6. The right one runs away

6. The right one runs away

The threat — one more concert and the contract was void — seemed to have worked. Aeroc behaved himself. The relationship was over, the impossible client had subsided, and Kloff threw himself into work with a single-mindedness he'd never achieved before. Days and dates blurred together. Derbyshire, deeply sympathetic, brought him several potential matches, but Kloff affected the mournful gaze of a man who had not yet recovered from heartbreak. Even the viscount, meddlesome as he was, knew something about romance — he gave up quickly.

With nothing to do but work, his fortune grew fast. Before the year was out, he could afford a better house. That, at least, shut Martha up. She had been deeply sorry about the broken engagement, but once the new house needed furnishing, she threw herself into the project and stopped worrying about Kloff.

Thanks to his supremely efficient and thrifty housekeeper, the money piled up. At this rate, he could buy a mansion before long. Especially with the help of a certain count who had no financial sense — the one who had just this moment kicked open his office door as though trying to demolish it, and was now interrogating him: "Is it true you broke off the engagement?!" — as if Kloff had committed some grave offense.

"Why do you always barge in at night without an appointment?"

Kloff's complaint from behind his desk went entirely unheard. Aeroc, more agitated than he had ever been, was practically climbing over the desk. He leaned so far forward that several file folders wobbled; Kloff rushed to cap the ink bottle before it spilled, and in that gap the count demanded again, nearly seizing him by the collar:

"The engagement is off?"

"It is. Why are you in hysterics about it?"

He could not pretend this was welcome — neither the subject being dragged up, nor the person doing the dragging — and his reply was cold. But Aeroc seemed not to hear the sarcasm. His face had gone white, and he wailed as though the world had ended:

"You loved Rapiel! Enough to devote your whole life to him!"

Now it was Kloff who was bewildered. Even the actual parties to the breakup didn't feel this much grief, and he had no idea why Aeroc was reacting like this. He stared, speechless, unable to find a response.

An awkward silence fell. Aeroc, realizing he'd gone far too far, belatedly caught himself and stepped back from the desk — but the color would not return to his face. He looked like a lost child, gazing at Kloff with wide, unsteady eyes devoid of all humor. If the silence stretched any further, something irretrievable would happen. Kloff kept his voice deliberately light.

"I don't recall loving anyone that deeply. Who told you?"

"Well, obviously——!"

Aeroc started to argue, then couldn't finish. He blinked several times, opened and closed his mouth, and dropped his head. His shoulders trembled faintly as he clenched and unclenched his fists — swallowing something down. What he was playing at was completely beyond Kloff's understanding. One thing was clear: whatever it was, it was about to wreck the dull but peaceful routine Kloff had built. Before, he would have lost his temper and thrown the intruder out. Now, he was half-resigned. Part of him even wanted to see how far this would go.

Sensing Kloff's eyes on him, Aeroc lifted his gaze, straightened his posture — spine rigid, chin lifted, shoulders squared — and put on the thin smile. As if the outburst had never happened. The speed of the mask's return no longer surprised him. If anything, the sight of this man — still flushed with an agitation he hadn't fully mastered, yet packaging himself so expertly — was beginning to be endearing. He'd been in such a rush that he hadn't even put on gloves; bare-handed, he swept back a strand of hair that had fallen forward and offered a composed apology.

"Forgive the sudden intrusion."

A small, precise nod followed. The absurdity drew a laugh out of Kloff.

Now he had reached his limit. As he rose from behind the desk, Aeroc flinched and tried to bolt the way he'd come. But Kloff was not about to let him go that easily. You barged into a man's quiet evening — you'll pay the toll.

He crossed the office in long strides, and just as Aeroc pulled the door handle, Kloff used every advantage of his height — one hand slamming the half-open door shut. Trapped between the door and the tall man bracing against it, Aeroc refused to turn around, fumbling with the handle. Kloff leaned close and murmured, a thread of sarcasm wound through the words:

"What's the rush? Stay and talk."

"Come to the manor another time."

"Now."

The voice that answered him shook badly. Kloff's eyes found the white nape exposed below the neatly arranged hair. It looked impossibly soft. He reached down with his free hand and turned Aeroc by the waist to face him. The stiff body resisted, and when he forced it around, Aeroc looked up at him with naked terror. The blue irises trembled — and in that instant, the body scent bloomed outward. Alpha coolness and omega sweetness tangled together in something utterly unbecoming of the highborn count — base, raw, and devastatingly provocative.

