5. The fate flows again

5. The fate flows again

On the evening of the full moon, Kloff — under Martha's relentless supervision — was made to put on the black suit he rarely wore.

"Do I really need to go to all this trouble?"

"What are you talking about? If you don't wear good clothes on a night like this, when will you? Turn around."

He obliged, and Martha inspected the waistcoat for creases, gripping the hem and pulling it sharply downward. Satisfied, she fetched the jacket — pressed to such a state of perfection that the word wrinkle had no place in its vocabulary — and held it for him. She helped him into it, then produced a clothes brush from somewhere and swept his shoulders.

"Comb your hair back neatly. Let me see. The shirt's tucked in too far — give me that cuff."

She refastened the cufflinks, tugged the shirt cuff until a sliver of white peeked past the black jacket sleeve, and made a final adjustment to the tie — not a fraction askew. Then she stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed her work with obvious satisfaction.

"Shoes polished and shining. Splendid. The omegas won't know where to look."

"I don't need anyone's attention but one person's."

"You have the ring?"

Standing before the full-length mirror, Kloff looked at Martha and grinned.

The sound of the carriage arriving drifted in. He went downstairs, and Martha pressed into his hands — as immaculately prepared as the jacket — his hat and cane.

"You'd better succeed. I'm bored stiff alone in this house."

"By next year I'll make sure you're too busy minding children to be bored."

Kloff beamed, said his goodbye, and climbed into the carriage. From the front door, Martha waved him off.

"If you fail, don't bother coming home! I won't open the door!"

"That is not going to happen."

The carriage carried the faintly nervous young alpha toward his destination. The road that normally felt irritatingly close stretched interminably tonight. Watching the imposing manor grow in the distance, Kloff took the small box from his jacket pocket. The ring sparkled more brilliantly than ever.

He should have gone to the Westport residence first to collect Rapiel. But today that hadn't been possible. The earlier incident — returning Rapiel slightly late — had caused trouble, and Viscount Westport had insisted on sending his own carriage to deliver his precious omega son to the count's estate. Kloff was a little disappointed not to see him sooner, but the anticipation was heightened in equal measure. He smiled to himself, imagining how charmingly Rapiel would look tonight.

The drive was already crowded with other guests' carriages. A footman approached and opened the door as Kloff waited his turn. He fastened the jacket button he'd left undone to keep the fabric smooth, and stepped out toward the entrance.

The grey-haired butler, dressed even more sharply than usual, was greeting the arriving guests with impeccable poise.

"Good evening, Marquess Wolfrake."

"Hmm. Hugo. Keeping well?"

"Very well, thank you, my lord. — You there, show the marquess to his table."

A tall, dark-haired alpha followed the footman inside. Hugo's manner toward this guest was grave beyond measure. Kloff came in behind him and presented his invitation. The butler began with a courteous bow — then spotted the name on the front of the card, and his brows drew slightly together as he looked up. His eyes — long, narrow, and habitually severe — went wide.

"Kloff…… Bendyke……?!"

"What — is there something on my face?"

They saw each other constantly; it was hardly a new face. But the butler stared as though he'd seen something impossible, even raking him up and down. Kloff was no fool — he knew the butler deeply resented anyone who scolded or lost his temper at Aeroc. A courteous distance had been maintained between them, neither expressing it openly, but this behavior was out of line enough to rankle.

"That's rather rude."

"My apologies. I was merely far more — no, somewhat — taken aback than usual."

"Because a money-grubbing country bumpkin who doesn't belong at a storied concert has dressed above his station?"

He lifted his chin and looked down at the elderly butler through lowered eyes. A slight upturn of his lip — and the butler faltered, then rallied. The cool, impenetrable smile returned.

"Not at all. Tonight you are a guest more than worthy of gracing our concert. I must confess, I'm impressed. I had no expectation whatsoever of seeing you look this fine. I'll be paying the price for losing our wager, it seems. — You there, show Mr. Bendyke to that table."

"Wager?"

He tried to follow up, but the butler had already turned to the next guest. Before Kloff could press further, the footman was leading him away. He fixed the butler with a stare, and Hugo — already greeting the next arrival — murmured without looking back, "A private matter between myself and my master."

"They're betting on me now. I will absolutely be taking this up later."

He was still scowling as he stepped into the rose garden — and every surly thought vanished on the spot.

Dozens — no, hundreds — of lanterns blazed like scattered stars across the vast rose garden, at the center of which a stage had been raised for the performers. Before it, tables for scores of guests were arranged in a balanced formation, and between them moved a staff nearly as numerous as the guests. But that was not what struck Kloff speechless.

The silk-sheeted tables bore scented candles of the finest quality, flickering atop gleaming silver candlesticks, beside sprays of rare flowers — certainly not from the garden. The chairs, draped in matching silk covers, each bore a tiny wreath of fresh blooms. And the roses — the staggering number of roses ringing the entire space — each one tied with a white silk ribbon. And the petals of every color scattered across the ground were simply beyond——

How much did this cost! You bastard count!

He wanted to find Aeroc immediately and demand to know how far over budget this had gone. But the man was nowhere to be found. The servants were no help: "We're not certain where the count is at the moment." "He was in the music hall speaking with the conductor a short while ago, but he's no longer there."

He considered storming Hugo and demanding the count be produced, but the butler was receiving guests of considerable rank, and causing a scene would create a bigger problem. If I wait, he'll turn up eventually. Kloff drummed his fingers on the table, grinding his teeth.

He was seated at one of the best tables — dead center, front row. Given the speed at which he had stabilized the estate's teetering finances, a seat like this was perhaps deserved, but it surprised him all the same. This much was unnecessary.

The company at the surrounding tables confirmed it — marquesses, counts, viscounts, the lot — it felt like a royal New Year's banquet or a coronation. Kloff was the only one without a title. He was not intimidated, exactly, but neither was he entirely at ease. He could not understand why he'd been given this seat. The suspicion that the wager was some kind of prank at his expense was growing — and then Rapiel appeared.

The moment Kloff saw him, he was on his feet, jaw open.

Rapiel, dressed in a pale blue suit, was so beautiful and so lovely that every head in the vicinity turned. Uneasy under the stares, he scanned the crowd with nervous eyes — and when he found his lover, standing, a smile broke across his white face.

"Isn't that the Westport eldest?"

"His mother was such a beauty — the son is extraordinary too."

"And who is that man?"

"They're about to be engaged, I hear. The family is modest, but the young alpha has talent, and his future is promising. With no alpha heir, the Westports will take him in as a son-in-law, I expect."

"Oh — what a darling pair."

The whispers, though quite audible, barely registered. Kloff went to Rapiel, took his hand, pressed a light kiss to the back of it, and then touched his lips to the omega's cheek.

