Page 30 of Hell’s Secret Omega (The Court of the Hollow King #2)

CYRUS

Mezor shudders.

“Mine,” Cyrus whispers again.

An intense shudder runs through the powerful body on top of him. The bond pulses with Mezor’s heartbeat. A strange pressure builds inside him where Mezor’s cock fills his passage, and he has the sudden urge to bare his neck.

Abruptly Mezor shoves a hand between them and grabs Cyrus’s ass, holding him open as he eases out.

“Cyrus,” he groans.

Cyrus stares at the sky as unimaginable smugness washes over him. Oh. He liked that.

“My knot,” Mezor murmurs. “Ah, fuck.”

His brow furrows and his arm begins to work quickly. Cyrus pushes himself up on weak arms. “What is it?”

“Hurts,” Mezor hisses.

Cyrus looks down.

His cock is dark and pulsing, come still streaming from the tip to pool in the grass. At the base, where before there was only a faint bulge, now a thick, rigid knot protrudes.

His pulse kicks. “Can I…?”

He reaches for it. Mezor lets go, bracing both hands above Cyrus’s shoulders. His expression is pained and need floods the bond. When Cyrus’s hand closes around the knot Mezor rumbles deeply, his brow tightening.

“It needs to be milked.”

Cyrus squeezes and pulls the knot, watching in hungry fascination as more seed spurts from Mezor’s tip. There’s more than usual, spilling in thick bursts onto the ground.

“My cock would reach deep into your womb and plant all this seed while the knot held you in place.” Mezor lifts his head, pinning Cyrus with his gaze. “I would fill you to the brim.”

Cyrus can’t hold back a whimper. He should be horrified. Instead he craves it.

He uses both hands to satiate Mezor’s knot, until at last Mezor shudders and sighs and his cock begins to soften.

“ Good vergis.” He slumps to the grass. “Come here, bright flame.”

Cyrus crawls into the crook of his arm. He licks his hand clean of seed, the musky, heady flavor utterly satisfying. “I didn’t mean to make that happen.”

“We got carried away.” Mezor’s arm comes around him comfortingly.

He rests his horns on Mezor’s shoulder. Why can’t I have this forever?

Mezor believes in him when Cyrus hardly believes in himself. If only he had more to give in return. But the bond offers comfort, whispering that he’s satiated his primus. A deep, unidentifiable emotion lurks below the surface—something Cyrus can sense, that makes the hair on his arms lift, but he doesn’t yet have the courage to name.

The glow of the clearing lulls him to sleep in Mezor’s arms for a while, but his mind churns even in sleep, and he wakes not feeling rested.

Mezor stirs when he sits up. He props himself up on his elbows, his red eyes blazing with emotion.

“Let me take you to the King. If I demand it, he’ll grant you access to the Hellspring.”

Cyrus balks. “Now?”

“It would keep you safe in the Court.”

“What about the bond?”

“It may be stable enough that it’ll break cleanly. You would survive,” Mezor says.

Cyrus searches for Mezor’s shirt to shield himself against the cool air, avoiding his gaze. “There must be another way.”

“Cyrus.” Mezor grips his ankle. “We must break it eventually.”

“But not today !” Cyrus drags the shirt over his head. It smells like Mezor. He’s being selfish—he should accept Mezor’s help. How else will he get Ekko out? But…he balks at the idea. “What about the world seeds? What if breaking the bond hurts you somehow, and you can’t finish?”

Mezor yanks him backward. Cyrus yelps as he’s pinned to the ground.

“You don’t want to.” Mezor’s frown above him is ferocious, probing his soul.

“It could put all your work in danger.” He swallows. “It’s your land. Your home.”

The truth is he’s not ready. But he can’t admit that to Mezor.

Mezor’s gaze is knowing as he releases Cyrus. “Very well. Then stay in the grotto with me until my work is done. Then I’ll take you to the King.”

“Fine. Until the Court has settled.” Cyrus sits up, nerves buzzing.

Mezor nods, seemingly satisfied. “Come to the water—I want to visit my brother before we leave.”

It makes Cyrus antsy to think of being stuck in one place, hiding, not knowing what’s happening in the outside world. Even if that place is a sanctuary. He’s used to coming and going as he pleases, relying only on himself. But he can’t get Sabinus’s body out of his head. So much has changed. Maybe he can’t do this on his own; maybe he needs Mezor’s protection. Just for now.

Cyrus follows Mezor to the water’s edge. The surface of the water is smooth as glass, the grassy shore giving way to pale reeds poking out of dark, wet soil. Huge round blooms cluster at the edge of the water, glimmering in shades of blue. Mezor points to the center of the pool where a hump of rock rises from the water.

“His name is Kalad. He was the youngest shepherd, besides me.” The lines around his mouth grow tight with pain, and Cyrus longs to reach out to him. But he hesitates. Mezor goes on. “He was kind and innocent. The poisoning of our realm pained him the most, out of all of us. He couldn’t stand to watch it die. One day I came to the edge of the night forest to find him already gone.”

“You said they’re asleep. Will they ever wake?”

Mezor shakes his head. “I hope when the land heals it’s possible. But they don’t speak to me, so perhaps they’re nothing but stone now.”

Cyrus kneels in the grass and slices his hand through the cool water. The light from the flowers breaks into a million pieces. The water is cool and gentle, playing over his fingers. Beneath the surface a gleam catches his eye.

Roots . Filaments of gold creep through the soil between patches of reed, a network of veins that undulate gently across the bottom of the pond. He reaches in and tugs at one. It comes free in his hand.

The root is covered in tiny hairs that adhere to his hand instantly, gold on grey, pricking him sharply. As he watches, the golden glow seems to fade—then a jolt of pain shoots up his arm. He yelps, dropping the root.

“Don’t let it bite, little demon.”

“I didn’t mean to!” A tracery of gold flares in the crease of his palm. He shakes his hand.

“Didn’t mean to what?” Mezor closes the distance between them in an instant, grabbing his wrist. “What did you do?”

“It broke off.” He casts around, but it’s gone. “It bit me! It was a piece of root.”

Mezor turns his palm over and his calloused thumb strokes the golden streak. “It’s the sapling. Have care. The world seeds are powerful artifacts, and whatever the King did to them in the Hellspring only made them stronger.”

The gold fades under Mezor’s touch, leaving only a tingle.

“Did you hear a voice?” Cyrus wonders. “I thought I heard someone speak.”

Mezor frowns. “There’s no one here but us.”

It must have been my imagination . But as he follows Mezor back up the slope and into the forest, he looks back at the clearing just in case. The pond ripples, as if something stirs beneath it.