At that moment, Kloff exerted himself — he must stress this — enormously not to wreck the object of his prolonged and clandestine desire on the spot. Setting aside the fact that the desire was directed at an alpha, what he genuinely needed was a conversation.

From the start, the count's behavior had been inexplicable. The sudden invitations to Rapiel, despite claiming no close relationship with the Westport family. The absurdly lavish concert. The unsettling degree of knowledge about Kloff's relationship. The tears on the night of the proposal, as though it were he who had been rejected. And now — storming in over a breakup with more anguish than the parties themselves.

The body scent — thick enough to suggest he'd been sleeping with an omega — was probably a way of channeling jealousy. Understandable for an alpha in his prime. The ring, too — finding and returning it showed he was trying to maintain some decorum. But if he intended to be civilized, then he should not be provoking an alpha whose engagement had just been broken. Should he?

Aeroc stood ramrod-stiff, glancing at Kloff and quickly away. Head high, posture unshakable. For all the good it did — the hand on the door handle was trembling so badly it was useless. Kloff snorted.

"Were you in love with Rapiel?"

The man trapped within arm's reach locked eyes with him instantly, let out a short, sharp breath. The brow creased, the gaze went cutting — withering contempt. From the look of it, the answer was probably…… not yes.

"No."

Aeroc's reply was ice.

"Then how do you explain every one of your incomprehensible actions up to now?"

"What about my actions was wrong?"

The trembling had stopped — a faint anger simmered now. Kloff itemized the evidence, point by point. He kept his voice low to hide his own agitation. They were standing close enough that it carried; he could hear the other man's breathing quicken, slight and ragged. His own voice came out with a faint rasp as he spoke, and through the whole recitation, the color drained from Aeroc's face by degrees.

"Rushing over here to confirm someone else's breakup is not a normal reaction, you know."

At the needling, Aeroc fixed him with a sharp, glittering look. But there was something fragile beneath it — as though he might cry. Just like under the cedars.

"Is it a crime to be abnormal?"

"I'd prefer a client who stays within the bounds of common sense."

"I don't recall normal or common sense appearing anywhere in the contract. But if it displeases you — feel free to terminate."

How the argument had looped back to the contract was anyone's guess. What little patience Kloff could marshal for the count evaporated instantly. He grabbed the arm of the person spouting nonsense and growled:

"Stop deflecting. What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything. And even if I were…… it's none of your business."

Anger was rising now — but Aeroc pried the hand from his arm.

"Is an investment agent permitted to treat his employer this way? You've gone too far."

The rebuke was frigid. Then, biting his lip, he added in a faintly trembling voice:

"Back off. Two alphas — what do you think you're doing? Have some dignity."

The discomfort was plain. Kloff — who had every intention of pressing closer and none of stepping back — responded to the plea by moving his body nearer still.

"Wh…… what are you doing."

The trailing, trembling whisper was barely audible. Kloff chuckled low in his throat and bent to murmur at Aeroc's ear:

"Something I learned recently. Apparently, these days, the distinction between alpha and omega hardly matters. A man of your social standing would know the fashions, wouldn't he?"

Aeroc went the color of ash and stared at Kloff. The sapphire pupils blew wide; the trembling lips could not close. Pinned by a man twice his breadth, frozen solid, he looked exactly like an omega on the verge of heat.

The breakup, the fury, the provocateur who smelled like an omega — desire permanently unsatisfied, mental pressure mounting. Damn the fashion. When it came to other men, it was revolting — but with Aeroc, it seemed entirely possible. The scent was cool and sweet and strangely familiar. Even the waist in his arm fit perfectly — not too full, not too thin, as though shaped for him. Kloff pulled him closer.

When the hard center of his arousal pressed against the count's hip, Aeroc stiffened with shock and shoved at him. But the resistance was so weak it was hard to believe it was sincere.

Kloff dipped his head without hesitation and buried his nose in the white nape that had been tormenting his peripheral vision. The scent hit him like a wall — his head swam. At this rate, he could go all night and not come down. He grazed the taut line of the throat with his lips, then bit gently. The body that had been resisting went rigid. Aeroc tensed and trembled. Kloff's hand slid from the waist downward, tracing the curve of the back, lower still.