On his way back to the table, a chilling gaze prickled the back of his neck. Instinctive anger and alertness made him glance sideways — and there was Marquess Wolfrake, the man he'd noticed earlier, staring at him with eyes that gleamed like a wolf's, every bit as predatory as the name implied. The hostility felt like a direct challenge; Kloff held the stare without flinching, despite the breach of etiquette. After a moment, Wolfrake looked away first.

Strange man.

The thought did not last. Rapiel, now in the chair beside him, was saying devastatingly adorable things — "I was so nervous getting ready that I fumbled everything and ended up a little late. I don't look strange, do I? People keep staring——" — and Kloff fell into the words completely.

"Nothing happened on the way here?"

"I came in our family carriage, so I was fine. But this table — dead center! Kloff, what did you do?"

There was laughter in Rapiel's voice. Kloff shrugged with exaggerated drama. "My tireless efforts have finally moved the count's heart, it seems." But in truth, he was equally puzzled.

The other tables in this row seated three or four guests. This one held only two. No extra chairs. It looked as though it had been planned from the start — for exactly two people.

It was a little strange. Not that he'd be embarrassed in any setting, but positioning the two of them like this amid a guest list positively crawling with titles — it was as though someone knew precisely what Kloff intended tonight. Surely not. He didn't mind it, exactly. It just nagged. But not for long.

The servants began bringing out champagne and platters of cream-topped fruits and pastries to suit the concert. Being at the head table, they were served first. A young footman in formal dress presented an unopened bottle, tilting it to show the label — and Kloff's mind went blank.

He could not believe his eyes. He rubbed them with his fingers and looked again. He was not mistaken. Behind the footman standing at their table, a procession of servants — directed by the butler — filed out carrying bottles with the same label, fanning out to every table. Soon the bright pop of corks filled the air.

"Kloff?"

Rapiel's small voice broke through. Kloff came to his senses and nodded to the footman, who opened the bottle with practiced hands, poured the golden, fizzing liquid into crystal glasses that shone like cut diamonds, and vanished. Rapiel sniffed the champagne and said, "What a lovely aroma."

"Of course it is. This is a special commission reserved for state occasions — coronations and the like."

"Is it rare?"

"Very. Drink up. You'll never see it again."

Kloff smiled. He clinked his glass against bewildered Rapiel's and drank. The richness of flavor and bouquet was enough to make one's head swim.

Yes. This is what gold tastes like. And Count — you are dead tonight. I'll pour this nectar of the gods generously over your grave.

The concert began without the host appearing. The conductor stepped onto the stage, gave his bow, and the music swelled. As the full moon climbed higher, the beautiful harmonies captivated the audience. Even the idle chatter that usually persisted at such gatherings was nearly absent.

Kloff and Rapiel, seated close together at their small table, were absorbed. Rapiel was taking piano lessons and was genuinely fond of music; they had attended performances together before.

"Tonight's repertoire is very romantic. Imagine — hearing 'Full Moon' under an actual full moon. Did you know the composer wrote it for the person he loved?"

"Is that so."

In truth, the music registered to Kloff as little more than sentimental melody. The quality of tone and the flawless execution were only to be expected given what those performers cost — but he knew well enough to keep that observation to himself.

Rapiel, emotional and richly sensitive by nature, had at some point taken Kloff's hand where it rested on the armrest and leaned his head lightly against Kloff's shoulder. The weight was so right that Kloff was just bending to press a kiss to the crown of soft golden hair — when the back of his neck prickled again. He snapped his head around. Wolfrake was staring at them again.

What — you want to fight?

This time Kloff returned the glare with killing intent. Wolfrake tilted his half-empty champagne glass, set it on the table, and twisted his thin lips. Unmistakable hostility.

God. Tonight I genuinely want to keep the peace. Between the count and this marquess, does no one intend to help me? What have I done to deserve this unprovoked harassment? Let's see — count, marquess — who's left? Baron, viscount, duke? The viscounts are already covered by Westport and Derbyshire tag-teaming me, so if I collect a baron and a duke I'll have the complete set of five enemy ranks. Insane. Ha ha ha ha. Ignore it. Ignore him. Today is an important day. Not the night for blood.

Kloff forced his gaze forward and squeezed the omega's soft hand. Rapiel nestled closer. Meanwhile, the sensation at the back of his skull felt as though someone were literally driving a knife into it. Hmm — no, this won't do. That sleek face needs one good hit before I can——

At that moment, the music reached its climax, held a lingering note, and fell away. Applause broke out. Kloff joined in, glancing sideways — Wolfrake was clapping too, facing forward, as though nothing had happened. Irritation from a dozen sources was boiling over, and Kloff was still glaring at the marquess when the applause suddenly swelled. Without thinking, he clapped harder and turned to face the stage. And froze.

The conductor had just introduced the soloist, and there, on the platform — wearing clothes far finer than the performers' standard formal dress, a gleaming violin in hand — stood someone unmistakable. His golden hair, always immaculate but tonight especially radiant, was swept cleanly back, baring the pale, composed face that showed every line of his temperament. In the flickering light, his lips — more deeply red than usual — were pressed shut as he raised the violin to his shoulder and exchanged a nod with the conductor.

"I've heard Count Teiwind has exceptional musical talent — and now we get to hear it ourselves. I'm so excited."

Kloff flicked a glance at Rapiel, who was clapping with delighted little bursts, then looked forward again. The count appeared slightly thinner — had it only been a few days? Aeroc stood under the lights, drawn and faintly haggard, eyes cast down. As the bow met the strings, the lush lashes fell into a faint shadow beneath. And within that shadow, the intensely blue eyes shone like jewels.

The music began at once. Kloff did not know the title, but the melody was famous enough to recognize — and that it was a love theme, anyone could tell. The concerto — a breathtaking collaboration between solo violin and full orchestra — drew audible sighs from every corner. Rapiel's hand trembled in his. Even Kloff seemed to be falling into the music. But it was not the music alone that held him.

Those blue eyes — by turns haughty, by turns cold, sometimes blazing with fury — were damp that night. Not from the music drawing it out. They had been that way from the start. Opening and closing his eyes in small intervals, the count played with exquisitely controlled movements, and from time to time, he looked toward their table. Each time their eyes met, Aeroc gave a small smile.

The breeze stirred the hem of his jacket. The neatly swept hair, too. Tilting his head toward the violin as though leaning into a lover, Aeroc poured something raw and desperate into the melody — like a man in love with a tragedy already in motion.

"It's so beautiful. And so sad."

