to be dismissed. He recognized that relief. He’d seen it whenever his father had dismissed someone without beating them up or verbally abusing them. 

“Does everyone act like that around you?” Deke asked, brow arched. He aimed for flippancy but landed somewhere brittle.

Hearst gave him a wry smile. “I am the boss,” he said cryptically. 

The words weren’t defensive. They were a statement of gravity, superiority disguised as humility.

When Deke didn’t say anything, he said, “I’m not usually one for surprise site visits but, since I was in town, I thought I'd introduce myself.”

Deke tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Do you really expect me to believe that you coming to town just when they decide to switch my protocols is a coincidence? I’m young but I’m not dumb. I’m sure you’ve been keeping an eye on this for weeks.”

His heart rate ticked up again, the monitor betraying him with a soft acceleration.

Once more, Hearst grinned, inclining his head in the affirmative. “This project is important to me. I let my staff handle the baseline tests but now it's time to get to work. I think you know how extraordinary you are. Isn’t that why you agreed to help us?” 

Extraordinary sounded suspiciously close to useful.

“I agreed to help you because my mate is pregnant and I need to learn control.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

The admission sat heavy in his chest.

“But did you hurt them? Or did you help them?” Hearst asked, looking a little puzzled. “You turned a beta back into his true omega form and you turned a recessive alpha into a dominant one. How is that harm?” 

The way he said true made Deke’s skin crawl. True omega form? What the fuck did that even mean? Ew. Deke’s stomach churned. It sounded like doctrine, not science. Like the shit Binnie’s father spouted during his propaganda filled speeches that he delivered like sermons.

“Ollie didn’t ask to be changed and neither did Loch. People should have the right to choose.”

His palms dampened, a faint tremor starting in his fingers.

Hearst made a face that could have been concession but also could have been ‘agree to disagree’. Neither really made Deke feel better. It felt like the look of someone who believed history would vindicate him.

“We’re all ready here,” Lance called, voice wavering at the end.

Hearst nodded. “Have you ever had an MRI?”

Deke shook his head. His tongue felt dry against the roof of his mouth.

“The machine is loud; lots of banging and knocking. You’ll have electrodes placed on your body, as always. A pulse ox to monitor oxygen. Headphones so you can hear instructions. And there will be a plastic mask that sits over your head to help keep you still. It can feel a bit claustrophobic, but I assure you, it's perfectly safe. And, of course, you’ll be restrained.” 

The word landed differently this time. Not leash. Not safety. Restrained. Deke fought not to roll his eyes. Of course. Of course there were more wires. More contingencies. More layers of control.

“We’ll also have an IV in place for lab draws between sessions.”

“Okay,” Deke said, unsure what other answer he could give. Consent felt less like agreement and more like inevitability.

“Since the machine is essentially a big magnet, we’ll have you remove your clothes and put on a hospital gown as well as remove anything metal.”

Deke nodded as Hearst droned on about MRI protocols and safety standards, asking him a list of questions about medical procedures and metal implants in his body all while Deke stood behind a curtain changing into the world’s ugliest gown. The fabric was thin and stiff, whispering against his skin every time he moved, leaving him feeling exposed in a way he hadn’t expected.

Once finished, a group of people converged on him like vultures on road kill. One placed an IV, the others placed leads on his chest, his scalp, checked lines, called out instructions to each other.Hands everywhere. Cold alcohol swabs. The sharp sting of the IV sliding into his vein. The faint tug of adhesive against his hairline.  It was all very overwhelming. 

Until it wasn’t. Until he went still inside himself, just like his alpha. His alpha who stayed curled up and sleeping somewhere deep inside, just as he always did during these tests. He couldn’t be bothered with trivial human things like monitors and clipboards and suppressing his instincts, those were Deke’s problems to deal with.

Once everything was in place and the baseline labs were drawn, it was just him and the tech. That’s when anxiety kicked in. She kept giving him tight smiles that made him feel queasy. Was that look meant to be comforting? Her eyes flicked to the monitor more often than they stayed on him.

They had cradled his skull in a padded head rest, but the hard plastic mask they placed over his head had no give at all, only holes for him to look out and a mirror that showed him the back of the room.The plastic smelled faintly chemical, sterile and sharp, the scent trapped between it and his skin.

It felt like some kind of punishment and the test hadn’t even started yet. Like he’d already done something wrong. His wrists and ankles were strapped to the table with not only the same uncomfortable plastic as the mask but a velcro wrap that hugged his chest like a straitjacket. Each strap tightened with an efficient rip of Velcro that echoed too loudly in the quiet room.

