6. The First One

6. The First One

When he first learned he was pregnant, he was not especially surprised. His family — the pride of generations — had collapsed in a matter of years under his stewardship, and he had been forced to sell the very manor that was the Teiwind name made stone. Learning that Kloff had been the buyer had exhausted every last reserve of shock and disbelief, so the pregnancy was received with something closer to calm. No — if anything, he thought it might be a stroke of fortune. The child's father was none other than Kloff Bendyke.

In a way, it had been the last thing he'd expected. Setting aside the fact that he was an alpha, he had never imagined Kloff would extend a hand to someone who had ruined himself through his own stupidity. While every "friend" and "relative" who had once scrambled for the count's attention refused his desperate letters, Kloff had come to him — found him still hunched over his unanswered correspondence — and offered a proposal. Aeroc could remain at the manor.

"Is there anything you're actually good at?"

"Literature, music, and art — anything related to those fields."

"So, nothing."

Kloff's gaze had never been particularly warm toward Aeroc, but that day it was genuinely predatory — the eyes of a beast scenting blood. As though he already knew something.

"It doesn't matter if you can't earn your keep. You have a different role to fill for me."

"Which is?"

"You'll find out when the time comes. And since I'm the master of this house now and you're a dependent, I'd suggest you mind your manners."

A fair demand. Even so, switching to formal speech on the spot was not easy. After a considerable pause, the best Aeroc managed was: "Understood."

And truly, Kloff asked nothing of him. He was busy with various affairs and rarely home — leaving early, returning late. On the few occasions they passed each other in the corridors, Kloff offered a faintly mocking glance but an otherwise impeccable nod and moved on.

At first, encountering him had been deeply uncomfortable — terrifying, even. Aeroc spent anxious days wondering whether Kloff knew. But Kloff showed no intent beyond derision at the Teiwind downfall. Given his nature — a man constitutionally incapable of the polite duplicity that aristocratic society demanded — it was possible he genuinely harbored no ulterior motive. Surrounded on every side by despair, Aeroc was desperate enough to suppress even reasonable suspicion. For a while, things seemed to pass uneventfully.

Then one day, Kloff returned early from an outing. He found Aeroc in the study, lost in a beloved classic, escaping reality. He held out a rather heavy paper bag.

"What is this?"

"Three times a day, two pills each. Three before bed."

"Medicine? I'm not ill."

Aeroc looked up without concealing his puzzlement. Kloff, still in his coat, tugged off his gloves one finger at a time. Only then did he look down at Aeroc with a contemptuous smile.

"You're hardly in a position to argue, Count. Just take them."

Frowning at the taunt, Aeroc opened the bag and peered at the heap of white pills inside.

"Why — does it look like poison?"

"Must I answer that?"

Kloff laughed lightly, though his deep eyes still blazed with that unsettling intensity. The cold prickle returned. Aeroc reflexively composed a smile, and Kloff continued in a casual tone.

"A pharmaceutical company I recently invested in developed a new drug. Supposedly it has remarkable efficacy in strengthening pheromone output."

"So I'm the test subject."

"Does that bother you?"

Even if it did, he was in no position to refuse. A pheromone drug — it sounded like some vulgar aphrodisiac or a treatment for erectile dysfunction. He would sooner have tested actual poison, but Kloff had clearly chosen this pill deliberately. A degradation drug for someone of Aeroc's standing could have been administered to any street-level creature in rut, yet Kloff had brought it specifically to him. Presumably to humiliate. Aeroc sat with the book still open on his lap, the bag in hand, and looked up at Kloff.

He searched for any readable intent, but Kloff's expression gave nothing away. No one else knew about the incident. As long as Aeroc kept silent, it would be remembered as nothing more than a tragic accident. Which, in truth, it was.

"Very well. I'll take care to follow the regimen."

"How considerate. Do report back on the results. Information is essential to any investment."

With a satisfied smile, Kloff left the study. Aeroc glared at the unidentifiable pills, then set them aside and turned the page.

Months later, Aeroc learned that the drug was something far more dangerous than he had imagined. Every night his abdomen tore itself apart, and his skull spun as though his brain were revolving inside it. The pills alone triggered relentless nausea — he could not keep food down, and eventually even the bile stopped coming. Fever racked him through the night; he writhed and moaned until dawn, then dragged himself up to wash the sweat from his body. Of the breakfast the elderly butler — the only remaining Teiwind servant, still faithfully attending Aeroc — brought, the only thing his throat could manage was strong black tea. He lost weight rapidly.

