Spoils

Some time ago…

T’Challa really hadn’t expected his sister to react so badly to the improvement in his relationship with Erik.

She had caught him coming out of the door after the council meeting and then led him to her lab. Once the door was shut and they had a bit more privacy, she immediately turned to him with a worried frown. 

"Last night," she began, then swallowed and grimaced. "Did Killmonger - did he hurt you?" 

T'Challa blinked. "What? No, of course not." Their wedding night had been perfectly enjoyable. Even the mere memory of it made his face heat up a little. T'Challa squirmed internally. He really didn't want to be having this awkward conversation with his sister, of all people, but he realised that it was only natural for her to be worried. The two of them hadn't exactly started off on the right foot. 

Shuri still looked sceptical, so T'Challa rushed to reassure her. "He's good to me, Shuri. He treats me well. In fact, he's been quite a good mate."

Shuri's eyebrows went all the way up. 

"A good mate?" she said incredulously. "You know, you don't have to lie to make me feel better. No one can listen in on us when we're here, I've made sure of that. If you're worried that he'll somehow find out what we've been discussing and then take it out on you -" 

"Wait, I'm not worried about that," T'Challa said quickly, now feeling somewhat alarmed. "I really do mean it."

"He's killed almost a hundred people! Have you forgotten? He's a violent, dangerous man, a threat not just to Wakanda but to the entire world! Remember what he announced when he first arrived here? He wanted to steal our vibranium, to set up some sort of crazy Wakandan empire -" 

T'Challa winced. "People change. I know Erik hadn't exactly been an angel in the past, but we've talked about it, and he told me that he'd work together with me instead of going through with his original plan.

But he was acutely aware of just how painfully unconvincing this would sound to Shuri, and with a jolt, he suddenly recalled that Erik hadn’t actually promised not to carry through with his original plan. “I’ll consider it, if you’re good” wasn’t exactly an ironclad promise. He really needed to sort this out with Erik soon before Erik did anything disastrous. 

Shuri looked dismayed. "This isn't like you, T'Challa! I can't believe you'd fall for such a  lame excuse." Her eyes were bright and calculating now, and she was looking at him with a coldly evaluative expression on her face. It was the same look that she usually wore when she was trying to solve a particularly tricky problem. She continued, watching carefully for T'Challa's reaction, "I think Killmonger is taking advantage of his bond with you. He's using you for his own ends."

“He is not!”

T'Challa immediately bristled, instinctively becoming defensive at the insult to his mate and his bond. Unconsciously, he clenched his hands into fists and bared his teeth, adrenaline flooding through his body. 

Horrified, T'Challa slapped down the instinctive surge of anger and defensiveness in his mind, forcing himself to relax as he reminded himself that his sister was just concerned for him. It helped that Shuri was a beta, and his new omega instincts didn't interpret betas as being inherently threatening. But with a sinking feeling, he realized that he had come to his senses just a moment too late. From the look on Shuri’s face, she was definitely going to take this as evidence that he was just too quick to jump to Erik's defence. That Erik had… bewitched him, somehow. 

Sure enough, Shuri's analytical expression had morphed to one of outright dismay. A wounded look appeared in her eyes, even though she quickly schooled her expression into one of studied neutrality again. 

T'Challa's heart twinge with guilt, watching Shuri cover up her emotions even when she was obviously upset. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but at the same time, a small, disloyal voice in his head whispered that it was her own fault, if only she'd just stop meddling in - in whatever was going on between himself and Erik - if only she’d just let them be...

His thoughts were interrupted by her net question. Shuri was looking at him shrewdly, her eyes narrowed. “No? You’re telling me you aren’t even a little bit afraid of him? He is your alpha, after all. You aren’t scared of what he might do to you? He’s never threatened you? Never hurt you?”

Unbidden, the memory of Erik spanking him rose to the forefront of T'Challa's mind. T'Challa swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He was very glad that Shuri had no way of seeing the flush spreading across the surface of his skin. The punishment hadn't hurt that badly, and Erik had done nothing worse than threaten him with further spankings. Which, if T'Challa was honest with himself, wasn't exactly unwelcome, but T'Challa was certain that Shuri wouldn't see it that way. 

"Of course he didn't hurt me," T'Challa lied quickly, suddenly aware that he still hadn't answered Shuri's question. But he had hesitated for just a moment too long, and Shuri's expression was now changing from dismayed to horrified. 

"He hurt you!" Shuri exclaimed. Her eyes were bright with anger now. 

"Shuri -" T'Challa protested, but it was futile. Once Shuri had set her mind to something, she was rarely deterred. 

"You're still trying to shield him! He's got you wrapped around his finger!" T'Challa had never heard Shuri sound so angry before.

She continued, "I know it's not your fault. You've been blinded by the bond. But don't worry, I've found a way to fix that." 

"What?" T'Challa said, alarm spiking across his nerves. His heartbeat spiked as he began to back away, but at that same moment, the white mannequins in Shuri's lab suddenly came to life, the same mannequins on which he had once tested his new Black Panther suit in what felt like a lifetime ago. 

