The morning light in the Soren mansion was cold, filtering through the heavy velvet curtains of the master suite like a judgmental eye. Soren hadn't slept. He sat in a wingback chair across from the bed, his silk shirt open, his amber eyes fixed on the sleeping form of Mika.
He looked at the boy—his silver hair a messy halo against the black pillows, the bite mark on his neck a deep, bruised violet. Every time he looked at Mika, the same question gnawed at his soul: Is this love, or am I just addicted to the power of owning him? He remembered the docks. He remembered the look of sheer, bone-deep exhaustion in Mika's eyes when he was caught. Soren's heart had twisted—a sensation he wasn't used to. A predator shouldn't feel guilt for catching its prey. And yet, as he watched Mika stir in his sleep, Soren felt a desperate, suffocating need to be loved back, not just feared.
The Serpent's Shadow
A light tap on the door broke his trance. Soren's face instantly shifted from vulnerability to cold stone. He stood up and opened the door just an inch, his frame blocking any view of the bed.
It was Viktor. The "sweet" companion looked pale, his hands shaking as he held a silver tray. He hadn't forgotten the way Soren had roared at him the day before.
"Soren... the Gala is tonight," Viktor whispered, his eyes darting toward the bed. "The Council is expecting you. They are asking about... him. They say a King shouldn't be distracted by a runaway debtor."
Soren stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a finality that made Viktor jump. He leaned down, his face inches from Viktor's.
"The Council can ask whatever they want," Soren hissed, his voice a low, vibrating threat. "But if I hear you—or anyone else—calling him a 'debtor' again, I will burn those Council chambers to the ground with everyone inside. Do you understand?"
Viktor's eyes filled with a flash of pure, poisonous hatred, though he nodded quickly. Why? he thought, his nails digging into the silver tray. Why does this brat get the protection of a God while I am treated like a servant? If Soren won't let him go, then I will make sure the Gala becomes Mika's funeral.
The Spicy Awakening
Soren re-entered the room. Mika was awake, sitting up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on the locked door.
"You're going to the Gala," Mika said, his voice raspy. "Leave me here. Just for one night, Soren. Let me breathe without your shadow over me."
Soren didn't answer. He walked to the bed and crawled over Mika, his large, tattooed hands pinning the Omega's shoulders into the mattress. The "sweet-spice" of their bond erupted instantly—a thick, intoxicating cloud of Dark Bourbon and Jasmine.
"I'm not leaving you anywhere, Mika," Soren groaned, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of Mika's collarbone. "You're coming with me. You're going to wear my diamonds, you're going to stand by my side, and you're going to let every Alpha in that room know that you are the property of the Soren line."
The love-making that followed was the most detailed and intense yet. It was a battle of "Love vs. Obsession." Soren worshiped Mika's body with a desperate hunger, his hands mapping every curve as if he were trying to memorize Mika's soul. Every kiss was deep, spicy, and filled with a silent plea: Don't run again. Mika's resistance crumbled under the sheer weight of Soren's presence. His back arched, his fingers tangling in Soren's dark hair as he let out a jagged moan. For a few hours, the "Bad Eye" was gone, replaced by the haze of a shared, dark fever.
"You are my peace," Soren whispered against Mika's lips, his thrusts deep and possessive. "And I will never let you leave the world I've built for you."