Valko's Chew Toy

Your mates had ensured you would be prepared for this moment, stretching you open over the last week, stuffing you full of dildos to see if you were ready to take them.

You didn't expect to be like this: melting down into Valko's body, drooling against his shoulder, brain fuzzy and thoughts gone as they put theory into practice.

Valko groans, whining low in his throat as he forces himself to stay still. He can smell you. Smell Sylus. All of your arousal floods his nose, makes his cock leak in anticipation, has him panting with restraint. Your pretty little cunt is stretched around his dick, pressed in right down to the base. His tip pushes against your cervix, kissing it deeply as he tries not to prematurely flood your womb with his cum.

Sylus is the most put-together of you all, and even his composure is cracking at the edges. His right eye glows with burning desire, scales form and sharpen along his skin, and his chest heaves with heavy breaths. "Just one more, baby," he coos breathily. "You can take it."

The wolf huffs a choked laugh beside your ear. "They can't hear you. Poor baby can't even think anymore. Isn't that right, doll?"

Their words don't register anymore. You're so deliciously full. The heat - oh god, the heat of them all around you, inside of you. You're stretched open, barely supporting yourself on your knees. Your poor cunt is dripping around Valko's dick, onto the bed below.

When their hands caress you, you feel it through a haze. The sweet touch of your lovers, all your trust in their hands, puppet to their desires. Sylus grips your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to see just how your tight little hole swallows him. One cock shoved deep inside, while the other drips hot pre on your back. Valko grabs hold of your plush thigh and wraps an arm around your upper back, keeping you held flush against him as he eagerly watches Sylus over your shoulder.

Both of their eyes are locked on Sy's dick as he slowly pulls back and presses the tip against the hole with his thumb. He made sure you could withstand it. For his own sake, he ensured he would be able to fit inside. But, that isn't to say it wouldn't be a tight fit, especially when Val's thick cock is pressing against him through the inner walls of your cunt.

His hips slowly nudge forward. You whimper and whine as you feel the heads push in together, splitting you open in delicate, shallow thrusts. His head longs to tip back, mouth falling open around moans as he becomes hellbent on seeing you take them both. His sweet mate, swallowing both of his cocks at once.

"F-uck, kitten," he husks on a growl. It becomes deep and guttural at the end. Rumbling like a full-bodied dragon. His desires are suffocating. When he's finally able to bury himself to the hilt, he has to close his eyes and remember how to behave so he doesn't break you. You're so precious to him, his treasure, his mate - he can't hurt you. He can't-

"Fuck, you look so good."

The rough grunt pulls him from his draconic thoughts. He pries his eyes open to stare at Valko, at the wolf he's also claimed as his. Those pretty eyes that shine like gold caught in the sunlight...

Valko swallows thickly. His cock twitches with the need to move. God, he wants to fuck you so full. "S' pretty," he breathes. "Almost wish you were fuckin' me."

Sylus grins, wolfish and predatory. Oh, his sweet pup. "If you can keep up, I just might. Once our beloved is swollen and dripping, I'll use my cum to fuck your tight little asshole. How's that sound, dog?"

Valko whines, too animalistic to be human. He's panting already. The sight Sy just put into his head isn't helping. "If you've still got the energy, old man," he grits out.

"Deal."

Sylus presses your lower back down. Forces your knees to widen until you lay fully flush on top of Valko, and he can align himself to your spine. Val is already expecting it when the dragon's mouth descends on his, tongue licking out and claiming him, sealing the deal in spit.

Carefully, Sy rocks his hips, testing to see how easily he can move. You're still so tight, squeezing him so fucking good. Val feels him move through your gummy walls and mirrors him, easing himself out with what little room he's been given to move, and thrusting back in. Drool pools at the corner of his mouth as the kiss only gets sloppier.

You can't move. Sandwiched completely by your partners, you're locked in place, sweaty and superheated, as they begin picking up speed. You're just a toy for them to use. Just a cocksleeve waiting to be filled. You love it. You love the way your clit rubs against Val's pelvis. Love the way Sy's hips smack against your ass. You let go of any conscious thought you were desperately clinging to, and become a slave to the pleasure consuming you.

Valko wishes he'd thought about recording it beforehand. How he would have loved to get a camera and enhance it to record at a cinema-level quality. Aimed perfectly to watch your little holes get stretched open around their dicks. How their skin would shimmer with your arousal and lube and precum. Catch every last twitch of their balls as they unload every last drop of their cum into you...

He's going to be begging to do this again. Already resigning himself to giving up everything - even chocolate - if it means getting to see this erotic scene from every fucking angle.

Sylus bites his lip as he pulls away. His mouth immediately finds your neck, nipping and licking and sucking, overcome by the sheer instinctive need to mark you as his. Valko follows in his wake, leaving the imprint of his sharp teeth beside the impressions of Sy's. Biting through your delicate skin, making damn sure you're well and truly claimed. You mumble incoherently, moans and whimpers falling out with every thrust that punches into you.

Valko feels the flutter of your pussy spasming around him before your mind can even comprehend your orgasm. You squirm and writhe helplessly, unable to move much as they pin you tighter between them. Sylus knows, your ass clenching tight around him. So tight he has to slow down so he doesn't cum right then.

Val's knot is already swelling. Growing at the base of his dick, deep red and thick and eager to plug you up. His head falls back, teeth biting his lip. No, no, he can't knot you yet. You've only just begun, he can't- But, fuck, he can't hold back.

His face scrunches up in a grimace as he lets go of your thigh to grab his cock. He squeezes around his knot, pretending it's your pussy hugging it tight. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-!"

His hips lose their rhythm. The thick vein running along the underside of his dick pulses in time with each spurt of cum. Hot ropes that pour into you, creaming around his cock as it spills out, sticking to his fist and forming shiny, gossamer threads, connecting him to your glistening cunt.

Sylus hums, a low rumble in his throat. "You didn't last long, puppy," he teases. "You just couldn't wait to breed them, could you?"

The wolf whines, head pressing back into the pillow as he tries desperately to catch his breath. Sylus steals the opportunity to latch onto his neck. He bites and sucks at the prominent Adam's apple, grinning as it bobs under his lips. "C'mon, pup, you can keep going, can't you?"

"Yes," he gasps. "Yes, I wanna- wanna cum with you."

Sylus wasn't expecting that answer. He can feel the desire radiating from him, bleeding into his aether core. He bites down hard at the crook of his neck, where it meets his shoulder. He tastes iron on his tongue. Laps it up like a greedy vampire who hasn't tasted blood in years.

Valko hisses, but he gladly keeps his neck exposed to his dragon. He releases his knot, palm slick and messy, to tangle it in silver hair. His nails scratch hard at his scalp. Fingers tug at his hair. His hips pick back up, matching the pattern of Sylus's thrusts, even as the overstimulation burns.

The friction between bodies is intense. The sweat gathers in uncomfortable places, clinging to your belly and Val's, pooling at your chest, between his pecs. Even Sylus is dragging sweat against your back, dripping down his shoulders and onto yours. Sliding down his forehead, his nose, slicking Valko's neck just before he licks the combined perspiration off.

It's so hot. Too hot. You're panting, trying to catch a cool breath of air as the heat consumes you, encapsulating you entirely.

You claw at whatever you can grab. Mindlessly scratching at Valko's bicep, too weak to even leave a mark. "P-Please..." you whimper, voice wrecked and soft.

Sylus sits up, Val's hand falling from his hair to hold onto you again. The cold air that hits your back is a welcome reprieve, sending chills down your spine. "You can rest soon, sweetheart," he promises. He grabs onto your hips, holding you firm and steady as he fucks relentlessly into your poor, abused asshole. "Just a bit longer. Fuck, gonna fill you to the fucking brim, kitten."

Neither of them last much longer. Valko cums first, already too sensitive from his first orgasm to fight it. This time, though, he presses his hips hard against yours, pushing until your cunt finally accepts his knot. The tip of his cock presses open your cervix, forcing you to take every last drop of his cum.

Sylus cums with a loud groan, gasping as the intensity of it overwhelms him. It's been so long since he's allowed his draconic features to be revealed. Since he's had both dicks to experience twice the pleasure. He buries them as deep as they'll go, balls tightening as he spills loads of cum in your ass.

Your whole body shudders as it's overwhelmed by the sheer volume that fills you. Your stomach expanding, pressing more insistently against Valko's, as you struggle to hold it all. Sylus pulls back just enough to slip one cock out. He pushes the other back in, the second rubbing against the cleft of your ass as more cum coats the expanse of your back in pretty white ribbons. Stretched so wide, his cum spills out of your ass and down onto Valko's nuts, down his and your thighs and to the bed. It's all a fucking mess. An absolutely, delightfully delicious mess.

Sylus pants heavily, sitting carefully back on his knees as he wraps one hand around both cocks and pulls fully out of you. He squeezes them from base to tip, forcing every last drop out. Both are coated in an obscene white cream. Every slow pump of his fist carries a shlick sound through the room.

Valko gasps when he feels them prodding at his asshole. He stares through the haze of pleasure as Sylus smirks down at him.

"Don't forget our deal, puppy. I'm not done with you just yet..."

---

Tag List:

“You know the rule, right? If you toast the sky, the sky sends someone over.”

You laugh, deciding it wouldn’t kill you to let a handsome man indulge you for a moment, and motion for him to sit down. Celebrations were more meaningful with someone else after all. 

“What are we toasting?” He asks, bringing his glass to clink against yours, the sound merry and satisfying. 

“A promotion,” you say proudly and sip, relishing the bubbles that burst on your tongue. 

“Congratulations.” The man takes a swig from his glass. “I take it you’re new to Seoul?” he asks, and you bite your lip, unsure about how honest you should be. Seeing your expression, the man raises his hands in a gesture of peace.

“I only ask because I’m an expat. This is the go-to place for most people experiencing Seoul for the first time.” 

You grin at him. “All right you caught me. But it’s Google’s fault. It recommended this place to me.”

“I see. And what were you looking for?”

“Best place for a foreigner celebrating a promotion to get a drink,” you say sheepishly, ducking behind your glass. 

The man laughs, a deep rumble like the opening thunder preceding a rainstorm, his chest trembling from the force, and it hits you how ridiculously attractive he is. Not just good, old-fashioned, attractive, ridiculously attractive. The kind depicted in cartoons where women floated in the air with hearts in their eyes as the male heartthrob passed by. 

“I suppose that would have done the trick.” He sets down his glass. “I’m Sylus, by the way.” He offers his hand, and you accept it, a tickle of exhilaration running down your spine at the contact. You give him your name, and he lingers, letting your hand rest on his palm beyond what was considered typical for a handshake. Your questioning gaze has him smiling, and he runs a calloused thumb over your knuckles, sending your heart into a frenzy. 

“Is the promotion the only reason you moved?” Sylus asks, letting go of your hand and you feel the loss of contact keenly, wishing you could reach over and grasp it once more. Instead, you focus on his question.

“Oh, I haven’t moved here,” you explain. “I’m here to help set up my company’s new branch. I’m only in Seoul for a month.”

You thought you saw a flicker of disappointment on his face (had you imagined it?) before you continued. “What do you do?” you ask politely, and Sylus drains his glass before replying. 

“I’m an independent market analyst.” Seeing your inquisitive expression, he adds, “I help people understand the market they’re looking to expand into.” 

“Independent?” you lean back in your chair. “That’s impressive. I’m guessing you were fed up with a 9-5?”

“That’s one of many reasons, yes. I value my time and my life. It was the best way for me to hustle while also having a personal life.”  

You respected that. Working as an independent contractor sounded nice, but you knew you could never get over the fear of having a dry month and being unable to pay bills. It felt like extra effort, networking to find clients for work. 

“I wish I had that sort of confidence. I like knowing there’s money coming, even if I’m on someone else’s clock.” You shoot a (hopefully subtle) admiring look his way, before asking, “How long have you been in Seoul?” 

“A few years now.” 

“And do you like living as an expat?”

“I do. It enables me to understand what people are looking for, which in turn makes it easier for me to help my clients.”

Fascinated, you lean forward and rest your arms on the table. “How long have you been away from home?”

“Home?” Sylus looks thoughtful before replying. “I don’t think I’ve ever considered anywhere my real home. I can make a home anywhere.”

You consider his words. “I can see the appeal in that. However, doesn’t it get lonely?” Your question catches him off guard and his eyebrows knit together in confusion, like he hadn’t considered this a possibility, and you hasten to clarify. “All I meant was that kind of freedom requires a tolerance for solitude.”

“Yes, it does,” he says measuredly. “But I like to think of it as maximizing the lives I’ve lived within a short human lifespan. It’s certainly not for everyone, but it doesn’t get boring.” His eyes glitter as he recalls his experiences. “Whether it’s Tokyo during cherry blossom season, Zurich at Christmas time, or Mardi Gras in Rio De Janeiro. There’s too much to see to be content with staying in one place forever.” 

There’s passion and excitement in his words, the allure of all the freedom in the world, and the confidence that there was nothing to be missed outside this lifestyle. It was fascinating to see how fulfilled he was, yet you were already aching for the comforts of home, almost like him talking about his ways as an expat only highlighted how much you yearned for a place to call your own.  

“So what’s a seasoned expat doing at a newbie hangout?” you ask and this time, it’s unmistakable; Sylus pauses and his features morph into confusion, as though he himself isn’t sure. He taps the side of his glass, wondering. 

“It’s been a while since I last came here. Perhaps, I was feeling nostalgic. Wanted to relive my first time coming to Seoul. Or maybe, the universe saw a young woman toasting herself and decided she should have some company.” His authenticity resonates deep within your bones, a little hum of acceptance.

“Or if you’re superstitious, maybe we were meant to meet. After all, who better than a market analyst to help a professional learning the Korean market?” 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you consider his words. He’s quiet, patiently waiting for you to respond, ball entirely in your court. Your mind was warning you against trusting a stranger, but something hung in the air, a spark, a feeling of kinship, whatever the poets called it.  

Suspicion was your default state. Though you weren’t alone on this trip (the company had sent a representative fluent in Korean) you weren’t thinking about texting them your location in case things went awry. There could have been plenty of reasons to listen to the alarms going off in your head and taking your leave now.

But with Sylus…you weren’t nervous. You weren’t discreetly reaching for your phone pretending to check a text. You weren’t even scoping the bar to see if there were other women you could run to for safety. Instead, you wanted to lean further over the table and kiss him, to get a small experience of the freedom he’s been accustomed to his entire life. This was not a man you needed to exercise caution with. Your brain was screaming logic, but your heart, your intuition, was telling you this wouldn’t be a mistake. You purse your lips, weighing your options. 

Perhaps you weren’t as discreet as you thought you were because when you glance at Sylus, he’s gazing at your lips, and it sends a thrill of delight through your system, realizing he’s thinking the same as you. The notion makes you shiver despite the warmth of the evening.

“Are you cold?” Sylus asks and you shake your head no. “Are you sure? You can have my jacket.” 

“I’m sure.” you flash him a smile, wondering if you could get his phone number, but delay the moment to keep the conversation flowing. “Besides, I’d have to give it back to you when I leave. Then I’d be cold all the way back to my hotel.”

Sylus chuckles. “I wouldn’t mind walking you back to your hotel.”

“Because it’s gentlemanly?”

“Because I’m fond of this jacket.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and without missing a beat, Sylus shrugs out of his jacket and comes around to drape it over your shoulders, and you’re enveloped in his scent before he offers his hand and helps you out of your chair. 

“Lead the way,” he says, and you do so without trepidation. 

The walk back to the hotel wasn’t long, but every step caused an odd tension to coil in your belly. You weren’t reckless like this. You never allowed unknown men to escort you back to your hotel room. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you wanted to do after he’d walked you back to the hotel. Was he expecting something? Could you give in to your desires and give him that something? The something that you were sure you also wanted to happen?

All too soon you’re at the doors to the lobby of the hotel, and you fidget with the collar of his jacket, reluctant to take it off. 

