The morning sun didn't just rise over the city; it felt like it was interrogating the room. Sharp, golden beams sliced through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains of Soren's master suite, illuminating the wreckage of the night before.
Mika stirred, but the simple act of shifting his weight felt like his body was made of shattered glass and lead. His silver hair was a tangled halo against the black silk pillows, damp with dried sweat and the lingering scent of Cold Steel and Bourbon. Every muscle—from the base of his bruised neck to the tips of his curled toes—ached with a heavy, throbbing heat.
He tried to push himself up, his palms flat against the mattress, but his arms gave out instantly. He collapsed back into the pillows with a soft, broken whimper. He had zero strength. The "passionate" claim Soren had laid on him hadn't just been a night of lovemaking; it had been a systematic dismantling of Mika's entire being.
The weight of the Blood-Stained Vow felt literal now. His chest was tender where Soren's blood had smeared and dried against his skin, a crimson ghost of the promise made on the obsidian desk.
"Trying to run away again, Little Jasmine?"
The voice was a deep, gravelly vibration that seemed to come from the very shadows of the room. Soren was standing by the window, already dressed in a charcoal-grey silk robe, a glass of amber liquid in his hand despite the early hour. His eyes—those dark, predatory amber depths—scanned Mika's broken form with a terrifyingly calm satisfaction.
Mika turned his head slowly, his throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. "I... I need to get up," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I need to... a bath..."
He tried again, gritting his teeth, forcing his shaky legs to swing over the edge of the bed. But the moment his feet touched the cold floor, his knees buckled. He would have hit the ground if a pair of powerful, tattooed arms hadn't caught him mid-air.
Soren didn't just catch him; he hauled him upward, pressing Mika's limp, feverish body against the hard wall of his chest. Mika looked up, his violet eyes hazy and defiant even in his weakness. He shot Soren a "bad eye"—a glare filled with all the resentment of a bird trapped in a golden cage.
Soren didn't flinch. Instead, a dark, slow smirk spread across his lips—the kind of look a wolf gives a rabbit that's still trying to kick while caught in its jaws.
"Look at you," Soren chuckled, the sound vibrating through Mika's chest. "You can't even hold your own weight, yet you're still trying to glare at me? You really are the most stubborn creature I've ever owned."
"I'm not... property," Mika gasped, though the way he was clinging to Soren's shoulders for support made the words ring hollow.
"Your skin says otherwise," Soren countered, his thumb grazing the dark, violet-black bite mark on Mika's neck. "The marks I left last night... they aren't going away for a long time, Mika. Everyone who looks at you will know exactly whose bed you crawled out of."
Mika tried to push him away, a weak, pathetic shove against Soren's chest. "Let me go. I can... I can walk to the bathroom."
Soren's smirk widened into something more dangerous. "Fine. Walk."
He let go.
Mika lasted half a second before his legs gave out completely. Soren caught him again before he hit the floor, sweeping him up into a bridal carry as if he weighed nothing more than a handful of feathers.
"Stop fighting me," Soren murmured, his voice dropping into that possessive, silk-over-steel tone. "You exhausted yourself trying to please me last night. Let me take care of the mess I made."
He carried Mika into the sprawling marble bathroom, where a sunken tub was already steaming, scented with expensive oils meant to soothe bruised skin. Soren sat on the edge of the tub, keeping Mika settled firmly on his lap, refusing to let him go even as he began to test the water.
Mika leaned his head against Soren's shoulder, his defiance finally melting into the sheer exhaustion of his body. He hated how safe he felt in these arms. He hated that the scent of Soren's skin was the only thing that made his heart stop racing.
"You're a monster," Mika whispered into the crook of Soren's neck.
Soren leaned down, his lips brushing against Mika's forehead in a gesture that was shockingly sweet for a man who had just branded him in blood.
"I'm your monster, Mika," Soren corrected him. "And don't you ever forget it."