1. All again

1. All again

A plain headstone had been surrounded, at some point, by flowers that bloomed in gaudy profusion. The man visited the grave from time to time, always meaning to say something, but in the end he never managed a word before turning away.

This was not the ending he had wanted. He had wanted to hold on to the person growing light as a sheet of paper and keep them by his side forever. Even if the end came eventually, he had wanted to delay it as long as possible. But by the time he understood that, it was too late. The person who had said this is the last time — who by then could no longer endure without the white pills — had shaken out what little life remained with his own hands, given the fragments to two children, and gone. Would he have lived longer if he had never conceived? Probably not.

The two children, born addicted to the drug, were extremely sensitive and slow to develop. They cried without cease and constantly demanded attention. When he hushed and soothed them and lifted them into his arms, they hit him and shoved him away — yet clung to him with those small hands all the same. Holding the children as they wailed as though their breath would give out, he understood that he must not shorten what time he had. It would be a very long while before these children could stand on their own.

Because of the children, there was no room to feel wretchedness or loneliness. But after the grown children found the people they loved and left, one by one — when the laughter and crying that had once filled the great house fell silent — the man draped his time-worn body across a chair and stared out the window. Through the glass of the enormous balcony window that stretched from floor to ceiling, a rose garden blazed on its carpet of green, as though jewels of every color had been scattered across it. Beyond the boxwood hedge, the hidden cottage was visible too. Along with the sins he had committed.

The years passed without mercy. The man sat always in the same place, watching the cottage. On a dark night when the snowstorm raged, the man — who had been gazing out without a flicker of movement — shot to his feet. A faint light from the cottage. He ran outside without a thought of reaching for a coat. The deep snow nearly sent him sprawling several times, but his eyes were fixed on that desolate place, veiled behind darkness and blowing snow.

Snow settled on hair that had once been a rich dark brown but whose color could no longer be told. The man did not notice his fine clothes and shoes soaking through. He stumbled to the cottage and flung the door open — and inside, there was only dust and desolation. He was certain he had seen a light. Faint but stubborn through the blizzard, refusing to go out — a light like him. But the cottage was drowned in black darkness, nothing more.

Unable to believe it, he called the name he had whispered over and over between words he could never bring himself to speak aloud. He called it again and again. But apart from the deafening roar of the blizzard boring into his bones, nothing could breach the suffocating silence.

With heavy steps the man came back outside and looked at the cold slab of stone, all but buried in snow, only its top edge visible.

Ah.

Realizing too late, he pushed back his frozen hair with an agitated hand. He stood there, sunk to mid-calf in the snow, and stared at the headstone until the feeling left his extremities.

That was the man's first episode of psychosis.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, he felt tears running from the corners. He felt as though he had dreamed something unbearably hard — a nightmare beyond imagining, in which he could not even thrash against the torment, seized by madness, crumbling slowly in the grip of something wretched and agonizing. A dream that made no sense.

"Damn it. What the hell was that."

His chest still ached. He scrubbed his eyes roughly with his palm and sat up. He looked around: unfamiliar, expensive furnishings met his gaze. This was a guest room in the count's manor.

Sitting on the bed, he rubbed his damp face again. Was it because he'd slept somewhere unfamiliar? He wasn't the sensitive type, but something felt off. He was alone in the room, but the thought of an adult alpha crying over a mere nightmare was embarrassing enough to make him throw back the sheets and climb out at once.

Dawn was breaking — the enormous balcony window glowed a faint blue. He needed fresh air. He drew aside the lace curtain, so delicate it seemed it would tear at a touch, and opened the door. The decorative balcony was barely wide enough for one person to stand on, but the cold air hit his bare chest and cooled the fever the nightmare had raised.

He breathed deeply several times, pushing back the hair that lifted in the dawn breeze, and cast his gaze into the distance. From the second floor, the rose garden was not far away.

The sun had not yet risen, so it lay in a bluish haze, but when he had first entered this room, the sheer grandeur of it had left him speechless. He could almost smell the roses reaching him already. He had never cared much for flowers, but that rose garden held a certain anticipation. It was the place that would give him a new opportunity — that was why. On a whim he looked out once more, and far off, through a row of trees standing in a line, he spotted a shabby building.

A shed? Or the gardener's cottage?