“Oh dear, you’re not planning on stealing it, are you?” Sylus remarks, observing how you were lingering by the door, unwilling to part company. “As charming as you are, we’re not quite at that stage.” 

You shake your head; you’d never brought back a man to your hotel room before. It was a first. How did one signal interest for something more? 

“Um…would you like to…” you gesture aimlessly at the cheery, well-lit lobby. “Come up?” Tongue-tied, you try to gauge his expression, then fumble when you see a look of surprise on his face. 

“I…! All I meant was…I mean, I wanted to…If you don’t…” You gasp as Sylus takes a step forward and presses a finger to your lips, towering powerfully over you, yet his touch was gentle and unthreatening, silencing your incomplete thoughts. 

“Kitten,” he says huskily, and the endearment shoots right into your sex, heat gathering in your belly as the blood rushes to your ears. 

“It’s ok to want someone without a reason. Not everything has to make sense,” he murmurs, his voice low and tempting. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

Seeing the look of relief on your face, he subtly drags his finger down, over your bottom lip, waiting for you to make a move, and it was all you could do to not give in and kiss him on the spot. 

“Let’s go up.” You manage to free the words from your throat, exhilaration brewing in your veins of what had just been set into motion. Sylus’s eyes sparkle and he politely holds your hand as you lead him into the lobby and towards the elevator.

You punch in the floor number, trying to remain put together, to hold off until you got to your room, but the pull of the moment hits a crescendo once the doors slide shut. Damning it all, your control snaps and you pull Sylus towards you by the front of his shirt, your lips crashing onto his. Stunned, his eyes widen as he yields to you with a groan. 

Remnants of whiskey lingered on his tongue as you tiptoed, angling your head and pressing your body against his, feeling hard muscles underneath his clothes, pressing him against the side of the elevator as you greedily satiated your primal instinct. The elevator dings, signaling you’d reached your floor and you moan against Sylus’s mouth as he scoops you up and out of the elevator, arms firmly holding you under your thighs as his mouth devours yours. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding firmly onto him as you break the kiss to check your surroundings.

“Left, go left,” you say breathlessly, and he complies, your eyes barely keeping track of the room numbers, giddy from being carried in this intimate way. “Here, this one.” You point to a door then fumble with your clutch to pull out the keycard, tapping it to the lock and Sylus enters, the door clicking shut behind you. 

No time was wasted. Your clothes slipped off easily and you unbuttoned Sylus’s shirt and pulled off his slacks with no hesitation. Both of you fall onto the bed in a heated tangle of limbs, teeth clashing, tongues mixing, and hands everywhere, flesh squeezed, teased and licked until you are a slippery mess of desire. 

You whine in protest when he rolls off you to fumble for his pants and notice him pull out a small square packet. Your hazy brain silently thanks him for having the presence of mind to remember something like this, and when he returns, he’s sheathed and ready. He hisses as he enters your tight wetness, the clench of muscles intoxicating around his hard shaft. Your nails scratch at his back, as though determined to keep him there, whimpering as his thrusts, long and deep, stirred up a torrent of pent-up desires you weren’t even aware had been lying dormant inside you. 

Wrapped up under his warmth and passionate movements, you let yourself feel with abandon, breaths syncing and eyes locking onto each other as you drive each other to the peak, his thumb steadily working on the swollen bundle of nerves between your folds. 

When you finally orgasm, you trigger his own, and his fingers indent bruisingly into your soft flesh as he empties himself into you, mumbling your name like a prayer over and over again. 

Bright sunlight was streaming through your window when you woke, and it was with a pang of disappointment that you saw Sylus was gone, his side of the bed cool when you touched it. Feeling a little foolish that you had hypothetical expectations of a stranger, you roll over and see a note placed on the bedside table next to your charger. You reach out to free and read it, heart fluttering at the message. 

664-249-6879. 

I left my jacket for you in case it gets cold but I’d like it back at some point. Call me when you want to meet. 

Sylus

With a smile rivaling the Cheshire Cat, you look over at the sofa, and sure enough, Sylus’s jacket was draped over the arm. You hum leisurely as you get ready for the day, and once you are dressed, you save Sylus’s number in your phone before calling.  

He answers after a few rings and your pulse quickens at the sound of his voice. 

“Sooner than I expected. But I won’t pretend it’s unwelcome. ”

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“How have your first few days been?”

Sylus leans back in his chair as you peruse the dinner menu, eyes landing on the bibimbap immediately. The all important jacket was now slung over the back of his chair, finally back in the hands of its owner. 

“Busy,” you respond, setting down the menu and focusing on him. “It was back to back meetings and I met with a few of our clients. They have very specific ideas for their marketing and I feel like none of my experience applies here. I’m an alien, navigating a new world.”

“What I hear is…you’re learning,” Sylus supplies, turning his attention to the waiter. “Your best soju, please.” He glances your way and you nod in approval, and the waiter bows his head before stepping away. 

“If you find yourself lacking in inspiration, I always suggest looking at art. It’s the best way to make your own impression about what speaks to your local audience.”

You look at Sylus thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Art is a universal medium, open to interpretation. I could scheme up some ideas.”

The waiter returns with your drinks and you place your food order, Sylus following suit. He sips the soju and fixes his eyes on you, and a liquidy pull of heat begins in your belly before spreading to your extremities, like invisible puppet strings had attached themselves into you. 

“What?” you ask, trying and failing to suppress an awkward giggle under his intense stare. He merely smiles mysteriously and takes another sip of alcohol.

“Nothing. You just make learning look very endearing. It’s a quality lost on most. They fail to see it as anything other than homework. Beneath them.” 

A familiar tingle starts at the base of your neck and crawls down your spine, pleasantly electrifying and causing you to flush with pride. Reminding yourself not to get swept away by basic flattery, you refocus on his suggestion.

“Do you have any suggestions on where to visit?” You sip your own drink and are surprised at the fruity flavor that erupts on your tongue. Sylus looks amused at your expression.

“I always tell newcomers to try the flavored soju first. If you can handle that, then move on to the unflavored version.”

“Testing if I’m a lightweight?” you ask shrewdly before taking another swig. Sylus chuckles at this.

“Truthfully, yes. I’ve seen promising evenings collapse into nonsense because people don’t know how to pace themselves. I don’t want to waste this one, so I’m keeping you fully operational.”

“Oh? Am I not worthy of wasting an evening with the great Mr. Sylus?” you tease, noting how the drink had loosened your tongue. Perhaps he was right in his observations.

He laughs out loud, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re definitely worth wasting an evening on, kitten. But I’d prefer if you remembered the details the next morning.” He leans back in his seat, and you’re at a momentary loss of words, trying to deal with the jolt that shook your being from his last sentence. You’re relieved when he brushes past the silence.

“Circling back to your question about where to visit, I recommend Changdeokgung Palace. The secret garden is beautiful this time of year, and because it underwent restoration through several different historic periods, you can see the fusion, as well as the original elements unique to Korea.”

You pull out your phone and look it up, and are immediately impressed by the sheer size of the palace. “It’s beautiful,” you remark, scrolling through the photos. “Thank you for the recommendation.”

“It’s no problem at all. If you’d like, I can pick you up from the hotel and we can get there a little early to beat the crowd.”

You pause, then look at him quizzically. “Pick me up? Sylus, at any point, did we discuss you coming along with me?”

Unruffled, Sylus recovers smoothly from your question, but you’re sure you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes. “You didn’t. I assumed you wanted the company. I apologize if that wasn’t the case. I can tell you which train to board instead.”

The waiter reappears with your food and Sylus thanks him before tucking in, completely nonchalant, but your insides are squirming, dying to address the elephant in the room. You loved the idea of Sylus accompanying you, but what you couldn’t understand was why he was behaving so naturally, like there was no question of him driving you to Changdeokgung Palace. Was he being friendly? Or had he planned a date on the spot? 

“Food not up to your expectations?” Sylus’s voice cuts through your thoughts as he notices you’ve barely eaten any of it. You bite your lip uncertainly, and just like that, all of his attention was on you. 

“If you’re wondering why I assumed I’d join you… you can just ask.” Heat rushes to your cheeks but there is no point in hiding it now.

“Yeah. That. I’m not mad or anything; but why?”

“Why not?” he quips back. “I’m not doing anything this weekend.”

“That’s beside the point.” Your hands fidget with the napkin you’d laid out on your lap before gathering courage to voice your growing concerns. 

“Sylus…that night was wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” He quirks an eyebrow, accompanied by a devastating smirk of satisfaction, and immediately, all the tension you thought you’d put behind you was back, butterfly wings beating wildly in your gut. “You never actually said anything ‘till now.”

You take a deep breath, collecting your thoughts before continuing. “However, I’m not sure I understand what your intentions are.”

“My intentions?” Sylus lays down his cutlery and gives you an appraising look. “Is it wrong to accompany an attractive woman to a well-known architecture site?”

“No. What I mean is…” You take a moment to sort the words in your head into cogent sentences, and swallow some more soju for help. Feeling a little less on edge, you try to sound logical. “We don’t know each other. I like you as a person, and the other night was…memorable.”

“Memorable and wonderful. You certainly have a lot of compliments for me.” Sylus grins boyishly and it wrecks your heart, the little strings thrumming like a guitar being played. You hedge on, ignoring the pounding that was now echoing in your ears.

“But what I don’t understand is why you’re doing it. Is it because I’m a foreigner in Seoul and you somehow feel responsible for me? Are you attracted to me and are planning dates? Or are you just the friendly, local expat trying to widen his network?”

You hold your breath and wait for an answer, clenching and unclenching your fingers around the napkin as you wait.

Sylus looks taken aback, and crosses his arms. “What if it’s all the above? But especially that I find you attractive and that I was planning a date?”

He says it simply, like it was the most obvious answer.

“Ok that’s a problem.” You drum the table as you mentally wade through his admission. 

“Why, exactly?” Sylus stretches out his long legs under the table. “Is there some sort of line I’m crossing?”

“No, but…” you sigh, trying to explain. “I’m only in Seoul for a month. I wasn’t looking for a date or handsome strangers to visit historic places with me. I…I don’t like starting things that end in disappointment.”

“Oh, so you’ve already decided this will be disappointing.”

“No!” You embarrassingly squeak the word but when you look at Sylus, he’s amused rather than put off. “I just meant…I didn’t come here for romance. Things will inevitably end when I leave.”

Sylus hums thoughtfully, and empties his glass of soju before straightening and leaning forward in his seat. “Kitten. Stop rationalizing everything. I swear I can see the cogs turning underneath that pretty head of hair.” 

You blink, unsure how to respond. Sylus’s voice remains calm and even, lacking any trace of irritation. “Look, far be it from me to tell you how to spend your time in Seoul. However, I’m not saying something has to come from this. Consider it an adventure. Is it really so awful to spend time with someone who’s openly admitted he finds you attractive?”

“Yes it is.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What if you end up having feelings for me or I get them for you?”

Sylus pauses at the vulnerability in your voice. “Ah. I see. You’re worried about this turning into more.”

“Yeah.” You wrap your arms around yourself, fingers digging into your elbows. “I don’t want to carry that guilt if you end up having feelings for me. And I don’t want to be in doubt over the what-ifs.”

Sylus nods, acknowledging your feelings. “May I suggest something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Instead of worrying about where this could go, how about we focus on the now? One month, we’ll make the best of your time here. And when you leave, we’ll be nothing more than acquaintances. To paraphrase, what happens in Seoul stays in Seoul.” 

You mull over his words in your head and feel the tightness in your chest loosen. He had made it sound so easy. And truth be told, it was a positive way to look at it. You were on an adventure after all. Why not make the most of it? There were certainly worse ways to spend it than with a handsome, experienced expat. 

“And you’re ok with that?” you ask, needing reassurance. He huffs, clearly finding this adorable, and nods. 

“Yes. It doesn’t need to be more than you need it to be.” 

Feeling like a bag of rocks had been thrown off your shoulders, you give Sylus a bracing smile, but are unprepared when he reaches out pat your cheek, like calming an overwhelmed child.

“How does Saturday sound? 8 A.M?.”  

=^..^=   =^..^=   =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=

Changdeokgung Palace was every bit as beautiful as the photos had described it. Traveling in Sylus’s car was definitely more comfortable than taking the train and you were fortunate enough to see the outer grounds under the peace of the early morning. Birds had perched and chirped as you made your way around  the richly detailed structure tracing the weathered wood and stone as you waited for it to open to the public. The interior was spacious and airy, and the secret garden was worth every syllable of praise it received, with its impressive plants and neatly maintained shrubs. 

The unexpected surprise, though, had happened at the beginning of the trip. Now seated in a teashop as Sylus filled a teacup, you gesture at the richly embroidered hanbok you were wearing.

“When were you going to tell me you had arranged to borrow this?” you ask as he pushed the teacup towards you. 

Dressed in a ruby and gold shaded men’s hanbok and looking as attractive as ever, Sylus puts the teapot back onto its delicate coaster and folds his hands on the table. 

“Wearing a hanbok while visiting a palace is the most authentic way to experience Korea. It doesn’t feel the same when you’re wearing jeans.” He pops a dumpling into his mouth and you sniff the freshly brewed, fragrant tea appreciatively before sipping. 

“But if you had told me, I would have looked into renting one. This feels expensive.” You carefully put the teacup down, wary of getting anything on the hanbok. 

“It was no big deal. I happened to know a designer who owed me a favor. She’s testing a new material and needed a guinea pig, so don’t fret.” 

You weren’t the least bit offended for being a guinea pig at this time. The cloth was soft and flowy, with vivid flower embroidery and hummingbirds flitting about the sleeves. It had come with a matching hairstick, and you’d made a quick bun with it, matching the rest of the crowd that had been visiting the palace. 

“Well tell her it’s beautiful. I feel like royalty.” You place your hand under your chin and strike a regal pose, and Sylus chuckles. 

“How do you intend to spend the rest of your day, your highness?” he asks indulgently and your eyes shine with enthusiasm. 

“I need to go through the hundreds of photos I’ve taken today, and start working on my presentation for Monday. My inspiration is raring to go after everything I saw today.” You glance at the traditional, circular window near your table, and see Changdeokgung Palace in the distance, streams of tourists entering and exiting from its main doors. “Thank you Sylus, for suggesting this place, and for driving me. And for the hanbok.”

Suddenly, you’re shy, feeling like a little girl who had experienced princess treatment for the first time. Everything felt so fresh and new with Sylus, walking the untrodden path so to speak. It was his attention to detail that impressed you. He could have easily chosen to not bother with the hanbok or the teashop, but you’re grateful that he had. It almost felt like a private tour, tailored just to your liking. 

Sylus’s features soften at your thanks, the sharpness melting away into a look of fondness. “You’re very welcome, and as I said, people visiting Seoul often don’t know how to experience it. I’m merely ensuring your time here is well spent.” 

When your eyes dart to his hands on the table, he shakes his head, chuckling. “You’d make a terrible poker player,” he remarks, offering his hand, and you flush instantly. 

“I wasn’t-!” you stutter self-consciously, and his chuckle morphs into a snicker as your insides turn into jello. 

“You were staring. I figured I’d make it easier for you. Although, I don’t understand why you’re being shy now after you spent all morning hanging off my sleeve.” 

“What?” You stare at him perplexedly. “No I didn’t!”

“Sure you did. You didn’t think twice when holding my hand or grabbing onto my sleeve when we were walking around the palace.” 

“I did that so we wouldn’t get separated!” You become engrossed with your teacup, observing the brown liquid inside and wondering if you could drown yourself in it. Heat crept up your neck under his keen gaze, heart beating in your chest like a drum, so loudly, you wonder if he could hear it. Even though more intimate things had happened, bare flesh and sweaty bodies somehow seemed less vulnerable than holding hands in public. 

“Even when we were outside, in the early morning, when no one was around?” Sylus asks slyly, clearly enjoying the way you were squirming under his scrutiny. 

“Yes!” it comes out defensively, and, finally regaining control of his mirth, Sylus nods his head patronizingly. 

“Of course. Kittens get lost quite easily, especially in large open spaces. You were following your natural instincts.” 

