I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Sunlight was just starting to filter through the heavy drapes of the master chambers, illuminating a space thick with residual heat. The room smelled faintly of tangled sheets, cooled wax, and the lingering honey-and-musk scent of their combined pheromones. It was a scent that always lingered in the wake of a night spent shedding every ounce of restraint.

Zarius shifted carefully beneath the blankets as he drifted awake. The transition from sleep to absolute alertness took him less than a heartbeat, a trained soldier’s instinct that he couldn’t switch off even in his own bed. But as his mind cleared, any lingering tension melted away when he felt the warm, familiar weight pressed against his chest.

Cherion was still fast asleep, tucked securely against Zarius’s side.

The younger man was entirely tangled in the heavy silk blankets, his silver hair a messy, silken ruin against the pillows. One of Cherion’s arms was still draped possessively over Zarius’s ribs, his fingers loosely curled into the sheets. Beneath the blankets, their legs were still tangled together, evidence of a night neither of them had been in any hurry to end.

Zarius slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow and glanced down at him.

Zarius’s eyes moved slowly over the skin visible above the blankets, searching for anything he might have missed. He didn’t miss a single spot. He traced the smooth line of Cherion’s jaw, the curve of his throat, and down to his collarbones. At some point during the night, Cherion had yawned and casually started talking about the disasters at the Capital gathering.

He had casually mentioned how the Marchioness’s son had nearly choked to death before Cherion stepped in, and then, with a reckless laugh, he’d brought up Heinrich. That arrogant, sniveling bastard who had tried to intentionally tip a pot of scalding hot tea right into Cherion.

Cherion had laughed it off, whispering that thank God he’d managed to shield himself in time, treating the entire assassination attempt on his dignity like a clumsy mistake.

Zarius hadn’t found it funny. Not in the slightest.

Even now, with Cherion breathing softly against him, Zarius’s jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on the pale, flawless skin of Cherion’s thighs and torso, checking for any hidden redness, any blisters, or any faint signs of a burn that Cherion might have tried to laugh away. It didn’t matter that Cherion possessed extraordinary healing capabilities that could erase a scar in seconds, the mere fact that someone had dared to lift a hand against his mate right under the Capital’s nose was enough to make Zarius’s blood run cold. He checked once. He checked twice. Only when he was entirely certain that not a single millimeter of Cherion’s skin bore a mark of injury did the tight, suffocating knot in Zarius’s chest loosen.

Carefully, Zarius untangled his legs from Cherion’s beneath the sheets. He slid out of the bed, the sudden absence of his massive frame causing Cherion to let out a tiny, discontented whine in his sleep. Zarius immediately reached down, smoothing the heavy blankets back up over Cherion’s bare shoulders.

Plucking a dark, heavy silk robe from the nearby armchair, Zarius tied it loosely around his waist as he padded silently toward the doors. When he cracked the door open, a young maid who happened to be walking past with fresh linens instantly froze, her eyes dropping straight to the floor. Her ears turned a violent shade of crimson. In a residence this size, rumors traveled faster than a dragon’s fire, and every servant assigned to the Capital estate was well aware that the Duke’s chambers had remained locked and deeply occupied since the previous evening.

”Bring a breakfast to the chambers,” Zarius commanded. ”Make it double the usual portions. Immediately.”

”Y-Yes, Your Grace!” the maid squeaked, bowing so low her forehead nearly touched her knees before scurrying down the corridor as if the god of war himself were chasing her.

Zarius closed the door with a soft click and turned back to the room.

To his surprise, the rustle of the door had been enough to break the spell of Cherion’s deep slumber. The younger man was now sitting halfway up against the headboard, the blankets pooling around his hips. He looked incredibly soft, his eyes half-closed as he aggressively rubbed the sleep from his face, his dark hair sticking up in ridiculous, endearing tufts.

”Good morning,” Zarius said softly.

He walked over to the heavy drapes, pulling them back with a single sweep. Morning light filled the room, revealing the rumpled sheets and tangled blankets scattered across the bed.

Cherion winced at the sudden brightness, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. He let out a dry, raspy groan, his voice thick with exhaustion. ”You left me,” he mumbled, his lips pouting slightly as he blinked up at the larger man. ”Woke up cold. Horrible service.”

A rare, genuine ghost of a smile touched Zarius’s lips as he walked back to the edge of the bed. ”I only stepped out for a moment to order breakfast. We skipped dinner last night, if you recall.”

Cherion leaned his head back against the headboard, a slow, incredibly smug smirk gradually replacing his sleepy expression. The playful, mocking glint that had driven Zarius to his absolute limit the night before was already sparking back to life.

”What do you mean we skipped dinner?” Cherion teased, his voice dropping into a wicked, low purr as his eyes trailed down Zarius’s robed chest. ”I distinctly remember having a pretty ”huge meal” last night, Your Grace. I was completely stuffed.”

Zarius’s gaze darkened instantly, a familiar heat flashing in his eyes. He leaned down, placing one massive hand on the mattress right next to Cherion’s hip, looming over him with a shadow of the dominance from hours prior. ”If you keep talking like that, you won’t be tasting breakfast until noon.”

Before Cherion could fire back another retort, a sharp, incredibly polite knock echoed through the door.

Cherion immediately cleared his throat, pulling the blanket up to his chin, though the amused sparkle in his eyes didn’t fade. Zarius straightened up, his face instantly smoothing back into his legendary, expressionless mask. ”Enter.”

The door pushed open, and a maid rolled in a massive silver trolley stacked high with covered dishes, roasted meats, fresh bread, fruits, and steaming pots of tea. The poor girl kept her eyes strictly glued to the wheels of the trolley, never once lifting her gaze to look at the bed, the rumpled sheets, or the two men.

”Just leave it there.”

”Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, then quickly made her exit, closing the door behind her.

He walked over to the wardrobe, grabbing a thick, white robe and tossing it onto the bed. Cherion slid his arms into it, tying the sash casually as he swung his legs out of bed. They moved over to the plush velvet couch near the fireplace, where Zarius began uncovering the dishes, filling Cherion’s plate.

For the next half hour, the room fell into a comfortable, easy silence. Cherion’s appetite seemed to return with every bite. Across from him, Zarius watched quietly and, more than once, reached over to brush away a crumb Cherion had missed.

As they finished up, Cherion suddenly paused, swallowing his food before squinting across the small table. ”Why does your face look so terrifying right now?”

Zarius paused, his cup halfway to his lips. ”Really?”

”Yes, really,” Cherion noted, resting his chin on his hand as a faint smile touched his lips. ”You are definitely thinking about something.”

Zarius set his cup down and looked at Cherion.

”You’re right,” Zarius replied. ”I am thinking about something. Something important I need to take care of.”