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C yprian woke up with a start. His skin felt damp and hot, and his head was pounding. The room was dark and silent, except for the rustling of the curtain. Outside, the rain softly pattered.

Blindly reaching behind him, he let out a deep breath of relief when he felt Moargan’s warm skin. He slid his hand down and curled his fingers around Moargan’s.

Breathe .

What had awoken him?

He stared outside and tried to relax, but every time he drifted off, his body tensed up like a stretched chord. As a child, he’d been haunted by nightmares. Night after night, he would dream of a darkness that swallowed him whole and make him disappear. But then, which foster kid hadn’t? They all had their fair share of horrific stories to tell.

Cyprian thought of the run-down apartment, of the hateful look in the eyes of the man who was his father. That familiar sharpness of sorrow spilled down the recollection, tainting it even further, turning it into something dark and ugly. Because Ludo Fandi had remembered Cyprian. Had called him a monster.

Perhaps he was right.

He had somehow survived the artificial injections the Helion laboratories had injected him with, unlike so many other babies. But did that make him Dariux? Did he truly have any special enhancements?

You have beautiful eyes. Moargan had said. Their joined palms had set aflame a connection they both couldn’t ignore. But it didn’t make him Dariux.

Cyprian squeezed the Imperial’s hand. He wanted to. He wanted to live up to whatever it was the Imperial believed he was. Milanov hadn’t said much, but his actions were proof of his conviction—he’d given away his eldest son, the Crown Prince of Helion, to Cyprian.

What if they were wrong? What if he wasn’t Dariux after all? Would they rip away this alliance and throw him onto the streets? Or worse, ship him back home? Good light, he couldn’t go home, the Devils would find him. They’d kill him.

Sensing Cyprian’s inner turmoil, Morgan stirred in his sleep and let out a string of soft, unintelligible words that made Cyprian’s chest clench with affection.

Moargan said he wasn’t a good man, but Cyprian believed sometimes he was. When they were together something just…clicked. And after the foreign ritual with ribbons and palms, with imprinting and this new, strange buzz that pumped through his blood, Cyprian was Moargan’s Royal Consort .

Him. Cyprian Creighton. Foster kid from Tulniri. The situation was so absurd it should make him laugh. It didn’t. It made him feel…

“Don’t say it,” he whispered to himself. But he could hear it, inside his mind, loud and clear.

Happy .

Squeezing Moargan’s hand tighter, he shivered at the intrusive taunt.

“A monster! Not my son! A monster!”

The words made thick droplets leak out of the corners of his eyes and land on the soft satin sheets.

He’d never wanted to be a monster. All he wanted was to belong.

Aviel had told him the enhancements didn’t just appear like magic. They needed to be fed with emotion. But Aviel also kept secrets, of that Cyprian was sure.

And emotions…Cyprian had been sad his entire life, but it had never brought him anything different than a permanent feeling of loneliness.

Dariux were designed to create chaos, to crave violence. Some could sense foreign heartbeats like Moargan, others could shoot fire from their eyes like Aviel.

All Cyprian could hear were voices, though he doubted that had anything to do with a designation.

Squeezing his eyes shut, a familiar wave of pressure filled his head. His breath faltered as his mind split like an opening gate, rusty and hesitant as it was slowly dragged aside. Voices forced their way inside, making his eyes flutter as Cyprian struggled to fight against the chaos. “No,” he begged when he felt himself slip. Whatever it was, this tornado of voices was strong as it forced itself deeper until it settled in his mind. To break free from its hold, Cyprian clenched his teeth forcefully and turned to his other side. He lifted a leg over Moargan’s thighs, squeezing himself impossibly close against the back of Moargan’s body. He breathed in the scent of opium and pine tar, nose pressed against the Imperial’s warm skin. It wasn’t enough. The tornado kept digging inside, demanding his attention. Perhaps he was going crazy after all.

He needed his charcoal.

Slipping out of bed, he put on the blue bathrobe. Then, without a single thought, he snatched the pack of Moargan’s opium cigarettes and tiptoed to the guest room.

Sitting down in front of his canvas, he lit one of the opium smokes. He coughed his way through the first few puffs before he finally felt the drugs kick in. His body relaxed, and even his mind seemed to settle. Cyprian felt like he was being swept up as a tingling sensation slowly spread through his core. He stared at the blank paper, blindly reaching for his pencils, mind blurring with visions. Led by that mental image, Cyprian let his pencils take over the paper with blacks and greys in all different dimensions. Shapes that weren’t his because all there was now was the opium mingled with fractured images, voices, and the sound of his humming that resonated through his head.

