Page 43 of Hell's Secret Omega

The best he can do is help Cyrus extricate himself from the King’s grip and get him out of the Court. At least he can pass into the dark knowing Cyrus is no longer a pawn.

Chapter 26

CYRUS

It’s beenfour days since Cyrus last saw Mezor. The bond pulls tight, telling him Mezor is away. The ache claws at him. He should keep busy instead of wallowing, but he wants nothing more than to surround himself with Mezor’s scent. He fails to convince himself he shouldn’t.

The grotto is dark when he arrives. Slowly, the moss-glow rises as if responding to his presence, filling the massive cave with starlike glimmers. His skin prickles. He’s never been here while Mezor is away—it feels like he’s crossing an invisible line. He goes straight to the cottage, letting himself into the back room.May as well go all the way.He dives into Mezor’s bed and buries himself in the furs and blankets, drinking in gulps of the heady scent that billows up.

It smells like them together, soothing the worst of the ache. But a different type of unhappiness creeps in.

Mate, his vergis insists.

Not my mate. It’s just an arrangement.He buries his face in their combined scent again and breathes deeply. The furs slide against his horns decadently. He lets his hand wander down.

His own touch is a cold substitute for Mezor’s hands on him. His cock twitches weakly and gives up. Cyrus sighs.

This was his last heat. When he comes out of the Hellspring the second time, after the King grants him access, he’ll be null. Or, maybe in a twist of cruel irony, he’ll be a primus. Either way, he can’t imagine ever allowing another creature to touch him the way Mezor does. Who would compare to him? It’s not just his firm, knowing touch, the wicked things he does with his mouth, or even the voracious stare that makes Cyrus melt. It’s the way he treats Cyrus like he’s worthy—like he’s an actual person, not just a cog in a machine. Not just a book of secrets.

He shuts his eyes, letting himself sink into memory for an indulgent moment.

Memories are tinged with longing, though, and soon the bond aches again. Reluctantly, he gets up from the bed and takes himself outside to sit by the creek. He strips off his boots and dangles his feet in the icy water, and the cold shocks him fully back to himself.

He doesn’t hear Mezor return. Cyrus startles to see him appear silently at the water’s edge. Mezor says nothing, his mouth pressed shut and his eyes dark and tired.

Cyrus starts to get up, but Mezor shakes his head and takes a seat next to him. “Stay.”

He unlaces his boots with jerky movements and sticks his own feet in the water, hissing at the cold. The lines around his mouth slowly fade, but his shoulders remain taut and his claws dig into the pebbled bank. Anger washes through the bond in waves. Cyrus bites his tongue. His feet are going numb, but he doesn’t dare pull them out now. Mezor seems to need this.

In spite of Mezor’s mood, he can’t deny the sheer relief that sweeps over him as the bond settles.

Suddenly Mezor lets out a long sigh. He unclenches his hands. “Have you waited long?”

Cyrus shakes his head mutely, taking the chance to yank his feet out. They’re dark with coursing ichor and aching from the cold.

“Let me.” Mezor gestures at his feet abruptly.

“Wha—?” Cyrus frowns at him, and Mezor takes his foot and tumbles him on to his back. He yelps. Powerful hands stroke and pull, easing the flow of blood back to the appendage.

“Relax,” Mezor growls.

“You don’t need to,” Cyrus mumbles, but his spine rapidly turns to liquid and his ability to speak goes with it. Mezor only grunts. His anger rises and falls, filling Cyrus and then leaving him empty. All Cyrus can do is shut his eyes and try to breathe through it. For the first time, their connection feels overwhelming.

“Was it successful? Whatever you had to do.”

Mezor scowls. “I had a meeting with the King.”

“Oh.”

Mezor’s hands move to his other foot. “It’s inconsequential.”

Cyrus’s nature is to prod, and his vergis wants him to reach out. To comfort and soothe. But it isn’t that kind of bond. They’re not mates. He keeps his lips closed until Mezor’s fingers dig into his calves, until he can’t hold back the shockedAh!that spills out and the wave of arousal that follows. At least this is familiar. The bond wraps around him comfortingly, and he lets his eyes drift shut.

This is what their arrangement is about.

The button on Cyrus’s pants gives way under Mezor’s demanding claw. Then he’s being divested of his clothing, flipped over onto his front in the cushiony moss. The ground glimmers before his eyes and everything bursts into bright sparks as Mezors hot, firm tongue slides across his hole.

“Ohhh,” he moans, twisting.

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