Either way, it was entirely out of place in that splendid rose garden. An estate this wealthy had scores of servants, and quarters and workrooms for them throughout the grounds were to be expected. But one would not build them in plain sight like that. Concealing them for the sake of appearances was the usual practice — though that was none of Kloff's concern. This manor belonged to Count Teiwind; how he managed it was his own affair. Perhaps the count's reputedly eccentric tastes meant he'd left it there on purpose.

A short while later, the sounds of servants rousing before dawn to attend the guests drifted in from the corridor. Kloff turned his back on the rose garden and the cottage that looked so strangely forlorn, and came inside.

The Teiwind countship was a distinguished noble house, renowned for its immense fortune and a pedigree as ancient as the royal family's. The world was changing — new wealth was rising, the old class order was slowly crumbling — and yet even the most vocal egalitarians, who cried that no one was born noble, fell silent in the presence of the Teiwinds.

The Teiwinds were not merely haughty aristocrats; they fulfilled the duties of their rank — they were, in every sense, lords. Even now, with no formal obligation to do so, they led relief efforts for the poor within their territory and strove to give as many young people as possible a chance. That was precisely why Kloff had come to the count's estate today.

The countship invited promising young people who had no title or fortune to inherit and connected them with patrons. The so-called "Rose Garden Tea Party" — a patronage event — bustled with nobles indulging their refined hobby of cultivating talent, and young people clinging to that hobby in hopes of making something of themselves.

At the same time, there were plenty of parents with a rather different objective — parents who, more interested in offloading their marriageable omega children than in patronage, scanned the young alphas with the razor eye of a buyer at a stallion market. It was, in certain respects, a terrifying gathering.

Kloff, who had just graduated with honors from the National Capital University with degrees in law and economics, had naturally received an invitation. He was the second son of Baron Bendyke, but since his elder brother — also an alpha — would inherit the family title, Kloff was not in line. The barony itself was tucked away in a backwater that few people had heard of, and poor enough to match; there was nothing remarkable about it.

The family could manage his tuition and little more. That alone was barely enough to cover living expenses away from home, but fortunately Kloff had a sharp mind. A professor who took a liking to him recommended him for a state scholarship, and in exchange for assisting the professor, he was given free use of the dormitory.

His years at university had not been desperately poor, but he had no intention of staying strapped. He aimed to become a legal specialist in economic affairs or an expert in international investment, yet with neither reputation nor connections, his immediate earning prospects were nil. That made today extremely important.

He washed with the water a maid brought, and put on the new suit he'd had tailored with what little he had saved. He fastened the cufflinks his father had given him — his father, whom he had rarely seen during his years abroad, but who had managed to attend graduation. They were plain, perhaps even a touch provincial, but the patina of age lent the young man a gravitas almost beyond his years. He stood before the mirror, knotted his tie, and swept back the hair that had slipped forward.

"Not bad."

He had never thought of himself as handsome, but he didn't think he lacked for appeal either. He'd had no shortage of omega lovers since university. He wasn't seeing anyone at the moment. And he hadn't come here looking for an omega.

Some men had so little self-respect that they were only too happy to sell themselves as studs to omega-only noble families, but Kloff was not that sort of person. He intended to stand on his own as an individual, to carve out his own life. What he was after today was not some debased arrangement mediated by bodies and pheromones, but a connection with someone who could appreciate his expertise. He had every confidence.

The patronage event spanned three days across the vast rose garden. Calling it a tea party was something of a misnomer — it was more like an enormous reception. It was called a tea party only because it served tea and sweets rather than alcohol. The magnificent flower garden — the kind that might come with a legend about a king so in love with his queen that he sold the country to build it for her — was already teeming with dressed-up young people before the event had even properly begun. They strutted and preened like peacocks in full display.

He had thought he'd arrived early, but the crowd already gathered staggered him. The first shock was the shameless strutting of alphas who held their heads absurdly high. The second was the pheromones pouring off the omegas, who, far from being put off, batted their eyes and curled their lips at those very alphas. And the third — the moment he stepped into what could only be called the central clearing of the rose garden, he was hit from all sides at once: hostile stares from the alphas, and from the omegas, a positively ferocious density of interested looks.

Every hair on his body stood on end. He'd been told this was a respectable social gathering — this was a matchmaking market! Damn it all!

