Viktor
The bell above the bakery door rang, slicing through the quiet rhythm of kneading dough. It was nearly 8pm, and the sudden chime startled me enough that my flour-coated hands froze mid-air.
I turned, irritation already rising, not because I was scared, but because I had a tray of croissants proofing and I hated interruptions. Especially at this hour.
"Whoever that is," I muttered under my breath, "you'd better not have come here for a damn cupcake."
But when I saw the stranger's shoes grinding flakes of dirt into the clean tiles, something inside me snapped.
Not only did he disturb me at my most sacred moment, but he dared enter my bakery with his shoe! This was it, I was going to kill him.
I stormed from behind the counter, grabbed the intruder by the collar, and yanked him down to the floor.
Even I was surprised at the strength I possessed.
"It's 8pm in the evening. No one should be here. You had the audacity to come in here uninvited!" I clamored. "You're not just ruining my quiet time, you're messing up the entire…"
I stopped as soon as I noticed that the man staring back at me wasn't offended in the slightest bit. In fact, it did seemed like he was genuinely amused by my anger.
And that seemed to make my blood boil a tad. How could I be giving him the scolding of his life and he looks at me, pleased?
Had I let a mad man into my bakery?
Nahh! I didn't let him in. The mad man let himself in, and I was going to show him exactly why that was a mistake.
For the first time since I yanked him on the floor, I stared down to look at him. Up close, he was devastatingly gorgeous. Not in a soft or delicate way, but in a way that screamed both desire and despair.
You could say he was sinfully attractive. Like a perfect dough. His skin held a smoothness that seemed sculpted rather than born, every line of his face clean and untouched. The dim lighting brushed along his jaw, making it shine with a metallic sharpness. His eyes,clear, cold blue, followed me with an intensity that felt almost indulgent.
When my voice fell silent, the thrill in his expression softened, curdling into something far more dangerous.
"Why'd you stop?" he breathed, leaning in slightly. "I was this close to coming."
…What?
I raised an eyebrow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting. That was when my eyes caught a glimpse of it, dark red spreading through the fabric of his blue shirt. The smell hit me a second later. Blood, fresh blood. Which obviously wasn't from my yanking.
I released his collar instantly and pressed my hand against the upper left side of his abdomen. He winced, a reflexive twitch of his hand lifting like he might strike, then dropping again.
"You're bleeding," I said, stating the obvious.
His eyes studied me like I had suddenly grown two heads. I frowned, unable to hold back my anger. "Do you find it amusing that you're on the verge of dying?"
He shook his head, the smug smile still displaying on his lips. "I find it amusing that you didn't notice I was bleeding, when I've been with you in this bakery for over five minutes, having you touch me and turn me on."
Goosebumps prickled across my skin at his last statement, but I forced myself to stay focused. The last thing I needed was to fall for another dangerous man, God knew I seemed to attract them like a curse.
After losing my parents at seventeen, this bakery became everything. My inheritance, my responsibility, my whole life wrapped into one small shop that smelled of sugar and warm bread.
I had nowhere else to go. I supposed I still had an uncle, but the moment he learned about my sexuality, he insisted I would "corrupt" his sons and threw me out. Since then, the bakery had been my home, its backroom my bedroom, its ovens my comfort, its quiet nights my only company.
Fortunately, my parents had taught me more than just the basics of baking. Those lessons kept the business alive… and kept me alive with it.
Ignoring his gimmicks, I walked to the cupboard by the counter to retrieve the first-aid kit I only had to use whenever I got a new set of knives. I was a good baker, but it didn't stop me from being clumsy.
I walked back to him with the box in hand and knelt beside his stool, bringing us almost eye to eye. "You need to take off your shirt so I can treat the wound."
"This is a first," he said with an amused lift of his brow. "An Omega giving me orders."
I frowned. I had tried so hard to hide my scent, layering expensive perfumes, burning herbs meant to mask it, doing everything I could think of to erase it. Yet somehow, he still knew.
I didn't know how to feel about being an omega. Among werewolves, vampires, fae, and even shifter clans, omegas were often looked down on, treated like they were weak or disposable. My parents had managed to give me a better life than most omegas ever had, but the truth never changed.
The scent clung to me.
It always did.
And despite all my efforts to cover it… he had seen straight through me. I glared at him while grabbing the first-aid kit.
"Are you worried about the status of your savior even at the entrance to hades?"
To my surprise, he cocked his head and smiled. "No, you see, degradation is my kink." Immediately, he unbuttoned his, shirt revealing a lean, toned torso smeared with blood. He sat on one of the stools, spreading his legs slightly, wearing a smirk that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.
I ignored the look, rolled a stool to sit in front of him, and took out a pair of tweezers.
"And here I was thinking you'd use my blood to moisten your hole for me," he said casually.
"For someone who just got shot, you sure talk a lot," I muttered, leaning closer. The bullet hadn't gone deep, his muscles had done a good job of slowing it.
"I like pain," he said smoothly. "Can I pay extra for more?" He paused, studying my reaction. "And this time, might I select the tools that could aid that inclination?"
I ignored him and focused on removing the bullet. When it hit the table with a soft clink, I pressed a cloth over the wound and poured antiseptic. That finally made him hiss and squirm.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at my lips. "I almost thought you were a brick wall. Good to know you're human."
"Hmmm!" He breathed, leaning toward me with that infuriating smirk. "I am anything but human." He said. I could swear I saw his eyes glow. "Do you always talk like that when you patch men up, pretty boy?"
I didn't answer. I wasn't even sure why I was helping him. Instinct? Pity? Annoyance?Maybe it was because, despite the blood and chaos, he didn't seem afraid. And some part of me, some stubborn, omega part, wanted to understand why.
Or perhaps it was because my life had been too dull and I needed to have a little bit of fun.
I leaned in slightly, pressing the cloth deeper.
"It's obvious what resource aids your thinking. But next time, try not to get yourself shot because you dick takes the lead."
Something in him suddenly shifted. I couldn't tell if it was due to my words, but his playful aura vanished, replaced by a cold, empty stillness. His gaze sharpened, emotion draining until he looked like something that didn't belong in a bakery at all.
Before I could react, the door slammed open and five men rushed inside, they looked pale as snow. And I wondered if they had been sleeping outside since the beginning of winter.
I scowled at the dirt tracking across the floor, but the stranger's voice cut through before I could speak. "Do not enter." It was cold, flat, no warmth, no hesitation. "The omega doesn't like messes."
The men froze, mid-step, their fear practically radiating off them. I glanced back, and the stranger had risen. He gave me only a partial profile, his expression unreadable, before moving toward the door. The men bowed their heads as he passed, as if he were something to be worshiped… or something they hoped to survive.
At the doorway, he paused. Turned. Looked at me. His smile was back on, although accompanied by something sinister. And then he said, with calm finality: "Now for why I was really here. Your father owed my family a great disservice… and I was sent to kill you."