Zephariel jerks awake in horror and agony, sniffing the air to find the scent of his mate. To his despair, the room is sterile. Not a trace of scent is left behind – from either Yoru or Yuri.
He grapples to hold onto the reality in front of him. So dark and desolate without the warmth of his beloved and the joy from his kitten's beaming smile. He fancies hearing Yuri's chirping voice calling his name in the dark. Mister. The cute pout on his sleepy face. The puffing cheeks when he demands his midnight honey-sweetened milk. Mister, I don't want to frighten the servants of the house, but I also don't want to upset you. The timid voice whispers in his ears, those nimble fingers grasping onto his. So sweet. So delicate. So his. Only his. Must be his.
He throws the duvet to the floor and lunges toward the mahogany doors. If there's one thing he's learned from all his time living as God and human, it is the essential rule of survival of the fittest. If he wants something, he will get it. Fight for it. Steal it. Even if the force he faces is much stronger than him. And his debtor.
Before he kicks the doors open, Yoru shoves them in.
"Well, look who's finally awake. What a long nap you've taken." He chuckles, a mischievous light glitters in those unfathomable dark eyes.
"Where is he?" Zephariel nearly bites Yoru's smug head off.
"Who?"
"My mate."
"Who?"
"The one you kidnapped."
"Who?"
Zephariel grinds his teeth. Yoru looks utterly bored by his fierce demeanor and the rising fury in those stormy azure eyes. It's no use, he thought, this Supreme Deity is hiding something. Something dangerous. Something that could change his and Yuri's life forever. Yoru tilts his head, raising one eyebrow in a questioning stare, as if to ask with mockery, Is that all you've got?
Swallowing his pride, Zephariel steps back, keeping an appropriate distance, trying to find the right answer to Yoru's impulsive test. "Your Highness, I was wrong."
"I don't know. In what sense, though?" Yoru said, glancing at his perfectly manicured fingertips with a tired expression.
"I shouldn't treat you with such brass behavior."
"And?"
"I shouldn't forget you are coming today."
"Today? Meh. It's been seven days since. But go on. You're doing great." Yoru snorts derisively, but he makes no move from his standing place by the doors.
"Seven –? Then where –?" Zephariel raises his voice, lunging forward once more to get to the hallway. Immediately, a resounding slap lands square and fair on his face. Red hot.
"I said go. On." Yoru repeats his demand, unflinching. The God stays quiet in his lane, too stunned to speak. "If you don't know, I'll let you know. First, you lay a hand on what's not yours."
"But –"
"But go fuck yourself, Zephariel. I said shut up. Second, you have no right to interfere with Yuriel's karmic cycle. Third –"
"They were –"
"One more word," Yoru grasps the taller man's chin, his voice grows shrill and sharp with anger, "And you won't hear another thing about your kitten." Zephariel retreats, biting his cheeks. "Good boy. Third, you committed a macabre crime – massacred humans to entertain a Supreme Deity. Who allowed you such freedom? And finally," Yoru hisses, "You violate your deal with me."
"The deal was for me to kill that thing. In return, I get to have Yuriel." Zephariel mutters between his teeth.
"No." Yoru corrects him with two more slaps. "The deal was for you to ascend the throne with Yuriel as your guardian Supreme Deity. In return, you must protect the boy."
"I never said such things."
"Then maybe we should break this promise. Yuriel can find someone else."
"You dare lay a hand on my omega, Yoru," Zephariel, upon hearing those words, plunges his hand forward and snaps the other's frail neck in a deadly squeeze, "And your ending will be worse than dead."
"Oh, really?" Yoru smirks, twisting his head back in place. "I'd love to see you try."
Zephariel wields his Scythe from the realm of Oblivion, ready to let his anger take control. But a familiar, feathery voice caresses his brain at the right time, and he releases the frail deity in a millisecond.
"Um, Mister, what are you and Yoru doing?"
Mercilessly throwing Yoru aside, like a baggage of sand, he springs toward the source of his soul's music. There Yuri stands, unharmed, still wearing Zephariel's shirt, with his hair cut short, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Yuri sucks on his cherry-flavored candy and lets the sweet go with a regretful 'pop.' His lips and tongue are dyed red. "Mister, you've been asleep for a while. Must've been tiring, taking care of the estate. Yoru said he'd come to help you so it'll be fine now, right?" He beams.
Zephariel feels his world shatter. His kitten is so trusting, so naive, so easy to fool that it's becoming a deadly fault. He wants to tell Yuri that his fawning over Yoru is wrong. That the latter will bring here nothing but trouble. That he is the sole reason Yuri had to suffer so much to the point of suppressing his own memory.
That Zephariel wants to protect him. That among heaven and earth, he should only have absolute trust and faith in Zephariel alone.
But the cruel interest playing in Yoru's darker than black eyes holds him back. One wrong word and he would lose his treasure forever. The stakes are too high and the odds aren't in his favor. Not yet. He inhales sharply, calming himself down.
In a greedy hunger, he scoops Yuri into his arms, burrowing his nose into the boy's neck, getting his whole week's worth of rose and cardamom. Something wet trails down his face, tickling Yuri's nape, and the boy shrieks with delight. "Mister, you're all stubble and snots. It's funny."
Snots? He doesn't remember getting a cold. But there's a wet feeling. And it does feel funny inside his chest. Something bordering between agony and happiness.
Yoru smirks in the corner, mocking the pathetic God who is tasting love for the first time: "Yeah, it's funny. How long since the last time you cried, huh, Zephariel?"
Zephariel startles. He wipes his cheeks, bewildered. It's not snots. It's tears. A thousand years since the time his comrades died in the battle against the predecessors to the Throne of Oblivion, and the tears are flowing freely again.