Rapiel pressed a handkerchief to the corners of his eyes as he spoke. Kloff nodded in silence. He could not speak. And he could not take his eyes off Aeroc. The count was unbearably sacred and beautiful. Standing there with such authority, and yet so pitiable beyond words — as though he might dissolve like sea foam in the space of a single blink. Until the performance ended, Kloff had to press his hand against his sternum to contain a grief he could not name and a sharp, stinging ache. That was the best he could do.

Two more pieces followed in succession. Standing amid the wavering golden light, wreathed in music, Aeroc looked like the incarnation of Israfael, the angel of music. It was sentimental minor-key work, but in that moment nothing could have been more fitting. Spellbound by the music, the atmosphere, and Aeroc himself, omegas dabbed at their eyes on every side. The muffled sniffling snapped Kloff to his senses; he caught himself, cleared his throat, and looked around.

When the final piece ended, the applause was thunderous. Several people rose to their feet — Rapiel among them. He sprang up the moment it ended, clapping until his palms were red, still wiping beneath his eyes with the back of his hand between rounds.

Aeroc shook hands with the conductor. The two bowed to the cheering audience, and the ovation only grew. At last, after bowing again and again with a bright, open smile, Aeroc managed to descend from the stage. The impassioned crowd settled back into their seats and resumed the conversations the performance had interrupted. Rapiel, too, had apparently clapped enough; he lowered his still-glistening eyes, bashful.

Denying that the performance had been extraordinarily beautiful was not an option — but beyond even that, something heavy lodged in his chest and left his throat parched. He took a sip from the half-finished champagne. Beside him, the tip of Rapiel's nose had gone faintly red. The handkerchief was streaked with tear marks.

"Do you think the count had his heart broken?"

Kloff nearly choked. Champagne almost shot out through his nose.

"Wh— What are you talking about?"

"Why else would a performance like that come out?"

"Don't be absurd. That count? I can't imagine he's capable of loving anyone deeply enough to feel something like heartbreak. He's far too arrogant."

At this, Rapiel fixed him with a pointed look — as though it were he who had been denied — and shot back:

"Anyone can love. The count must have someone he cares about. Without that, a performance like this would be impossible. You may not understand, Kloff — you have no interest in music — but even so, you shouldn't corner someone like that."

"I suppose you're right."

Rapiel — who was always gentle, always deferring to others — had never spoken this firmly in defense of anyone. Startled into compliance, Kloff conceded. Whereupon Rapiel, who had been lecturing with a pointed finger, seemed to realize what he'd done and lowered his hand. "I got a little carried away," he said, embarrassed.

"Don't apologize. I think I was in the wrong."

"If you keep saying things like that——"

The golden-haired omega lifted his head, about to say something more — then shut his mouth. Following his gaze, Kloff understood why. The very person who had just stolen everyone's breath, having discarded the sorrowful expression as if it had never existed, was approaching with the usual artificial smile.

"Hello, Rapiel."

"Good evening, Count."

Kloff had at least expected a greeting — but Aeroc ignored him completely and addressed Rapiel. Rapiel stood with his hands clasped, starstruck, at a loss.

"How was my performance? Did you enjoy it?"

"It was magnificent. Like a melody from heaven."

"That's too kind. I'm not at that level."

"You are! I may not have vast experience, but your playing was truly moving. Thank you for the invitation tonight."

Rapiel gushed praise after praise. It was pure admiration, not flattery, but the sheer volume was enough to make Kloff — listening from the side — feel the endearing awkwardness of it. He cleared his throat. Whereupon Aeroc, as though only just realizing Kloff existed, turned to him with a mildly startled expression. A deeper smile than before spread across the white face.

"And how did you find it? Do you agree with your lover?"

"I lack the musical knowledge to offer a proper critique, but even to my untrained ear the quality was unmistakable. More than good enough to sell yourself as a performer. For a handsome fee — enough to recoup tonight's losses."

Both Rapiel and Aeroc furrowed their brows and stared at him. Up close, size and presence couldn't be more different, yet two golden blondes with blue eyes — twin luminous shapes — glaring at him in unison was, he had to admit, somewhat overpowering.

"Miser who knows nothing but money."

"Normally I'd take your side, but that was truly too much."

"……"

He had nothing to say.

After a brief exchange, Aeroc excused himself to greet the other guests in his capacity as host. Those who had been waiting received him with bright faces. Watching him go, Kloff briefly considered how to offset tonight's cost overrun — perhaps selling the count to a notoriously exploitative, financially struggling theater orchestra would do the trick. Hard labor at rock-bottom wages, combined with a lesson in the value of money, should fix things. Once he'd eaten tear-soaked bread there, he'd learn. Meanwhile, Rapiel tugged at his sleeve.

"There are hardly any people left around us."

It was true — empty seats had appeared at tables here and there. The guests couldn't have left already, not when the evening was just beginning. The emotional performance had surely driven paired alphas and omegas into the surrounding darkness, seeking privacy. Kloff understood why Rapiel had mentioned it. He slid a hand around that impossibly slender waist and escorted him away from the crowded garden.

"You two are quite close, aren't you."

Laughter colored the remark, and Kloff pulled a face. "Where on earth do you see that?"

"You speak to each other so casually and familiarly. I've never seen anyone talk to the count like that."

"You don't talk with him much?"

"Not really. He's been inviting me more often lately, but the count is a very private person."

"Hmm. Is that so?"

Earlier, Aeroc had referred to Rapiel as Kloff's lover. And the seating — arranged as though he knew everything. The aristocratic grapevine was swift, and Kloff had mentioned the relationship indirectly a few times, so Aeroc could well have known. But this degree of consideration was strange. Given the constant sparring between them, one would sooner expect a cruel prank or a cutting remark — and yet tonight, Aeroc had said nothing. The table for two, the achingly sad performance, the sorrowful expression — all of it defied expectation.

Do you think the count had his heart broken?

Rapiel's words surfaced in his mind. He looked down at the pretty omega walking beside him. A chill ran down his spine. Surely not — Aeroc?

For reasons he could not explain, a terrible urgency seized him. If he did not propose to Rapiel right now, something catastrophic was going to happen.

Desperate, Kloff chose the best spot he could find. Anywhere near the manor was out — the army of servants mobilized for the concert was everywhere. And Rapiel wanted to stay in the rose garden.

There ought to have been a suitable place in the unlit shadows, but somehow tonight, every secluded corner was already occupied by people he'd never noticed before. From some of the darker recesses came sounds too embarrassing to overhear — Kloff clapped both hands over Rapiel's ears and hurried them away. Damn them all. Why are they breeding in someone else's house?

"Over there — I don't think anyone's there."

Rapiel pointed. They went. And there, prowling like a wolf hunting for prey, a pair of gleaming silver eyes floated in the darkness.