The firm, smooth hip and thigh contracted beneath the thin fabric of the trousers — every nerve laid bare to the touch. When the large hand reached a point beyond tolerance, Aeroc drew a sharp breath, clenched his hips, and twisted to escape the grip. But that only pressed him harder against Kloff. Through the contact, Kloff could tell: Aeroc was aroused too.

"Well — not entirely unwilling, are you?"

The surprised, teasing remark set the count ablaze from white to crimson. Flustered, clearly angry, and yet — no trace of revulsion. The rigidity was arousal-tension, not disgust.

Rationally, the omega sweetness in the body scent should have infuriated him — should have made him want to dismember the unknown rival and then ravish Aeroc beside the corpse. But the body, which had abandoned reason long ago, simply accepted the sweetness as though it were Aeroc's own scent, and wanted to devour him where he stood. Either way, the conclusion was the same. Kloff laughed softly against the burning-hot ear and slid his lips along it. The man in his arms gasped and protested, voice unsteady:

"You're the one who beat up those other alphas for doing this very thing."

"They weren't you."

The shallow panting stopped. The hands pushing against his chest went slack. The count turned his gaze away and bit his lip. He looked as though he'd given up. Seeing that there was no intention to flee, Kloff lowered the hand bracing the door and wrapped it around the white nape instead. With the other hand firm on the small of the back, he tilted the head back slightly — and took the soft lips he'd been imagining.

The breathing stilled. Then, between them, a wet, clinging sound began.

As he'd imagined — no, beyond imagination. Aeroc's lips were impossibly soft and resilient. The first touch was cool; he pressed lightly, pulled back, then covered them again and slid his tongue forward. The inside was warm and smooth. He explored deeper.

Where before Aeroc had been retreating, now that the kiss deepened he showed a boldness of his own — meeting Kloff's tongue with his, pushing back. His hesitant hands settled naturally on Kloff's arms, and he drew closer. For all the biting and sparring, the contrast was startling: once kissing, he responded as though he knew exactly what Kloff wanted, making every angle feel right.

The arms around that body — a body that fit perfectly in his grip — tightened. At the same time, he pushed a knee forward, parting the long, taut legs. When his thigh pressed against the hardness between them, Aeroc broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. In the eyes that had been melting into the kiss a moment ago, terror flooded in.

"Stop!"

"Why?"

Kloff had been running his hands freely over the elegant body — and when Aeroc suddenly cut the kiss and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the bewilderment was real. His pride stung, but he brushed it aside and reached for the waist again. This time, Aeroc shoved him — and meant it.

The sudden force threw Kloff off balance. In that gap, Aeroc yanked the door open and bolted. Kloff stood there stupidly, watching — then the receding footsteps snapped him to his senses, and he gave chase. Too late.

"Aeroc!"

Ignoring his shout, Aeroc tore out of the office and flung himself into the Teiwind carriage that had been waiting. Before Kloff could reach it, the carriage was already moving. It cut through the cold, heavy night air and vanished into the distance. The sensation of the lips against his own had not yet faded.

"God damn it. What was that. Drive a man out of his mind and then——"

He wanted to give chase, but important documents were still spread across the unsecured office. Swearing, he stomped back inside, slammed the office door hard enough to crack the frame, and locked it from within. He sat at the desk, but nothing on the page registered.

"Why did he run?"

From the terror at the end, it looked like a belated revulsion at the biological transgression. Going to the manor now would only make him look ridiculous. And until now, he had never once been rejected like that — it cut his pride to the bone.

The breakup was barely cold, and yet — all the work he'd buried himself in, rendered meaningless — his head was full of nothing but Aeroc. He tried to continue working. Failed. The intruder who had appeared without warning, toyed with him, and vanished without warning had left behind a lingering trace of scent, and Kloff had to use it.

God. So this is where we are.

Afterward, hollow, he stared at the ceiling and thought. If this was how things stood, he would accept what he'd been fighting and follow his instincts. And whatever the other man's response, he would not give up this time.

* * *

A dark, cold room. The bed was painfully hard, covered in rough sheets. But none of that mattered. On the hard bed lay a person who smelled unbearably sweet, curled on his side, panting. He seemed to be struggling; bony hands twisted the sheets and clutched the worn pillow. Small sounds escaped him — half-sob, half-moan — thin and parched, yet hearing them alone was enough to arouse.