That did it. The icing on the cake. Your cheeks were so rosy you felt like you’d burst into flame, and feeling a small stab of pity, Sylus relents, taking your hand in his and resting it on the tabletop. You sneak a peek and notice Sylus is looking out the window, realizing he’s giving you a moment to gather yourself. Taking a deep breath, you relax, curling your fingers around his, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. 

The charged atmosphere between you two calms down, and when you finally make eye contact, it’s without that embarrassing feeling of being x-rayed down to your bones. 

“For the future, you don’t have to ask,” Sylus says softly, and you feel ridiculous at having made such a fuss over something so trivial. But then again, if you had done this with someone else, there would have been a discussion about why you’d been holding their hand. Sylus didn’t take things beyond their present meaning. If it made you comfortable, you could hold his hand, and he would accept that without any further questions. 

“Right,” you murmur, feeling abashed at your behavior. “I’m sorry.” It falls from your lips like a reflex, and Sylus squeezes your hand consolingly. 

“There’s no need. Next time, just take it. I promise I won’t bite.” He raises his hand to catch the attention of the waiter for the check.  As he pays, you recognize that familiar feeling of need building inside your stomach, the delicate little throb that seemed to start behind your bellybutton and ease its way downwards into your sex. Was this because of the handholding, or from the overall romance of today? 

As Sylus prepares to stand, you take a bold step. 

“Sylus?”

His garnet eyes focus on your face. “Hmm?”

“Would you…like to come up? When we reach my hotel?”

There it was again; that look of brief surprise followed by delight, like you had done something unexpected. 

“I’d love to, kitten.” 

The drive back was filled with a different kind of tension than the one at the table. Sylus navigated the roads with ease, one hand resting on your knee, almost like a protective gesture. Even more so was that you didn’t mind it there. You weren’t on the lookout for it to start creeping higher up your thigh, or wondering when you should push it off. No, it remained there, hardly moving, save for the occasional drumming of his fingers on your kneecap, which made you drowsy, courtesy of the early morning you’d had.

“Are you tired?” Sylus asks. “Would you like a rain check on me coming up?”

That rouses you and you shake your head no. You knew you didn’t want to postpone this, not when you had been thinking about it in the background all week. Not when you had finally started to become less inhibited with your wants. 

“We’re not too far away.” He gives your knee a gentle squeeze, and your eyes open fully, currents of heat flowing through your body at the contact. The remainder of the journey whets your appetite even more and by the time you reach your hotel, your nerves are jangling with anticipation as you remembered the last time. 

But Sylus calmly holds you against his side this time, his arm languidly draped around your shoulders as the elevator ascended. When you get to your room, you turn in his arms, but instead of the raw desire you’d expected, Sylus kisses you patiently, his fingers combing through your hair as he seats you onto the bed. He removes your earrings, massaging the lobes and sending pleasant shivers through you before he lightly nips at the tender flesh. 

Next came the hanbok, as he unfastened the ties and buttons one by one, the act so tender that almost felt too much. His lips caress the back of your neck as he helps you out of it, draping the garment with care over the sofa. His final act was the hairstick, carefully unwinding it out of your hair and letting your locks slide free. His eyes seemed to glow as he feasted on your skin before unhurriedly undressing himself.

By the time he slips into you're swollen and wet, unable to think about anything else, your sighs mingling with the balmy air as your bodies entwine and flood your system with pleasure.

=^..^=   =^..^=   =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=

You’re amazed at the changes you saw in yourself over the duration of your stay. The visit to Changdeokgung Palace had pushed your abilities into ultrasonic mode, and you were putting out ideas that pleased the Korean investors immensely. Additionally, you were now more outspoken, standing firm on suggestions you knew would be beneficial than doubting yourself. Your boss had praised you for all the initiative you’d taken during your stay, reviewing the additions to the portfolios and greenlighting all the proposals you had brought forth. 

Perhaps Seoul was the kind of break you had needed in order to reinvent yourself. You weren’t really different, but you knew you weren’t the same. In the blink of an eye, you had already spent 3 weeks here, and were captivated by the city’s charms. 

You worked during the mornings and the evenings were spent with Sylus. It was unbelievable how a stranger had become the thing you looked forward to the most at the end of the day. He’d taken you to all the best restaurants, booked tickets at a moment’s notice (thanks to all the contacts he’d racked up over the years), and patiently snapped photos for you at all the tourist attractions. 

You finally had the privilege of visiting his residence (a rented penthouse not too far away from the hotel), and had spent a lovely time playing with his record collection, helping him cook, and entertaining each other with stories about your lives and hopes for the future. Sylus had said he’s not sure where he wanted to go next, but he was positive he wasn’t staying in Seoul forever. He was too accustomed to a nomadic lifestyle to put down roots anywhere, and though it made you melancholic whenever he said that, you always reminded yourself that he hadn’t lied about who he was. 

Wasn’t that the reason you’d set that boundary at the restaurant? Whatever happened in Seoul, stayed in Seoul. But you find yourself thinking about him during the day, sending him photos of stray cats and what you had for breakfast that day. And Sylus would reply to each of them, not immediately, but when he found the time to do so. You wondered how it would be when you returned back home. Perhaps you’d send a text in the morning and Sylus would reply whenever, because you know the man didn’t have a set sleep schedule; he worked when he felt like it, slept when he felt like it, and all the time in between was his. 

And who knew? Perhaps he might meet someone after you left and then…Your stomach would knot uncomfortably when these sorts of thoughts came into your head and you firmly booted them out when they did. You had no right to be upset over things like that, especially when you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than what you already had.

So you allowed yourself to soak up all the moments you could with him, not missing any opportunity to spend time with him, even if it was for mundane tasks like grocery shopping, or tagging along with him when he met clients for work. You tried to convince yourself it was a networking excuse, but you could see Sylus didn’t quite buy it when you told him the same thing. 

Now with less than 10 days left, you found yourself dreading the inevitable; that you would leave, and Sylus would become a memory, a happy remembrance of your past. 

“Kitten.” Sylus flicks your forehead and you come out of your reverie, glaring at him as you rub your forehead.

“What?” you ask annoyedly. “I was listening, there was no need for that.”

“Were you though? You were distracted all throughout dinner.” 

You ignore his observation, even though it was true. You had definitely been unfocused tonight, head muddled with reports, and the coiling reality that you would have to say bye to Sylus soon. 

“You’re imagining things.” You wrap your fingers around his arm as you wait for the crosswalk to change lights. You hadn’t been to this part of town yet, and bright neon signs flashed everywhere as you followed Sylus to the dessert shop he’d been talking about for the past few days. You tried to keep track of them, reading them as you passed. 

Cafes, bookstores, clothing boutiques, a sex shop…wait what?

You halt in your tracks, and the tug on Sylus’s arm stops him as well. Following your gaze, he sees the blinking sign that boasted a pair of handcuffs and a lacy bra. He grins. 

“Do you want to go in?” he asks your nervous self. 

“I’ve never…seen one before,” you admit, laughing self-consciously. 

Sylus leans towards your ear, purring persuasively. “Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. Come on kitten. You’re on an adventure. Are you sure you don’t want to look?” 

You moisten your lips, heart pounding at the idea. “Won’t we be late for dessert?”

“The shop stays open pretty late. Besides, I think we’re about to discover something sweeter, don’t you think?” He steps towards the shop, and you have no choice but to follow him.

You weren’t unaware of toys and other paraphernalia relating to these practices, but you had never thought about buying something for yourself. Rows and displays of unique items were categorized throughout the shop and you found yourself browsing, and subconsciously imagining what these toys may feel like. 

“Anything pique your interest?” Sylus asks, and you let go of him to wander over to a row of handcuffs, ranging from cute ones with fluff to professional black leather sets. 

“Oh, have you been dreaming of being tied up and at another’s mercy?” Sylus’s deep voice flows into your ears like silk on skin. 

Mouth dry and your tongue clumsy, you force yourself to look at him and admit the dirty little fantasy you’d harbored for years but hadn’t dared say out loud to anyone. 

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to try handcuffs. And…” you falter, a thrill running through you at the idea of spilling the beans. 

“And?” Sylus prompts, waiting. “There’s no shame in having a kink or two, kitten.”

You swallow. “I wondered how clamps would feel.” Your face burns after saying it out loud, but Sylus’s eyes glitter with interest. 

“I see. Then…do you trust me to pick something for you?” he asks and you nod, firecrackers exploding in your stomach as he turns away to peruse the shelves. After paying for the items, you walk out, feeling like you were doing something indecent by carrying all this around in a plastic bag. The dessert shop was a few blocks away and Sylus quickly orders a few things to go. 

The train ride back felt like forever, your pulse leaping erratically each time Sylus’s body brushed against yours, the impulse to kiss him senseless right here mounting with every passing second.

When you reach the hotel, Sylus puts away the desserts in the minifridge, and takes out the toys from the bag, along with an antibacterial cleaner he’d purchased as well. He breaks the packaging and cleans them up in the bathroom as you wait, a throbbing ache forming between your legs. 

He returns, placing the toys on the bedside table and pulls you into his arms, soothingly stroking your back. A mixture of excitement, anticipation, and pure, unadulterated lust comes alive under your skin, filling the space in between your bodies as Sylus tips your head back for a kiss, his tongue coaxing your lips open and possessively laying claim. 

You yield, body turning soft and pliant against his even as darker desires blossomed in the pit of your stomach. His hand brushes back your hair, and when he breaks the kiss, he’s a little unsteady as he cups your face.

“Kitten, you need to tell me if it’s too much, or hurts in a bad way. Remember the word red, ok?” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll stop immediately.”

“Red.” You nod and Sylus pushes you onto your back, his powerful body covering yours. His hands slip off your blouse, eyes darkening at the edges as he reaches behind you to snap the catch of your bra. The garment slithers off you and he carelessly lets them fall to the floor. 

The ache between your legs was now almost uncomfortable, nipples hard and perked under his observant gaze, eagerly awaiting to see what he had in store. He palms your breasts, kneading the soft mounds, enjoying the flush that creeps into your skin as you bite your lip to suppress the moan of longing that wells up from your throat. 

He tweaks and tugs, his mouth trailing down the column of your neck and leaving wet kisses in his wake, pleased when you tremble and anchor your hands against his back in need, nails digging into his skin. He nips your collarbone, the frantic tattoo of your heart audible inside your chest as he licks the valley between your breasts, his fingers unrelenting in their sweet torture of your sensitive buds. 

One large hand closes on both of yours and holds them above your head, and he sees the submission clouding your eyes, the transition clear as crystal, basic instincts winning over rationality. The defenseless and trusting way you lay beneath him was intoxicating, filling him with the desire to wreck you until the only name you remembered was his. 

Reaching towards the nightstand, he takes the handcuffs, soft and padded on the inner rims, and secures your wrists, the quiet click echoing in your ears. Truly helpless now, you couldn’t do anything except lay there in suspense as he strokes down your body, tracing lines all over your limbs and your belly which quivers under his tickling. 

Your muscles are tense under his tender ministrations, and you can’t stop the little whimpers that keep escaping your throat, his little songbird, content to play whatever tune he wants. When he finally closes his mouth over your nipple, you arch. The handcuffs clink above you as he feeds the growing ecstasy taking over your body. 

“Sylus…” you whine his name as his teeth scrape the edge of your bud, just enough to send a zing of pain through your breast. He glances up at you as he suckles, his eyes glowing with primal desire, and your breath catches in your throat. You’d never been looked at like that before, not with such ravenous eyes that looked like they were savoring every inch of skin you could offer, laid out like a buffet for his gratification. 

He finally releases you and your breasts are heavy and swollen, pulsing with raw want. He runs the pads of his fingers over them and you suck in a breath at the sensitivity.

“Perfect,” Sylus rasps before taking the object of your fantasies off the nightstand.

You feel your core clench hotly at the sight of the clamps. Sylus deftly loosens the screws on one, and runs the rubber tipped arm across your nipples, a teasing sample of what was to come. 

“What do you say if it hurts?”

His question catches you off guard, and you blink, trying to remember through the haze in your brain. 

“Red.” You manage to whisper and he growls, low and feral in his throat.

“Good. This will pinch. But it shouldn’t be unbearable.” 

You train your eyes to the ceiling, too shy to watch what is happening, then gasp as you feel the clamp close over your nipple, blood rushing into the pinched flesh as Sylus repeats the motion on its twin. 

Your clit reacts immediately, pulsing hotly under what felt like too many layers of clothes. Your hands uselessly grab the headboard as you try to ground yourself from the persistent pressure of the clamps. 

“Oh kitten, if you could see yourself right now.” Sylus kisses your bellybutton, dipping his tongue into the crevice and chuckling when your hips buck in reaction, moaning when the motion causes the clamps to shake, tugging on your nipples delightfully. “All laid out bare and sweet for me to sample and taste. And knowing you did this willingly…that’s the cherry on top.”

His hands move to your jeans, unzipping them and dragging them down your legs with care. Your panties are stained, a wet patch of moisture visible on the gusset. You blush and look away as Sylus presses his nose into it, inhaling deeply.

“You smell delicious.” His voice is a sinful purr as he rubs circles into your hipbones, pushing your legs apart with his shoulders. A soft noise leaves your lips as he removes the final piece of clothing and you’re left bare and exposed. 

Sylus parts your sex with his fingers, licking a long stripe along your slit, and a strangled cry spills from your mouth, arms pulling the handcuffs taut, your chest rapidly rising and falling from the burst of euphoria. The clamps sway as you pant, trying and failing to keep still, each movement only pushing you closer to the edge. His tongue finally laves your clit, the swollen little nub throbbing and radiating heat as he takes his time teasing and building up a promising expectation. 

Your voice keens and you involuntarily thrash, knees clamping around his head, only for him to hold them apart, fingers indenting into the plush flesh of your thighs to hold you in place. Your eyes squeeze closed as you desperately try to focus on the coil that was winding tighter and tighter in your stomach. 

Daring to look down, your heart skips a beat as you see Sylus looking straight back at you and it was unbearably intimate. With a snap of heat, you climax, body arching off the bed as dizzying prismatic colors pop behind your eyes. Sweat mists on your body as Sylus guides you through the confusing blur of feelings that knotted together under his precise touch. 

When you finally float back to earth, Sylus is removing the clamps and massaging your breasts to restore the circulation. You wince as he removes them from the delicate flesh, soothing them with his hands.

“Are you ok?” he asks and you nod your head, then expectantly wait for him to unlock the handcuffs. Seeing your look, Sylus smirks and shakes his head.

“I think we’ll leave those on a little longer.” He undresses and covers your body with his, his erection grazing your thigh as he kisses you deeply, until you feel like you could drown. He breaks the kiss to dip into the nightstand and rip off another condom.

“I love it when you can’t run away from me.” He moves in between your legs, positioning you to hook your ankles over his shoulders as he notches into your moist entrance. “You finally learned how to relinquish control…good girl.”

He pushes and you split apart around him, the stretch making you see stars, the position driving him deeper than you’d ever felt him. The breath tears from your throat as your mind fragments, each thrust only pushing you into the abyss. Your fingers clench and unclench, nails digging into your palm as Sylus fills the empty space, the wet schlick of his movements filling the room as he paces himself. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in deeper until you feel him angling himself to brush against your gspot, little spots of light filling your vision with each delicious stroke. 

“Kitten.” 

You whimper as he folds your knees and brings them to your chest, bundling you as he continues those long, torturous strokes. He groans at the sight of you, flushed, hair fanning out on the pillow as you yield to him, lost in the shared experience of lust. 

“You take me so well…Such a…good kitten…” he grits his teeth as tingles start at the base of his spine, creeping upwards as he chases his high. “You look so pretty like this…” He huffs and leans forward to kiss you again as his movements grow sloppy, hips stuttering as he buries himself into your warmth, spasming as he reaches climax. 

He stills, and after a few minutes of heated silence, he undoes the handcuffs, panting from the exertion. You don’t remember how you got the energy to get out of bed, but you’d clung to him as you showered, before he laid you onto cool sheets and pulled you to his side, soothing you to sleep.