"Wolf's den. Let's go."

Kloff turned without a backward glance and pulled Rapiel away. After much more searching — by which point his temper was about to crack — he finally found a small, unoccupied space. Distant lantern light filtered in from the side, and climbing roses wound up an arched trellis beside them, impossibly pretty. The faint scent of roses was perfect. He positioned Rapiel beneath the arch — where the omega looked as though he had always belonged — and took a breath to steady his hammering heart, then released the hand he'd been holding.

"Rapiel Westport."

He spoke the full name in a soft, low voice. Rapiel tensed, brought both hands to his chest, then lowered them and answered shyly.

"Yes, Kloff Bendyke."

The full moon was behind him, casting a faint glow over the golden hair. Rapiel could not quite lift his head; his downcast gaze trembled at the fingertips. Seeing that, Kloff's already racing heart pounded harder. The small heart inside that small chest was surely doing the same.

All he had to do was kneel and propose. But now that the moment was here, it was not easy. Confidence drained away without warning, replaced by an incomprehensible guilt. He was even afraid. The weight of making someone's precious child entirely his own, he told himself. But there was no retreating. He would look ridiculous — and worse, he would hurt Rapiel.

The blue eyes watching him wavered, not merely from the dim light. Kloff smiled at the person before him, drew the box from his pocket, and Rapiel gave a soft gasp. At the same moment, Kloff took a deep breath and went to one knee before the one he would spend his life with. And just as his fingers opened the box——

Something rustled in the corner. Two people came crashing toward them, kissing frantically, hands roaming over each other's bodies, utterly oblivious to anyone else. Kloff, having just knelt, could not dodge the collision. They tripped over him and went sprawling in spectacular fashion. Kloff was pinned beneath them both. The ring box flew from his hand and vanished into the dark.

"Hey! What—!"

"Damn it! Who's there?"

"Ahh — Kloff!"

"There's a person here!"

The two who had landed on him showed no haste to get up, flailing uselessly. As if the impact weren't enough, these wretched creatures ground him into the earth like a cheap doormat, and through it all, Kloff's mind ran cold and clear.

Why? Why does no one help? Why did that wolf pick exactly the right spot to lurk, funneling us here? Why do these swine choose tonight — of all nights, HERE — to rut like animals incapable of producing offspring? And why — WHY — did I come to a concert hosted by that accursed count to propose? This is a curse. This is all a curse.

The two finally got up. Kloff rose too. Rapiel, eyes full of worry, asked "Are you all right?" but Kloff silently pushed him behind his back.

"Of all places, you come here to fool around."

"For God's sake — we had such a good mood going. Let's find somewhere else."

They tried to leave without so much as an apology. Kloff caught one of them by the shoulder. The man smacked his hand away and turned, annoyed.

"What?"

"Nothing much. Call it a mad-dog hunt."

Kloff grinned, seized the man by the collar with one hand, clenched his fist, and swung — packing into the blow every frustration this day had forced him to endure.

"Get up. We're not finished."

"Gkh— Stop."

"Aagh! Stop it! You crazy bastard!"

"Kloff! Please!"

Rapiel, white-faced, tried to intervene, but Kloff was beyond hearing. He gripped the collar tighter — the man's face already swollen beyond recognition — and swung again. The other one was already half-wrecked, rolling on the ground.

"If you want to grind against each other so badly, do it where I can't see. You've just ruined a very important proposal."

The irritation that had been building since the moment he arrived — the inexplicable hostility, the gnawing anxiety — fused into something that consumed his reason entirely.

He knew there was no need to go this far. But recently, he had found it increasingly difficult to contain his anger. When an emotion he couldn't name rose to the top of his skull, the only alternative to venting it was something that felt like death — and most of the time, the release came at someone's expense. Usually, the outlet was his cane in "the bottom." Tonight, the targets happened to be two unlucky alphas.

Blow after blow — the man's nose broke, blood streaming freely. Kloff's own fists were no better off; by tomorrow, holding a pen would be a challenge. That was why he normally used the cane — but he didn't have it tonight. There was nothing for it. His knuckles were already drenched in blood.

When the sagging man exhaled a rough, wet breath, droplets of blood spattered across the furious alpha's face. They caught Rapiel's face too — he had been hanging on Kloff's arm trying to pull him off — and the gentle omega recoiled in shock and stumbled back. But Kloff could not spare him attention. The man was weeping now, begging — why are you doing this — and Kloff, eyes blazing, leaned close and growled:

"Alpha filth that can't keep off each other — shut your mouth. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life drinking through a straw."

The man trembled with fear and went silent. A few more blows, and Kloff shoved him onto his already-unconscious companion. The two lay in a heap, out cold. What had started as personal rage and frustration had been overtaken by a violent loathing of sex between alphas — a loathing whose intensity made no rational sense.

It was the ugliest face of decadent indulgence. How two alphas — or two omegas — could engage in such revolting acts was beyond his understanding. Some claimed it avoided the responsibility of unwanted children; others cited the debased novels — barely deserving the name literature — whose protagonists they idolized; still others were seduced by the rumored pleasures. It had become fashionable among the increasingly dissolute upper classes — even married couples kept same-sex lovers on the side, treating them as one-off amusements.

But the revulsion Kloff felt was not rooted in any particular moral fastidiousness. As he slammed his fists down, he realized where the recent anxiety and urgency had begun. And the fury he felt now — its cause, too. It was nothing other than self-loathing.

What dominated his mind was the image of the man who had played violin with such desperate beauty, looking as though he might collapse at any moment. Why did the image keep surfacing?

Everything about the man grated and demanded attention — and now, the instant Kloff had wondered whether Aeroc might have feelings for Rapiel, what had risen was not jealousy of Aeroc but jealousy of Rapiel. Denial was useless. He had rushed to propose, to solidify the relationship and cut the impossible, impermissible feeling at the root. But his plan had been destroyed by an unexpected intrusion.

Shaking out his swelling fists and swearing, he surveyed the damage. The jacket was ruined — crumpled and spattered with blood in several places. Martha's lecture was inevitable. He loosened the choking tie, swept back the hair that had fallen during the one-sided beating, and looked up at the sky with a long, heavy sigh. The ring — in this darkness, a small ring was impossible to find by lamplight alone. He dropped his shoulders and looked around. Rapiel was nowhere in sight.

"Rapiel?"

Where had he gone? He needed to find him. And the ring. Rapiel must be terrified. He'd been so careful, and now — Kloff kicked the unconscious alphas and dropped to his knees in the dark, groping along the ground. He needed the ring. Disaster or not, the proposal had to be finished somehow.