"You don't look well, my lord."

"I haven't been sleeping. It's nothing."

That was what he told the worried butler. The man was loyal, but old, and approaching retirement. Aeroc could not even provide a proper pension; there was no need to add worry.

The other person who noticed Aeroc's condition was, naturally, relentless in his questioning.

"I can't sleep for the pain in my stomach and the dizziness. There's nausea too. I'd say this is a poor investment."

Sleep-deprived and in pain, his irritation boiled over into sarcasm. Kloff parried as though he'd been waiting.

"Taking investment advice from the count is rather like asking the fox to guard the henhouse. At least I haven't lost the family home."

Anything else Aeroc could take, but remarks about the manor always stung. When he scowled and clamped his mouth shut, Kloff added with an easy smile:

"The symptoms are expected, so don't worry. You're adapting well. Going forward, it would be best to increase the dosage. Three pills per dose. Five before bed."

Having issued his "orders," Kloff left once more. He had said it was not poison, but perhaps it was. Was the plan to kill him slowly? Perhaps Kloff already knew the truth. Aeroc clutched his throbbing head and sighed. A moment later he swallowed three pills, and the world spun so violently he had to lie down in the middle of the day.

A few days after the increased dosage, the usual searing pain in his lower abdomen returned. Sweat soaked through to the bedsheets, and he finally dragged himself upright. In the old days he would have called a maid, but now every servant except the butler belonged to Kloff. He had no desire to expose his body to strangers. Instead, he reached for the damp towel the butler had prepared in advance.

His spinning head barely held upright, he swung both legs off the bed and stood — and something warm ran down between his thighs. The horrifying sensation of an unknown fluid tracing down his skin made him look down in alarm. The pale silk of his nightclothes was staining scarlet from the top down.

"Wh— what?"

Trembling violently, Aeroc reached toward the spreading red — and with a stabbing cramp, something surged from his anus and slid down to pool at his ankles, soaking the carpet beneath his bare feet. It was all blood.

"It's fine. Nothing to worry about. The count will be perfectly well in no time."

"I have served the count since the day he was born. Lord Aeroc has never bled like this. A physician must be summoned."

"Don't do anything unnecessary, butler. In my house, you follow my orders."

"I am the butler of the Count's household."

"This isn't the Count's household anymore. Don't forget that."

Aeroc was too dazed to open his eyes properly. The butler — usually the calmest man alive — raised his voice in rare fury, protesting the estate's new master, and was expelled from the room. A moment later, through barely parted lids, Aeroc saw Kloff standing over him with a thin smile.

"Awake?"

"That drug — what was it?"

"Don't worry. You don't need to take it anymore. I honestly didn't expect it to work this well. Must be a difference in constitution."

He wanted to snap back, but the strength was simply gone. Aeroc shut his eyes, trying to sleep — a clear signal that he wanted no more of this conversation. But Kloff showed no sign of leaving. He lingered near the bed, pacing. It grated on Aeroc's raw nerves until he opened his eyes and glared with everything he had.

"I'd like you to leave."

"I'll withdraw for now. There's much ahead, so rest up."

The circling smile was infuriating enough, but telling him to rest while actively preventing it was worse. Aeroc scowled, closed his eyes, and turned away. Kloff stood there for a long while longer, leaving only when Aeroc's exhausted consciousness began to flicker.

The next morning, the low fever and unpleasant bleeding persisted but his condition was much improved. Aeroc sat up in bed and waited for breakfast. Unlike every other morning, the person who brought it was not the familiar butler but the housekeeper he barely knew. Martha, was it.

The solidly built, middle-aged omega woman gave Aeroc a perfunctory greeting and set the bed tray not on the bed but on the table. When Aeroc asked her to bring it over, she ignored him. Regardless of whose employ she was in, the gulf in station was clear, and her rudeness infuriated him. But losing his temper at another man's poorly trained servant was beneath a nobleman. Her insolence would be conveyed to her master through the proper channels.

