Seraphim
He staggered when he entered the room, shaking like a baby deer lost in a storm with feet so weakened they seemed jellied. The frailty that stretched deep within his bones and tingled at the bottom of his feet pulsed in a strange, twisted song of pleasure.
It was an orgasm.
One that blossomed full and heavy across his spine and drew the most strangled of breaths from his lips—sounds that he'd silenced behind his hands. After, the spell of his control had been almost impossible, his throat tingling with a need. Not to sing, God no, but to weep.
And weep he did, tears spilling down his face.
His body was foreign, no longer his own but Rue's.
The orgasm had been better than his first time with Dante, better than the orgies they had as a pack every week. It was better than anything he'd ever experienced, better than going through a hundred SSS ranked guides and all six of his mates.
And all Rue had to do was put a knife to his cock and pull.
Rue with the most gorgeous of yellow hued eyes—tourmaline warmth when rage stretched its fingers through his veins, a soft gentle pearl when docile. Diamonds when tease wet the cornea, and mirth coloured his eyes.
Beautiful death was in his face, and Seraphim could taste the weakness in his form. In the thinness of bony fingers, and the shake of exhaustion; scent so muddled and destroyed, it reeked of rot. Rue tasted like the dying, but looked like sin.
Breath escaped Seraphim's lips, tongue at the corner. Pleasure was common. A twisted spasm of his body, his cock weeping with pre-cum, it was necessary for his Ruts. Seraphim was no stranger to dry pleasure. But one that led to semen spilling, wetness dripping from his body, the loss of his most lethal poison, slippery and milky upon the hands of another. His cum on Rue's palm.
That was no ordinary feat.
A poseidon's first cum was sanctified, blessed upon the moon and almost—almost an engagement. That was unless the other party died from its toxicity, laid sprawled upon the laps of a merman dissolving into the water.
Their bones would be revealed to the world, of different colours and different textures. He'd seen his fathers laugh at the colours. Black for sickness, green for drug use, a rainbow was a rare and pretty colour for a mate that almost made the cut. They hung it upon the mantle, a vase for their sea anemones, a trinket for a mere memory.
Poseidons were vain and selfish people. But once they found a mate that could lead them to completion and survive, they could become loving.
And for Seraphim there was no death in the peak of the nirvana that consumed his vision, in the growing dark pupils of his lust. His eyes had lost the drift of foggy blues, to become so much clearer for a true mate. He'd anticipated the rapid melt of flesh, the fog of bloody vapour and Rue's skull in his hands.
'Oh Poseidon,' he'd fretted, 'what would Halcyon, and Valentino say? What would they do if they knew?'
But Rue had remained, alive and well, snarling for his life—a miracle.
Rue was supposed to be the weakest Alpha he'd ever met in his lifetime. All flesh and bones, lacking in the nutrients he should need. Seraphim could taste his life so close to the surface, had felt the softness of his skin in the moisture of the air, the crave of his body begging for food.
And yet, the anger transformed him, provided him with so much strength that Seraphim had been unable to move. Rue had weakened him. His body had been useless, had caved just to fit Rue's the moment fists had gone flying and the anxiety that stank in the air transformed into a rage so poisonous Seraphim couldn't breathe.
It was as if strength had drained from his limbs, and his skin had wept with joy for an embrace. It wanted to be held by this creature, so weak and yet so strong. A creature that withstood his fluids. It'd been dripped upon his food with a potency that should enslave an alien a hundred times bigger than Rue.
And yet the little Alpha remained on his feet and moving.
Seraphim had watched him eat it all.
He swallowed, felt the pool of excitement grow in his mouth, his fangs lengthening with the need to inject and conquer. Rue was potentially the only one that could handle his pack. Perhaps Altair had been right all this time, had seen what his visions could not see.
An eighth.
And the imagery of that drifted across his mind, a naked and sprawled Rue upon his bed, legs apart, ass up—round, bubbled and waiting for him. A little hardened cock sticking up, swollen and leaking, a puffy pink hole begging for Seraphim's cock. To that, his cock gave a little twitch, but it wasn't Rue's body that he wanted to see.
It was his face, tortured with pleasure and whimpering, no longer so fierce and so strong.
Or perhaps, Seraphim would sit on his dick. His lips parted at that thought, air rushing through his lungs. And he imagined, the honeyed groan of a sweet voice, a warm and slippery vocal fry. The gentle smile on Rue's lips when he'd praised his cooking. Or perhaps, the haughty smirk when he had the upper hand.
'You sick fuck.' Those words drew the air out of his lungs through the aftereffects of his orgasm. 'You like domination.'
The room was cold, dimly lit by the soft glow of firelight, musky with the scent of Alpha and Omega, honeyed slick, slippery and reflecting on the floor. They were on the ground, spread across the floor like a war zone, bodies weeping with cum and bruised from a harsher touch, weakened from guiding. But the one scent that triumphed all was that of his leader, a wintery musk that burned in his nose, a delicious drip of semen that stank of an Esper in Rampage.
It was frost today, but his scent would change like the skies.
The pack had no need for Omegas, low-ranked Guides that did nothing to quell the power that surged, strong in their veins. But with two of the pack sleeping away from the dormitory just because of a new roommate that stank in their halls, a couple of Omegas to respite a little of their needs was an act of convenience.
All the pack needed was their scent and their lust in the air.
It was also a display of power, a showcase of a pack that could afford for that much pussy. The sweet stench of sex and slick stinking in the halls just for Rue to know that they were influential and powerful. And etched deep within, all soaked through the skin inside and out was the heavy mark of their pack.
Seirios.
Although…Seraphim paused at the thought, wrapped a coat around his shivering body, his brows furrowing to a close. Rue hadn't seemed quite so affected by the scent when he'd stepped into the kitchen. The room had been so thick with the smell he was sure he would see a reaction from the little guy.
Or perhaps the beginning of a Rut for an Alpha as weak as Rue.
And yet he had shown nothing in his face, seemed much more intrigued by Seraphim than the scent that surrounded him and pumped with the warning of death. Of a pack with a lead Alpha that would tear out his throat if he crossed a line, of a pack that could stand strong even with Heat and Rut so thick in the air.
And yet Rue had been merely amused.
Fascinating.
Seraphim moved towards one, feet tapped at a brunette Alpha unconscious between two Omegas, but there was no reaction from his once constantly hard cock. The strained limbs sat docile within his flap, in love with the newbie. And nausea churned in his belly at the thought of fucking someone that didn't sound like him or look like him.
Fuck.