Footsteps — several people approaching. Kloff half-rose and looked back. The horrified estate owner, the butler, the tear-soaked lover — and, for reasons entirely unclear, the wolf as well. Aeroc, eyes wide, uncharacteristically loud:

"What have you done?!"

"Taught some rude men their manners."

Aeroc, gone white, rushed to Kloff — who was shrugging as if it were nothing — and seized his hand. He took one look and crumpled his face. "You're hurt," he said, in a voice half-crying.

"It's nothing."

"Nothing?! There's blood all over your face!"

"Not mine."

Aeroc was glaring at Kloff, about to let him have it, when Wolfrake — whose presence remained entirely unexplained — cut in.

"Your man seems fine. Those two, on the other hand, do not look fine at all. Are you going to leave them like that? If you're not careful, this becomes a very public scandal."

The butler was the one who responded. He issued rapid orders to a maid who had followed them: "A doctor, quickly. You — the first-aid box. Bandages, clean towels, water. Move quietly." Then he approached the two casualties. He dabbed the blood from one man's nose with his own handkerchief and clicked his tongue.

"How on earth did you manage to hit them like this? Tsk tsk."

"They're alive."

"Were you trying to kill them?"

As the butler aimed another barbed remark, footmen arrived and carried the unconscious pair inside. Hugo followed with a maid. Another maid appeared with a second first-aid box and told Kloff his hand needed treating. Aeroc snatched the bandage roll from her hands and began wrapping Kloff's fist in frantic, graceless loops. She wound it so tightly that Kloff hissed in pain, and Aeroc's shoulder flinched.

"You're doing it wrong."

"Shut up."

The maid watched with visible concern, glancing between Kloff and Aeroc, but who could overrule the count's stubbornness? Kloff was too exhausted to fight it, so he sighed and let Aeroc bandage him however he liked. Instead, he looked toward Rapiel — standing apart, swallowing tears, clutching his small chest and hiccupping. He felt terrible.

"Rapiel."

Though he had called softly, Rapiel startled as though struck by thunder. He pressed his trembling lips shut, scrubbed at his tears with the back of his hand, and came over to where Aeroc knelt, hands frozen mid-wrap.

"Count, let me……"

"Ah — yes. Of course Rapiel should do it. Here, yes. Take this."

The hands passing over the roll of bandage trembled — the round bundle slipped free and rolled across the ground. Rapiel picked it up, and Aeroc stole a quick, anxious glance at Kloff before turning away. Rapiel unwound the slapdash bandaging completely, then asked the maid beside him, "Do you have a cold compress? I think we need to ice this."

"If you'll come inside, I'll prepare ice water."

"Thank you."

The maid led Kloff and Rapiel inside. As they passed the entrance to the garden, the stares of the silent marquess and the agitated count bored into Kloff's back. The count's heightened emotions were one thing — but what that marquess wanted was beyond him.

Kloff had vented thoroughly, but the residual agitation lingered. He clenched his swollen fists and bit down hard. Rapiel, walking beside him with an arm around his waist, felt it and looked up at him with fresh alarm. The guilt of frightening this gentle person was enough to make Kloff swallow the anger and force a smile.

"I'm sorry. I ruined everything."

"It's all right. As long as you're safe, that's enough."

He looked anything but all right, but Kloff did not press. Instead, he drew Rapiel close with his throbbing, burning hand.

Given the caliber of tonight's guest list, the men he'd beaten were almost certainly from families of consequence. Trouble ahead was inevitable. But in the moment, he couldn't think about that. Despite the thorough venting, the inexplicable anxiety, the fury, and the restlessness still lurked beneath the surface. All he could do was try not to frighten the small, pretty omega any further.

The scandal did not erupt publicly within the estate. But those who knew exchanged grave looks. The two alphas Kloff had beaten were sons of prominent families, and once their parents learned, a serious uproar was inevitable. Hugo rushed a doctor to treat them, then sent them home in carriages. Meanwhile, Kloff tried to see Rapiel off, but Rapiel declined.

"You're hurt — you need to rest."

"I have something to tell you."

"Next time."

Rapiel hesitated, then kissed Kloff's cheek and climbed into the Westport carriage that had come for him. As Kloff closed the door, he pressed a kiss — apologetic — to Rapiel's hand resting on the window ledge.

"All right. Next time, then."

"I'll be waiting."

Rapiel lowered his eyes and smiled.

After the carriage departed, Kloff was engulfed in a foul mood — disappointment in himself and regret at disappointing his lover. His chest was heavy, his energy drained. He was about to ask a footman to call a carriage when Aeroc appeared from nowhere and inserted himself.

"It's late — stay the night. I'll have a room prepared."

"There's no need for that."

"You caused an incident in my house. Stay in case the families contact us tonight."

"They struck first."

Kloff made sure to establish the facts for the benefit of the count — the key witness in any future dispute.

"Of course they did. But you can't deny it was a one-sided beating. And these are sons of families whose social standing can't be ignored."

"So I'm at fault because I lack the rank and power to touch the highborn."

He smirked, and Aeroc's face contorted as he raised his voice.

"That's not what I mean! They will try to retaliate!"

"I won't sit still for it."

The count went rigid, still pale, glaring. His shoulders trembled finely.

"No one in this world knows that better than I do. But stay tonight. You must be tired."

"Very well."

He was tired, and the legal complications were real enough — he knew that as a legal specialist. But more than anything, Aeroc looked exhausted and sad, and somehow Kloff couldn't hold his ground against that. Martha wouldn't open the door for him anyway, and one night in this sprawling manor was no great imposition. Above all, Kloff had dragged the count into a mess at his own event — the least he could do was comply on a small point.

A maid appeared and showed Kloff to a guest room. He offered thanks, but Aeroc gave no reply — only stared after him, then turned and stalked off in the other direction.

The room was the same one he'd stayed in on his very first visit to the estate. Alone, Kloff tore off the jacket in frustration, yanked the tie loose, undid several collar buttons, and went to the window. He stepped out onto the small terrace. The deepening night air was cool enough to calm his burning head. He leaned against the railing and looked up — then naturally let his gaze drift downward.

From this second-floor room, the rose garden spread out below. The concert was over; tables and chairs remained, but the rest had been cleared. The last servants collecting lanterns passed through, and the lights winked out one by one — as though blossoms of light were wilting. The breeze was cool. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and exhaled. A faint scent of roses.

Tonight had been a disaster. If he'd known it would go like this, he would never have come. Chasing romance he had no talent for had only ended in ruin. The last image of his disappointed lover weighed on him. To make up for this, something extraordinary would be needed — but nothing came to mind. He should have kept it simple. Wait — the ring?

His eyes flew open. He jumped up, patted his pockets, then caught sight of the jacket thrown on the bed and remembered. He'd been searching for the ring when everyone arrived, and after that it had slipped his mind entirely. Swearing inwardly, he left the room.