Aeroc rose from bed, steadied his wobbling legs, and carefully made his way to the chair. Martha was already heading for the door without so much as pouring his tea. Where on earth was the butler, to leave him subjected to this treatment?

"Where is the butler?"

"He was dismissed this morning."

"What?"

The shock made his voice ring louder than intended. The stout Martha, already at the door, turned back. Beneath a face that appeared genial at first glance, she fixed Aeroc with a look of enormous contempt.

"It's only natural. There's no salary for a servant who talks back to his master."

The swish of her voluminous black skirts disappeared, and the door shut behind her. Aeroc stared in silence at the cup of tea — not even warmed — sitting cold on its saucer. He had just been made a true orphan.

After he stopped taking the drug, his body recovered quickly, but the nightly fevers continued — stress or aftereffect, he could not say. Aeroc tossed and burned through the nights, and when he woke each morning his nightclothes were disgustingly damp. Whatever the drug had been, its aftermath was deeply unpleasant. Once the fevers subsided and the sweating stopped, a new symptom took its place: a slippery, ceaseless discharge from his anus. Like the slick an omega produced.

Every morning he had to face nightclothes soaked as though he had wet himself, and he bit his lip with shame. Worst of all was the smirk that crossed Martha's broad, pale face each time she collected the laundry — but Aeroc pretended not to notice.

When he protested the butler's unilateral dismissal, Kloff said only: "I have no need for a butler with a salary like that in my house."

"At the very least, you could have given notice and waited until a reference letter could be written."

"A reference from a ruined house would only hurt him."

In the study, Kloff sat behind the Teiwind family desk — an heirloom passed down through generations of counts — and delivered his verdict. His manner had shifted entirely to dominance now. And every time Aeroc met that imperious gaze — the one that pulled like a swamp — his heartbeat and breathing quickened. Horrifyingly, the discharge worsened in tandem. The sensation of dampness creeping down his trouser leg made him shudder, and Aeroc abandoned his protest and turned to leave.

"How are you feeling lately? Still running fevers?"

"Nothing to report."

Desperate to escape, he had barely reached for the door handle when — without warning — Kloff was right behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Aeroc spun with such violence that his flailing hand caught the edge of Kloff's jaw. Kloff's eyes widened in surprise.

"...I'm sorry. That wasn't intentional."

"You've been very on edge lately. Like an omega on the verge of heat. I've noticed it before, but your body scent seems to have changed too."

Already raw-nerved from the changes in his body, being struck at the precise truth made Aeroc lash back with a viciousness sharpened by panic.

"Just because I resemble him doesn't mean you should indulge in impossible delusions. It's so pathetic I could weep."

In an instant, a massive hand seized his collar and twisted. His blue eyes, already unsteady, lost all tension in the iris. Into the helplessly dilated pupils drove the gaze of an alpha who looked ready to commit murder — honed like the edge of a drawn blade.

"Keep running that mouth and I'll sew those pretty lips shut myself, one stitch at a time. I'd advise caution."

"I don't understand why you hate me this much. If this is how it's going to be, wouldn't it be simpler to throw me out?"

"I can't let you go that easily, Aeroc Teiwind. You have a debt to pay."

His heart lurched. So Kloff did know. But how?

"I'd like nothing more than to kill you right now, but that would only give you peace. You need to suffer the way I have. Don't you think?"

A voice cold as a midwinter blizzard struck his ears. Aeroc felt his blood freeze. He looked up with fear-stricken eyes, and Kloff — like a reaper lifting an enormous scythe to harvest a neck — added, with a smile emptied of all feeling:

"I'd planned to give you a few more days. That's no longer possible. You'd do well to start learning how to keep your mouth shut."

He flung the collar aside. Aeroc stumbled back into the door and watched the man return to the desk. "I'll come tonight," Kloff said. Tonight — why? The thought surfaced at the same instant that the fluid seeping from his anus reached his ankle.

Leaving the study, Aeroc clutched his numb skull. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. His body felt strangely feverish, and Kloff's voice rang in his ears. It was impossible. Such a drug could not exist. This was all just the aftereffect of some wretched aphrodisiac. Surely not. And not Kloff, of all people. He was overthinking. Kloff probably meant to deliver more pills, or more abuse. Given the violence just now, perhaps he intended to hit him. Yes. That must be it. Surely.