The loose nightgown had ridden up, baring half his chest. It should have been flat — a man's chest — but the flesh had budded, swelling slightly. The dreamer reached out and pressed his palm to the raised nipple. The man's moans grew louder. He shut his eyes, bit his lip. Shook his head from side to side in what might have been agony. Through the slipped nightgown, a bruise showed livid on the exposed, bony shoulder; on the hunched neck, bite marks stood out clearly.

Pity rose, unbidden. But instead of holding the suffering man gently, his hands lifted one thin leg and drove in deeper, harder. The head lolled, slack — it looked as though the neck might snap.

I hated him. The reason — I couldn't quite remember. It's a dream. This is definitely a dream. I only wanted to hurt him, so I held him with violence and brutality. The leg draped over my shoulder was covered in bruises — black and blue, beyond looking at. Even the skin around his clenched eyes was discolored with old, yellowing marks. I felt the urge to carve new red welts there. The man, sensing it, looked up at me with terrified eyes.

Blue irises. I know those eyes. The lank, dull gold hair. The mottled face. The cracked, bloodless lips. I smiled cruelly at the trembling body and whispered, sweet as a devil:

"I want you to suffer as much as I'm suffering. I want you to die the most wretched death imaginable."

The blue eyes wavered. He'd expected the tears to burst outward — but the crystalline lens collapsed inward. The pupil, gaping like a cavity in the deep sea, swallowed every drop of moisture in the eye. As the gleaming cornea dried, it clouded — like the eyes of a dying fish.

A stabbing pain beneath the sternum. The diaphragm felt as though it had been torn open; his breathing went shallow and ragged. He could not understand why words thrown at a person he hated should cause him such agony. Something was wrong. The incomprehensible pain only fed the sadistic urge coiled inside.

He violated the man further. The man offered not a single act of resistance — endured it all. As though that was how it should be. As though he was not worthy of being treated otherwise. Nothing like the person he knew.

In a union made of nothing but darkness and hatred and pain, the climax arrived. He pulled the skeletal body against him and filled it with himself. Gasping, he collapsed onto the man beneath. Through the whole ordeal, the man who had endured the violence without protest turned unfocused eyes to the ceiling and spoke:

"The baby is being crushed."

Hearing this, the dreamer showed no surprise that an alpha was pregnant. He shifted his weight, reached down, and touched the exposed belly. On a frame so thin that every joint protruded, the abdomen was grotesquely distended. He smiled with satisfaction.

"It's fine. The baby's safe."

The glassy eyes — like dead marbles — still stared at nothing.

"Look at me. Look at me, becoming a devil because of you. Are you happy now, carrying my child?"

"Hmm? Aeroc."

* * *

His eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright. He gasped for air, groping at the space beside him. Not a hard bed. Not rough sheets. And no one else in the bed. He looked around — the bedroom of the new house he'd recently moved into.

"What — another dream. I'm losing my mind."

Kloff scrubbed his face with both hands. His heart took time to settle. He'd sat up so fast that a muscle in his neck had seized, leaving it stiff. Rubbing his neck and shoulders, he climbed out of bed. Through the window, dawn was nowhere near — deep, dark predawn. He poured water from the table and drank, then sat on the edge of the bed.

"Why do I keep having these insane dreams?"

It was genuinely killing him. Dreams were the expression of the unconscious, they said — and his unconscious apparently hated Aeroc enough to brutalize him beyond recognition, and wasn't satisfied until it had impregnated him besides. He was certifiably insane. Not that it was entirely incomprehensible. In waking life, too, his hatred of Aeroc was growing — and in precise proportion, so was his desire.

The problem was that the dreams exceeded any plausible extension of petty antagonism and unconscious lust. They were cruel enough, every one of them, to qualify as genuine nightmares. He was beginning to wonder about mental illness. The most unbearable part was the curses — words that froze his own heart even as he spoke them — and the swollen belly.

He had not led an easy life, exactly, but it had never been harsh enough to explain dreams this violently specific. The occasional outlet of venting through minor altercations couldn't account for a hatred this intense toward someone who had never actually harmed him.

And he was an alpha. Dreaming of impregnating an alpha. At this rate, he might truly lose his mind. Probably not, he told himself — but the worry lingered. If he kept drifting, half-committed, and snapped — did something irreversible — it would be catastrophic. One incident was enough.

At dawn. Go to the manor. And settle this.