He hadn't even managed to receive a cup of tea before a pack of omegas charged toward him, led by a formidable middle-aged omega whose face might as well have been stamped Mother's Representative or Matchmaker-in-Chief. There was nothing for it but to turn on his heel and run. If he didn't, he had the distinct and horrifying feeling that he'd be stripped bare on the spot and passed around among those omegas for a communal mating.

First priority: get as far away as possible without looking where he was going. Like hounds driving a fox, the cries of omegas hunting for him rang out from every direction. Persistent, too. He wove through towering trees several times his height. It was only after he had put considerable distance between himself and the garden, and the sounds of pursuit had died away entirely, that Kloff wiped the sweat beading at his temples.

A complete miscalculation. His professor had said there would be many opportunities — and Kloff had mistaken that for diversity of conversation. He felt like a fool for dressing up and steeling himself. His expectations had already hit the ground; there was no reason to go back to the rose garden. Better to return to his room and catch up on the sleep he'd lost to that savage dream. And tomorrow he needed to leave here at once and look into other avenues. Kloff clicked his tongue and headed toward the manor, which looked close by.

The manor had certainly looked close. But what kind of garden was this complicated — every time he seemed to be getting nearer, it pulled farther away.

His already low mood sank past irritation into outright anger. If a cool breeze hadn't come along just then to take the edge off his temper, he would have snapped every one of these damnable trees on the spot.

There was no point losing his temper when he couldn't find the way. If he could just find someone passing by, he could ask for directions, but everyone seemed to be swarming the rose garden — not a soul in sight in this section, which wasn't even that far off. Since things had come to this, it might be better to walk along the cedar walk over there and reconsider his situation.

As soon as he fell into step among the great trees reaching high into the sky, his irritation began to steal away. Had he been worn out by the city's chaos? The towering woodland reminded him of home, nestled against the dense forests of the north. He had barely gone back since coming to the capital for university. He drew a deep breath and expelled the last of his frustration. Not that there was any reason to smile, so his expression remained severe as he walked on — and then, ahead of him, someone appeared.

A touch shorter than himself, with a fine-boned frame — the person appeared to be an alpha, yet there was something faintly sensual about him, a quality hard to pin down. The refined, elegant way he moved suited his delicate features perfectly. An instant later the man spotted Kloff and stopped dead, visibly startled. Even at a considerable distance, Kloff could see the blue eyes trembling.

What? There was no one else around.

He couldn't fathom why the man was staring at him as though he'd seen a ghost. Just then a gust of breeze lifted a strand of hair into his eye; he grimaced and swept it back.

When he looked at the other man again, the expression had changed. The shock of a moment ago had vanished, replaced by the thin smile peculiar to aristocrats. One glance was enough to tell he had been born and raised among the city's upper classes. He walked over with a gait so light and graceful it seemed the wind might carry him off, and helpfully — without being asked — began giving directions: "The rose garden is that way." A touch arrogant and rather rude, but it suited him so naturally that Kloff couldn't bring himself to object.

Had the man guessed from his clothes? Kloff had just fled the rose garden, but somehow he couldn't refuse. He gave a small nod and followed.

The man walked with his head held perfectly straight, at a pace neither slow nor fast. He was not conspicuously tall, but he carried his shoulders so squarely that he did not look small at all. Now and then, light slipping between the cedars struck his fair hair and dazzled the eye. His suit, cut precisely to his frame, looked as though he had been born wearing it.

Kloff's gaze caught, without his willing it, on the flowing — or rather, deeply alluring — line of the man's back. And then on the slender waist below. When he realized where his eyes had traveled, Kloff scowled sharply and looked elsewhere. Those were not thoughts to be having about a stranger, let alone another alpha.

As he followed the man in silence — not a word of the idle pleasantries one might exchange between strangers — an odd feeling crept over him. He was certain they had never met. A quick review of his admittedly short life turned up no occasion to cross paths with a refined city aristocrat of this sort. And yet — why did the face seem familiar?

When they neared the rose garden by way of a path Kloff hadn't even known existed, the man stopped at an ambiguous angle — not quite turning around, not quite facing forward — and glanced up at Kloff. The meaning seemed clear: you can find your own way from here. It was rude, this silent dismissal that had been going on since the start — not a single word addressed to him — and it rankled. But he was in no position to complain, having accepted the man's help. What he wanted, at least, was an introduction. He was curious just how important this person thought himself, treating others as though they didn't exist.

"I'm Kloff Bendyke."