Aeroc clutched his throbbing, aching belly and headed for his room.

His prediction was half right and half wrong. Late that night, Kloff arrived to find Aeroc still awake with nerves, and slammed him down onto the bed with brutal force. When Aeroc fought back, a slap followed. A single blow, yet on skin that had never been struck in an aristocrat's life, it left a vivid red handprint.

Stunned, Aeroc pressed one hand to his stinging cheek and stared blankly at the man climbing on top of him. Cold, claw-like hands ripped his nightclothes — already half-soaked — down his legs. Through the cascading shocks, he stammered something about what are you doing. Kloff forced Aeroc's white thighs apart and pinned them with his knees, then caught both flailing wrists in one hand and locked them above Aeroc's head. With the other, he began to unbuckle his belt.

"I— I'm an alpha."

"Funny — you once called it fashionable. Asked me to take you for a spin."

"Th-that — you turned me down."

"Back then I had a family to protect. Now there's no wife, so there's no fidelity to keep."

"Then find another omega!"

"That's why I'm here."

The moment Aeroc saw the smile loaded with contempt, his mind went blank.

"Pheromone strengthening... the drug... you said..."

"That's right. Pheromone strengthening. Only omega pheromones."

"That's impossible. Something like that can't exist."

Shock, it turned out, obliterated even the will to resist. Aeroc went limp, unable even to shout, and could only whisper. Kloff's reply was a frigid sneer.

"If you spent less time on your aristocratic hobbies — literature, art — and paid attention to the latest developments in science, you wouldn't end up a fossil. Count."

"Why would you do this to me—"

Kloff, in the middle of unbuckling his belt and unfastening his trousers, stopped. For a moment he looked down at the person beneath him — alpha and now omega in one body — and then, with a grip strong enough to tear flesh, he seized Aeroc's throat.

"You took my wife and child from me. You owe me compensation. Don't you agree?"

The voice, unbearably anguished, broke once in the middle and had to start again. And with it, Aeroc's heart sank to the very bottom.

Kloff knew. Everything. And he intended to exact his revenge on Aeroc. In the most wretched, most devastating way. On the man who had only ever looked at him — in the cruelest way imaginable.

Late that night, from the count's bedroom came pained moans tangled with a low, cutting voice, and beneath both, the obscenely wet sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Had it been possible, he might have wept. But that was only the beginning. True to his word, Kloff came to Aeroc's room relentlessly, intent on impregnation, forcing his body open each time. No preparation, no whispered word — like a mare receiving a stallion's seed in a rigidly controlled breeding, Aeroc knelt face-down and raised his hips.

Had there at least been anger or violence mixed with the sex, it might not have been this degrading. Kloff did not so much as groan at the moment of climax. The only sounds — half fury, half resignation — came from Aeroc alone.

At first there was nothing but excruciating pain, but after tearing and healing over and over, his anus had become as pliable as an omega's, and when it began to open easily around the alpha's cock, a slow heat and an unbearable itch started deep inside. Each time the shaft pushed past the newly formed cervical opening and grazed that maddening spot, a sound escaped Aeroc's nose before he could stop it.

"You've become a proper omega now. Throwing yourself at another man's alpha like a bitch in heat — how does it feel? Satisfied? You did unspeakable things for this, after all."

He could not answer. The loathing he felt for himself — for the pleasure that bled through the pain — consumed every capacity he had. There was nothing left to absorb another person's contempt. It was wretched beyond wretched. And the worst of it was that even now, in some small corner of his chest, a flower was blooming — joy that he was finally, at last, in an intimate and secret bond with the person he had yearned for. As Kloff said, he was not human.

The encounters continued, and eventually, his heat arrived. During his first heat, Aeroc lost all reason and clung to Kloff. He spread his own legs, sought the cock and swallowed it in, begged for seed. He gripped his own straining erection and stroked it, pleading for more depth, more force — to be ruined completely. The moment the proud nobleman became a common whore. Through an endless torrent of sweet profanity and desperately craved bruising pressure, red marks covered his body until the alpha's cock, buried deep inside, swelled enormously.

"Aah! It hurts! It hurts!"

"Nngh. You're too tight."

His eyes rolled back and his body seized; a hard slap landed on his buttocks.

"Get a hold of yourself and relax."