When he was sure you’d drifted off, Sylus kissed your temple, watching you as you slept. Knowing you couldn’t hear him, he whispers, “I’ll miss you kitten. I wish it wasn’t like this.”

=^..^=   =^..^=   =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=

Your last few days in Seoul were thankfully calm. With the Korean investors satisfied, there was little for you to do except bask in the pleasures that you wouldn’t be able to access so easily back home. 

Sylus had accompanied you to a hair spa one day, where both of you had lain down on massage tables while experienced aestheticians had taken notes about your hair and scalp, then washed and massaged you, melting away your troubles. And though Sylus’s control was great, even he was no match for the aesthetician’s skilled hands, letting out little groans of joy as she massaged his scalp; you had giggled quietly at the noise, tucking it away in the little box of your heart, a priceless, precious keepsake that only you possessed. 

Another day, Sylus had taken you up the winding slopes of Bukhansan on his motorcycle with you clinging to his waist as he confidently navigated the inclined paths, breathless at the scenery, snuggling into his side as you watched the sunrise after you’d made it to the top. You kissed him as often as you could, unapologetically. 

And in those rare moments when you weren’t in his company, when you were packing your suitcase, tracking down items that had scattered all over the hotel room that had become your home, when he had fallen asleep next to you when you were still awake, you allowed yourself to admit the hard truth.

You were in love.

It was the most inopportune set of circumstances. Sylus had told you countless times he never wanted to settle in one place, build up roots, and remain content with domestic life. And it was the exact opposite for you. Despite being your freest self right now, there was still a part of you that yearned for home comforts; the knowledge of knowing which step creaked on the staircase, or which kitchen drawer stuck when it was being opened, or the secret stash where you kept extra bandaids and candy. 

It was that fundamental difference that sometimes brought you to tears. Sylus was perfect in every way, except on the one principle that mattered most – that you wanted a home. And why should he change for you, anyway? He had been doing this most of his life, and you almost felt like an impolite intruder for wanting to ask him if he would change his mind. After all, he hadn’t asked you to stay in Seoul, nor had he suggested you change your way of thinking. If he understood you enough to not demand this of you, then what grounds did you have to ask that of him?  

So you’d swallowed your questions and allowed yourself to indulge, and to be spoiled by him. You’d taken so many random photos of him that your camera reel was now full of his face. 

“I promise I won’t look different within a few hours kitten” he’d teased you when he saw them, and you’d snatched your phone back, muttering something about invading people’s privacy. 

On your last night, Sylus had taken you to dinner at Bicena, a Michelin-star restaurant which had a months-long waiting list. His only response to your question about how he’d gotten the reservation was a cryptic, “I know a guy.”

High above Seoul you’d watched the sun set, the little twinkling lights so far below crowning the fair city like jewels. He’d taken you in his lap as you sipped champagne, looking out of the ceiling-to-floor window, and you were painfully reminded of how this was the same thing you’d been drinking when you first met him. Life seemed to love bringing things to end in a full circle.  

You sigh and curl up against him, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, his hands adjusting on your waist to hold you more securely in place. 

“Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks, his breath ruffling your hair. 

You nearly said no. You almost let everything you’d been mulling over in your mind spill out of your mouth. You almost said you love him. 

But instead, you swallow, and nod. “I will miss Seoul. But home is where the heart is.”

He kisses your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut, chest tightening at the knowledge that tomorrow, you’d be on a flight back home, and you’d never wake up to Sylus’s face again. 

“Is it only Seoul you’ll miss?” he asks, and a heavy silence falls between both of you. You blink, thankful your face is hidden in his neck, before responding.

“I’ll miss you too.” It was all you could manage to say. Your throat was already closing in on itself, a lump forming in it. Your voice wavers, and you sniffle. 

“Sylus…Seoul was the most amazing thing that’s happened to me. And I’m glad I met you. You…you…” your words are choked in your chest, and Sylus shushes you, his index creeping up the side of your face to press against your lips.

“Don’t say it if it hurts, kitten. I know.”

“You know?” you turn away from the window, inhaling the smell of his skin, trying to soak up the heat of his body. 

“I do.” He cradles the back of your head tenderly.

“Red,” you whisper against his neck. 

Overwhelming, too much. 

“It’s red?” he affirms, and you nod; he hums, embracing you tighter.

Red like his eyes, red like all the sunrises and sunsets you’ve witnessed, red like the blood running through your quietly breaking heart.

“I can’t stop what you’re feeling, kitten.” He squeezes you against his chest and you take a fortifying gulp of air. “Trust me, if I could, I would.” 

Your tears blur the blinding lights of the city that had given you so much. Sylus waits until you stop crying, discreetly offering you a napkin and you dry your tears as best as you can. 

Your hotel room was pristine now; all your belongings were packed, the suitcases neatly lined up near the door. 

And you made love for the last time. You touched every line on his palms, kissed the little crows feet at the corners of his eyes, memorizing every last feature of his body as he kissed away your tears, refusing to stop even when your muscles ached, to have him imprinted on you in any lasting way possible. 

Sylus wakes you up the next morning with a kiss, and although you were still heavy with melancholy, your mind was clear. You’d gotten ready, and said goodbye to the room. 

“This is for you by the way,” Sylus says after your baggage had been put away in his car. He hands you a large gift bag. “Something to remember me by.”

“You didn’t have to,” you say as you accept the bag, feeling touched. But then again, it was a very Sylus thing to do. 

He caresses your face, then kisses you softly on the lips.”Don’t be a stranger after going home.”

You manage to laugh. “I promise.”

The ride to the airport was filled with reminiscence, and talks about the future. Sylus briefly mentioned something about a stint he’d found that put him a little closer to your time zone and you’d encouraged him to pursue it. 

He’d helped you with your suitcases, and given you a final hug. He cups your face tenderly, resting his forehead against yours, and you savored these last few moments. 

“Thank you Sylus. For everything.”

I love you.

“No, thank you, kitten. Seoul was the closest thing I’ve experienced to having a home, because of you.”

Your heart clenches as he lets go, pushing back a stray strand of your hair. 

“Don’t make yourself late, kitten. I promise not to ghost you once you walk through those doors.” 

You nod, gather your belongings and walk to the revolving doors. You glance back over your shoulder, and within a blink, he’s gone as you enter the airport. 

Security went smoothly and after getting to the gate, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you finally open the gift bag to find a large box tied with a satin ribbon. You carefully lift the lid, then bring a hand to your mouth as you see the hanbok you’d worn at Changdeokgung Palace. The little card inside was written in Sylus’s loopy, slanted script. 

Hummingbirds may migrate, but that doesn’t mean the flowers lose their sweetness. They remember each bloom’s unique nectar even as the seasons change. Likewise, the bouquet of memories we have will never lose their taste. Distance can’t make them wither, and I will never forget. 

“Oh Sylus…” you whisper, tears falling onto the note. You press your fingers to your eyes to stem them, but it’s impossible, and you allow yourself to succumb as your heart breaks open and pours out your laments. 

=^..^=   =^..^=   =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=

You arrive home, and it’s like you’ve never left. Your best friend had been house sitting, so the place is clean, and she had been thoughtful enough to leave takeout for you on the kitchen counter. 

Exhausted, you eat, shower, and sleep. Your bed was familiar and warm, but you can’t stop remembering how it felt to fall asleep on Sylus’s chest, wrapped up in his scent. 

You’re not sure how long you slept, but you’re woken by your loud ringtone. Groggily, you reach for it and connect the call without opening your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Kitten?”

You jolt awake, rubbing your gritty eyes. 

“Hi.” You’re not sure why you sound breathless.

“How was the flight? Are you home?”

“Yeah. It was great. Everything was great. I’m home now.”

It doesn’t feel like home without you.

“Remember that potential contract I was planning on taking?”

“Yes! So, how much closer to my time zone are you now?”

“Hm…a 0 hour difference.”

“Huh?” Stumped, you rack your brain for far too long wondering which time zone that was until it hits you. 

“You…you’re transferring to my hometown?”

“Took you long enough,” he teases and you tsk impatiently.

“But why?”

There’s a pause before Sylus continues. 

“Kitten…I can make a home anywhere. But now…it appears I have a condition.”

“A condition?” your heart hammers in your throat as you wait for him to finish.

“Yes. I need you to be there.” He says it openly. “Unless…you’d rather I don’t?”

Stunned, you laugh incredulously, shaking your head. 

“Yes!” Enthusiasm floods your voice, your happiness unbridled and tumbling from your mouth like a waterfall. “Are you serious?”

“Very much so. I take it…you’re pleased about this?”

“Pleased? Oh my god Sylus!” Tears of joy slide down your cheeks and finally, finally, you say the words you had been hiding.

“I love you!”

Now it’s his turn to be stunned into silence, but you hear the little note of delight in his otherwise calm voice. “What a coincidence. Now I don’t have to feel foolish for saying the same thing.” He sighs, the noise sounding content.

“I love you too.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

“Y/n!” Tara shouted through your earpiece, “shots fired. What’s happening? Talk to me!”

“Contact is armored,” you snapped, firing again at his knee, then the hollow beneath his left arm when his cloak shifted, “bullets completely ineffective. This asshole’s bulletproof or something!”

“That’s a horrible sentence!” Tara’s keys clattered furiously in the background, “I hate that sentence!”

Xavier’s voice cut through hers, breath tight from running, “keep distance. Don’t let him close.”

“Kinda working on that!”

The wolf-masked man kept coming. He didn’t charge. That might’ve been easier to understand. Charging belonged to panic, hunger, rage, impatience. The lion hybrid in The Nest had crossed the arena like a force of nature, all claws and roaring instinct, his body announcing every violent intention before it arrived. This man approached as though time had agreed to walk beside him. Each step pressed his boot into the dirt with a soft, heavy crunch. Moonlight slid over the planes of his dark armor and gathered coldly along the fanged snout of the metal wolf mask. His cloak dragged around him in black folds. His auburn tail lashed once behind him, large and dark and bristled with irritation that looked almost insultingly mild compared to the way your pulse was trying to rip itself out of your throat.

You fired twice more. The shots struck his wide chest plate. Again, that strange teal gleam moved beneath the surface, and again the bullets disappeared into him as though his armor had taken a breath and decided to keep them. He stopped. Not because you had hurt him, but because something else had caught his attention.

“Hold on a sec…” His head tilted, golden eyes narrowing beneath the harsh shadow of his brow bone. The amusement drained into something sharper, more curious. The wolfish ears on top of his head flicked towards you and stilled. His gaze traveled over the repaired rabbit mask, the reinforced fracture sealed in matte white resin, the long ears cutting pale shapes against the dark of night, “…Aren’t you—”

Your heart dropped before he finished. The forest went too quiet around the space between his words.

“Wait,” his voice deepened with recognition, “you’re the same rabbit from The Nest…”

The world tilted. For a second, the moonlight above the trees became arena light. The ferns became the dark circular platform. The mist became the hot press of ventilation shoving hundreds of alpha scents down into your lungs. You could hear the crowd again, that enormous, faceless hunger rolling over you while your cracked mask filled the suspended screens. You saw the lion’s claws. The knife in your hand. Blood on black stone. Your boot on his chest. Your middle finger raised toward the camera while you told every masked predator watching to go fuck themselves. And somewhere above it, this man. Watching. Your guns remained raised, but your fingers went cold around the grips.

“You were there,” you said, “you were a spectator on that fight…!”

It came out too thin. Not weak, exactly, but stripped. Exposed. Like he had reached through the repaired mask and put his clawed hand on the part of you still lying beneath The Nest’s lights.

“I thought that mask looked familiar enough…” He gave a small shrug, the movement rolling through his huge frame with easy, infuriating leisure, “well, since clearly you’re strong enough to take down an alpha lion hybrid with nothing but a knife and evol, let’s see how far you can get with a wolf.”

Your stomach turned over. A wolf. Great. Even worse than a brainless, hungry lion. This one was a werewolf. Another alpha. Another fucking hybrid. You didn’t have to smell him to know what he was. Everything about him said alpha. The territorial stillness. The size. The confidence so absolute it bordered on cocky boredom. The way he stood between you and Xavier as if the path had belonged to him long before your feet dared to touch it. The way he looked at you through the mask’s shadow, not like an enemy to defeat, but like something small and fast released into his woods for sport.

“Run,” he growled.

Then he moved. He crossed the space so fast the air seemed to fold around him. Training saved you before thought did. You fired once at his face and threw yourself sideways, boots tearing through wet leaves as his clawed hand cut through the place your throat had been. Wind followed the strike, hard enough to slap the edge of your mask against your cheek. You hit the ground in a half-crouch, one hand catching mud, both pistols still up, and saw the metal over his fingers gleam long and sharp under the moon. Not just his claws. Blades. Or claws wearing blades. Or armor becoming them. You didn’t know, and the difference mattered less than the fact that he had nearly opened your neck.

“Y/n!” Xavier urged through the comms, “move it along, now!”

“I’m moving!” You shouted.

You sprang backward, but he was already in front of the route toward Xavier, too broad, too close, too ready. The only open space lay to your right, deeper into the trees and away from the coordinate glowing on your bracelet. You hated it instantly. Hated the choice, hated the math, hated that your body understood before your pride did that the wrong direction was the only direction left. You ran.

“Shit,” Tara swore loudly in your ear, “Y/n, you’re moving away from Xavier!”

“Enemy is blocking the way!”

“Can you loop??”

“Not unless you want me looped around his fist!”

The words tore out of you between breaths as you drove resonance harder into your legs. The forest blurred into strips of silver and black. Ferns whipped across your thighs. Branches slapped your shoulders and dragged at the repaired rabbit ears on your mask, but the strap held. Your boots hit packed dirt, moss, exposed root, slick stone. Every surface tried to betray you. Every step pulled a hot thread beneath your ribs where the old wound reminded you that Zayne had absolutely not cleared you for being chased through private mountain forest by a werewolf-shaped nightmare at two in the morning.

Behind you, the alpha laughed. It wasn’t breathless. It wasn’t strained. It rolled through the trees, deep and hearty and bright with the kind of enjoyment that made your fear curdle into rage.

“What’s wrong, rabbit?” He called, “c’mere, I want a little taste! Where did all your bravery go, huh? You scared now suddenly? ’Fraid the big bad wolf’s gonna catch ya?!”

“Fuck off, loser!” You shouted without looking back.

“Oh, there it is! That’s the spirit, welcome back!”

Something landed on a branch above you with a heavy crack. You looked up despite every survival instinct ordering you to keep your eyes forward. He was in the trees. Not running behind you. Not even trying to follow the path. He launched himself through the canopy with terrifying ease, claws striking bark, boots hitting thick branches that shouldn’t have been able to carry a body his size and somehow did. His cloak snapped behind him in dark ribbons. His tail streamed for balance as he vaulted from one tree to the next, moonlight flashing across his armor in sharp teal-black fragments. He wasn’t keeping pace because he had to. He was matching you because it amused him. The realization hit worse than the chase itself. You were burning through resonance, through oxygen, through the fragile dignity you had rebuilt around the repaired mask, and he was above you laughing as though the forest had become an arena built only for him.

“Tara,” you panted, “where is he on your map??”

“Signal keeps jumping. I think he’s moving vertically through the canopy. Heat register is still high, but the trees are making the satellite read like absolute garbage,” her voice tightened, “Y/n, he’s not closing all the way. He’s staying with you!”

“I know he is!”

That was the worst part. You knew. A predator who wanted to end the chase ended it. He had already proven that. He had crossed two miles and landed between you and safety like gravity had personally invited him down. If he wanted his claws in your spine, you suspected you would’ve felt them by now. Instead, he let the distance stretch and shrink, let you hear him vanish, then slam onto a branch overhead, then drop somewhere behind your left shoulder close enough that your skin tried to crawl off your bones. He was playing. And your body didn’t care that it was a game. Your body only knew teeth, speed, alpha, wolf, run.