“Hear me. Please. Connect with me.” It was barely a whisper, but it stood out from the shards of sounds that cluttered his mind. The woman, a stranger to him, repeated the same words repeatedly, and Cyprian felt the way his inner self reached out until he could practically feel the other person, the way his lips were forming hushed words until he?—

“Cyprian?”

Everything stopped. No more lyrics fell from his mouth, and it was as if they took away the visions and the voices as everything disappeared back into the shadows of his mind.

Cyprian spun his head. “ What ?” His voice sounded weird, like someone else pulled the strings, making his mouth move.

Moargan stood in the doorway, his sleeping pants and blond hair a sleepy mess. “What are you doing out here? It’s four in the morning.” He frowned when he dragged his purple gaze down. “Are you smoking?”

“No, I—” Cyprian dipped his chin and stared at the cigarette in his hand.

“And what the hell is that drawing?” Moargan moved in closer, a slow smile curving his lips. “My cute lightweight. How many of those cigarettes did you smoke?” Taking the pack away, Moargan tipped one out with his lips. A red smoke filled their distance.

“Only one,” he muttered. He’d had only one, right? “I couldn’t sleep.”

Moargan peered at him through the smoke. “Could have woken me up.”

“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Peaceful, huh?” Moargan huffed, flicking off the cigarette ash against a self-made ashtray that looked to be a vase of some sort. “So you decided to steal my smokes and hide in here. Why?”

“It wasn’t like that. I—” Moargan’s last question made him halt. Why had he come here? He turned toward the drawing and squinted. Those voices, those visions… had he hallucinated? Had it been the drugs?

“Hear me. Please. Connect with me.”

What the hell did that mean?

“What did you draw, lover?”

They both stared at the canvas.

“I don’t know,” Cyprian confessed. In his mind, it had felt so obvious, the shapes created by his fingers so natural.

“It looks like some kind of shelter to me. Is this where you grew up?”

“No.” The drawing looked ominous. Moargan was right, with its low roof and an endless dark pit, it looked like the room in the attic where his foster parents locked him and his siblings up when they were punished.

Had his mind been taunted by yet another memory?

Suddenly Cyprian just wanted to sleep.

“Hold up, aeon . You’re slumping.” Moargan snatched the cigarette out of Cyprian’s hand and simultaneously wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Let’s get you back to bed. ”

“I’m so tired,” Cyprian mumbled in Moargan’s neck. He no longer felt his feet on the ground.

“I know, lover. It’s today. It was a lot. Meeting your piece of a shit father.” Lifting a hand, Moargan brushed a lock behind Cyprian’s ear. “I’m proud of you for opening up to Aviel. For seeking some comfort.”

Cyprian’s nostrils flared at the words of praise. “Really?”

Moargan smiled. “Yes. I feared you would stay here, keeping your thoughts and feelings locked up. Aviel has had a similar life as you. You can talk to him. And you can talk to me, lover.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how to feel,” Cyprian admitted. “Other than feeling humiliated, broken. He said he never wanted me and then he just laughed right in my face. It just made me feel so useless. So fucking disposable.”

“You are not disposable,” Moargan rumbled. His nails dug into Cyprian’s flesh as he kicked the bedroom door shut. “You are mine .”

That was…tears rolled down his cheeks, but it wasn’t sadness Cyprian felt. Not anymore. He felt relieved. He needed Moargan with an intensity he couldn’t comprehend. His flesh trembled, veins thrummed, and as if Moargan felt it too, because their palms melted together, making them both exhale in relief.

“Ssh,” Moargan murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I know what you need. He fucked you up, but soon it will be your turn.”

Why? Cyprian wanted to ask, but no words passed his dry throat.

“Don’t worry,” Moargan then laid him back on the bed and climbed in next to him. Cyprian sighed when Moargan’s lips found the tender spot on his throat, scraping his teeth over it, humming as he broke the skin and lapped at the sting. “I’ll take good care of you. I have no clue what the hell is happening to me. You have bewitched me. ”

Moargan’s hard cock pressed against Cyprian’s ass cheeks. “Is that your way of taking good care of me?”

Moargan chuckled softly, his breath causing Cyprian goosebumps. “You’ve become pretentious. I should punish you for that.” There was no sting in those words, only teasing, and they both knew it. It added to the heating flame they’d both started chasing.