The garden was deserted — guests, musicians, servants all gone. A desolate wind blew through. Kloff, who had run out without even his jacket, all but snatched a lantern from a passing maid and headed for the spot where he'd pounded those men.

The ring mattered enormously. Not its price — it was a custom piece from the exclusive jeweler Viscount Derbyshire had gone out of his way to recommend, complete with a personal letter of introduction. The proposal was already ruined; if the ring was lost too, it wasn't just an incident — it was a serious blow to his standing. Not that his standing hadn't already taken one.

He swept the lantern over every spot where it might have fallen, groping with his free hand. All he turned up were rose petals and silk ribbons left behind from the cleanup. Romantic, someone might say — for Kloff, it was pure irritation. No ring. Not even the box. A box should have been easy to find, but no amount of searching produced it.

"Damn it. Where is it. Damned ring."

Bent at the waist until his back ached and his muscles screamed, eyes on nothing but the ground. He was so absorbed that he didn't hear someone approach from behind. So when a calm voice said, "You don't need to look," he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned — and there stood the count, wearing a faint smile, watching him.

"What?"

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Kloff straightened to face him. Aeroc came closer, studying him, and held out a small box. The ring box. The ring was still inside. Kloff eyed him with a slight frown — and Aeroc smiled again. He'd been watching this man smile so often that he was beginning to read the gradations. This one was neither mocking nor happy. It looked a little awkward, and a little sad.

"How did you know?"

"Hugo found it earlier."

Hugo had been busier than either of them, treating and dispatching two casualties — an imperfect excuse, save for that one detail. Before Kloff could ask how Aeroc had known the ring was his, the count broke the silence first.

"It's a shame about the proposal."

As he said it, that fine face broke into another smile — and the sight of it did something to Kloff. Not because the proposal had been ruined, and not because Aeroc was mocking him. Something forlorn welled up in him, a sorrow he couldn't name. He could still hear the violin in his ears. Perhaps that performance had not been music at all. Perhaps it had been a plea.

Why does the count affect me like this? The urge seized him — to see that pallid face stripped bare, the mask peeled away, revealing not the practiced smile but the raw, human self underneath. Weeping, laughing, or laid utterly bare.

His lover had left in tears — and all he could think about was what Aeroc Teiwind looked like in bed. Heat was gathering below. Truly the worst. The engagement ring was still in his hand. His heart was tearing itself in two, and the only thing that emerged was a harsh expression and blunt, unkind words.

"Thank you for finding it. I know I've imposed on you tonight, and I am sorry — but there's no need to insert yourself into other people's private affairs."

At the cold reply, Aeroc's smile widened. The eyes had not been smiling for some time. They held a sorrow of unfathomable depth. Just as Kloff's words and manner were at war with his heart, nothing about Aeroc's expression matched his eyes.

"You're right. You'll manage just fine on your own. Sorry for meddling. It's only that I……"

Halfway through the stiff, rehearsed-sounding answer, Aeroc paused and turned back. He had been walking away, but now he stopped and looked at Kloff — who was deliberately avoiding his gaze, offering only a sidelong glance.

"I only meant to say it's a shame, after all the preparation, that it didn't go well. That's truly all."

The words trailed off on the breeze, fading to nothing, and he disappeared into the far end of the garden.

Finding the ring was all well and good, but encountering the very person who sent his impossible turmoil spiraling had not been part of the plan. The equilibrium he'd barely managed to restore was shattered again, and everything unnameable came roaring back to life. Body and soul wrung dry by an exhausting day — yet with a mind this disordered, sleep was out of the question. A walk, then. He set the lantern on a stone step, shoved the ring into his pocket, and followed the gravel path, pale under the full moon.

Fire and ice tangled inside his ribs — a burning mass and a freezing mass fused into one agonizing knot. Better if one consumed the other, and the whole thing either burned out or froze solid. His swollen hands ached; his thoughts were a wreck. He should have been thinking about how to make it up to Rapiel, but what kept surfacing was the person he'd just encountered.

A vile, insatiable thirst. His presence or absence made no difference — the irritation and fury came in waves regardless. And the most unforgivable part: the mere thought of that common blond hair and blue eyes was enough to send desire crashing through him beyond all control. The beating he'd given those men — he admitted now — had not been simply because they'd interrupted him. The fire in his gut, the ice that doused it, both surged harder. Kloff breathed in cold air, breathed out hot air, and walked, step by step. The walk would be long.

The silent night garden, bathed in blue moonlight, looked like a world balanced on an ambiguous border. The deepening night brought a sharp chill to the breeze, but it cooled his head. His throbbing knuckles burned while his fingertips went cold. Kloff walked slowly, letting the wind do its work.

Wandering without direction, he ended up — as on his very first visit — lost, and found himself in the secluded corner where the cedars stood in a row.

The path shone pale. So different from his memory — back then, the breaking sunlight had been so dazzling it was like curtains of light rippling through the air. Now, the faint moonlight could not chase the shadows; its edges dissolved into darkness. The enormous, soundless pillars split the mist-like light, and what they failed to obscure, the wretched celestial body — incapable of shining on its own — they concealed entirely. Only the gravel, asleep in deep shadow, cried out in small protests beneath the heavy footsteps of a heavy-hearted man.

Which way was it from here? Right, using the manor as reference?

Gauging direction, Kloff walked the path that glimmered faintly in the moonlight. The pebbles, reflecting a pale, delicate sheen, looked like stars in the deep night sky.

Past the shadow of one great tree, something came into view. Among the cedars — their shadows repeating like a broken kaleidoscope, all to one side — someone else's silhouette was cast. Without willing it, his stride lengthened. Standing there, without a single lantern, staring at nothing — it was Aeroc. He had not gone back to the manor after all. The instant Kloff saw him, the precarious balance shattered, and everything unnameable began thrashing again.

Midnight, no lantern — what is he doing out here? Kloff's situation was the same, granted, but at least he had legitimate reason — tonight's debacle. What had driven the count to stand out here since the concert, looking for all the world as though he carried every grief and agony in existence?

The sight of him, standing dazed under the cedar shadows in the moonlight, staring up at the sky, was profoundly aggravating. And at the same time, Kloff had no desire to approach or acknowledge him. Since their first meeting, every encounter had left him feeling off-balance, and a face-to-face in a setting so poetic it practically wrote its own verse — moonlight, shadows, breeze, cedars — was the last thing he needed. Better to pass by quietly.

He walked a few more steps, then stopped and reconsidered. Passing by was worse than turning back. He spun around — and a cool gust hit him, carrying something disturbingly stimulating. A body scent that was neither alpha nor omega. Something strange.