“So you’re some sort of hunter by day, huh?” His voice swept over you from above, rough and amused, not even slightly winded, “funny, considering you’re the one getting hunted!”

The arena crashed through you again, brutal and bright. The crowd chanting. The lion grinning. The camera catching your shaking hands. Rabbit. Omega. Prey. Every word they had tried to nail through your body glowed hot inside your skull. You had fought so hard to make the mask yours again. You had repaired it, reinforced it, given it a new purpose with your own hands. Now his voice reached through the moonlight and tried to turn it back into a collar.

You snarled and cut left hard enough that your ankle screamed. A massive tree rose ahead, its trunk pale where moonlight touched it, roots coiling over the earth like frozen waves. You aimed straight for it. Tara shouted something in your ear. Xavier said your name, urgent and low. The werewolf dropped from the canopy behind you with a ground-shaking thud, too close, too delighted, too ready.

At the last second, you planted one boot against the tree trunk. Resonance burned down your leg and snapped through your foot. Pain burst under your ribs as your body compressed, launched, twisted. You used the trunk like a wall, rebounding off it in a sharp, brutal change of direction that sent bark exploding behind your heel. For half a breath, you were weightless. Moonlight rolled over the repaired mask. Your arms tucked tight around your pistols. Your body spun through cold air, not graceful, not clean, but fast. You landed facing the opposite way and drove yourself back toward Xavier.

The alpha hybrid’s laugh rang out above you, “nice turn!”

“Nice turn, huh?” Xavier said through the comms, and even breathless, even terrified, some absurd part of you wanted to yell at him for sounding impressed.

“Not helping!”

“It was a nice turn, apparently.”

“Xavier!”

“I’m close,” he said. The humor vanished, “keep coming toward me.”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re three-quarters of a mile out,” Tara said, “maybe less if there’s a God out there!”

He landed somewhere behind you again, the impact shuddering through the ground. You felt it in your knees. In your teeth. In the old wound that had become a small, vicious sun beneath your ribs. The heat of resonance inside your legs had shifted from power into punishment. Each stride tore more out of you. Your muscles felt too bright, too tight, wired with borrowed lightning that had nowhere safe to go. You could keep running, but not forever. Maybe not even long enough.

A root caught your boot. You saw it too late. Your foot snagged, your momentum kept going, and the world pitched forward in a smear of moonlight and dark earth. You twisted instinctively to protect your side, but the fall still knocked the breath from your lungs when you hit. Mud splashed up your arms and across the white rabbit mask. One pistol nearly flew from your grip. You clamped down and rolled onto your back, both guns rising before your vision fully steadied.

The werewolf walked out of the trees. Not leapt. Not lunged. Walked. The forest framed him in pale light and drifting mist, and for one sick second, he looked less like a man pursuing you than some old warning the woods had decided to give a body. His armor absorbed the moon in black planes. Teal glints crawled along the edges where your bullets had struck him earlier, then faded. The wolf mask’s fangs shone cold. His golden eyes fixed on you in the mud with bright, predatory amusement. You fired. Once. Twice. Three times. The bullets hit his chest and vanished into that strange dark armor with dull, useless cracks. His body rocked slightly from each impact, but he kept coming.

“D’awww,” he laughed, almost crooning the mockery as he drew closer, “that won’t do anything to me…”

“Stay the hell back!” You shouted.

He ignored you. You fired again, aiming lower this time, where armor gave way to the joint above his knee. The shot struck metal that moved where metal shouldn’t have been, sliding over the vulnerable point like liquid shadow. A teal pulse swallowed the round. Your stomach dropped.

“Looks like you’ve been outmatched,” he said, voice deepening with satisfaction, “so, start talking, and maybe I won’t turn you into rabbit stew…Why are you in my territory? Who sent you?”

He stopped a few yards away. The next words came softer. Sharper.

“Was it Rafayel?”

Your eyes widened. You hated that they did. You hated that he saw it.

“H-how do you know Rafayel?”

He laughed and shook his head, the wolf snout catching moonlight along its vicious metal ridge, “young lady, I ask the questions here, not you.”

The patronizing edge of it lit anger through your fear so fast your vision sharpened. His right hand lifted. Metal shifted over the gauntlet, not unfolding exactly, not sliding from some visible sheath, but forming, gathering, growing along the back of his clawed hand until a pointed blade extended past his knuckles. It gleamed black at first, then silver where the moon touched its edge. The sight of it made your throat close. You thought of the knife Rafayel had promised. The lion’s tendons parting beneath the blade. Your own blood slipping warm under your dress. The difference between survival and execution.

“Now, I’m not above turning you into mincemeat,” the werewolf said, “anyone who enters my property without my permission is my enemy. Wolves are territorial creatures. Especially alphas…You should know that.”

You scoffed because if you didn’t make a sound, fear would, “you sound even lamer than you look, you fucking edgelord.”

He stared at you for one stunned half-second. Then he laughed. Loud. Genuine. Delighted, “you sound like your mouth’s too big for the rest of you to carry…”

You shot him again while scrambling backward through the mud. The round struck his chest. Useless. Again.

“I’m close,” Xavier called in your ear. His breathing was rougher now, threaded with effort, “keep him distracted.”

“So feisty…” The masked man taunted, taking another step, “even when you’re shaking in your little boots…I like the spirit.”

“I said stay back!”

“Or what?” His brow lifted above the mask as he angled the wolf snout down at you in open challenge. A second blade formed over his other hand, metal drawing itself into a curved point with a sound like a knife being sharpened in the dark, “you gonna bunny-kick me in the face? Go for it. I’m itching to see what you’re made of…”

In any other circumstance, you would have. That was the part that made shame open its teeth inside you. You knew exactly how to answer a man too confident in his size. You had built an entire fighting style around the fact that people underestimated your legs until those legs cracked something important. If he had been the lion, if this had been a platform and a knife and an opponent who could be baited into rage, you would’ve let him close. You would’ve watched his foot placement, found the hinge in his body, and driven both heels into whatever part of him looked most breakable.

But this wasn’t the lion. This wasn’t a platform. You were injured, half-spent, on your back in mud with an unknown alpha wolf hybrid whose armor ate bullets and whose hands had just grown blades. Your body remembered The Nest too vividly to let courage arrive cleanly. The old terror had gotten its claws into the soft meat beneath your ribs and squeezed until your training had to fight through the shape of your own pulse.

So…You ran. The instant your weight shifted, he launched a fist at you. The blade came first. You barely saw the motion. One second he was taunting you, the next his arm cut through the space between you with impossible reach, black metal flashing toward your face. You jerked back so violently your spine clipped a tree, the blade slicing past your mask close enough that the air split cold across your cheek.

You fired on instinct. The shot cracked against his shoulder and vanished. He didn’t stop. His other arm came in low, sweeping for your ribs, and you twisted away with a hard gasp that dragged fire through your wound. You tried to keep distance, tried to make the space between you matter, but his reach was insane. Every time you took one step back, his arm seemed to find two more. Metal claws raked through bark beside your head. A blade tore through the edge of your sleeve. Mud slipped under your boot as you ducked beneath a strike that would’ve opened your throat. Too close. Too close. Too close.

You snapped one pistol up and tried to slam the grip into the side of his mask, desperate for any kind of stun, any impact that might buy you half a second. He caught your wrist before the blow landed. His hand closed around you like a shackle. Pain flashed through your bones. You kicked at his knee. His armor shifted, absorbing the force with a dull pulse. You wrenched your trapped arm down and fired the second pistol into his chest at point-blank range. The impact made him rock back a fraction, just enough for you to rip yourself free.

“Not bad, rabbit,” he growled, amused, “but your technique could use some work!”

You threw yourself backward. He followed with terrifying ease. His bladed fist came up again, not toward your throat this time, but across your face. You tried to twist away. You almost made it. The edge of his gauntlet caught the rabbit mask. The strap snapped. The world jolted white. Your mask tore from your face and spun into the mud. Cold air hit your skin. For one bare, horrible second, everything stopped.

You gasped, both hands flying up to cover your face before thought could catch them. It wasn’t tactical. It wasn’t clever. It was pure bodily panic, the same raw instinct as flinching from a hand near a bruise. Your face was out. Your face was visible. The protection, the symbol, the thing you had repaired with your own hands after The Nest cracked it open for the whole arena to see, lay in the mud between you and him like something small and helpless.

The werewolf froze. Through the gaps between your fingers, you saw his golden eyes widen. Only for a fraction of a second. Not with recognition. Not like he knew you. He didn’t. You could tell by the blankness underneath the surprise, the sharp, unguarded stillness of someone who had expected a mask and found a face instead. A real one. Yours.

His amusement cut out so suddenly it felt louder than his laughter had. The wolf mask hid the lower half of him, but his eyes betrayed enough before he caught himself, before that brief shock hardened back into something unreadable. He hadn’t expected to knock the mask off. He definitely hadn’t expected what was underneath. Or maybe he had only expected a mask and a mouthy little rabbit and hadn’t expected you, bare-faced and gasping in the moonlight with mud on your cheeks and panic shining where rage should’ve been. You didn’t stay long enough to find out. You ran.

“Y/n!” Tara yelled.

You snatched one hand away from your face only long enough to grab a pistol properly and bolted toward Xavier, leaving the rabbit mask in the mud because turning back for it meant turning back toward him. The loss of it tore through you worse than it should have. You felt naked without it. Exposed. Smaller. The night air touched your face too freely, and every branch, every cold ribbon of wind, every flash of moonlight against your skin felt like another witness.

Behind you, the werewolf didn’t laugh. That frightened you more than the laughter had. For several seconds, there was only the sound of your own breath ripping through your throat, your boots striking mud and root and stone, Tara shouting data you could barely understand, Xavier calling your name from somewhere ahead. Your heart hammered so hard it blurred the edges of your vision. Tears streaked hot across your bare cheeks, no mask left to hide the shine of them.

Then, somewhere behind you, branches shifted. Not a charge. Not an attack. Just movement. Measured. Unhurried. A reminder that he could. Your entire body surged harder. Ahead, white light cut through the forest. Xavier’s evol split the dark in a clean arc, bright enough to turn every tree into black silhouette. The strike carved through deadfall and low branches, clearing a path with a force that shook leaves loose from the canopy. Relief hit you so hard your knees nearly folded.

“Y/n!” Xavier shouted, his voice coming through the comms and the forest at once, “I see you! Keep running, I see you!”

You did. You ran toward him with your face uncovered and your breath breaking, one pistol clutched in your hand, the other nearly slipping from muddy fingers. You didn’t know how far you ran after that. The forest became a tunnel of light and shadow. Your legs burned. Your ribs screamed. Resonance sparked and guttered through your body like a wire about to snap.

The alpha was close. You could feel the shape of him behind you even when you couldn’t hear him. Then, suddenly, you couldn’t feel him at all. You risked one look back. The path behind you was empty. Moonlight spilled over mud, fern, and broken branches. Nothing moved except the trees swaying in the aftermath of your passage. He was gone…And so was your mask.

“Tara?” You gasped.

“I lost him,” she said, voice sharp with disbelief, “I lost his heat signature. He didn’t move out of range. He’s just—…Gone.”

Xavier reached you a heartbeat later in a rush of pale light and steel. He came through the trees with his sword already drawn, his coat torn at one sleeve, leaves caught in his hair, his usually calm face stripped into something cold and focused. He moved past you first, putting himself between your body and the empty trail, blade lifted toward the dark canopy.

“Where is he?” Xavier asked.

“I don’t know,” Tara said, “he just dropped off everything…”

Your legs chose that moment to fail. Your evol drained out of you in a sick, sudden rush. You caught yourself against a tree, bark scraping your palm, breath sawing in and out of your chest. Without the mask, the cold air felt too intimate against your wet cheeks. Mud streaked your jaw. Your hair stuck to your temples where tears had been blown back by the speed of your run.

Xavier turned. His eyes found your bare face. Something changed in him immediately, not loud enough to become panic, but sharp enough that you saw it anyway. His gaze flicked over your cheeks, your mouth, the mud, the missing mask, the way one of your hands still hovered too close to your face as if part of you wanted to hide behind your fingers.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

No. The answer rose so hard it almost broke out of you. No, you weren’t okay. Your mask was gone. The werewolf had seen your face. He had looked shocked. He had stopped. He had let you run, and somehow that was worse than being chased, because it meant his disappearance wasn’t a rescue, wasn’t a victory, wasn’t Xavier scaring him off at the last second. It meant he had decided he was finished. It meant he had gotten whatever he wanted. You wiped the tears off your face with the back of your wrist, rough and angry, smearing mud across your cheek. Your hand shook. You hated that too.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Xavier didn’t believe you. Tara was silent in your ear, which meant she didn’t believe you either. You pushed yourself away from the tree before either of them could say so. Your knees trembled, your ribs burned, and the bare skin of your face still felt horribly visible beneath the moon. You tightened your grip around the pistol and looked toward the way out.

Tara stared at it from the opposite back seat like it had personally offended her, a black mask disguising the lower half of her face, “…You sure you don’t want a different disguise? Maybe a plain black mask?”

“I’m sure,” you answered, fastening the strap behind your head, “it has lore, and that’s empowering.”

Xavier sat beside the transport door with his sword case braced against his knee, quiet as ever, a white mask covering around his eyes, pale hair silvered by the passing streetlights outside. His gaze lingered on the mask for a moment longer than usual, not with pity, but with the calm, careful attention of someone watching you choose a weapon he didn’t fully understand, “you repaired it, huh?”

“I improved it,” you said, “consider it my little art project.”

You adjusted the fit until the repaired shell settled firmly into place. The world narrowed, but not cruelly this time. Not under hot red lights, not with an arena roaring above you, not with strangers waiting for your scent to turn into entertainment. The inside smelled faintly of resin, clean fabric, and your own blocker, applied heavily along your throat, wrists, and inner elbows before leaving. Your scent belonged to you tonight. Your face belonged to you. Even the mask, with its long ears and repaired fracture, belonged to you because you had decided it did.

“It needs to be something that hides most my face,” you said, “this place is private security. Unknown surveillance. If anyone catches a frame of me, they get the mask, not my face.”

Tara’s mouth pinched because she knew you were right and hated that you had gotten there through something ugly, “fine. But if it starts pissing you off, I’m throwing it into traffic.”

“You’re so supportive.”

The transport slowed as the city thinned behind you. Linkon’s clean glass towers gave way to darker roads, then older neighborhoods with estate walls and long private drives, then stretches of black hillside where the light pollution finally loosened its grip on the sky. By the time the driver cut the headlights near the outer access point, the full moon had taken over. It hung enormous and full above Lykos Forest, so bright it seemed less like light and more like a cold substance poured over the ridge.

The forest rose beyond the road like a sleeping thing with its back turned to the city. Massive didn’t feel like a big enough word once you saw it in person. The map had marked a three-mile perimeter around the secured land, but maps always flattened arrogance into lines. Out here, the private property swallowed distance. Trees climbed the mountain slope in dense black ranks, their crowns silvered by moonlight, the terrain lifting sharply enough in places that the forest seemed stacked against the sky. Mist gathered between trunks and drifted low over the ground. The fencing followed the property line in pieces, sometimes visible as dark metal between the trees, sometimes hidden behind fern, rock, and the thick old growth that made the boundary feel less built than discovered. During the day, you could almost imagine it peaceful. Green shade, river noise, damp bark, sun through leaves. The kind of place wealthy people called untouched while paying very expensive companies to keep it exactly the way they wanted. At two in the morning, under a full moon, it looked like it was waiting for you.

Your earpiece clicked softly as Tara came online. She had taken position outside one of the perimeter gates with a portable laptop rig balanced on the hood of the transport, satellite overlay linked to Headquarters, scanner feed layered over the property’s visible boundary markers, “comms check.”

“Clear,” Xavier said.

“Clear,” you answered.

Tara exhaled, “alight. I have your bracelet feeds, satellite, heat signatures, and known protofield overlays. No wanderer activity showing inside your immediate radius. No hostile motion. No weird glowing death spots. Everyone say thank you, Tara.”