Cyprian’s pants were pulled down and he felt wet fingers rimming his crease before one entered his hole. He shivered, tensing up from the intrusion.

“Relax lover, I need you. Need to be the one in charge. It’s my depraved side.” He licked Cyprian’s throat, voice rumbling through his ear. “Your fear gets me off. I fucking love how you tremble in my arms.”

Cyprian whimpered. “You’re a villain.”

“What else, aeon?” voice thick with amusement. “Say it.” He sank his teeth in Cyprian’s earlobe while his finger started working Cyprian’s ass with faster pumps.

“You love violence. You—ugh—” Cyprian jerked in ecstasy when Moargan touched his prostate, canting his hips for more friction. “You never play fair,” he choked out.

Moargan added another finger inside. “That’s right. I don’t play according to anyone’s rules.” His fingers kept on scissoring him open, touching his prostate with every stroke. It made Cyprian’s cock throb in the sheets, made his balls heavy with the need to come.

“I play according to my own rules. I want, I get. I fight, I win. I take, I own. Keep it coming, lover, your heartbeat sounds so beautiful.”

Cyprian let out a whine when Moargan removed his fingers and moved between his legs, then pushed his ass against the feel of that blunt cockhead rubbing at his entrance. He shivered when Moargan spread his cheeks and let spit dribble down in the crease of his ass, then smeared it with the tip of his dick before slowly inserting himself.

“So tight,” Moargan groaned. He took his time sliding in through Cyprian’s narrow channel until he was fully sheathed. “Relax for me, lover.”

Swallowing hard, Cyprian nodded, though he was still trying to catch his breath from the feeling of being entirely filled. Moargan hugged him around the stomach and slowly circled his cock inside him, loosening him up a bit more.

“That’s it,” Moargan crooned. He slowly started thrusting, his hand snaking down to grab hold of Cyprian’s cock. “Already hard and leaking for your prince. That’s a good aeon .”

“W-what is an aeon ?” Cyprian breathed. The sensations of Moargan stroking his cock as he was pounding his ass, were driving him insane. Desire crept right under the surface, heavy and unhinged, making Cyprian moan and wheeze and his hips move.

Moargan’s chuckle was raspy and sounded like music to Cyprian’s ears. He clenched his teeth to prevent himself from coming so soon.

“Many things. Such as an animal. Very pretty and sweet.” Moargan sucked at his earlobe. “Very docile, though their claws can be sharp.”

“I’m not docile!” Cyprian snarled, but Moargan laughed him off.

“No? Watch me.” Moargan picked up his pace, impaling Cyprian with short and fast thrusts. Desire pooled fiercely in the pit of his stomach, making him cry out. He struggled to keep up, and even the bed shrieked and sighed under the heavy weight of their sharp movements. His balls felt heavy when Moargan fondled them in his palm, the sensation sending little thrums of pleasure.

“Ugh–” Cyprian felt himself unravelling, the raspy pants of the Imperial causing shivers on his flesh.

“Come for me, little aeon ,” Moargan commanded, and he gave Cyprian’s cock a few slow, firm strokes that made him lose control. “Come for me now.”

Cyprian did, exploding in that strong hand as he cried out, hips jerking as he unloaded himself. He circled an arm around Moargan’s ass and felt him rocking back and forth, feeling Moargan’s damp forehead on his temple.

“Fuck—” Moargan groaned. “So responsive, I love it.”

Cyprian turned over his shoulder, gaze locking with Moargan. He watched as the Imperial’s eyes gleamed in the dark, shining a purple light through the room. He widened his grin, and the gemstones took Cyprian’s breath away. They had changed from their usual silver to a matching violet; it’s a sight beautiful in its supremacy.

“Come, my prince.” The words spilled from his mouth in a whisper.

Moargan leaned forward and dug his teeth into Cyprian’s skin, then unloaded with a raspy cry.

They laid like that for a long time, until their pants had been replaced by deep breaths. Only then, after they’d come down from their high, did Cyprian feel the sting in his neck and the way Moargan’s come leaked out of his stretched hole.

For a fierce second, his mind felt clearer than it had been for a long time.

“Those tears…” Moargan whispered against his skin.

“Relief,” Cyprian admitted. “Thank you for bringing me back to bed.”

Moargan let out a heavy sigh. “Sleep now.” Their palms united, making Cyprian’s conscience falter and slip, dragging him to a much needed rest.