He extended his hand. Only then did the man look up at him directly. A slightly flustered, blank expression crossed his face before the smooth smile spread again. He reached out a hand as white as his face and took Kloff's.

"Aeroc Teiwind."

Ah. Somehow, he'd expected as much. Not that he had known this was the count — rather, that he had known a name of that caliber was coming.

"Thank you for showing me the way."

As a guest on the man's own estate, gratitude was in order. The count, whom Kloff had expected to brush him off with the same cool arrogance he'd shown moments ago, smiled with what looked like genuine warmth.

His chest tightened without warning. The bright, unguarded smile — nothing like the faint kind — struck him with an almost painful sensation. At the same time, the strange feeling he'd had right after the nightmare wrapped around him again. He frowned and held the count's gaze. Suddenly the smile made him angry — suddenly he wanted to seize the man by the throat.

What is this? Why am I feeling this? Was it jealousy? No. That wasn't quite it. A dissatisfaction he couldn't name, fused with an irritation on the verge of erupting. He wanted to do something to the man standing before him, but he couldn't identify precisely what. A desire with no discernible origin.

Before the prolonged handshake could curdle into awkward silence, both men cleared their throats and let go. Kloff took a deliberate deep breath and steeled himself. With the count watching him from close range, running was not an option.

Why had he let himself be led back to the rose garden in the first place? He should have asked to be shown to the manor instead. Regret, no matter when it arrived, was always too late. Still, it was somewhat better than before — he'd had time to brace himself. He swept his hair back once more, then stepped forward into the rose garden. Footsteps followed behind him. He glanced back: Aeroc, whom he had expected to go his own way, was trailing after him.

The moment the two of them entered together, every person already gathered turned to look. At Aeroc Teiwind, to be precise. Sure enough, the crowd — a pack of starving predators racing across an open plain — bore down on the count like he was the choicest prey in sight.

A short while later, Kloff found himself standing alone in a corner of the rose garden. As though truly famished, people were falling over themselves to strike up conversation with Aeroc.

High birth and fortune were not all of it. Among the ants swarming toward the sweet jam were omegas whose eyes had already gone half-glazed. Objectively, Aeroc was an exceptionally attractive unattached alpha — it was only natural. There were even alphas staring at him with a sticky hunger in their eyes. Was I doing the same thing earlier? Kloff looked away at once, but that particular alpha did not. Watching the man approach Aeroc from behind with an easy familiarity, Kloff could not understand why it kept making him angry.

Butlers and maids appeared, serving tea of a quality Kloff had never tasted. Delicacies that pleased the eye as much as the palate were laid out in abundance. Most of the city's upper classes took their tea with cream; sugar alone was uncommon. Kloff, however, found one spoonful of sugar sufficient. He was not much for sweets, and this was how tea was drunk back home.

In the time it took him to finish two cups, Aeroc was still conversing with the crowd, wearing that thin smile. The tea in the count's own hand had gone cold, barely touched.

The young count's attention was on the people directly before him, but he kept glancing this way — just enough for Kloff, who was facing him, to notice, though not enough for those around the count to see. Each time their eyes met, Aeroc gave that appealing smile. Kloff, by contrast, only sank further. He had been brooding on the feeling since earlier, unable to make sense of it. At first he'd wondered whether he envied the man — a beautiful young aristocrat with status and wealth.

Until now, Kloff had never taken a great interest in anyone else. He believed in his own ability enough that he had never felt inferior for lacking fortune or title.

To test the theory, he struck up conversation with a well-heeled-looking alpha who held his unremarkable face rather too high, and exchanged names. The man showed initial interest, then quickly lost it and tossed Kloff an inscrutable smirk — but Kloff felt no jealousy, no inferiority whatsoever. If anything, he felt a contemptuous amusement at someone whose only asset was a family name. He kept that to himself, of course.

But the count was different. It bothered him intensely to watch Aeroc smiling among all those people. One omega, who looked on the verge of going into heat, was slyly stroking his arm.

When an alpha who had been sidling up with practiced familiarity clapped Aeroc companionably on the shoulder, the teacup in Kloff's hand rattled against its saucer. He clamped his fingers around the handle before it could spill. Even as he steadied it, he watched the count — who did not immediately shake off the unwanted touch but merely shifted his body slightly to the side — and seethed. This was decidedly not the kind of feeling one should have about a person met for the first time. Something was wrong.