"Ah — nngh—"

Aeroc clawed at the sheets, both feet kicking wildly.

"Must be because you were an alpha. Hnh. Clenching this hard."

Then a large body covered Aeroc's damp back. Arms as powerful as the pressure splitting his insides wrapped around his waist. Hot breath touched the shell of his ear.

"Calm down, Aeroc. It'll be over soon."

It was not the usual voice — the one that frosted the lungs with ice. Even Kloff seemed caught off guard by what he'd said; after a long silence, a second whisper came: "Just hold on a little longer." Aeroc gripped the sheets until his fingertips ached, trembled violently, and then — overwhelmed by pain, exhaustion, and pleasure — fell unconscious.

After all that, learning he was pregnant hardly came as a surprise. He accepted the fact quietly. Atonement for an irreversible sin is no easy thing. That the opportunity had been given at all was something to be grateful for. And with this, Aeroc now had something he had lost — a reason to hope.

If the child was born safely, it would be Kloff's firstborn. If an alpha, the heir of the newly established Bendyke viscountcy was almost certain. The Bendyke house had absorbed virtually everything the Teiwind estate had relinquished. In a sense, Teiwind had been subsumed into Bendyke. And a legitimate heir of Teiwind was now a legitimate heir of Bendyke. The surname would change, but given the weight of Aeroc's sins, being permitted even a middle name was perhaps more than he deserved.

Once the child was born, he wanted to find the butler — dismissed without so much as a farewell — and bring him back. The Teiwind bloodline should be raised by a butler who understood elegant tradition, not by a rough, unpolished housekeeper. Sitting at the garden table among overblown petals and thick fragrance, basking in the sun, Aeroc touched a belly not yet showing and — he thought — smiled, just a little.

*   *   *

No matter how many children he bore, the chance to find the butler never came. By now, too much time had passed, and he was in no state to look. The sight of him — skeletal, dressed in rags that served as constant reminders of his crime, hair unkempt and brittle — would only devastate the man who had all but raised him.

When he thought of the butler, it was because he wanted to show him the angels he had given birth to. But he could not even see their faces himself, let alone parade them before anyone else. Aeroc stroked the belly carrying his third child and chose, vaguely, to believe the old man was doing well somewhere.

*   *   *

"Well now — fish."

Today's provisions basket, left outside the cottage door, contained a slab of smoked red fish. Cut into neat portions and seasoned with bay leaf and whole peppercorns, it was wrapped in clean paper. The practiced hand — Martha's, most likely.

Fish had been the hardest thing to come by on the streets. He had surely eaten it countless times before, yet he could not recall the taste at all. After a moment's deliberation, he unwrapped the paper, placed the fish in a rough ceramic dish, and slid it into the stove where embers still glowed. Fish was fish — grilling it ought to work.

Soon a delicious smell wafted out, and his mouth watered of its own accord. When he lifted the lid, a glistening, juice-running fillet was revealed. Aeroc picked up a fork and speared a flake so perfectly cooked it was nearly falling apart. He brought it carefully to his lips. It melted on his tongue. Hunger ambushed him.

"It's good. Do you think so too?"

The baby in his belly answered with a faint kick. Laughter burst out of him. The father's bloodline — a taste for fish — was unmistakable. Urged on by several more insistent kicks, Aeroc blew on the hot flesh and devoured piece after piece.

A full stomach of fish brought on a heavy drowsiness. The baby, satisfied too, lay still. He had not yet seen Kloff today and wanted to wait, but his leaden eyelids refused to cooperate and kept dragging darkness down. He did not last long. Sitting on the floor with his upper body collapsed across the bed, Aeroc fell fast asleep.

*   *   *

The first birth was an unbroken chain of terror. Aeroc could not stay on the bed. Like a castaway in an open sea clutching a rotting plank, he clung to a sofa cushion. Face buried in the soft down, he screamed every scream he would ever have to give.

"Bear it! What's so painful about this!"

Martha's harsh words did not reach him. His lower body felt as though it were being ripped away, and he was too delirious to think. He wanted someone — anyone — to take a knife and cut the pain out of him. The doctor arrived soon after. Tears of reflex glistened in his eyes, though not enough to fall. Instead, cold sweat, mucus, and saliva turned his chalk-white face into a ruin.

"The birth canal still has a long way to open."

