Page 21 of Hell's Secret Omega

Emotion makes his breath catch—humiliation, or maybe longing. Mezor douses the torch, plunging them into darkness. Cyrus can only hang on tightly as Mezor ducks through the doorway, shutting the door behind them.

Mezor’s chest is solid under his cheek. Being in his arms is like nothing he’s felt before—nothing he’s ever dreamed of wanting. During his heat he longs to be fucked. But he never dreams of being held. Twin desires battle—he never wants Mezor to put him down, but he needs to sit on that thick primus cock again. Heat is confusing.

His reprieve is brief. It’s not until his nose is pressed to Mezor’s firm muscle and he’s inhaling the scent beneath his shirt like it’s the air itself that he realizes a fresh heat wave is crashing over him. Pain jabs his abdomen and he groans. His hole clenches on nothing. It’s so intense he starts to shake, gasping into Mezor’s chest.

A deep rumble reverberates through the Hunter. His scent rises, too, and Cyrus drinks in more and more of it until his head spins.

“Soon,” Mezor growls. “I smell your need. We’ll be there soon.”

“Need itnow,” Cyrus gasps, encircling his cock with one shaking hand. His own touch is a pale shadow of a primus’s hand. He whines, his throat tightening with frustration.

“You’re being so patient, bright flame.” Mezor’s thumb strokes his shoulder.

Slick leaks out of his hole, making a mess he can smell. Mezor’s touch is good but not enough.

Mezor stops, shouldering open a broad, wooden door. He sets Cyrus on his feet and Cyrus fights his shaky legs to stay upright. No longer in Mezor’s arms, he suddenly feels exposed.

Mezor lights the torches, and Cyrus rips his gaze from his broad back and forces himself to take in their surroundings. The room is an open format hall with a raised plinth in the middle. One end has crumbled into rubble, which explains its disuse. White marble statues stand in nooks in the wall, all looking down on the plinth—angels in poses of serenity, their wings folded sedately. One holds a book, another a set of scales, another a bare branch. On either side of the plinth is a gallery of stone seating.

“Where is this?”

A smirk overtakes Mezor’s lips. “It’s a viewing room for mating.”

“A…viewing room?” Cyrus’s knees falter. He grips the door frame. A sudden image of demons seated in the gallery while Mezor takes him flashes before his eyes. He’s not sure if it’s horrifying or arousing.

“Angels are depraved bastards. Before the cataclysm, primus and vergis were so rare for their kind that they built a whole room to watch them fuck and celebrate their mating.” Mezor returns to his side. “Can you walk?”

His pride rears. “Of course!”

Proving it is a different matter. But the Hunter doesn’t intervene as he wobbles his way across the room. Finally hemakes it to the plinth. He pauses. There’s no way he can get up there. His vergis whines, wanting Mezor’s cock in him, his arms around him, his soothing voice.

“Why did you bring me here?” he mumbles.

Mezor looms. He lifts Cyrus effortlessly onto the plinth, his grip just this side of rough—perfect. “I’d fuck you on the King’s throne if I could, in front of the whole Court. Show every miserable soul on this mountain just how precious a vergis is. But I would never put you in real danger. Instead, imagine these seats are full. See them watching and envying you while your heat burns everything away and you become your purest self.”

The room blurs around him. He should hate the idea, but instead it fills him with hunger.

“Yes,” he groans hoarsely, reaching for Mezor. “Fuck me in front of them.”

Mezor grins. He sheds his own clothing, all grace and power as he climbs onto the plinth. The glowing marks on his chest crawl all the way down to his belly to meet the thatch of dark hair framing the thing Cyrus wants the most right now—his huge cock. His tip points outward, dragged down by its own weight. Gleaming veins run up the length of the shaft. Most deadly of all is the bulge at the base where his full knot would form. Cyrus’s eyes lock on that thick protrusion and his mouth waters.That’s how he would mate me. With a knot.

Mezor’s massive horns block out the light as he looms over Cyrus. He strokes his cock, squeezing the bulb at its base. “This is just a proto-knot—not the real thing. I won’t knot you now.”

Cyrus swallows thickly. “I can handle a knot.”

Mezor points his cock downward and smears its glistening wetness over Cyrus’s stomach. “Once my knot enters you I’d go into a thrall. It’s too dangerous.”

A thrall means he’d be bound to Cyrus’s word—bound to do anything he desired. Dangerous or not, his vergis wants to sink his claws into Mezor andownhis knot. He squirms.

“Tell me you understand.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I want your knot.”

“I know.” Mezor bares his teeth, fangs glistening. “Trust me, I know. But we can’t.”

Cyrus whines, hypnotized by the way Mezor’s cock pulses as it weeps precome. “Fuck me,” he begs, losing the thread of Mezor’s words. Why can’t they do everything together?

“I will. But first you have to tell me you understand.”

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