Page 17 of Hell's Secret Omega
“Vergis arenotweak.” Mezor’s eyes flash, as if he’s stating the obvious instead of shaking Cyrus’s world on its foundation. “Hush now, Save your strength. You’ll need it.”
He sets Cyrus down carefully, and Cyrus clings to the bench while Mezor picks up the fallen torch. His chest is tight. Everything is distant and muffled until Mezor crouches before him and grasps Cyrus’s chin, tilting his head, and his touch comes into sharp focus.
“Does it hurt?”
Cyrus can’t help the needy whine that escapes him. He tries to reign in his longing. “I’m fine.”
Mezor takes hold of his horn. His fingers burn. The touch makes Cyrus gasp.
“I heard a crack.”
“It’s nothing. You have to—to stop.” He buries his flaming face in his hands.This is wrong. All wrong. But I want it.
Mezor’s hands are gone immediately, leaving him cold.
“Ah.”
The knowing in his voice makes Cyrus ache. Slick gathers between his legs, and Mezor can surely scent it. Fire consumes him. He’s shaking. “I can’t help it.”
He struggles to remember what his book said about primus.In heat, they protect their mate with their life.But what about a random vergis they barely know? What about a vergis who doesn’twantto be a vergis, who doesn’t want heats, who will never have a mate?
“Cyrianus. Look at me.” His false name falling from Mezor’s lips makes him want to howl. Mezor’s tone is somber, hooking the tiny part of him that isn’t totally muddled by heat.
Reluctantly, lets his hands fall from his face. There’s tension in Mezor’s stern face as he grips the bench on either side of Cyrus, his shoulders tight.
“You’ve had heats before.”
Cyrus nods.
Mezor grimaces like it pains him. “Who did you go to?” he manages through gritted teeth.
He’s not my mate. Why would he care?
“No one,” Cyrus says shortly, digging his claws into his thighs. “I get through them on my own.”
The stone bench lets out acrack. He jumps. Fractures spiderweb out from under Mezor’s fingers.
“Alone.” Mezor grunts, his nostrils flaring. “I see. And this time? What do you need?”
“I need…”
…to be safe.The words are on the tip of his tongue.
What does it mean to be safe? In heat, he can’t even be safe from himself and his own desires.
Only one thing is clear. He can’t stand that Mezor isn’t touching him. It might be dangerous, it might be foolish, and he might regret it. But he needs those hands on him again, more than anything.
His throat closes up and he clenches his fists. So long hiding, he can’t even get the words out.
Mezor growls deep in his throat. “Bright flame, I can smell your need. Whatever you think of me, I’m not cruel. I will help you.”
The words strike like lightning. His whole body pulls tight.
What if he could have what his vergis needs? Just once?
What if he could let go?
Chapter 12