"It hurts. Please... please, save me."

Aeroc clung to the doctor, abandoning all dignity. The doctor, who had pushed up his sleeves to examine the soaked clothing underneath, smiled awkwardly.

"Now, now. If you're already talking like this, what will you do when the pelvis really starts to open? It'll be several times worse than this."

"Please."

"Try to endure it. First births take time. Deep breaths — in like this, then out. You have a narrow pelvis; it's going to be difficult."

The breathing exercises helped briefly, but before long the next brutal contraction hit and Aeroc clawed the cushion apart, screaming until his throat tore.

He could not understand why he had to endure this. He was an alpha. Had been an alpha. Why was he writhing in agony as his body split in two, forced into an omega's ordeal?

Guilt, atonement — before extremes of pain, they were nothing. All he felt was resentment. Bitter, choking resentment toward the man beyond that door, the one watching him and speaking in grave tones to the doctor. He understood, with perfect clarity now, why Kloff had made him pregnant.

Through the doorway, Kloff wore a mask of concern for the doctor's benefit. Seeing it, Aeroc clenched his jaw until his teeth loosened. He would not shed tears here. Enduring this pain was enough. He would not produce some useless sentimental discharge and give the man the satisfaction.

Aeroc buried his face in the damp, shredded cushion.

He had labored since morning. It was not until sunset that the child was finally born. Too exhausted to blink, Aeroc lay clutching the ruined cushion and drew thin breaths while Kloff's voice buzzed in his ringing ears.

"An omega boy. Golden hair."

"Congratulations, Viscount."

"Martha, take the child to his room."

Where are you taking him? Let me see. I carried him for nine months, I broke my pelvis to deliver him — it was me.

Aeroc screamed, or thought he did, but no one seemed to hear.

A tall silhouette appeared in his blurred vision.

"Not dead, I take it?"

"Merely exhausted. There was considerable blood loss, but nothing life-threatening. However, the body has been pushed hard — I'd strongly recommend contraception from now on."

"That's not your concern."

The doctor said nothing more after that sharp dismissal.

Soon others came in and lifted Aeroc's limp body and carried him somewhere. He could not remember clearly — he lost consciousness partway. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes again, in terrible pain, he was in a cramped, unfamiliar cottage. Aeroc could not comprehend it. He decided it must be a dream. Then he passed out again. While he slept his last sound sleep, the beginning of a cruel reality — the true revenge — waited for him.

At first he could not believe it. How could anyone confine the omega who had just borne his child to a place this filthy and desolate? A grimy wooden bed in a room where no light entered, thick with dust.

Though his body was still too wrecked to walk properly, Aeroc dragged himself out of the cottage. In the distance he could see the manor. One hand cradling a belly still deflated and aching, the other grabbing at anything — branches, posts — for support, he walked. Hot fluid leaked between his legs at intervals; he did not need to look to know it was blood. Without even slippers, barefoot on gravel as sharp and punishing as thorns, he made it as far as the rose garden. Surely he would be visible from here.

In the bright window far away, Martha held a baby swaddled in long lace, beaming as though the child were her own grandchild. Beside her, Kloff gazed down at the newborn with a smile. Then he raised his head, and their eyes met. The soft expression fell away, and a cold sneer bled through. He opened the balcony doors and came down to stand before Aeroc.

"Walking already? My. You're bleeding, I see."

"It hurts. And I'm cold."

"Well, wandering about in something that thin — of course you're cold. Go back and light the fireplace. If it hurts, take the painkillers I left."

A stranger would not have been this heartless. Aeroc's knees buckled, and he seized Kloff's arm — fine shirtsleeve under his fingers. Kloff muttered something but did not push him away; instead, a hand came under Aeroc's elbow to steady him.

"Why am I out there? Where's the baby?"

"Don't worry about the child. And that's your place now. You're free to leave if it doesn't suit you."

The words made no sense. Or rather, he did not want them to make sense. Aeroc gripped the shirt tighter.

"I gave you a child."

"You returned one of the things you stole from me. My first child — the one I lost — still won't come back."

"You said to return your wife and child. That's why I—"

Deep brown eyes, empty of all feeling, looked down at him.

"That's why — what? You bore my child, so now you'll play the role of my wife?"