His original plan — to seek out opportunities — had evaporated. Kloff spent the entire event with an unsatisfied discontent gnawing at him, scowling at nothing. Throughout the tea party, the sulking Kloff trailed Aeroc ceaselessly with his eyes, and the count — who may or may not have been aware of the turmoil he was causing — smiled at him whenever their gazes met, brimming with composure.

At last, as though he'd finally tired of entertaining his court, Aeroc excused himself from the crowd with that impeccable smile and withdrew. Then — as if purely by coincidence — he drifted toward the corner where Kloff stood. It looked unintentional, but there was no reason for the center of every social orbit to wander all the way to this far edge. Only when he was quite close did the count affect a look of mild surprise, as though he hadn't realized Kloff was there, and gave him a casual nod.

"They're all so desperate."

The count arrived with a faint smile and proceeded to mock the very people he'd been charming a moment before. Kloff had only just been introduced; this was hardly the sort of thing one confided in a near-stranger — it was sheer arrogance. Already irritated, Kloff flicked a sidelong glance at the man who had planted himself familiarly beside him, then looked the other way and answered coldly.

"Maybe you just smell that good."

It was breathtakingly offensive — he realized it the instant it left his mouth. An insinuation that the count was some loose creature trailing his body scent everywhere. Aeroc looked genuinely shocked.

Coming from someone who had barely exchanged two words with him, a remark that crude would normally provoke white-hot fury. The count, too, had said something one would not usually say to a stranger, but there was a world of difference between the two offenses.

Especially from this lofty aristocrat — accustomed, no doubt, to nothing but flattery — the response should have been instant: throw the insolent wretch out of the manor. Or perhaps strike him across the face with that elegant hand. Kloff half-hoped for a fight and an ejection. There didn't seem to be anything worth staying for, yet his feet refused to carry him out of their own accord.

But Aeroc only creased his brow slightly and lifted the corner of his mouth by a fraction. Too noble to know how to be angry, is he. That thought lasted an instant before it was blown to pieces. The count handed his cold teacup to a passing butler and fired back — measured, a touch quick, precise:

"Still better than not being able to attract a single foraging insect."

The voice was quiet and unhurried, with a faint tremor — and that very tremor made it sound all the more imperious. It was every bit as cutting as Kloff's vulgarity. You're so pathetically beneath notice that there's nothing worth looking at — that was the meaning. Aeroc even looked him up and down.

The count, whose smile had vanished as though it had never been, glared at Kloff — and Kloff held his ground. He had brought it on himself, but being insulted was being insulted; he could not help the surge of indignation. At the same time, though, there was something — entertaining was not quite the word — about the fact that the count, who wore that mask of a smile for everyone else, was glaring at him with such vivid fury. No — quite satisfying, he corrected himself.

From then on, whenever they crossed paths — in the garden or inside the manor — they hurled insults at each other with abandon. Only when they were alone, of course. When someone else appeared, Kloff held his tongue too, but he could not manage what Aeroc did — that seamless transformation back into a gracious nobleman, complete with serene smile. It grated on him beyond measure. He wanted, by any means necessary, to rip that mask off.

After watching Aeroc grin vacuously at the swarm in the garden for as long as he could stand, Kloff decided he might as well look at the library since he was here. When he asked a silver-haired butler of advancing years whether he might be permitted to browse the collection, the man readily agreed and escorted him in person.

The count's library was as magnificent as the family's reputation suggested — packed with volumes of the highest quality. Most were works of philosophy and the humanities, each one clearly worth a considerable sum. Several titles leapt out at him, books he wanted to pull from the shelves and read at once, but he was leaving soon — no sense starting something he couldn't finish and leaving himself with regrets. He turned to the artwork on the walls instead.

Kloff would have been the first to admit that his knowledge of art was shallow. More precisely, the fields that cost real money to cultivate — music, painting, the arts in general — were ones he had not yet had the means to study. Fluency in those areas was essential for dealing with the upper classes, and even his professor worried about the gap.

But even to Kloff's untrained eye, the paintings in the library were plainly the work of masters. Large and small canvases hung between the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and among them were several pieces famous enough for even his limited knowledge to recognize.

What caught his eye, though, was a pastoral landscape of early summer. Bold harmonies of intense color, shot through with whites and bright yellows that rendered the light so vividly it was almost blinding — looking at it felt like gazing at the countryside back home. It calmed something in him.