“Thank you, Tara,” Xavier said dryly.

“I was going to say it before Xavi killed it,” you muttered.

“I accept your gratitude in its damaged form, guys,” Tara’s keys clicked rapidly over comms, “Y/n, you’re taking the eastern boundary first. Visual documentation only. Photos, short video sweeps, camera locations, security hardware, fence condition, access points. Don’t say the word loophole.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you huffed.

Xavier stepped off the road behind you, his boots landing soundlessly in the damp grass, “I’ll stay half a mile behind once you cross into the tree line. I’ll cover your tracks and make sure nothing follows your route.”

You looked over your shoulder at him through the mask. The moonlight touched the edge of his face and gave his calm expression that strange, distant brightness his light evol always made you think of, even when he wasn’t using it, “half a mile feels so extra.”

“It gives us more coverage.”

“It also makes it harder for you to hover…But see, this is why we keep you around,” you said, then turned toward the first dark stretch of fence before the warmth in your chest could become too obvious, “starting sweep.”

The Hunter bracelet around your wrist woke beneath your touch, projecting a faint blue interface across the outside of your forearm. You kept the light low, dim enough not to splash brightly through the trees, and began recording. The first gate was exactly as advertised: tall, black, expensive, and aggressively boring. Two cameras sat high on the posts, angled toward the road and keypad entry. A third had been tucked into the tree line at a better height, its casing painted matte brown to blend with bark. You photographed all three, tagged the angles, and uploaded them through the bracelet. The files vanished into the secure mission archive with soft confirmation pulses against your skin.

“No blind spot at gate one,” you murmured, “visible cameras are obvious. Hidden one is better, but still lazy. Rich people always think matte paint equals stealth.”

Tara hummed, “uploading clean. Satellite confirms no movement near you except Xavier. He’s about point-four-eight miles behind, moving like a suspiciously sleepy ghost.”

Xavier’s voice came after a beat, “I can hear you.”

The forest accepted you too easily. That was the first thing you disliked. No alarm. No distant shout from private security. No drone hum cutting through the canopy. No sudden floodlight burning white across the undergrowth. Just wet leaves under your boots, fern brushing your calves, and moonlight laying silver over everything it touched. The boundary fence dipped and rose with the terrain, following old rock and root lines until it disappeared behind thick growth. You filmed it all as you walked, lifting your bracelet for steady sweeps of metal posts, sensor boxes, warning signs, access roads, and places where the forest had almost swallowed the property line.

It should’ve made you feel clever when you found the first camera gap. Instead, the back of your neck prickled. You stopped near a cluster of ferns taller than your thighs and tilted your masked face toward the trees. Your field light cut a narrow beam through the dark, catching beads of moisture on leaves, the pale exposed roots of a cedar, and the slow movement of mist curling over the ground. Nothing moved beyond what the wind touched. No heat shimmer. No broken branch. No blue protofield glow pulsing between trunks. Your own breathing sounded too loud as you adjusted the mask without thinking about it.

“Y/n?” Xavier asked.

“Checking something.”

“What?”

You listened harder, closing your eyes as the smallest pulse of your evol was allowed to flow to your eardrums. It wasn’t much, but it was something, at least. Your enhanced hearing pulled the forest apart in layers: the thin hiss of the river somewhere downhill, the scrape of leaves over bark, a small animal shifting under brush, Tara’s faint typing through the earpiece, Xavier’s measured steps half a mile behind. The place wasn’t silent. That made it worse. Silence would’ve been a warning. This was ordinary forest noise arranged in a shape your body didn’t trust.

“…Nothing,” you said.

Tara clicked her tongue, “I hate when hunters say nothing like that. It always means the nothing has a weird vibe attached.”

“The nothing does have a weird vibe,” you rubbed your upper arm, soothing your goosebumps.

“Logging that,” Tara half-joked over a mutter of breath, “Y/n says, the nothing has a weird vibe…Got it.”

You forced yourself to move, “Tara, uploading camera blind spot. Western side of the eastern service gate, twenty-two yards past the drainage marker. No visible lens coverage for maybe six feet if you hug the cedar.”

“You’re documenting the boundary,” Tara said carefully.

“I’m lovingly observing it from multiple angles,” you insisted, biting back a smile.

“Y/n.”

“I know, I know, I’m just fucking with ya,” you lifted the bracelet and recorded the gap, letting the camera pan across the fence, the cedar, the service marker half-hidden by moss, “photos first.”

You took the photos. Then, because Jenna hadn’t heard anything and because three upcoming days of waiting for Rafayel’s studio meeting had made your skin feel too tight for your body, you moved into the blind spot, tested the fence with gloved fingers, and climbed.

The old injury under your ribs pulled sharply on the second foothold. You froze, breathing shallowly through your teeth until the pain faded from a hot point into a warning ache. Your body had healed fast, but Zayne’s voice lived in the back of your skull with the persistence of a medical curse. Light movement. No running. No resonance. No proving a point.

“Technically,” you whispered, hauling yourself over the top and dropping lightly into the inner side of the tree line, “this is climbing, right?”

“What was that?” Tara asked.

“Wind.”

“Wind doesn’t sound guilty!”

Xavier said nothing, which was worse because he absolutely knew. You crouched inside the private land with wet earth soft beneath your boots and took three immediate photos to justify the trespass to your own conscience. Interior fence line. Access trail. Camera angle from inside the blind spot. The bracelet pulsed as each file uploaded, your location tag blinking in quiet accusation.

Nothing looked strange. That became irritating after twenty minutes. No scorch marks. No wanderer residue. No private patrol. No hidden lab entrance tucked dramatically beneath a waterfall because apparently the universe lacked taste. The trail wound through thick fern and old trees, sloping gradually upward before leveling along a narrow dirt path that looked maintained but not recently used by any heavy vehicles. You found tire tracks once, shallow and half-filled from last night’s rain, and photographed them from three angles. You found a sensor box mounted inside a hollowed post, not Association-grade but expensive enough to annoy you, and uploaded that too. You found a river cutting through the lower stretch of forest, moonlight breaking across the water in restless pieces while smooth black stones gleamed along the bank; almost metallic under the moon. It was beautiful. You hated it, sort of.

The river whispered over rocks with a softness that didn’t belong in a high drop zone. Fern crowded the edges, each frond silver-tipped by the moon. A massive tree leaned over the water on the far side, its trunk so wide that three people probably couldn’t have circled it with their arms. Its roots gripped the bank like old hands, disappearing into earth and water, and for a moment you could picture the place at noon: green light, damp warmth, birdsong, no mask over your face, no earpiece in your ear, no old arena waiting behind your eyes.

Then the wind shifted, and every hair along your arms lifted. You turned slowly, light sweeping over the path behind you. Nothing. The beam caught fern, bark, mist, the faint impression of your own footprints in damp soil. Farther back, hidden beyond distance and trees, Xavier would be hopping over the fence himself and smoothing over the clearest marks you left behind, disrupting mud where needed, bending brush back into place, keeping your passage from becoming an invitation. Tara’s satellite feed watched heat from above. Your bracelet watched the ground. Your guns rested loaded at your sides. You weren’t alone. You were armed. You weren’t in the arena. Your fingers still twitched toward your holsters.

“Tara,” you said, and the effort it took to keep your voice flat made your jaw ache, “there’s no signal of any heat registers near me, right?”

“I don’t see anything,” she answered. Her keyboard clicked in the background, quick and practiced, “I just see you and Xavier’s heat signatures within a half mile. Why?”

You rubbed your arm even though the tremor there had nothing to do with cold. The night air made your breath warm before your face. Somewhere in the trees, a branch creaked softly, “…I just feel like I’m being watched from the shadows or something. I don’t know. I feel kind of uneasy about this.”

Xavier responded immediately on his end of the comms, “let’s call it a night. I don’t see anything strange here either. Y/n, start heading back to me. I’ll catch up to you. I can see your coordinate just fine.”

“I agree,” Tara said, “why don’t you two just…” 

Her voice cut off. Not dramatically. Worse. Professionally.

“Oh. Hold on,” she said “I’m getting a signal. Weird.”

You froze, “what kind? Wanderer? That, I can take just fine.”

“Uh…No, not quite,” more typing. Faster now. A click, a pause, another click. You could hear her trying to make the data behave, “there’s a tiny faint heat register, but it’s far away. Looks like it’s just entering the forest from all the way on the other side. It’s two miles away. You’re fine. Just head toward Xavier.”

“Probably somebody who owns the property,” Xavier said.

“It’s registering at a pretty high temperature,” Tara remarked. The sentence started curious and ended wrong, “huh. That’s way above human.”

The forest seemed to inhale. Oh fuck. That wasn’t a wanderer. Wanderers didn’t present like that on Tara’s readings. They didn’t enter from the far side of private land as one clean dot and burn hotter than a human body while moving through forest cover. Your grip tightened around the bracelet until its edge pressed into your glove.

“Yeah, uh, Y/n?” Tara interrupted herself, and now the nerves had found her voice, “not to alarm anybody, but start moving. Start moving fast. The little dot on my map is moving kind of quick. I’m registering it at twenty miles an hour.”

“What the fuck?” You snapped, already turning, “that’s impossible for any human, a-are you picking up some kind of large animal??”

Your body moved before the rest of you finished accepting the number. Dirt kicked beneath your boots as you broke into a sprint toward Xavier’s coordinate, the path flashing silver and black ahead of you. Branches clawed at your sleeves. Fern whipped against your thighs. The repaired rabbit mask held firm against your face, its reinforced strap biting into the back of your head as your breath came harder below it.

“Twenty-five miles an hour,” Tara said.

“Y/n, activate your evol on yourself now and take advantage of being a rabbit hybrid,” Xavier urged. For once, his calm sounded strained by motion, “I’m running.”

You did as told, “got it!”

Resonance answered like a struck nerve. It surged from beneath your ribs and down through your hips, thighs, knees, ankles, threading through muscle that had only just been cleared for light duty and absolutely did not appreciate being drafted into survival. Heat flashed through you, bright and immediate, turning the edges of the night sharp. The world became more readable in fragments: raised root, loose stone, muddy patch, low branch, drop to the left, clear line to the right. Your legs lengthened their stride with impossible force, rabbit muscle and evol power combining into something too fast for ordinary balance. Pain sparked under your ribs with each breath, but fear shoved it into the background and kept shoving.

“No one’s gonna outrun this!” You gritted from behind your teeth, “I can maintain a speed of twenty five miles an hour if I—“

“—Thirty miles incoming,” Tara said, urgency rising with each word, “high heat temperature registering. Y/n, it’s clearing the forest in a straight line and heading right at you. Now is the time to reach top speed!”

“I am at top speed!” You shouted, “I can’t run any faster with my injuries! How the fuck is anything moving in a straight line out here, anyway?!”

“By knowing the land more than we do!”

Panic split open beneath your ribs so violently it felt physical. The arena came back in pieces, not as memory but as invasion. The red ring. The crowd. The lion hybrid’s claws gouging the platform. The camera dropping close to your shaking hands. A predator’s body launching toward yours while every ancient instinct screamed that rabbits survived by running and died when teeth closed over the wrong place. Your feet struck dirt, root, stone, dirt again, each impact jarring through the place where Zayne had removed the stitches. Whatever chased you wasn’t a wanderer. It was too hot, too fast, too singular. An evolver with speed capabilities, maybe. A hybrid. Both. Something not fully human and not safely animal, something between categories in the same way you were, except bigger, faster, and coming straight for your back. Something with…A prey drive.

“I’m running as fast as I can,” you panted, “God damn it, how close is Xavier?”

“At the speed you guys are running at?” Tara’s keys hammered, “he should reach you in seven minutes.”

“Is that enough time?” Xavier asked.

Tara went silent. The silence was answer enough, but she gave you the math anyway, voice lower now, “…Shit. No. It’s going to catch up to you in roughly four minutes if it stays at that speed.”

Your mind spun and sharpened at the same time.

“Thirty-three miles an hour,” Tara said, “I don’t have enough time to call for backup! Y/n, I can’t tell what’s chasing you, but when it collides with you, I highly suggest evading it for as long as you can while heading toward Xavier. Don’t try to fight. Just run. It’s not moving at regular human speed. That’s either an evolver, or hybrid, or both, with speed capabilities much higher than your own.”

“That’s impressive,” Xavier panted.

“Now isn’t the time, Xavier!” You called out.

He didn’t answer, probably because he was running hard enough that even his weird little comments had to pay rent. So you ran. There was no dignity in it. No clean hunter footage, no controlled field drill, no heroic silhouette cutting through moonlight. You ran with terror hot in your throat and mud striking the backs of your legs. You ran hard enough that your repaired side screamed and your lungs burned against the cold night air. You ran over the path, off the path, back onto it when the terrain forced you, following the pale thread of dirt through the trees because the forest around it had become a net of roots and shadow. Once, your boot caught a buried branch and your body pitched forward so fast the ground rushed up beneath the mask. Resonance snapped through your legs, overcorrecting your balance, but not cleanly. Your knee struck dirt. Pain burst bright across your shin. You shoved yourself up with one hand before you fully stopped falling and kept moving.

“Still on you,” Tara said, “bearing hasn’t changed.”

“Fantastic,” you gasped, “love the commitment!”

“Please save the jokes for when you’re not being chased by a literal forest demon.”

“I’m coping!”

“Well, cope faster!”

You almost laughed. It came out as a ragged breath instead. The river appeared on your left, silver through the trees, then vanished behind a slope as you cut upward along the flatter trail you had used on the way in. You knew this stretch. You had photographed the tall tree. You had complained internally about the lack of suspicious glowing nonsense. The path widened ahead, just enough for speed, packed dirt broken by roots and shallow stones. Moonlight poured through a gap in the canopy and lit the trail in a long pale stripe.

Something crashed through branches behind you. Not close enough to see. Close enough that your blood changed temperature. It could have been anything. A deer bolting. A broken limb falling. Some large nocturnal predator spooked by your passage. A sensible person might have looked. You weren’t in the business of donating your face to curiosity. You kept your eyes forward and ran harder, resonance clawing more heat through your legs until the muscles began to tremble under the strain.

“Distance?” You demanded.

“Fuck,” Tara cursed softly under her breath, “it’s closing in!”

“That wasn’t a measurable distance! Tara!” You gritted through, “gimme something, damn it!”

“Ten seconds!” She panicked, “Y/n, guns ready!”

“On it!”

Your hands dropped to your holsters. Drawing while running full speed through uneven forest at night was an excellent way to accidentally eat dirt and haunt Zayne’s office forever, but you did it anyway. Both pistols came free, familiar weight filling your palms like an answer your body trusted more than prayer. The safeties remained on for the moment because you were terrified, not stupid, but your thumbs hovered ready.

“Five!” Tara counted.

You heard it then. Not the vague crash of branches. Not the ordinary rhythm of an animal moving through brush. Footsteps. Heavy, fast, impossibly controlled footsteps hammering the earth behind you in a cadence that belonged to two legs and too much power. The sound moved through the ground before it reached your ears, a tremor of impact, release, impact, release, something launching and landing with enough force to shake loose leaves from the trees. Human rhythm. Not human speed.

“Four!”

Your boot slipped on damp dirt. Your knee buckled. Resonance caught you so violently that heat flashed white behind your eyes. You nearly went down, teeth clamping hard enough to hurt as your body corrected and lunged forward.

“Three!”

A tree rose out of the dark dead ahead, its trunk silver on one side and black on the other. You swerved around it at the last second, shoulder clipping bark, the impact sending a hot line of pain through your upper arm. Splinters scraped your sleeve. You kept your guns up and close to your body, refusing to let either barrel catch on a branch.

“Two!”

Your thumbs flicked the safeties off. The clicks sounded tiny beneath the thunder behind you.

“One!”

You stopped. It wasn’t graceful. It was a violent, skidding halt that tore up dirt beneath your boots and nearly threw you sideways from your own momentum. You twisted with it, using the force to spin around, both guns rising toward the path behind you. Your breath tore under your white rabbit mask. Your pulse battered against your throat. Moonlight, dirt, trees, fern, empty trail.