Deke could hear his heartbeat in his own ears despite the low whirr of the machine. It sounded too fast. Too loud.

The plastic dug into his chin and the MRI machine opening that hadn’t seemed that bad, now felt like a coffin. The ceiling above him felt inches from his nose. The air thinner. By the time the table jerked into motion sending him into the narrow dark tube, Deke could feel his body reacting, heart racing, mouth dry, a cold sweat creeping down his body. The walls slid past him in slow, merciless inches until the outside world disappeared.

“Deke, you okay?”

Deke jumped, the voice loud in his headphones. The sudden sound ricocheted through his skull.

He tried to nod out of habit, but found he couldn’t, which only further solidified how trapped he truly was. The realization hit harder than the restraints.

“I’m not unokay?”

He heard quiet laughter in his ears. “Okay, we’re gonna get started. I need you to hold as still as possible.”

His tongue darted out to lick over his lower lip. “Yeah, sure.” 

His voice sounded smaller in the enclosed space. What choice did he have?

The first ten minutes or so he just…laid there. The magnet began its rhythmic assault—metallic thuds and mechanical knocking that vibrated faintly through the table beneath him.

The noise—muted by the headphones, but still unnerving—started to sound almost soothing. He started to worry he might fall asleep. The repetition lulled his nervous system into a strange, suspended state.

He wasn’t sure exactly what they were hoping to capture. He didn’t feel any different. No surge. No shift. Just confinement. If anything he was starting to feel like they’d just left him in there and went to lunch. Abandoned inside a machine built like a tomb, too bound to do anything.

That spiked his anxiety. “Hello?” he called before he could stop himself. His voice echoed back at him, thinner than he liked.

He needed to relax but relaxing felt impossible when he couldn’t move.

“You okay, Deke?” the tech asked.

Her voice came through tinny and distant, like she was underwater and he was the one drowning.

“Just-Just making sure someone was still there,” he admitted, sweat dampening the gown.

The fabric clung to his spine, cold where it touched air, warm where it stuck to skin.

“We’re here. You’re doing great. We’re coming to get you out so we can draw the next set of labs.”

“Kay,” he managed. 

His throat felt tight.

When she pulled him out, he took a deep breath. The air outside the machine felt bigger. Fuller.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to turn up the fan a bit. I know it’s hot in there.”

Hot wasn’t the word. Stifling. Contained. Pressurized.

She took off the mask while they drew labs, checked that the leads were still properly affixed and whatever else they did, but soon he was back in the machine just…waiting. The straps bit into the same places as before, the Velcro rasping as they tightened it again.

After what felt like hours, he took a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm his nerves. When he went to do it a second time, something stirred within. Not panic. Not yet. Something sharper. A scent. Faint but unmistakable.

Omega.

His nostrils flared, trying to get a better whiff. The smell threaded through the recycled air—subtle, warm, unmistakable.

It wasn’t Ollie. Just another random omega. Somewhere. Close. Close enough that his pulse skipped.

Was it a tech? No. The room was closed off, the machine still running. Was he hallucinating? The scent strengthened when he focused on it. That was the problem.

He blinked sweat from his eyes, trying to concentrate on the scent, trying to pinpoint its location. There was a prickling of awareness that sent a full body shiver through him. It crawled along his nerves like electricity, settling low in his gut.

It hit him then. This was the test. That’s why they hadn’t wanted Ollie there. Had they thought just being around an omega would trigger him? They weren’t observing him. They were provoking him. At least they thought they were. He lived with three omegas. He passed hundreds of them on the street. Everyone did. Besides, Ollie was a beta when Deke met him. So omegas couldn’t be his trigger...right?

Whatever.

It wasn’t his test.

If they wanted to waste their time, that was on them. He forced his breathing to slow, determined not to give them what they wanted.

“Deke, we’re pulling you out so we can draw more labs.”

The table jerked into motion once more, pulling him from his iron coffin, into the dim lights. The scent dissipated instantly, like it had never been there at all.

A tech came over and tapped his IV filling vial after vial. Dr. Hearst stood to his left. Watching. Not blinking.

“How are you doing? Hanging in there?” he asked, removing the mask from his face.

Deke cracked his neck, but then nodded. “What labs are you taking? Like, what are you looking for? Ollie’s gonna want to know,” he added. 

He clung to Ollie’s name like an anchor.

