The tearing of Arion’s clothes was a loud, vulgar sound in the quiet sanctity of the royal library.
Kyon’s hands, so often admired for their graceful beauty, were now a possessive, dominating force.
Arion could only tremble on his knees, his mind and body completely overwhelmed by Kyon’s unmasked alpha scent and his possessive touch.
Kyon’s fingers, stained with a mix of Arion’s blood and his own, traced a line down the center of Arion’s chest, a silent, powerful claim.
He leaned in, his breath a warm, commanding ghost against Arion’s skin.
Arion was on fire, his entire being screaming for Kyon to take him, to end the terrible, beautiful agony of his heat.
Two maidservants were walking past the library, their voices a soft murmur.
“Did you smell that?” one of them whispered.
“It smells like an omega in heat and an alpha in rut.”
The second maidservant hummed in agreement.
“It smells good, though! A very powerful scent.”
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across Kyon’s face.
The raw, predatory light in his eyes softened just slightly, replaced by a cold, calculating victory.
He looked down at Arion, his thumb still pressed against the mark on Arion’s belly, a silent testament to their secret.
Kyon’s voice was a low, dangerous whisper, a sound that sent a shiver of both fear and desire down Arion’s spine.
“Keep quiet,” he commanded, his words punctuated by the possessive pressure of his thumb.
“Unless you want them to find out that the Black Tiger of the North is in heat and being taken by a ‘fragile’ omega prince.”
Then, with a flourish of his hand, Kyon unbuckled his belt.
The soft metallic sound was a final nail in the coffin of Arion’s defiance.
The last flicker of Arion’s alpha pride was extinguished, leaving only the burning, desperate need of an omega for his alpha.