Nobody. Nothing. For one impossible second, the path behind you was clear. Then the ground shook behind your back. You felt the landing before you heard it, a brutal tremor punching up through the soles of your boots hard enough to rattle your knees and make the half-healed place beneath your ribs seize. Dirt jumped from the trail. Pebbles skittered. Leaves shivered loose overhead and drifted down through the silver moonlight as if the forest itself had flinched. You whirled toward Xavier’s coordinate, toward the way you had been running, toward help, and found the path blocked ten feet ahead.

A cloaked shape crouched in the moonlight with one clawed metal hand braced against the cracked ground. No. Not a shape. A man. He rose slowly, and every inch of him made the forest feel smaller. His cloak hung from him in heavy black folds, swallowing the moonlight except where the damp hem dragged through mist and wet leaves. Beneath it, dark armor shaped his massive frame in hard planes of black and deep teal, fitted close over the brutal width of his chest before breaking into layered plates across his shoulders, ribs, hips, and gauntlets. The metal caught the full moon in narrow, predatory glints, revealing scraped edges and sharp ridges that looked less ornamental than functional. His hood was pulled low over his head, its crown shaped with armored ear covers that rose in dark, pointed silhouettes above him, turning him into something half myth, half weapon.

He had been tall while crouched. Standing, he became something else entirely. Towering. Broad. Built with the kind of strength that made distance feel like a courtesy rather than protection. His long legs settled into the torn dirt with awful balance, effortless after a landing that had shaken the trail. One clawed gauntlet flexed at his side, the black metal fingers tipped in sharp points that flashed cold when he moved. He wasn’t breathing hard. He wasn’t tense from the chase. You had run like survival depended on it, forced your evol through injured muscle, burned your lungs raw below the mask, and he had landed in front of you as if crossing two miles of forest to reach his prey had only amused him.

The lower half of his face was hidden behind a black metal wolf mask, angular and vicious, the muzzle forged into a permanent snarl. Fanged ridges framed the snout in cruel, shining lines, and the cheek plates cut up toward his eyes like the mask had been built to make every glance feel like teeth. Above it, his golden irises burned beneath the shadow of a prominent brow bone, the heavy structure of it making his stare look deeper, darker, more inhumanly focused. Thick, frowning brows sharpened the expression into something severe and merciless. Reddish shadows circled his eyes and made them look sunken beneath that hard brow, predator-bright and sleepless, while the strong, slightly crooked bridge of his nose vanished into the unforgiving metal of the mask.

For a moment, the hood shifted with the settling movement of his shoulders, and you caught a glimpse of short hair beneath it. Auburn. Darker in the silver moonlight, burnished like old blood, the same shadowed red-brown that gleamed along the thick tail moving behind him. It lashed once through the mist, large and heavy and bristled with agitation, then went still with controlled violence.

He looked at you like he already knew exactly how fast you could run. Like he had measured it. Like he had let you. Your body recognized danger of a hybrid alpha before your mind finished naming it. Prey instinct kicked through you so hard your fingers almost tightened on the triggers by reflex. Cold fright crawled up your throat. The arena returned in a savage flash: lion claws, masks above you, the crowd chanting for the rabbit to die or kill. But this was worse in a way your body couldn’t explain. The lion had charged openly across a lit platform. This man had crossed two miles of forest like distance was nothing, vanished from your line of fire, and landed between you and your nearest teammate without breathing hard enough for you to hear it.

“Y/n?” Tara’s voice cracked in your ear, “I lost the heat signal for half a second. What happened? What are you seeing?”

Xavier’s breathing sharpened over the line, “Y/n?”

You kept both pistols trained on the man’s chest. Your hands were steady because they had to be, “…Contact.”

The masked man tilted his head slightly, gold eyes moving over the rabbit mask, the guns, your stance, the way your shoulders refused to fold even while your pulse tried to break through your skin. When he spoke, his voice was impossibly deep, smooth at the edges with earned confidence, and threaded with the faintest lilt of amusement.

You had expected something hidden beneath the city, some damp concrete wound in Linkon’s underbelly with rusted doors, coded knocks, and armed men pretending their cheap suits made them intimidating. Instead, The Nest occupied the upper floors of a private club wrapped in black glass and gold trim, with a valet line full of cars sleek enough to look guilty even parked. From the street, it didn’t look illegal. It looked exclusive, which was usually the same thing with better lighting.

You stood beneath the awning for a moment, staring up at the dark windows while the city moved behind you in wet flashes of traffic and neon. Three nights had passed since Rafayel’s message. Three nights of healing stitches, Tara’s worried glances, Xavier’s quiet warnings, Zayne’s voice echoing dryly in your head every time you moved wrong, and Captain Jenna’s report sitting in your thoughts like a weight you couldn’t put down. The Spatium core fragment. A private art show. An anonymous high bidder. A seller too protected by money and secrecy for the Association to reach through official channels. And Rafayel, unfortunately, had a door.

You looked down at yourself and resisted the urge to scowl. The dress had been your compromise. Black, simple, fitted enough not to snag, with slits high enough to let you kick someone in the face if the evening demanded it. Over it, you wore a cropped jacket with enough structure to hide the tension in your shoulders. Below the hem, your combat boots ruined the silhouette beautifully. Rafayel had told you to wear something you could move in, and you had decided that if he wanted elegance, he could suffer through practicality.

You had also followed his other instructions, though admitting that irritated you more than the dress. Sufficient scent blocker, he had said. Topical and oral. The place would be crawling with alphas. He had been right. The blocker balm sat invisible along your throat, wrists, and elbows, sealing down the burnt-sweet edge of your scent until even you could barely find yourself beneath it. The pill had left a bitter film at the back of your tongue and a faint medicinal coolness in your blood. It dulled you in a way you hated but needed. Without it, walking into an alpha-heavy underground club would be like stepping into a room full of hands waiting to read you without permission. Even blocked, you felt the weight of them inside.

Inside, The Nest’s entrance opened into a hallway lined with dark mirrors and low amber lights, each reflection breaking your white mask into fragments as you passed. Security watched from the walls without seeming to move, all tailored black suits, earpieces, and eyes trained not to linger long enough to be accused of staring. A scanner passed over you at the inner checkpoint, silent and cold, reading for weapons, tags, trace metals, active evol discharge, and whatever else places like this used to convince themselves they were safe from the violence they sold.

The sound hit before the room did. Low music pulsed through the floor, deep enough to settle under your ribs. Voices moved over it in velvet-dark layers: laughter, murmured deals, the clink of crystal, the soft scrape of chairs over polished tile. The air was heavy with perfume, expensive liquor, cigarette smoke, and the pressure of alpha scent heavy in your lungs and nauseating. It was cleaner than a back-alley fight club, prettier than a criminal den, and somehow far more rotten than either.

Everything was dark, glossy, and rich enough to make morality feel out of place. Black marble veined with gold stretched beneath your boots. Velvet booths curved into shadowed corners. Blue light shimmered over the bar shelves, catching on bottles that looked more like artifacts than alcohol. There were flowers on the tables, deep red and nearly black, arranged too carefully to be romantic. Even the bartenders moved like they had been trained to pour secrets instead of drinks.

You saw alphas everywhere. You could tell by their bodies. Tall. Built. Even frightening. Some watched openly. Some pretended not to. Some sat with omegas tucked against their sides, fingers curled possessively at waists and napes. It made you sick, frankly. Others leaned together over private tables, masks covering half their faces while their rings, watches, and posture did the rest of the bragging for them. Betas were present too, but fewer, usually in service roles or seated beside people who clearly had the money to make neutrality useful. You hated places like this. Rooms where power gathered never felt like rooms to you. They felt like mouths.

Rafayel was waiting at a table tucked into the far curve of the bar where the lighting turned blue and soft, making him look almost submerged. Of course he had chosen the most dramatic corner available. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, dressed in dark silk and pale accents, his violet hair catching the light like something painted rather than real. A glass rested near his hand, untouched, the liquid inside a deep red that made you distrust it on sight.

Rafayel had that effect on you. It was almost impressive, really, the way he could sit perfectly still and still make himself irritating enough to qualify as an active threat. Tonight, he wore a sheer purple veil over the lower half of his face, the fabric falling over his nose and mouth in a soft translucent curtain that hid just enough of him to be annoying. You could still see the silhouette of his smile beneath it, that smug little curve barely blurred by violet fabric. A delicate string of pearls looped from the veil’s ear hooks, elegant enough to look decorative and practical enough that he could remove it whenever he wanted to make a scene of being seen. Of course his mask had a dramatic reveal function.

His eyes lifted as you approached. He smiled. You immediately wanted to throw something at him. His gaze traveled over you in one slow, assessing sweep, from the polished white ears of your rabbit mask down to the black dress, the slit at your thigh, and the combat boots planted under it like a warning. The blue light caught in his eyes, making them look too bright, too amused, too much like he had been waiting all evening for the exact moment you walked into view.

“Hey cutie,” he said, voice warm with delight beneath the veil, “wow, you look like you’re ready to roundhouse kick somebody in the face.”

Rafayel sounded far too pleased with himself for a man sitting in a booth inside one of Linkon’s most expensive criminal cesspools. The sheer purple veil over the lower half of his face softened the shape of his mouth, but not enough to hide the smile pulling beneath it. Even half-covered, he looked smug, bright-eyed, and theatrical enough to make you regret every decision that had led you to his table.

“Only if it’s yours,” you retorted, stopping at the edge of the booth.

His brows drew together at once, forming that familiar, wounded little pout he used whenever he wanted to look personally victimized by your tone, “so aggressive…Did anyone ever tell you rabbits are supposed to be skittish?”

“Did anyone ever tell you fish are supposed to be quiet?” You half scoffed, half laughed in mockery as you slid into the corner of the booth, choosing the seat farthest from him before he could enjoy himself any more than he already was. Rafayel noticed, of course.

The couch beneath you was upholstered in velvet so soft it felt obscene, the kind of luxury that seemed less like comfort and more like a warning about the sort of people who could afford it. You refused to sink into it. Instead, you sat near the edge with your back straight, one boot angled beneath the table and the other planted firmly enough that you could stand in an instant. Your dress settled around your thighs in a dark sweep, the slits giving you enough room to move if the night turned ugly. In a room full of glittering masks, delicate heels, polished dress shoes, and expensive fragility, your combat boots looked almost rude.

“You have such a strange, unappealing way of flirting,” he said with dismay. His gaze dropped briefly to the angle of your boots beneath the table before returning to your face, “huh. You really did wear something you could move in. Good. I’m glad.”

That last part sounded too sincere for your liking. His smile was still there, still half-veiled and insufferable, but the relief beneath his voice was real enough to make your irritation sharpen.

“You told me to, for whatever fucking reason,” your eyes flicked around the dark club, noticing everyone else was in heels or dress shoes, “and I wasn’t flirting with you. Now start talking, Rafayel.”

“Woah, relax! Jeez,” he frowned dramatically as he lifted his veil, taking his sweet time with a sip of his red drink as he subconsciously swirled, “you barely just sat down, God…At least let’s get the basics out of the way first, yeah? You sure you wanna sit that far away from me?”

His drink caught the blue light as he turned the glass in lazy circles. Everything about him seemed designed to aggravate you: the relaxed sprawl of his posture, the pearled chain of his veil, the way his eyes curved with amusement as if he had already decided you were the most entertaining thing in the room. He was an alpha, but never in the blunt, suffocating way most alphas were. Rafayel’s presence was smoother than that, more like a tide coming in quietly while you were busy watching the shore.

“Sorry, I’m allergic to shellfish,” you shot back.

Before Rafayel could decide whether he wanted to take offense or laugh, movement at the edge of the booth pulled your attention away from him. A man had stopped beside you, close enough that your spine stiffened before your face changed. He wore a fox mask with copper accents and a dark brown suit that fit broad shoulders and a tall, solid frame. Typical alpha. Expensive fabric, easy confidence, and the kind of smile that suggested he was used to being received well when he interrupted people. If he had leaned down any closer, you probably would have caught his scent even through the heavy air.

“Hi there,” he gave a small nod, “sorry to interrupt, but…You two together? If not, may I interest you in a drink when you have a moment? I’m just trying to get some eyes on my new protocore catalog.”

The words were polite, but the premise made your skin crawl. A protocore catalog, like he was offering you a menu of imported wines instead of fragments of power that could level streets if handled by someone careless enough. You could already feel the shape of the refusal forming behind your teeth, the careful kind of refusal required in places like this, where too much sharpness could draw attention and too much softness could be mistaken for invitation.

Before you could force yourself to politely decline and grit through your teeth, though, Rafayel spoke first.

“We’re together, sorry,” he said coldly, though remained polite. His voice lost the softness it had with you.

The shift was immediate. Rafayel didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bare his teeth, didn’t lean into the alpha weight that filled the room like so many others would have. He simply cooled, all the playful warmth draining out of him until only something smooth and sharp remained.

“Oh, my bad. Sorry, didn’t mean any offense,” the man backed off, nodding away with a smile as he went on his way.

You watched him disappear into the darker movement of the bar, copper fox mask flashing once beneath amber light before the crowd swallowed him. Only then did you let out the breath you hadn’t meant to hold. You weren’t scared, not exactly, but the angle was bad, the room was worse, and having your back exposed to a parade of bored alpha men with illegal hobbies was already starting to feel like a strategic mistake.

Rafayel shot you a knowing smile beneath the veil, crossing his arms comfortably, “so…What was that about your allergy?”

You let out a thin sigh, eyeing the space beside him, evaluating, “…You come here. I want the corner.”

The corner had the better view of the room, the nearest path out, and one less direction for someone to approach from. Sitting closer to Rafayel was irritating, but irritation was manageable. Exposure was not. You hated that he understood the calculation immediately, because his eyes brightened with the exact sort of smugness that made you want to consider punching his face in.

“Fine, fine,” he obliged reluctantly, sliding his way over with his drink like it was a massive inconvenience to him, “it’s not like I bite. You don’t even smell good to me. Or most alphas, I bet. You smell like something that’s been left on the stove for way too long and then forgotten about…”

A genuine laugh slipped out before you could stop it. Of all the things people had said about your scent, that one was rude enough to feel almost refreshing. No pity, no delicate discomfort, no awkward attempt to dress the truth in something softer. Just Rafayel, insulting you with the careless honesty of someone who either didn’t fear retaliation or wanted to see what shape it would take.

You narrowed your eyes as he came closer and sipped his drink, “well, good thing I took a scent suppressant and put on a blocker. Wouldn’t wanna offend royalty. You…Can’t smell me, can you?”

“No,” he confirmed, “thank goodness…You followed my other instructions, right? You’re alone? No other hunters I should know about waiting outside?”

The question came lightly, but his eyes sharpened over the rim of his glass. Rafayel could make almost anything sound like teasing, but you had known from the moment you walked in that The Nest was not the kind of place where backup could sit openly at your shoulder. Too many alphas. Too many guards. Too many people with money, secrets, and reasons to panic if the Hunters Association appeared where it wasn’t wanted.

“None,” you answered honestly, but you left out the fact that Xavier and Tara were at a bar next door and that your phone had your location viewable to them. If anything were to happen, you knew damn well they’d be on it. But the last thing you wanted was an all out brawl where they’d be severely outnumbered. Even if Xavier was known for his battle prowess and ability to decimate wanderers like ants.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, only a carefully trimmed truth. You had come into The Nest alone. Xavier and Tara had stayed out of sight because you had asked them to, though neither of them had liked it. You could still picture Tara’s face when you told her not to follow you inside, the tight concern she had tried to soften into something less obvious. Xavier had been quieter, but that meant less than nothing when his silence could carry more warning than most people’s shouting. They trusted you enough to let you walk in alone, but not enough to let you vanish without a tether. That was the compromise, and it was the only reason you had agreed to step inside this gilded predator’s den without dragging half the Association behind you.