No — omega? With alpha mixed in? Had a newlywed couple wandered past? Absurd. In this vast garden, there was no one except himself and Aeroc.

The scent triggered him — as it always did. Humiliating, but in the dead of night, the only other person here was a fellow alpha, so it didn't matter. And in this darkness, Aeroc would hardly be staring at that. More pressing: when had Aeroc been with an omega, and how long had they been at it for the body scent to get this tangled?

Dissolute creature. He clearly hadn't been to his room — he was out here savoring the afterglow amid the moon, the garden, the breeze and shadows. What a waste of beauty. Squandering a scene like this on the residue of sex.

The revulsion flared again — revulsion at himself, aroused by a stranger's post-coital scent. He resolved to go back at once. But he stopped again. Since the irritation was already in full bloom, he might as well say what he'd been meaning to say since early in the evening.

A concert that had cost as much as a house — and if the source of that tangled body scent was a real lover, the gifts and extravagances could trigger a genuine fiscal crisis. An immediate warning was needed. Someone who could blow through a fortune overnight couldn't be left unchecked for a moment.

His own arousal and his fury at Aeroc's mysterious partner had absolutely nothing to do with it. This was strictly professional counsel — from an investment agent, an asset manager. It was urgent. Kloff strode forward and planted himself behind Aeroc.

The count had been so lost in thought that he didn't notice until Kloff laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke.

"Hey."

The voice came out sharper than intended. Aeroc flinched violently, whipping around, and his hand lashed out to strike away the arm that held him. The sudden spin threw him off balance. He staggered backward, about to fall.

"Ah!"

"Whoa—"

Kloff's arm shot out reflexively, catching the lean back. Aeroc wasn't large, but he was a full-grown alpha — steadying him made Kloff stagger too. After a clumsy tangle, they found their footing. Unintentionally, Kloff had pulled Aeroc against him, an arm wrapped around his waist. Aeroc was gripping the front of Kloff's waistcoat with both hands, breathing out a deep sigh, and looked up. Their eyes locked. The awkwardness of being pressed together lasted only a moment before Kloff registered something far more significant.

From the damp blue eyes, lit by moonlight, clear tears spilled in a steady stream.

"Aeroc?"

"Ah……"

Hearing his own name seemed to snap the count back. Deeply flustered, Aeroc twisted his face and pulled free. He scrubbed at his eyes with savage, rough palms. The thin mask had cracked, and the Aeroc beneath it looked desperately sad, desperately in pain. In that brief moment, the arm that had been savoring the satisfying weight went empty, and Kloff was furious again — and at the same time, profoundly…… yes, profoundly heartsick. Enough to recognize it as such. Why is he crying? Who made him cry? The omega he slept with? Probably.

"Did someone break your heart?"

The words came out sounding snide — even to his own ears. He hadn't meant them that way, but where the count was concerned, this was beyond his control. Internally rattled, Kloff set his expression hard. Aeroc lowered the hands he'd been pressing to his eyes and lifted one corner of his mouth. He turned his face slightly away and looked at Kloff from the corner of his eye, lips trembling faintly.

"I can be hurt too."

He could not make sense of the answer.

What? Is it really heartbreak, or something else?

Kloff said nothing — only stared at the wet blue eyes. He could not look away. The shock was immense. No matter how many times Aeroc wiped them, the tears kept pooling, spilling across his face, soaking the backs of his hands. Someone loved deeply enough to weep like this, and then rejected? This impossibly arrogant aristocrat, weeping with such raw anguish?

It occurred to him: the body scent had been undetectable until just now, and then suddenly it changed. That kind of shift didn't happen in a few hours. Either there was a long-term omega lover, and the count had been carefully masking the mingled scent all this time——

Then the omega had given him only a body and withheld everything else? The count? Aeroc Teiwind? Who would dare treat him like a plaything? Which omega had toyed with him? Shock upon shock. And why was he suddenly consumed with a murderous urge to throttle the worthless alpha who'd been used and discarded like an idiot——

Being swept along by emotions he couldn't understand was profoundly unpleasant. And the fantasy of dismembering an unknown target whose very existence he couldn't confirm — he'd had quite enough. Unable to contain the jealousy he could not name, he twisted his voice into something caustic.

"If you've been hurt, then perhaps you shouldn't be wandering around at night reeking of someone's body scent until you could pass for an omega. The wrong alpha mistakes you, catches a whiff — and it won't end at mere embarrassment."

Tears still wet on his face, Aeroc smiled and shot back: "As long as it's not you, I'll be fine."

There was nothing particularly vicious in the retort, but Kloff nearly lost his mind. Already aroused, now assaulted by a body scent strong enough to give him a headache — for one instant, self-control almost slipped completely. He clenched both fists. The bandaged hand screamed with pain, and the shock brought him partway back.

"It's none of my business anyway — alpha or omega. Spend your body however loosely you like. Just make sure whoever it is doesn't have expensive tastes."

He managed, at last, to say what he'd intended. He could not bear to look at Aeroc any longer. Why did he have to be an alpha? Kloff bit down hard and glared. And then the tears, which had begun to ebb, came streaming again.

"What? Have you actually been rejected?"

His brow creased, his voice needling — and Aeroc, already wet-faced, wiped his tears away with already-soaked hands. Then, without a word, he tried to walk past Kloff, brushing his shoulder in deliberate, pointed contact. That small act of defiance — a protest, perhaps — tore away the last thin membrane of restraint.

Kloff seized the retreating wrist.

"Hey!"

The shout burst out before he could stop it. He'd gripped hard, but Aeroc wrenched free with a violent sweep of his arm. In the motion, his tear-wet hand grazed Kloff's mouth — it felt almost like being slapped, and it stung. Fury rocketed to the top of his skull. He caught the escaped wrist again, hard enough to break it.

"You——"

"That hurts. Let go."

Eyes blazing, Kloff stared down at Aeroc — who had turned away, tears falling still. Something wet trickled down Kloff's own lip. He touched it with his free hand. Clear liquid. Probably Aeroc's tears, transferred from the back of the count's hand in the collision. Kloff brought it to his lips by instinct. It was sweet. Sweet? For a moment, he forgot he'd been furious. Aeroc's tears were sweet.

"What. What is this."

He wiped more of the liquid from his lip with his fingers. Seeing this, Aeroc went rigid with alarm.

"……I'm sorry."

Even as the wet voice apologized, the tears kept falling. The air was excruciatingly awkward. Midnight — clinging to the last person on earth he should be holding — what am I doing? Kloff released the wrist. Aeroc rubbed it with his other hand, looking anywhere but at Kloff.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd forget what you saw tonight. If you feel even a little sorry for the various violent episodes you've committed in my house — that should cover it."