He lay back down with that resolution, but the bed that had been comfortable a moment ago now refused to yield. Every position was wrong. He swore under his breath and began reciting half-remembered legal statutes — at this hour, the alternative was another round with Aeroc on his mind, and his pride would not permit it. Much later, when his thoughts finally blurred, Kloff found a comfortable position and slept.

Contrary to his resolution, the restless night made him oversleep badly. He had a morning appointment with another client and had no choice but to go there first. By the time he returned to the office and plowed through the urgent paperwork, it was late afternoon. Kloff sorted through what absolutely had to be done, then dug out the Teiwind files.

Aeroc's extravagant spending had vanished lately, which lightened the workload considerably. Even so, the substantial fee arrived without fail — which pricked his conscience slightly. Personal matters aside, regular visits and consultations were contractual obligations. Before, he had resisted going by every available means; today, he left the office of his own volition.

At the manor, the butler — perpetually stiff, perpetually contemptuous — opened the door.

"Where's Aeroc?"

"Count Teiwind is occupied at present."

"I need to discuss a financial matter. Tell him to make time, however busy he is."

The clipped response drew a slight furrow of the butler's brow, followed by a curt nod. Kloff was shown to the library. He set his documents on the desk and turned to study the early-summer painting from that four-seasons series.

Since the first kiss, Kloff had tried repeatedly to see Aeroc. Every visit, the count was absent — traveling to a country retreat, they said. At first he took it for coincidence; eventually he accepted the truth. Aeroc was deliberately avoiding him.

When the realization landed, his first thought was: fair enough. He himself had wrestled with it for a long time. Denied it dozens of times over. Surrendering to that relentless pull had been anything but easy. So the revulsion an alpha might feel when things suddenly became physical — he understood completely. But understanding was one thing, and being avoided like this was another.

Their relationship had already crossed the line between bickering employer and employee. What had happened could not be pretended away, no matter how frightening it was. Running would not make it vanish. Eventually, wherever the current carried them, they needed to talk. Only then would Kloff get his chance.

Whatever Aeroc was thinking, at the very least Kloff needed to make clear how powerfully he was drawn to the man. Put plainly: give me a chance to court you. Aeroc had barged into his office, left an opening, kissed him back — if that didn't earn Kloff at least a hearing, nothing was fair.

He waited an eternity. When he'd exhausted the paintings and picked up a book, he was a good fifty pages in before Aeroc finally appeared. Kloff fixed him with a stare; the count flicked a brief glance his way, then sat in a side chair as far from the central sofa as the room allowed.

"……What is this."

"You said you were here on business. Why did you come?"

"I won't bite. Come sit over here."

"I can hear you fine from here. Besides — who's avoiding whom? I simply like this chair."

Aeroc glared at him, digging in with absurd stubbornness. Unbelievable. Kloff closed the book, set it on the table, and stood. If the man wouldn't come to him, he'd go to the man. Aeroc startled violently and bolted to a different spot.

"You are avoiding me."

"I — I just remembered a book I needed to look at."

Aeroc snapped irritably and began running his fingers along the nearest shelf. He was doing a passable impression of browsing while keeping every nerve trained on Kloff — and the spectacle was almost funny. That much self-consciousness was, frankly, encouraging. Before the count could grab a random book, Kloff claimed the space behind him and laid his hand over the elegant fingers on the spine.

"Hmm — Principles of Infant Education. If there's a hidden child, do tell. I'll need to add them to the inheritance ledger."

"That's — not that one — the one next to it!"

"Prenatal Care for the Aristocracy. Are you pregnant?"

Kloff glanced down, and Aeroc gaped in horror, mouth working soundlessly.

"D-don't joke! A relative is expecting — I was just curious! And back off, you pervert!"

"No."

The fact that his own private torments had been skewered so precisely stung. So he pulled Aeroc into his arms. Aeroc froze, then struggled hard. Kloff caught the resisting wrists and pressed them down. Using every inch of his height advantage, he caged the count between the bookcase and himself. The sapphire eyes refused to meet his and darted sideways. Golden lashes trembled.

In that instant, last night's dream surfaced. Kloff did not want his unconscious breaking through like this. Ideally, it would stay a dream forever. The direct, confrontational gaze the count usually leveled at him — the fact that it was now averted in fear — did not sit well. He had no desire to take by force. He wanted a person who came to him freely, not one who submitted out of strength or terror. Captivity, confinement, a body wasting away — the dream had been more than enough.

