Soren carried Mika into the sprawling marble bathroom. The air was thick with the steam of a sunken tub already prepared with expensive, soothing oils. He sat on the edge of the marble, keeping Mika settled firmly on his lap, refusing to let the boy go even as he tested 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 tattooed 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, his voice cracking.
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."
As Soren lowered him into the warm water, he didn't pull away. He stayed there, kneeling by the tub, his fingers running through Mika's wet, silver hair. Mika tried to splash water at him—a weak, half-hearted protest—but Soren caught his wrist mid-air. He didn't look angry; he looked amused.
"You're still fighting," Soren chuckled, his thumb rubbing over the pulse point on Mika's wrist. "Even when you can barely keep your eyes open. That's why I can't let you go, Mika. Any other Omega would have broken by now. But you? You just get more beautiful the more you struggle."
Mika shot him another 'bad eye,' his lips pouting. "I'm going to walk out of here eventually."
Soren leaned in, his face inches from Mika's, his scent of bourbon and steel overpowering the lavender. "Then I'll just have to make sure you're too weak to walk every single morning," he whispered. "Starting now."