Ah. In that instant, Aeroc could not find his footing. He had never intended to replace Rapiel. He had simply assumed that as the birth mother, he had a natural right and duty to care for his own child.

"I'll raise the child perfectly well, so don't worry. At least I won't raise him into the kind of criminal who walks around with his head held high after what he's done."

"But—"

"I said you're free to go. And in the future, I'd prefer you not make a spectacle of yourself by appearing at the manor looking like that. What was it you once said? Ah yes — a nobleman's reputation suffers when a destitute relative is seen at his gates. I have a reputation to maintain as well, so would you be so kind? I'll have the fish sent over filleted so you don't cut your fingers."

Without a single curse, choosing only the words that cut deepest, the cruel man spoke. Aeroc watched him and felt the world sinking into darkness. Everything fell — down, and down.

So this was the revenge. This was what he had been bowing and biding his time for. To strand Aeroc in a bottomless dark where he would wander forever. Fortune, name, people, children — all taken. What remained was the self, and nothing more. Had he taken that too, Aeroc could at least have dissolved into eternal oblivion. By leaving the last thing intact, the revenge was crueler still.

Lying on a hard bed that only pushed his body away, Aeroc decided to relinquish the last thing himself.

He ate nothing. Drank nothing. He had neither the strength nor the will. The silent cottage received no visitors. It would be a lonely death. But solitude covered even the loneliness. When truly nothing remains, a kind of peace descends. His body — already drained to the dregs by birth — withered quickly.

One day, two. It seemed hardly any time had passed, yet he could feel his breathing growing faint, his heartbeat slowing. The vision he had already surrendered faded further; the hearing that had been functioning on its own grew quieter, bringing silence at last. To vanish like this seemed the most fitting ending.

When the last drop of life was about to evaporate, Aeroc felt his body rising. He had once read a testimony by a mystic, titled On Paradise, which described death as a gentle breeze. Carried on the breath of God, the soul ascends — toward the shining sky or the bottomless earth — floating like sea foam until it reaches its appointed destination. Yes. He was floating now. But why was it so warm? The mystic had left no record of death being warm.

In his guttering vision, he saw a figure — carrying his filthy soul tenderly in both arms. Dark brown hair. A face carved with formidable strength. Steady, unflinching eyes. Some say the reaper is a fearsome god, but to Aeroc, at least, he was infinitely gentle and kind. That was why death had taken his shape. To a god of death, perhaps Aeroc could say all the things he had never managed.

He moved arms that barely obeyed and wrapped them around that neck. He buried his nose in the broad shoulder and breathed in the scent.

Kloff.

I always thought of you as my alpha. It was hard, and it hurt, but I was glad to be your omega. The ending wasn't good. The price for my foolishness. If there is a next time, then—

"There is no next time. Your sins are far too heavy for something as easy as this."

The reaper's voice was cold enough to freeze the air itself. To the very last, his heart chilled to ice.

*   *   *

"Hk."

Aeroc gasped and opened his eyes. A moment ago, he had been giving birth and dying alone. His hands flew to his belly. The taut, enormous swell was still there. He raised his head and through the open shutters caught a wedge of blue sky. It was still bright daylight.

Ah. A dream, then. The cramped position — slumped on the floor, upper body folded over the bed — must have caused the nightmare. Aeroc gathered his stiff, creaking joints and tapped them gently with a loose fist.

The agony of the first birth surfaced now and then. He had been far healthier then, yet the pain had been worse. And the hope he'd carried had made the despair proportionally greater — great enough, at least, for a suicide attempt. What frightened him most was what came after. Kloff had never forgiven him for trying to die so easily. He had tried once more after that, and each time Kloff had dragged him back. Even now, an attempt would be futile. And by now, the desire to die had faded.

If he stayed sitting on the floor like this, his water might break ahead of time. Needing a change of scene, Aeroc went outside. The manor and the rose garden came into view. Grateful, as always, for the unchanged sight, he smiled.

The mystic's final entry came to mind: Only when one has relinquished much does one discover the road to paradise. This place was no longer a bottomless pit. The person here now was not the Count of Teiwind but simply Aeroc. Kloff's omega. With nothing to weigh him down, carried on a gentle breeze, he had already arrived in paradise. Waiting here for his alpha to come, with the baby — this time was immeasurably happy.