Aeroc's brow furrowed, his lip caught between his teeth — and yet he could not bring himself to say let go. Seeing that, the playful mood that had been building — the mild pleasure of teasing — drained away entirely. Kloff released both wrists and stepped back.

"I'm sorry."

"Brute. Tyrant."

"Fair enough."

He had never shown this gentle a side, so the uncontested surrender seemed to startle Aeroc — the count returned his gaze to Kloff, full of distrust. Kloff tried his best to project sincerity with a genuine smile. The distrust only deepened. He sighed.

"At least tell me why you're running."

"If I have to spell it out, that top-of-the-class degree wasn't worth much."

"I didn't major in romance at university."

The word romance made Aeroc's eyes go round with shock. He hadn't known the man startled this easily, or sulked this readily. The range of expressions was far more natural and far more appealing than the mask — why he insisted on wearing that smile everywhere was a mystery.

"Romance! The breakup is barely cold! And if your eyes work — look! I'm an alpha!"

"Breakup happened; it's over — how long it's been is irrelevant. And my eyes are fine. You're an alpha through and through."

"Then why are you doing this to me?"

The truth was, the person who most wanted that answer was Kloff himself. In over twenty years of life, he'd functioned as a perfectly standard alpha. His physical specs were unremarkable save for height, which was common enough. Every partner he'd ever had — tall, short, handsome, plain, male, female — had been omega without exception. He had never once felt desire for an alpha. So the fact that he was now consumed by the urge to take Aeroc to bed and could not contain it — the confusion was very much his own. But saying so would not help the situation.

"My eyes are fine, but my sense of smell may be off. And my brain, a little. Strangely, I keep perceiving you as an omega."

He'd meant it half in self-deprecation, but Aeroc reacted as though he'd seen a ghost. He went absolutely rigid. His legs seemed to give way — he staggered backward and sagged against the bookcase.

"Aeroc?"

Kloff frowned and called his name. Aeroc's face crumpled — on the verge of tears. And then, in a voice so tightly compressed it barely escaped:

"I can't…… do it twice. I…… can't…… go through that…… again."

What this twice referred to, what terrible thing he could not endure again, Kloff never managed to learn. Aeroc's condition was severe. In the end, he sank to the floor and rejected Kloff with something close to convulsions.

He curled in on himself, wrapped both arms around his body, and shook. When Kloff approached to hold him, Aeroc recoiled in terror and fled to a corner. There was nothing more to say. The force of the rejection drove a blade through Kloff's viscera — but he kept it from showing. Watching this man who was so utterly terrified of him, the pain was immense, and yet, strangely, what rose was not the urge to lash out but the urge to turn the violence on himself. He was truly not in his right mind.

"……This month's investment plan and the related documents are on the desk. Review them, sign, and send them over."

"……"

Aeroc did not respond. The air in the library — perfectly fine a moment ago — had turned to poison. Every breath corroded his lungs from the inside. Each exhale carried a searing heat and the smell of burning flesh. He could not remain in that suffocating space. Kloff, head pounding, vision swimming, stumbled out as fast as his legs would carry him.

Past the staring servants, half-running through the corridor, bursting through the manor's front door into the cool air — only then could he loosen the tie strangling his throat and gasp for breath. A few lungfuls of the poisoned air, and his stomach was turning itself inside out.

He staggered to a tree in the shadowed grounds, braced himself against it, and retched. He'd barely eaten anything, yet something — a dark, viscous mass — came heaving up. When it was out, the relief was marginal; the esophagus burned as though set alight. He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his mouth, then walked back to the entrance. A quick-witted footman had already called the carriage.

"Thank you."

"Sir…… Mr. Bendyke? There's blood on your——"

The startled footman forgot his decorum and pointed. Kloff looked down at the handkerchief. It was soaked red. He managed not to show his shock — some reflex he couldn't account for — folded the cloth neatly to the clean side, dabbed his lip, and said, "Must have split my lip," then turned toward the carriage.

Just before climbing in, he felt a gaze and looked up at a lit window nearby. Aeroc stood there, watching him. One hand pressed flat against the glass. He looked as though he was crying. The rejection of a moment ago had already vanished. Nothing remained but eyes full of pain and sorrow, fixed on Kloff.

He'll need time.

Kloff climbed into the carriage, bloodied handkerchief in hand. The carriage pulled away from the estate without delay.