On closer inspection, the artist's signature and a date were tucked into one corner; the painting appeared to be less than a year old. A newcomer, by any measure. It seemed a touch out of place among the rest of the collection, but perhaps this artist, too, was a beneficiary of the Rose Garden Tea Party.

The quiet library door flew open with a clatter.

"Aeroc, think about it. It'll be magnificent."

Kloff turned around. Some alpha was standing in the doorway with Aeroc, the two of them in the middle of an argument. The man was a fraction taller than the count, and he was leaning that oily face of his close to Aeroc's while raking him with a sticky gaze. His thick fingers trailed down the count's arm in an unmistakable caress. The sexual intent was blatant — not merely unhidden but displayed — and Kloff could not believe what he was seeing.

Has he lost his mind? However fine-featured Aeroc might be, he was an alpha by any measure. Yet the man carried on pawing at him with those filthy hands, utterly unconcerned.

The problem was Aeroc. Whether he was naive or enjoying it, the count did nothing beyond a slight twist of the body to evade — no real refusal. If it had been Kloff, he would have snapped the man's wrist clean off. With a few choice words and a kick for good measure. But Aeroc did none of that. He even offered a wisp of a smile. It almost looked as though he were enjoying it.

What Kloff felt could only be described as revulsion. He could not fathom why he had to witness this — not even a commonplace romance, but two alphas pawing at each other in broad daylight. And yet, try as he might not to, it was all right there, plain as day, in front of perfectly functional eyes and ears.

"I'm afraid I have no interest at the moment. Should I find myself in the mood, I'll be sure to let you know. For now, there's a book I simply must find. If you'll excuse me."

Aeroc declined with scrupulous courtesy and stepped into the library. The slobbering alpha, evidently uninterested in books, flashed a greasy smile and left. Aeroc shut the door, turned around with a look of frank disgust, and took several quick, sharp strides before spotting Kloff — and froze, exactly as before.

"Wh— What are you doing here?"

Having had his private humiliation laid bare, his dismay was understandable. But Kloff had neither the inclination nor the obligation to pretend he hadn't seen.

"I came to the library to clear my head, and was admiring the paintings — until some deranged alpha began conducting himself without a shred of decency in broad daylight, and I was so appalled I've been standing here speechless."

"……For someone speechless, your tongue seems to work remarkably well. Do carry on with the paintings. You won't get the chance to see anything like them once you go home."

Aeroc, faintly flushed, said this and turned toward the far shelves. What Kloff had taken for a mere excuse turned out to be genuine — the count actually was looking for a book. Kloff had needled him about playing the omega and whatnot, and Aeroc had fired back in that lofty voice of his without missing a beat. Then he pulled a volume called Typology of Sin — a decidedly punishing work of humanistic philosophy — from the shelf and headed for the sofa. Was he planning to sit and read here? Kloff considered leaving, but even while weighing that, his gaze drifted to the painting.

"That's by a newcomer who held his first exhibition recently. It's the early-summer piece from a four-seasons series."

"……I know."

He knew nothing whatsoever about the artist or otherwise, but that was what came out of his mouth. It was obviously a lie to anyone who thought about it for half a second, but Aeroc, who had drawn closer, gave no sign of noticing. Instead, he looked at the painting himself and went on.

"I wandered into the exhibition by chance once, and none of the other works caught my eye — but the moment I saw this one, I couldn't look away. The bold use of color is almost like——"

"Light poured straight over it."

"……Yes."

"And the artist loved this landscape deeply."

"That too. This is a painting of the pastoral countryside the artist loved most — his grandparents' land. Have you met the painter before?"

"……I haven't. It just came to me when I looked at it."

"I thought you were nothing but rudeness and a foul mouth, with no cultivation whatsoever — but you have an eye after all. I'm surprised."

Kloff rolled only his eyes downward to glare at Aeroc, who met his gaze openly and smiled.

"Do you realize that creature just now was treating you like an omega? And you smiled at him. Perhaps you enjoy the attention of reeking pigs."

"That's precisely why I smiled. A straight face and they take it for interest. You, on the other hand — you might watch your mouth. I don't know where you got your invitation, but given your circumstances, can you really afford to waste your energy on this sort of meddling?"

"What I do with my energy is my own concern, so perhaps the count should focus on his omega work."

"And that is my concern, top graduate."