Dr. Hearst nodded. “Testosterone, Luteinizing hormone, Follicle-stimulating hormone, Cortisol, Oxytocin, Vasopressin, Prolactin.”

Deke nodded even though he had no idea what any of that meant. It sounded like a complicated grocery list. Fuck. He missed Ollie. Was he okay? Was Pop-Tart okay? The thought steadied him for half a second. This is why he’d agreed to this. For Ollie. For their baby. For the pack.

“How much longer?”

“Not long now. Maybe about ten minutes for the next test, then you can return to your omega.” 

Your omega. The phrasing felt deliberate, almost mocking. But maybe Deke was just hyper sensitive at the moment.

Deke nodded. “Okay.”

“Ready?”

Deke took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, let's do this.” 

His palms tingled faintly where they rested against the restraints.

Dr. Hearst gave him a benevolent smile. “Yes, let's.”

There was satisfaction there now.

Back in the machine, Deke felt slightly less anxious but still…restless. The scent returned almost immediately. Stronger this time, making something come alive within him, his alpha finally awakening, even if it was only to peek an eye open and look around.

Being kept in the same place like this was torture. His muscles ached, his neck grew stiff. He was sure there was going to be a permanent mark in his chin from the plastic. His jaw clenched against the pressure, molars grinding. 

Something like this would have killed poor Seth with his ADHD. They would have had to sedate him.The thought almost made him smile—almost.

The more he laid there, the more restless he grew. His heart thudded fast and heavy against his ribs, his wrists and ankles twisted against the restraints, testing them, he was really sweating now, his breaths coming heavier. The Velcro rasped against his skin with every pull, the plastic biting deeper into bone.

That’s when he smelled it. Not just an omega. An omega in heat. Sweet. Thick. Slick with need. The scent was barely there at first, but grew thicker by the second. Deke growled low. It flooded his sinuses, coated the back of his throat.

“What are you doing?” he snarled.

“Just relax. It's all part of the test,” Dr. Hearst said blandly.

The calm in his voice only sharpened Deke’s rage.

The scent had him opening his mouth to taste it on his tongue. A stranger. But an actual omega, not some synthetic hormone like they sometimes used at heat and rut clinics. Real. Alive. Close enough that his body responded before his brain could argue, his alpha fully aware. 

He could feel himself growing hard, knew there was no hiding it in that barely there hospital gown. Heat pooled low in his belly, urgent and instinctive. He fought the restraints harder, eyes rolling, saliva pooling in his mouth. His muscles bunched and strained, tendons standing out along his forearms.

There was a crackle, then a voice said, “Hypothalamic spike. 18% above baseline.”

The words were clinical, detached.

They weren’t talking to him, but about him. Like he wasn’t even in the room. It felt like he wasn’t in the room. He felt his control slipping, still in his body but no longer in charge, just a passenger. 

Before he could ask what their words meant, the sound of the lab disappeared and moaning filled his ears. He sucked in a breath. An omega in distress. In heat. Whining. Begging. The sound burrowed straight into his spine. Deke snarled, fighting the restraints, all reason disappearing. It wasn’t a thought. It was a surge. A tidal wave of instinct. His vision went red, the sound of the machines buried beneath the blood rushing in his ears, his nails dug into the pad beneath him, noting with satisfaction when the fabric gave, his fingertips sinking into the batting.

“We’re seeing gene expression changes,” a voice said from miles away. “Holy shit. Look at those levels.”

“There. There it is. You can take him out. I want labs and swabs of any bodily secretions,” Hearst said, voice filled with an almost smug satisfaction, like he’d just confirmed a theory.

The last thing Deke remembered was the sound that ripped from deep, deep in his chest. Then the table was moving. He blinked sweat from his eyes, realizing he could move his arms. He tried to sit up.The scent cut off abruptly, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Several techs came in, gripping his arms and legs, attempting to slam him back down onto the table. It was laughable. He could have thrown them across the room. He shoved at them, pulling himself into a sitting position. He grabbed one of the tech’s hands, twisting violently until they screamed. 

He shook the others off like they weighed nothing, tearing at the leads on his skin. Adhesive ripped free with sharp snaps, wires tangling around his wrists.

“Deke!”

Deke snapped his attention back to Dr. Hearst, heaving in heavy breaths, blinking sweat from his eyes. The room swam in and out of focus.

“Wh-What happened?” he asked. 

His voice sounded wrecked.  Not like his own. He looked around at the torn leads, the ripped table and the tech holding his wrist. Guilt shot through him like an electrical current. 

What had he done?