The words came quick, almost stinging — and then Aeroc turned and disappeared toward the manor. Kloff stared after him, motionless, until the retreating figure was swallowed by darkness. Then he brought his index and middle fingers to his tongue once more. Unmistakably sweet.

Impossible. He's an alpha. What is that man?

A walk meant to clear his head and settle his heart had achieved the opposite — confirming an unsatisfied desire and raising new questions. Losses all around, as always, when the count was involved.

He had known it wasn't good news, but Viscount Westport's fury was worse than he'd imagined. The viscount — who normally summoned Kloff to his home when he had something to say — broke precedent and came to the office in person to deliver the verdict: a cooling-off period.

"There's really no need for such concern, my lord. They were behaving extremely rudely, and——"

"I'm well aware. But it was a minor incident. Losing control over something that trivial is hardly desirable. And your name is all over society now. An engagement is out of the question in this climate. At least until the talk dies down — exercise some restraint."

The unilateral decree delivered, the viscount left. After that, meeting Rapiel grew increasingly difficult. Letters sent through various channels went unanswered — not because Rapiel didn't want to reply, but because there was nothing he could do. Viscount Westport was a man without gaps when it came to his children. He used one excuse after another to push Kloff away. Eventually, at an elderly noblewoman's tea party — each attending separately, finding a pretext to meet — Rapiel spoke with sorrowful eyes.

"Father is terribly angry. Not about the fight itself — about the fact that I tried to stop you and you wouldn't listen."

"I'm sorry."

Rapiel shook his head, eyes on the ground. His complexion had been poor lately — not illness, it seemed, but the strain of clashing with his father. Kloff had nothing to say. He could only hope the viscount's temper would cool.

The scandal, which he'd expected to fade with time, refused to die. The two victims were sons of notable families, and someone was deliberately feeding hostile rumors about Kloff. He learned this from Viscount Derbyshire, summoned to the man's home on the pretext of business.

"Got in a fistfight, I hear?"

"You've heard."

"I'd rather not hear, but it reaches me all the same. So — how badly did you work them over? Is it true bones were flying and blood was splashing off the walls?"

The viscount slurped his tea, his voice suspiciously buoyant. Kloff frowned briefly. He told the story as it happened, unembellished, and Derbyshire leaned in — teacup in hand, punctuating the account with exclamations.

"Oh, really! And then? Ohoho! So that's what happened — hah!"

When it was over, he set down his cooled cup and clapped Kloff on the shoulder — hard enough to feel like it might shatter.

"An alpha throws a punch now and then — that's the way of things. No reason to dodge a provocation. And I never liked those two either. Well done. The sort who can't tell time and place when it comes to their base urges could use the lesson — they'll think twice now."

Kloff had expected no scolding from Derbyshire, but praise was a surprise. He smirked and drank his tea.

"But tell me — do you know a Marquess Wolfrake?"

"Only the name and face. We've never had dealings."

The unwelcome name soured his expression. Derbyshire settled his considerable frame deep into the armchair, both hands resting on his stout belly.

"Strange that you don't know him. I met with Viscount Westport a few days ago, and Wolfrake was there. He seems to harbor considerable animosity toward you. He was at the Teiwind estate too, wasn't he?"

"Yes — coincidence or not, he was there for the incident. He'd been staring me down all evening before that. It was bothering me."

"Is that so? Hmm. Tsk — this is trouble."

Derbyshire clicked his tongue and shook his head. Then he gave Kloff a slightly bitter smile.

"You'd better give up on this marriage. Westport is the sort of man who turns pathological where his children are concerned — peculiar fellow. He's all but made up his mind."

The nature of that decision didn't need asking — Derbyshire's face told him everything. Westport trusted Kloff's ability, but did not believe he would make a good husband. He'd been pressuring Rapiel to end things before a formal proposal could be made. A fistfight, of all things — but the real damage was that Kloff had done it in front of Rapiel, who had tried to intervene, and been ignored. That was what tipped the scale.

The truth was, it had been nothing more than venting. Kloff could not deny it. The victims hadn't pressed charges — alpha-on-alpha relations, however trendy, weren't the sort of thing one publicized, and besides, the humiliation of two alphas being demolished by a single opponent made silence preferable. The compensation Kloff had paid helped too. It had, however, taken a bite out of the wedding fund he'd been carefully building.

In the end, that was the deciding blow. If he was going to lose his temper and throw money away beating people up, how would he feed Rapiel and their future children? That was Viscount Westport's concern. The family had valued Kloff because he was a disciplined, unblemished young man — not because of his lineage or wealth. Which meant: the moment a flaw appeared, there was no compelling reason to hand over a precious omega son. The cold calculus of the aristocracy.

The saving grace was that Kloff's reputation before the incident had been strong, and Derbyshire — who carried enormous weight in society — had met the spreading rumors head-on with a breezy "An alpha's got to have some fire in him," extinguishing them quickly. Thanks to that, the broken engagement had no effect on business.

Rapiel was deeply saddened, but he did not love Kloff enough to defy his parents and elope. Kloff, equally, did not love Rapiel enough to demand it. They had courted for a considerable time, but subtract the stretches when Kloff had been too busy to meet, and the relationship had never deepened beyond a certain point. They had never shared a heat. It hurt — but it was not unbearable. Sad — but if the connection wasn't fated, they could let each other go. That was exactly the kind of relationship it had been.

Once the breakup was decided, Rapiel slipped out of the residence without his father's knowledge and came to Kloff. Kloff, who had been burying himself in work to dull the weight, looked up at the visitor in his office and smiled. They walked together down a quiet, empty street. Behind them, the Westport carriage followed.

"So it's come to this."

"Father is too firm."

"No. This is all my fault."

"Kloff."

Noticing the coachman watching, Kloff drew Rapiel into a shadowed alley. The coachman stopped the carriage and turned his head the other way. Kloff took both of Rapiel's hands, kissed the backs of them. However reasoned the acceptance, a parting was still a parting. Tears welled in Rapiel's eyes. They closed their eyes. A short, final kiss. In a slightly sour-smelling back alley — their first and last kiss — it was not especially poetic.

Kloff wiped beneath Rapiel's wet eyes with his thumb, kissed his forehead, and held him tightly. Rapiel held him back, then released him. There was no long farewell. In the few steps to the carriage, neither spoke. Rapiel climbed in without looking back.

Watching the carriage recede, Kloff noticed tears on his fingertips. Without thinking, he touched them to his tongue. Salt and bitterness. Of course. Tears were salt and bitterness — that was normal. That man is the strange one. Has he been eating sugar?

The engagement ring was tossed onto his desk. And forgotten.