Those blue eyes, staring straight into his, were maddening beyond endurance. Each barb was met without a single coarse word, deflected and returned with precision — so the man was not stupid.

In the count's enormous library, they were entirely alone. Which meant no one to interrupt. Which also meant they could spar as viciously as they liked.

"I'd assumed you spent your time looking for a mate, so the fact that you're reading humanistic philosophy of that caliber is genuinely shocking. That's a classic most people can't get through without considerable patience."

"A mat——! A person of quality cultivates broad learning. You're the one who should be finding a mate, quickly — preferably one with money."

Sparks flew between them again. They traded artful smiles, exchanged simultaneous nods, and turned away — Kloff toward another painting, Aeroc toward the sofa with his book. Kloff found it difficult to concentrate on the art. Aeroc, apparently, did not share the problem; before long the sound of pages turning began at a steady rhythm. He read faster than Kloff had expected.

Is he actually reading, or just looking at the letters?

Kloff glanced back from time to time, and whenever he did, Aeroc hurriedly dropped his gaze and turned a page. Then turned back several pages to an earlier spot. Wanted to look learned, did he. Kloff snorted and moved to another painting.

After the tea party ended and he returned to his small rented flat, Kloff was dragged to one gathering after another through his professor's introductions. Most of the company was older alphas, with the occasional young aristocrat mixed in. They were, unexpectedly, perfectly ordinary people of culture. At such moments he would think of Aeroc, insufferably proud beyond all reason, and feel an irritation that served no purpose.

A few months later, another invitation arrived from the Teiwind estate. The first time, it had come through his professor. This time, a butler appeared at Kloff's door in person to deliver it — how they had found his address was anyone's guess.

"You need an answer right away?"

"Yes, sir. Our count instructed me to convey the following: 'I cannot hold a place for you indefinitely, so if you don't decide now, you'll be dining on your feet.'"

"That bastard. Tell him I'll be there. I'll be there."

"Very good, sir. Then if you'll excuse me."

The fastidious-looking butler, immaculate in black, gave a courteous bow and departed. Kloff slammed the front door behind him and opened the fine card in his hand once more.

The formal dinner invitation was handwritten, not printed. The ink and penmanship matched the elegant signature — it looked as though Aeroc had written it himself. A declaration of war, announcing the second round. This time, Kloff would not be satisfied until he saw that white face contort beyond all composure. He scowled even as the corner of his mouth rose. The invitation was placed in plain view atop a bookshelf crammed with documents and volumes.

He had expected a dinner of some scale, but this was — what, the New Year's state banquet at the royal palace?

Dazzling gowns and jewels adorned omegas of both sexes, and the alphas wore black suits honed sharp enough to cut, their shoes polished to a gleam — a hundred guests at least, the place teeming. He had been sure he wasn't late, yet Kloff was shown to a seat in the farthest corner from the head of the table. Positioned, naturally, where a lift of the head gave a clear view — so as not to miss the entertainment of watching him from the other end.

Why did I come? No matter how I look at it, I walked right into a game he's running.

He drank the expensive wine and could not unknit his brow. He should have anticipated this. He'd been careless.

This time, the count had changed tactics. At the far end of the enormous table, in the seat of honor, Aeroc had a beautiful female omega at his side. Even from a distance, she was a strikingly sensual woman, radiating an almost dangerous allure. Her plush lips were painted a vivid red against a deep green gown, and she smiled coyly at whatever the blond alpha beside her was murmuring in her ear. Aeroc — his face paler than hers, groomed from crown to toe as though entered in a beauty contest, flawless — caught Kloff's eye from time to time and gave a teasing little smile. It might have been mockery, but that was not really the point.

When the count pressed a light kiss to his partner's cheek — those lips that needed no crimson lipstick to be captivating — and his self-assured blue eyes met Kloff's across the table, Kloff understood what he wanted.

Good God. What did I just imagine. This is insane.

He drained the wine remaining in his glass in one go. A waiter materialized instantly to refill it. The wine was well-aged and superb, and it went down dangerously easily.

As the dinner deepened and a pleasant haze of alcohol settled in, Kloff fell into easy conversation with the people seated near him. He had aspired to the law, and his way with words was not bad; before long, everyone around him was ignoring the distinguished guests at the head of the table and turning to Kloff instead. Light humor gave way to sharper wit, and soon the whole group was laughing and talking with such animation that those at the far end craned their necks and whispered among themselves, curious.

