"I'm still burning," Riven whispered, voice cracked and dazed.
"I know." The man brushed damp hair from his forehead, fingers unbearably gentle. "But I'm here now."
Riven blinked up at him. His gaze fractured—like a soldier who'd seen war and wore its scars. Yet beneath the wreckage: devotion. No claim. No brand. Just choice.
His thoughts fogged. Even the man's face blurred, too hazy to catch. Still, gratitude bloomed sharp in his chest. This stranger had pulled him from the nightmare. Saved him from the Omegas.
But another truth pressed in: he'd submitted. Fully. To someone nameless.
He—the S-Class Alpha of the Virellian Clan—had yielded. On his back. To a stranger.
The thought twisted in his gut, humiliation flickering. And yet—no regret. No pain. Only the memory of pheromones that had soothed instead of suffocated. Safety, unfamiliar but real. His body had trusted without hesitation.
"Who are you?" Riven rasped, eyes straining to focus. "Are you Alpha? Beta? I can't smell you at all." He swallowed hard. "Honestly… it's kind of nice."
The man's mouth curved in a velvet smile. "That's not what matters. You do."
Riven's eyes fluttered. "You said you wouldn't mark me."
His throat bobbed, voice rough. "Because I didn't want fate to choose for us. I want you to choose me. Not in heat. Not in ruin. But clear. Free."
Riven's chest tightened. His eyes stung—not from fever, but something quieter.
Something that hurt in a gentler way.
"No one's ever said that to me," he breathed.
The man's smile lingered, steady, unshaken. "Then let me be the first."
He shifted closer, fingers tracing Riven's jaw. His body was taut, coiled thunder under skin. He'd wanted to mark—Riven could feel it in the tremor of his grip, the catch in his breath. But restraint had held.
Riven jolted awake, hand flying to his temple. His skull throbbed, but it wasn't the headache that gutted him.
He was naked. Flat on the bed, swaddled in a thin blanket.
No clothes. No memory. Just soreness.
Panic spiked. He sat up too fast.
"Shit—" His lower back screamed. Hips ached, spine bruised, everything swollen and raw.
He froze. Then whispered to the empty room, "What the hell did I do?"
No answer. Just the echo of silence.
Last night was a blur—too many Omegas, too much heat. He'd never been exposed to that much scent before. Even an S-Class Alpha had limits. Biology didn't forgive.
And if that stranger hadn't appeared… he didn't want to think about it.
The stranger.
Riven's breath stuttered. He'd slept with someone. Someone faceless. Unknown.
His hand flew to his collarbone. No mark. Relief hit sharp and dizzy.
"I'm safe," he breathed. "He didn't mark me."
But his body still felt wrecked.
"Damn, my back's killing me. And my ass—" he groaned, collapsing against the sheets. "Feels like a war zone."
Then he remembered the scent—the suffocating cloud of Omega pheromones that had clung to him like smoke. He lifted his wrist to his nose.
Nothing. Just clean skin.
"It's gone." The words trembled. Relief surged, shaky and strange.
Relief—and anger.
Because yes, the scent was erased. But by who? Some stranger he hadn't chosen. A man whose face he couldn't even recall.
His stomach twisted. Gratitude and humiliation warred inside him, tearing him in two.
He clenched the blanket tighter. "He better pray I never find out who he is," Riven muttered, voice sharp with fury. "I don't care if he saved me. He still took advantage when I was down."
He shoved himself upright. Pain stabbed his lower back, buckling his legs. He caught the bedframe, breath ragged. Every movement punished him, hips throbbing, spine screaming. Still, he forced himself to stand.
Piece by piece, he gathered his clothes, dressing with stiff, deliberate motions. Then staggered toward the bathroom.
The shower scalded and soothed, steam wrapping him in silence. But the soreness clung, buried deep, refusing to wash away.
When he stepped back into the hall, every footfall sent sparks of pain through his body. He braced against the wall, jaw clenched.
"Damn him," he muttered. "And that ridiculous stamina."
The words tasted bitter, but the burn in his chest ran deeper than soreness. His pride ached worse than his body.
"He's not here," Nyxen muttered as he stepped back into the hotel room.
He'd woken early—his secretary's call dragging him out of sleep. Leaving Riven behind had felt safe; after last night, there was no way he'd be moving much. Too intense. Too raw. Nyxen himself was still piecing his restraint back together after the hunger had torn through it.
He'd planned to take Riven home once he woke. But now—
The bed was empty. The room, silent.
For a moment, surprise flickered. Then his lips curved. "Riven... still the same. Always slipping away. How long do you plan on running from me?"
No anger. No frustration. If anything, he felt exhilarated.
Riven was close. He could feel it—like a trace of smoke on the air. Sometimes his scent burned sharp. Sometimes it vanished. And now, just like before, he was gone.
Nyxen's chest tightened with something dangerous and sweet. He'd searched for this man for years. He wasn't about to let him disappear again.
"Nyxen," came a voice from the doorway.
His secretary stepped in, moving quickly.
"You know already?" Nyxen asked without turning.
"It was his birthday a few days ago," the man replied. "The Virellian family booked the ballroom. They're the ones who filled it with Omegas in heat."
Nyxen's smile faltered, sharpness sliding beneath it. "They locked him in with Omegas?" His voice was low, edged with disbelief that cut into fury.
The secretary hesitated. That was answer enough.
"Why," Nyxen murmured, more to himself than to the man. "Why would they throw their own heir into that?"
Silence hung heavy.
"He's gone," the secretary said finally, scanning the room.
Nyxen's grin returned—cool, wolfish. "No. He escaped."
"You can leave," he added with a dismissive nod.
The man bowed quickly and slipped out.
Alone, Nyxen crossed to the bed. His hand brushed the sheets, slow, deliberate. He pressed his palm down, inhaling the faint ghost of warmth still left there. His smile softened, dangerous in its devotion.
"I've finally found you," he whispered. "My Alpha."