“Very well,” he smiled with satisfaction, “now that that’s out of the way…We can start talking.”

“Then talk.”

The satisfaction in Rafayel’s eyes lingered for another moment before something quieter settled beneath it. He lowered his glass to the table, watching the dark red liquid continue circling the crystal as though whatever he had brought you here to say deserved a little ceremony.

“I found the man who put the protocore up for auction.”

Your attention sharpened immediately, “the seller?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And the person who bought it?”

Rafayel’s fingers paused against his glass for such a brief moment that someone less familiar with his evasions might not have noticed, “the seller is the person you need.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” you shook your head.

“No, but it was a much better answer,” he leaned back against the velvet booth, one arm stretching annoyingly close along its curved edge.  You felt yourself recoiling from his scent, “the buyer can only tell you what he purchased and what he intended to do with it. The seller knew what the fragment was before it ever entered the auction. He knew where it came from, what it was worth, and how to move it through a private network without drawing the Association’s attention.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” you pointed out.

“I’m redirecting you toward the more useful one.”

His expression remained maddeningly pleasant beneath the purple veil, but you knew Rafayel just well enough to recognize a deliberate omission when he placed one between you. He knew more about the bidder than he intended to share. Pressing him now would only make him decorate the same refusal with prettier words.

“Fine,” you said, “what’s the seller’s name?”

“Can’t say.”

Your stare flattened, “then give me his contact.”

“Can’t”

“Take me to him.”

“Can’t—”

“—I swear to God, Rafayel.”

His eyes curved with the smile hidden behind his veil, “you’re very demanding for someone asking me for a favor.”

“I came here because you said you could get me a lead,” you reminded with gritted teeth.

“And I can,” he lifted his glass, lazily turning it between his fingers, “the trouble is that this particular man is difficult to impress. Money won’t do it; he has too much. Neither will Association credentials, threats, flattery, or an impassioned little speech about public safety. People with far more influence than you spend fortunes trying to secure a meeting with him, and most never receive so much as a polite refusal.”

“Then why the hell did you bring me here?”

“Because I know how you can impress him.”

You went still. Rafayel watched you expectantly, apparently waiting for you to ask. The amusement slowly gathering in his eyes made your skin crawl.

“Whatever disgusting arrangement you’re about to suggest,” you said, lowering your voice, “I am not fucking some alpha for a lead.”

Rafayel nearly inhaled his drink. He jerked the glass away from his mouth and stared at you, genuine offense breaking through his carefully cultivated elegance, “what??”

“You heard me.”

“That’s not what I was about to propose!”

“You said he was difficult to impress, and then you looked at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’d already decided what I was going to do for him.”

“I had, but it wasn’t that,” Rafayel set his glass down with a delicate little click, his brows drawing together, “God, you’re disgusting…”

“You’re calling me disgusting?”

“You’re the one who immediately imagined yourself sleeping with an alpha for intel.”

“I imagined you trying to arrange it.”

“Well, stop imagining me in your perverted little schemes. I have standards.”

“You dragged an unaccompanied omega into an underground club full of masked alphas.”

You stared at each other across the narrow space until Rafayel released a deeply aggrieved sigh and adjusted the edge of his veil.

“For the record, I was going to propose violence,” he said.

You blinked, “excuse me?”

“A duel.”

The word landed between you without explanation.

Rafayel settled back into the booth as though he had suggested a friendly game of cards, “there’s a private arena nearby. The seller enjoys watching people fight, particularly people he hasn’t seen before. You enter, defeat your opponent, and give him something interesting enough to remember. If you impress him, he may become receptive to meeting you.”

You waited for the punchline. None came.

“You want me to beat someone up for his attention,” you repeated flatly. Unbelievable.

“I want you to demonstrate your talents in an environment where they’ll be properly appreciated,” he took another sip.

“That’s beating someone up,” you clarified.

“You make it sound so crude.”

“It is crude.”

“And yet you’re exceptionally good at it, from what I hear,” he teased, “a bunny hybrid omega who’s also an evolver…Now that’s something we don’t see everyday.”

You folded your arms, ignoring the pull beneath the healing wound at your ribs, “why would winning one fight make him agree to speak with me?”

“It might not.”

Your eyes narrowed, “what the fuck does that mean?”

“I said it may make him receptive,” Rafayel tipped his head, the pearls along his veil’s ear loops glimmering beneath the blue light, “no one can guarantee his interest. But he values strength, nerve, and people capable of surprising him. You possess all three whenever you aren’t busy being needlessly suspicious of me.”

“…Suppose I agree. You walk me to God knows what location, toss me into a room with some stranger, and hope the seller happens to enjoy the show?”

“Oh, no. You won’t be walking anywhere, silly rabbit.”

Something in the teasing way he said it made the back of your neck prickle, “why not?”

“No one is allowed to know how to reach the arena. The entrances change, the route is protected, and everyone invited arrives the same way.”

“And what way is that?”

Rafayel picked up his glass and took another leisurely sip before answering, “unconscious.”

You crossed your arms, “fuck no. Nope.”

“You haven’t heard the rest.”

“I heard enough.”

“It’s only a drink.”

“You want me to swallow something in an illegal club and let a group of strangers carry me into a hidden room while I’m unconscious??” You hissed.

“When you phrase it like that, you make the entire process sound terribly suspicious.”

“Because it is terribly suspicious!” You scoffed.

“The drink is safe,” he assured you, “it puts you to sleep long enough for them to move you. When it wears off, you wake inside the arena with one opponent waiting across from you. Neither of you knows who you’ll be facing beforehand. You fight, you win, and the seller watches from somewhere you won’t be able to see.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then you won’t impress him.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

The amusement in Rafayel’s eyes dimmed, “the duel ends when someone yields or can no longer continue.”

“…Safe to say that people die in there, then,” you safely assumed.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged, “people pay a lot of money to be able to participate in these things with the chance they’ll walk away with even more money. Or intel.”

“You really know how to make an offer,” you rolled your eyes.

“I can promise that you won’t be deliberately outmatched,” his answer came with none of the earlier playfulness, “I have an idea of what you can do, and I know enough about the person you’ll be facing to judge the risk. You’ll enter under the same conditions, with the same amount of information and the same restrictions. I won’t place you opposite someone who can kill you before you’ve had a fair chance to fight.”

The specificity of his answer caught against something in your mind.

You studied him more closely, “so you know who my opponent is.”

Rafayel’s eyes brightened. There it was. It was the same subtle gleam he got whenever the rest of the world was standing three steps behind him and he found the distance amusing. This idea hadn’t occurred to him tonight. He had arranged more than an opportunity and was enjoying how little of it you could see.

“What did you do?” You asked.

“Nothing.”

“That face means you did something.”

“What face?”

“The one you make when you have something up your sleeve.”

“I have two sleeves.”

“Rafayel.”

His quiet laugh disappeared beneath the music, “I may have taken a small interest in arranging a particularly compelling match…”

“Are they an alpha?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“Are they human?”

“Probably.”

Your glare sharpened.

“I’m joking,” he said, though the pleasure in his eyes suggested he was enjoying this far too much, “mostly.”

“What’s the twist?”

“That’s all I can reveal.”

“You expect me to agree without knowing who the hell you’ve chosen?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it needs to be fair game,” Rafayel leaned closer, lowering his voice until it slipped beneath the music and belonged only to you, “your opponent won’t know anything about you either before you enter. No name, no biology, no evol, no list of injuries or favored techniques. You’ll wake up equally blind, and whatever happens between you will be real.”

“Why does it need to be real?”

“Because the seller will know if it isn’t. He’s watched too many people hurt each other to mistake choreography for genuine desperation,” the silhouette of Rafayel’s mouth curved behind the veil, “if I paid someone to lose convincingly, he’d see through it before either of you threw the second strike. A plotted victory wouldn’t impress him. It’d insult him, and then neither of us would get what we want.”

“So you arranged the opponent, but not the outcome,” you pressed.

“I made certain the opportunity reached someone suitable.”

You searched his expression for anything else he might accidentally surrender. He remained relaxed beneath the shifting blue light, but his attention had sharpened. Whatever he had concealed inside this match mattered to him beyond helping with your investigation. You could feel the hook beneath the silk even if you couldn’t yet see what it was attached to.

His tone softened into something more serious, “you asked me for a favor. This is the price. It’s not like we’re doing a trade. And the thing you asked for comes with a heavy price tag attached to it. You’re in the dragon’s den, now. This isn’t your place and you know it. But if you want to get involved with something this seedy, well…You have to get your hands dirty, just like everyone else here. There’s no mercy in a place like this. Just power and what you’re willing to do to have it. 

Rafayel took the final sip of his drink with the same effortless composure he seemed to wear no matter the conversation.

“Then again, what would you know?” He sighed casually, turning further toward you on the couch. The movement was subtle, but you noticed it immediately. You noticed everything. The way his shoulders angled in your direction. The way his arm gradually lowered until it hovered closer to where your shoulders rested against the back of the couch. Your body stiffened on instinct long before he ever touched you, every muscle quietly tensing beneath your clothes as your pulse gave a wary thud, “you’re an omega, asking to play games with alphas…Nobody’s gonna have any mercy on you here when you willingly step through the door. You’ll get treated like one of us…Isn’t that what you want? Fairness in the world? Equal treatment? Or, are you a hypocrite?”

The words settled heavily inside your chest. You swallowed thickly, your throat suddenly feeling much drier than it had moments ago. Your lips parted, ready to argue, to tell him exactly why he was wrong, but nothing came. Nothing coherent, anyway. His questions struck too close to the parts of yourself you spent years refusing to examine. Wasn’t this exactly what you’d always demanded? Equal treatment. The chance to stand shoulder to shoulder with alphas instead of being coddled, underestimated, or hidden away because of the body you happened to be born into. You despised the way the world insisted your biology defined you before you’d even opened your mouth. You hated every instinct people projected onto you simply because you were an omega. You hated the expectation that you should be protected, cherished, handled carefully, as though you couldn’t possibly decide your own future. But hating the rules of the world didn’t magically erase them, and somewhere deep beneath your anger lived the infuriating awareness that he wasn’t entirely wrong. No matter how fiercely you rejected biology, biology had never stopped existing just because you refused to believe in it.

“You could just…” He shrugged as though the idea genuinely deserved consideration, his arm finally settling lightly around your shoulders with almost casual familiarity, “leave, go home and put on a nice little comfy movie, and accept that we live in an unfair world where unfortunately, our biology determines almost everything about us and there are just some things in nature none of us can possibly challenge—“

“—Just tell me I’m not walking into a God damn execution,” you cut him off immediately. The thought alone sent a spike of hot anger through your chest, sharp enough to drown out every other feeling as you shot your fist backward and knocked his arm firmly off your shoulders, pinning it briefly against the back of the couch before pushing it away from you altogether. The contact lingered for only a heartbeat, but it was enough to reclaim the space around yourself, “I hate this world. I hate biology. But even I know I can’t fight an alpha and still be on even grounds.”

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Rafayel’s expression lost some of its teasing edge. He looked at you quietly, almost thoughtfully, before answering with a sincerity so uncharacteristically genuine that it caught you off guard.

“I wouldn’t make you do anything that you’re not equipped to handle,” he said with as much sincerity as you could detect on him, “promise.”

You glanced out over the club, though there was nothing in the crowded room that could make the decision easier. Masked strangers spoke quietly over glittering drinks while security guarded doors disguised as decorative walls. Somewhere beyond all of it was the man who had sold the protocore fragment. You had come here to find him. Returning to headquarters with nothing would mean more analysis, more sealed requests, more committees debating jurisdiction while whoever built that core continued working. The trail was already narrow. If you walked away now, it might disappear completely, and Rafayel knew it. He had placed the choice in your hands only after making certain there was nowhere comfortable for you to set it down. You were cornered. Not by him alone, perhaps, but by the job, the evidence, and your own refusal to leave something dangerous unfinished simply because the path forward frightened you.

You looked back at him, letting his arm free as he retracted it, “what happens while I’m unconscious?”

“I stay with you.”

“For the entire time?”

“Until you’re placed safely in the preparation room.”

“Who carries me?”

“I do.”

“And who searches me?”

“No one.”

“They’re letting me enter their private arena without checking my phone?”

“I’ll have your phone secured. No one’s gonna undress you, or put their hands anywhere you haven’t permitted,” Rafayel’s voice cooled until even the air between you seemed to sharpen, “you’ll be under my protection while you can’t protect yourself. If anyone forgets that, they’ll have a very short opportunity to regret it.”

You took one last glance around the club, “…You swear no one touches me?”

“No one but me, and only long enough to carry you.”

The promise settled heavily between you. You still remembered the opera, the way Rafayel had moved you through that glittering crowd as both accomplice and distraction without revealing the whole shape of his plan. He had used you then. There was no polite way around that. But he had also delivered every piece of information he promised, and when the evening turned dangerous, he had never allowed that danger to fall on you alone. Trusting him remained a terrible idea. Unfortunately, it was the only useful one you had.

“If I win,” you said, “you get me in front of the seller.”

“If you impress him, he’ll decide whether to meet you.”

“No. I’m not swallowing some mystery drug, fighting a stranger, and accepting a maybe from you.”

“That’s the only answer I can honestly give.”

“…Then make sure I impress him.”

Rafayel’s eyes curved, “that part, cutie, is entirely up to you.”

You held his gaze for another long moment before grinding your teeth, “…Fine.”

His satisfaction appeared far too quickly.

“I hate that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says this is exactly what you wanted.”

“I wanted you to make an informed decision.”

“You wanted me to say yes.”

“Well, obviously. I went to so much trouble.”

Before you could threaten him again, Rafayel raised two fingers. A masked server appeared beside the booth almost immediately, carrying a narrow black tray. At its center sat a single smoked-glass vial, the liquid inside so dark that it swallowed the blue light instead of reflecting it. There was no label, no garnish, and no indication of what had been mixed into it.

You looked from the drink to Rafayel, “you already ordered it?”

“I was optimistic.”

“You were sure I’d agree.”

The server placed the drink before you and disappeared without a word. You picked it up but didn’t drink, turning the cold glass between your fingers as the dark liquid clung thickly to its sides.

“How long will I be out?” You asked hesitantly.

“Approximately ten minutes.”

“And if I wake up somewhere else?”

“You won’t.”

“…If I wake up missing an organ, I’m taking the matching one from you,” you hissed.

“That seems unfair. Mine are much more valuable.”

“If anybody touches me—”

“—They won’t.”

“If this opponent kills me—”

“—They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Rafayel leaned closer, his bright eyes steady above the violet veil, “I know your hatred for the kind of world we live in well enough to be sure. If there’s anything that’s gonna get you through…It’s your rage for the unjust. And I know it’s something you can capitalize on, in this kind of place. No one hates the world more than those who suffer from its unfairness.”

Your grip tightened around the glass, “…What the hell do you know about unfairness? You’re an alpha.”

He reached out and curled his fingers gently around the bottom of the vial, raising it toward your mouth without forcing it any closer.

“I’m more than that,” he murmured, “and you’re lucky you’re not a disgusting beta human. There’s worse in this world than us two.”

You gave him one last murderous look before throwing the drink back. It tasted bitter beneath a layer of artificial sweetness, cold and strangely heavy as it slid down your throat. You set the empty glass onto the tray, already opening your mouth to complain when the lights above Rafayel stretched into watery ribbons. The club tilted around you. Your fingers caught the front of his clothes as your balance vanished, but Rafayel was already moving. One arm secured itself around your waist while his other hand rose behind your head, guiding you carefully against his chest before you could strike the table.

“You bastard siren…You said ten minutes,” you muttered, fighting through the sudden weight dragging at your limbs.

“I said you would be unconscious for ten minutes. I didn’t say it would take ten minutes to work.”

“You fucking—”

“—I know.”

Your grip weakened against him. The music sank farther away while the blue lights blurred into darkness, leaving only Rafayel’s eyes clear above his veil.

“What—…The hell did you do?” You managed.

His hold tightened, keeping you secure as the room disappeared.