Even as he led the conversation, the truth was he could barely remember a word he'd said. He had spent the evening staring at those blue eyes that kept glancing his way, and the depraved imaginings he had internally branded disgusting left no room to retain anything as unimportant as small talk.

When the interminable dinner finally drew to a close, Aeroc — tireless to the last — wrapped an arm around the female omega's waist and escorted her away with perfect tenderness. He had shown no interest in fulfilling his duties as host. After the meal, the guests split along alpha and omega lines and moved to separate lounges. In the alpha lounge, people began to say aloud what they had not said in mixed company.

"Count Teiwind has always had a secretive side. He provides the venue and the food, but he doesn't involve himself in the socializing."

"Lately he's been showing his face more often, actually — there were times before when he'd send out invitations and never appear at all."

"The way he deflects everything so neatly — is that simply his nature?"

"His father wasn't much for society either, I'm told."

"Perhaps he's too exalted to mingle with ordinary folk."

"That may well be. But the omegas seem to find that sort of thing attractive. They're already in an uproar over the beauty he brought tonight."

"Not just the omegas. Lately the alphas have their eye on him too."

"Light dalliances are in fashion, I suppose, but would Teiwind really go for it?"

"Who knows? He might be easier than you'd think. That body of his — wouldn't look out of place on the receiving end, would it?"

From that point the alphas' conversation devolved steadily into vulgarity. Kloff had not joined in — only listened — but that alone was enough to sicken him, and he abandoned the room. Everywhere he went, men whose lower halves were larger than their brains. It was not yet time to leave, but he could see no reason to stay. He flagged down a passing servant and asked to have a carriage called.

"Leaving so soon, sir? Shall I inform the master?"

"Don't bother. The count seems busy at the moment — I'd rather not interrupt a good time."

He answered the butler's farewell curtly and climbed into the carriage.

The truth was, the alphas' talk had not been difficult to hear simply because he found the notion of sex between alphas distasteful. It was quite the opposite. He could not explain why, but when Aeroc had appeared with that omega beauty on his arm, flaunting sexually charged gestures while looking straight at him — it had not seemed like mere provocation. It had seemed like seduction.

In that moment, Kloff had felt the heat rush to his center. That was why he had thrown himself into wine and conversation — deliberately redirecting his attention. Without that outlet, he would have charged across the room, seized the man by the collar, dragged him into the nearest empty room, locked the door, and taken him. Even now, it was not the thinking of a sane mind.

In the lurching carriage, Kloff crossed his legs and scowled. He pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. He had to be out of his mind. Indulging in those fantasies in the middle of a crowd, shameless as an animal — and the filthy talk in the lounge had been unbearable for the same reason. Every word fed the images.

This was clearly abnormal. The man was a recent acquaintance. His personality had not a single endearing quality. And he was an alpha. Kloff's type had always been someone gentle, thoroughly omega in bearing — he had no reason to feel drawn to Aeroc Teiwind. And yet the image of the man coming undone kept surfacing, unbidden. Bringing that beauty to dinner had surely been the latest move in the same game Aeroc had been playing all along — underlining, as he had with every taunt, that Kloff was a pitiable top graduate who must try so hard because he is poor. Kloff could never keep company with that kind of omega.

But this time, Aeroc's needling had missed the mark entirely. What Kloff had been jealous of all evening was not Aeroc — it was the woman. Having admitted that much, he scrubbed both hands over his face.

I need to do something. And if there's nothing to be done, I'll avoid him. This is beyond the pale.

When the next invitation came, Kloff refused on the spot and threw the card into the fire. Keeping his distance from that quarter would be best for a smooth and uneventful life, he decided. He poured his time and effort into expanding his network through his professor, and before long, the professor's introduction led to an engagement with a wealthy and well-connected noble family.

With his first fee in hand, Kloff demonstrated his exceptional talent for investment and negotiation beyond all doubt, quickly earning his employer's trust and a great deal of money. Soon the first client's connections yielded further contracts, and his business began to flourish. The workload grew.

He moved out of the rented flat, bought a suitable house on the outskirts, and set up an office in the city proper. Before long he could afford a housekeeper to manage the house. Consumed entirely by his work, Kloff was becoming an increasingly successful investor — so immersed that his housekeeper, Martha, nagged him to at least eat his meals properly. In the meantime, he managed to put the count who had needled him and irritated him at every turn out of his mind.