Chapter 198: The Fear of Wanting Too Much

The door to Cherion’s bedchamber was practically heaved aside, the heavy wood groaning against its hinges as Zarius steered Cherion into the relative safety of the shadows. Going from the cold, echoing halls to the stuffy quiet of the room felt like hitting a wall.

It was too quiet. The silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, broken only by their uneven, matching breaths. Zarius was vibrating, not with the clumsy heat that was currently liquefying Cherion’s bones, but with a terrifying, high-tension "Crisis Mode" that made every one of his movements look like he was trying to prevent a structural collapse.

He guided Cherion onto the bed with a steady hand, firm but measured, like he was focusing too hard on getting it right.

"Stay here," Zarius said. It wasn’t a command so much as a plea for a momentary ceasefire in the war between his duty and his biology. He paced a short, frantic line near the hearth, his fingers fumbling with the silver buckles of his own cloak as if they were a puzzle he’d forgotten how to solve. "I’m going to fetch Reiner. He’ll have something that can help... the suppressants. We’ll get a physician, someone who understands your constitution better than the Northern butchers."

At the mention of Reiner, at the mere suggestion of another living soul entering this sanctuary, something dark and territorial flared up in the base of Cherion’s skull. It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t the "Cherion" who worried about everything or the "Cherion" who had been transmigrated into this mess. It was the Omega. An unfiltered instinct that instantly pushed back at the idea of a third party.

"No," Cherion snapped, the word cracking in the middle. He felt a spike of genuine, irrational aggression. The idea of Reiner, of anyone, touching him right now felt like a violent intrusion. It made his skin crawl. "Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare bring him here. Or a physician. If anyone else touches me, I think I might actually kick them, Your Grace. I mean it."

Zarius stilled, his figure outlined by the cold light slipping through the patterned windows. He looked back at Cherion, and the expression on his face was one of dawning, horrified realization. He saw it now, the way Cherion’s eyes burned with something wild and desperate, his fingers gripping the sheets like he was barely holding on.

"Cherion, listen to me," Zarius said, his voice sinking into a deep, controlled tone that naturally took control of a room. "The suppressants... they can..."

"I don’t care!" Cherion practically lurched off the bed, stumbling toward him. He looked a mess, hair sticking to his damp forehead, his tunic half-unbuttoned, his pulse visible in the frantic hollow of his throat. He grabbed Zarius’s tunics, his knuckles white with the effort of hanging on. "Don’t leave me with a bottle of herbs, Your Grace. Don’t leave me alone with a ’suppressant’ while I’m literally humming like a live wire. Please. Just... please."

The desperation in his voice was the final hammer blow to Zarius’s resolve. Cherion didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled. It was a clumsy, desperate tug, but Zarius was already leaning into the gravity of the moment. They fell together, a tangle of limbs and heavy fabric, crashing onto the mattress with a sound that seemed loud enough to wake the entire wing.

They landed hard, the air leaving Cherion’s lungs in a soft "oomph." He didn’t care about the impact. He scrambled, his knees digging into the bedding until he was perched directly on top of Zarius’s chest, his arms winding around the man’s neck in a grip that was more of a shackle than a hug. He buried his face in the crook of Zarius’s shoulder, inhaling his scent that was the only thing keeping the madness at bay.

Zarius let out a long, shuddering sigh, a sound of pure defeat. He didn’t hug back immediately.Instead, he threw an arm over his face like that might help, as if blocking his view could somehow make this situation less intense.

"Cherion," Zarius groaned, the word muffled by his forearm. "Please. Think about what you’re doing."

"No," Cherion whispered, his lips brushing against the Duke’s pulse point. "I’m the one who needs to say ’please.’" He shifted, his weight settling more firmly against Zarius’s hips, and he felt the man beneath him hitch a breath so sharp it sounded like a sob. "I don’t know the rules here. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this... this noise, this heat in my blood. But I know that being this close to you is the only time the world doesn’t feel like it’s on fire."

When Zarius didn’t move, when he stayed frozen under Cherion like a statue of ice trying not to melt, a cold spike of insecurity pierced through the haze of the heat. Cherion pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching Zarius’s face, his heart twisting.

"What is it?" Cherion’s voice was small now, stripped of its earlier bite. "Do you... do you not want to help me?"

"Not want to?" Zarius managed to say, the words sounding like they were being torn out of him. He finally moved his arm, but only to grip the sheets on either side of Cherion’s waist, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his hands from roaming. "God, Cherion, I want it so badly I can’t breathe. But this... having you here like this... it’s too much."

He looked up at Cherion, and his blue eyes were no longer cold. The cold in his eyes was gone, replaced by something fierce and desperate, a hunger that made it hard to hold his gaze.

"I’m afraid," Zarius confessed, his voice breaking in a way that made Cherion’s heart ache. "I’m terrified that if I let myself go, I won’t be able to find the way back. I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back, and I’ll... I’ll ruin you."

Cherion looked down at him. For a second, the fog in his brain cleared, leaving him with a startling, crystalline clarity. For a moment, the ’Monster Duke’ fell apart, leaving behind a man who looked shaken and unsure of himself.

"Who said anything about holding back?" Cherion asked. It was a bold question, one that felt like jumping off a cliff without checking for a parachute. He leaned down, his forehead resting against Zarius’s. "I didn’t ask you to be a saint. And I definitely didn’t ask you to control yourself. I’m tired of the control. I’m tired of everyone holding back."

The air in the room seemed to freeze. The only sound was the crackle of the dying fire and the distant howl of the wind outside.

Suddenly, the stillness broke. Zarius surged forward without warning. With a sudden, explosive burst of strength, he bucked upward, rolling them both over until the positions were reversed. Cherion’s back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and before he could even blink, Zarius was over him, his heavy weight pinning Cherion’s wrists against the pillows.

Zarius was suddenly right there, just inches away, his expression dark and focused, all that earlier hesitation completely gone.

"Cherion," Zarius rasped, his eyes locking onto Cherion’s with a promise that felt like a death sentence and a rebirth all at once.

He dipped closer, his teeth grazing the edge of Cherion’s ear, and a sudden jolt ran straight down his back.

"I really hope you don’t plan on taking back a single word of what you just said. Because I’m done holding back."