Page 16 of Hell's Secret Omega

Safe in those strong arms. His body in my nest.

Cyrus shudders.No, no, no.

He fishes the arrow out of his coat with unsteady hands. It leaves his grip and is gone in a flash.

He takes out his scent suppressor, nearly depleted now, and slathers the remainder of it under his jaw and across his wrists. His heart beats his ribs like the wings of a frightened bird. Except he’s not scared—he can’t be.

It’s just one meeting.

The suppressor will protect him from discovery. All he needs to do is act normal.

Too weak to stand any longer, Cyrus sinks to the cold stone. He’ll just rest for a bit.

He’s not sure what wakes him this time. It’s dark, the haze of the Pit obscuring the moon. A soft light flares in the corner of his eye and he turns, but the light is gone. Goosebumps run across his arms.

“Hello?”

A heady, familiar scent trickles into his lungs. A burst of heat explodes through him. Cyrus struggles to his feet.Oh no.

“Hunter?”

“You smell different.” The deep, rich timbre of Mezor’s growl washes over him like a balm. He sucks back a breath, inadvertently drawing more of that ozone-rich scent into himself. He wants to bathe in it, wrap it around himself.

Cyrus grips the wall. “I should go.”

“You’re not well.”

“It’s nothing,” he manages, taking a trembling step. In the dark, he’s completely disoriented. Where is the door?

“It’s not nothing.”

The scrape of Mezor’s boot coming closer sends a shiver down his spine. He fumbles in his coat for the flint, striking it clumsily. Sparks fly.

A brief intake of breath comes from behind. Close, too close. “Your scent…it’s powerful. But wrong.”

Cyrus lights the nearest torch and struggles to unlatch it from its sconce. Brandishing it, he finally turns.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Mezor commands, his eyes blazing. The look on his face makes Cyrus’s whole body explode with chills.

Cyrus’s knees wobble. Heat bursts in his belly. He gasps. “I—I can’t?—”

His legs give out. His horn hits the stone with a crack that reverberates through his skull painfully. Mezor lets out a roar that shakes the walls and he lunges forward. Cyrus curls instinctively, bracing for a blow.He’s figured it out. He’s going to kill me.

Boots land next to him and he flinches. He’s being lifted into the air like he weighs nothing. He struggles weakly against the Hunter’s strength, but his arms are iron bars around Cyrus.

“You’re a vergis,” Mezor growls. Cyrus’s heart pounds like a forge hammer with a terrible combination of fear and arousal. He squeezes his eyes shut, but he can’t stop Mezor from landing the final blow. “And you’re in heat.”

It’s pointless to beg a creature who can lift him like he weighs no more than a feather, but he has no choice. “Don’t tell anyone. Please. They’d kill me.”

“I would never.” The sheer fury in Mezor’s voice shocks him. “If anyone knowingly harmed a vergis I’d rip them to pieces and scatter their body across Hell.”

Cyrus opens his eyes.

“You—what?”

Mezor’s markings are glowing, silver flickers lighting his face from below. He looks every inch the god he is, and Cyrus is lightheaded. “Vergis are more precious than gold. Any primus would burn the world down for a vergis in heat.”

He has to remember to breathe. “But vergis are weak—and weakness is pathetic?—”

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