It was the first time he had ever vomited blood. Since his student days, he had known that his greatest asset — born into minor nobility with no expectation of support — was his healthy body. He had always been careful not to push beyond his limits. And now, hematemesis. Could it be something serious? His sense of smell was off, his brain running wild. Perhaps this wasn't attraction to Aeroc at all — perhaps it was a symptom of disease. He really should see a doctor.

The doctor's verdict was unremarkable. No illness — merely a gastric hemorrhage brought on by psychological stress. The prescription: reduce the workload and rest. A holiday would be even better.

But the doctor was wrong. This was not from overwork or insufficient rest. Psychological stress, yes — but the source was not his career. The one thing exerting pressure on Kloff was singular: Aeroc Teiwind.

Even he found it somewhat astonishing. More candidly — laughable. Laughable enough that all he could do was snort at himself. He hadn't known he was in this deep. As Aeroc himself had said: the breakup is barely cold, and here he was, coughing blood with longing. Such a shallow heart, he thought with real disappointment. He should have known from the moment the nightmares began — from the moment Aeroc's every word and gesture sent him lurching — that this was a swamp with no bottom.

Having witnessed one refusal, witnessing it a second time might actually drain him dry. So Kloff tried to tread carefully. Meanwhile, the count — who was avoiding him as though he were vermin — only sent his temperature climbing again.

Aeroc was desperate. Kloff had been certain the man felt something — but now even that was in doubt. The exchange had been oblique, never pinned down with clear words; each of them hearing something different. Perhaps the whole thing was Kloff's misreading. For one instant his guts dropped through the floor.

In truth, since meeting Aeroc, the only time Kloff had felt genuinely good was during that one kiss. Without it, he might be in convulsions of his own. The kiss was also why he was coughing blood — but still.

Even when he visited the manor on financial pretexts, Aeroc found some excuse to refuse a meeting. The only person who greeted Kloff was the glacial butler. He slipped a note between the documents: Won't you at least show your face? No answer came.

Heartbreak, he decided. There must be an omega from around the time of the concert who had hurt Aeroc badly. If he could find out who, he would burn them alive. Had to be an omega — but he couldn't narrow it down.

The woman in the green dress? Should I look into her?

Kloff realized he'd been stabbing dots into the document he was drafting and clicked his tongue.

He didn't want to push Aeroc further than the man could bear — but every time the blood rose in his throat and he swallowed it back, death felt genuinely near. So he used the documents as a pretext and went to the manor again. In the speeding carriage, half out of his mind, Kloff cursed Aeroc.

Kissing like an expert, body scent tangled with omega from rolling around — and now playing coy? I don't care about the well-used body either!

He ground his teeth for no one's benefit. He felt like a dog whose meal had been snatched from under its nose — though he denied, absolutely denied, that what he really wanted was to be inside Aeroc until neither of them could move. Well — he was in the middle of believing that very hard — but patience had been scraped past the floor and gone bone-dry.

Fine. He admitted it. If he didn't have Aeroc, he would lose his mind. He wanted to drive into him until those too-sweet tears poured from both eyes, licking them up as he went.

His mind was half-gone. Whatever fantasies it produced, Aeroc remained invisible. The patience that had run dry and then evaporated could no longer restrain the rampage. He has to be in the house. Once I find him, I'll make his legs give out so he can't walk for a full day. Kloff bulldozed through the servants who tried to block him and tore through the manor. No one. He radiated a murderous cold and confronted the butler:

"Where is that bastard?"

The menace in his voice startled even the butler, though the man recovered quickly and answered with perfect calm:

"The count has gone traveling."

"Traveling?"

"Yes. The count occasionally spends a week at a country retreat."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know."

He seized the butler by the collar and shook him, but Hugo held the line — I don't know — and would not budge. Pressing further seemed pointless; from the man's bearing, it might actually be the truth. Kloff released him. But he did not forget to issue a warning — swallowing the blood in his throat, letting the face someone had once called demonic show itself in full. The butler met it with an icy stare:

"The count will not return for some time. I would ask you to refrain from visiting the estate henceforth."

"Understood. When you find Aeroc — tell him to expect me."

Whatever the butler said, Kloff paid no attention. He left the manor. His recently hired coachman opened the door. Kloff climbed in, looked back through the window at the butler, and raised his hand in farewell. If the man had known and lied — tonight there might have been two bodies. One from aggravated assault. One from a different kind of assault entirely.