The mannequins moved in unison to block his way, working in tandem in some eerie parody of human motion. Their actions were inhumanly coordinated, smooth and silent. Somehow Shuri was controlling them remotely. He hadn't even known that they could do that!

T’Challa backed away from them warily, holding his hands up defensively. He had never missed his powers as acutely as he did at this moment. Compared to when he had the powers of the heart-shaped herb running through his veins, his reflexes were now dulled and his motions slow and laggard as he was backed into a corner by the faceless, emotionless mannequins. And his mind - although the adrenaline spiking through his veins seemed to make his senses sharper, his thoughts were now racing in a panicked spiral as fear began to settle over his mind. 

He wasn’t afraid of Shuri, exactly. He knew that she would never hurt him, but he really didn't want to find out exactly how Shuri intended to break his bond. With a jolt, T’Challa suddenly realized that despite all his initial reservations, he couldn't imagine living without Erik now. The thought of losing his mate sent a sharp stab of primal fear through his chest. How much of it was due to his omega instincts, T'Challa didn't know, but all he knew for certain was that he didn't want their bond to be broken. Every cell in his body cried out in rejection of the thought. 

T’Challa’s breathing was quick and shallow now, panicked little pants escaping him as he swivelled his head about, desperately seeking an escape route. But the only exit to the lab was sealed shut, and the mannequins were now closing in on him, with no trace of mercy on their still, emotionless faces. 

Somehow, through the boiling storm of anger and panic whirling in his mind, T'Challa managed to pull himself together enough to try to talk some sense into Shuri again. "Shuri -" he began, trying to keep his voice even and placating.

But the next few words he was about to say died on his lips as the mannequin closest to him reached out and grabbed him by the arm, its cold fingers of vibranium-ceramic alloy closing around his right wrist. Another one took hold of his upper arm, and yet another one had somehow managed to sidle behind him when he was distracted. That mannequin wrapped its arms tightly around his waist, pinning him into place and trapping T’Challa within its cold embrace. 

No matter how much T'Challa tried to get away, he couldn't get squirm free from the cold and unforgiving arms of the mannequins. Their grips on him were precisely calculated to exert just the right amount of strength, just sufficient to restrain him without causing any serious pain or bruising. T’Challa’s knowledge of martial arts was no help hereeither - the mannequins seemed to have been perfectly programmed to counter his every move. Clearly this was Shuri’s doing. She was the only one with sufficient knowledge of his fighting style and the technical capabilities to do such a thing. T’Challa would have showered her with praise for this incredible feat of engineering, if it wasn’t being used against him right now.

"When you're back in your right mind later, you're going to thank me for this,” Shuri declared. Her mouth was set in a tight line of determination, and fire was blazing in her eyes. With a sinking feeling, T'Challa realized that there was absolutely no way that he could get out of this. 

From the pocket of her lab coat, Shuri withdrew a small, inhaler-shaped device. "It took me a long time to come up with this formula, but I eventually found a way to trigger your heat. You're going to stay here in this lab for the duration of your heat, away from Killmonger. He won't be able to renew your mating bond during your heat. After that, your bond will break naturally, and then you'll be free."

"No!" T'Challa began to struggle in earnest now, but the mannequins holding him in place were too strong. One of them clamped its hand over his mouth, cutting off his air flow as Shuri approached. 

T'Challa held his breath for as long as he could, but he only had an average human's loling capacity now, and he couldn't keep it up for more than a minute. His lungs burning painfully, he inhaled sharply, taking in a quick, desperate gulp of air. 

Shuri activated the inhaler device, sending a sheen of mist into T'Challa's face. A strange, salty-sweet scent hit his nose, unlike anything he had ever smelled before - something that carried the salty notes of sea brine mixed in with soft vanilla and the slightest hint of caramel crème. Immediately, a soft haze settled over his mind. His pulse began to raise, and T'Challa could feel himself getting uncomfortably warm under the collar as blood rushed to the surface of his skin. His struggles ceased and he went limp in the mannequins' arms. 

"They'll look after you for the duration of your heat," Shuri said, nodding at the mannequins. "I know you're upset right now, and I'm sorry that it has to come to this. But you'll thank me later when you're back in your right mind."

T'Challa barely reacted. He was too distracted by the fiery heat now simmering under his skin. It felt as if he were burning up from the inside. A sheen of sweat broke out across his skin, dampening the front of his robes. His clothes felt uncomfortably restrictive and wrong, and he began to undo the buttons on his robes, all traces of modesty gone from his mind. He didn’t even register it when Shuri winced and then backed out of the lab, leaving him alone with the mannequins.

As if on cue, the mannequins released him and backed up a few steps, forming a protective circle around him. T’Challa ignored them. They were inconsequential. They weren’t important right now.

Something was missing. 

Someone was missing.

His alpha. Where was his mate? 

A keen of want bubbled up through T’Challa’s chest, slipping past his lips even as he tore his clothes off, trying to get as much cool air as he could against his too-warm skin. Fire burned through his veins, setting his nerves alight with frustration and arousal. He fell to his knees on the hard tiles of the lab, alone and forsaken. 

He was in heat right now, and his mate wasn’t here.