CHAPTER 109: CHAPTER 109: FIGURE IT UP

Steam still clung faintly to Elias’s skin as he toweled his hair dry, the muted scent of cedar soap rising sharp in the cool air of his room. The shower had been a reprieve, a way to wash off the city’s stares and Connor’s too-knowing laugh, but the silence that followed pressed heavier than expected.

He tugged an old t-shirt over his head, brushed his teeth with the absent efficiency of routine, and glanced once at his reflection. Damp hair, circles still faint beneath his eyes, suit folded carelessly across the chair. The sort of man who should have been left to sleep alone.

Except when he pushed open the bedroom door, the lamplight was already burning.

Victor lay across the bed like he had every right to it, crimson eyes catching the light as he turned his head lazily toward him.

"You’re in my bed," Elias said flatly, though his voice was steadier than he felt.

"True, I’m here to move you into our bedroom." Victor said he was measuring Elias’s frame.

"You mean your suite?"

Victor’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the damp line of his collar, the worn hem of his shirt, and the faint flush of skin still warm from the shower. "Our suite," he corrected, voice smooth as if the matter had already been settled.

Elias raised a brow, the corner of his mouth curving in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "I must’ve missed the part where I agreed to that."

The weight of Victor’s crimson eyes alone filled the room, steady as a hand on the back of Elias’s neck. "You agreed the moment you let me mark you," he said softly. "Everything else is only logistics."

Elias exhaled, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "Logistics," he repeated, crossing the room to set his towel over the chair. "You make it sound like moving furniture."

Victor’s mouth curved faintly. "You’re more valuable than furniture. Less cooperative, too." His gaze flicked once to the folded suit, then back to Elias. "Tomorrow, we’ll fix that wardrobe. I’ll take you shopping."

"You or Adam already bought clothes; I just ignore them."

That earned him an incredulous look, sharp as glass under the lamplight. "You ignore them," Victor repeated, tasting the words like they were a personal insult. "You wore a suit that should’ve been retired five years ago to a symposium where half the board dressed to impress me. You think I didn’t notice?"

Elias leaned his shoulder against the chair, arms folded, entirely too calm for the way Victor’s voice edged with danger. "You noticed. Everyone noticed. And yet, somehow, the world didn’t collapse because I wasn’t in a tailored silk jacket."

"You did it intentionally." His gaze lingered on the shirt like it was a crime, then slid back to Elias’s face, sharp and unyielding. "You wanted them to see the contrast, my power, and your refusal to dress for it. A message to those watching that you aren’t bending."

Elias didn’t flinch, didn’t move, only tilted his chin a fraction higher. "Maybe I just wore what was clean."

Victor’s laugh was low and humorless, the kind that lived closer to a growl. "You’re clever, Elias, but don’t insult me with lies. You wanted them to underestimate you. To look at me and wonder why I chose you. And then you spoke, and every one of them realized you weren’t a shadow at all."

The faintest curve touched Elias’s mouth, dry and cutting. "So what you’re really saying is, I saved you the trouble of proving your point."

Victor pushed himself up on one elbow, the lamplight painting the hard lines of his shoulders, the quiet hunger in his eyes impossible to mistake. "No. What I’m saying is that you already dress like you don’t belong to anyone. And I won’t allow that. Not when you’re mine."

The words landed heavier than they should have, brushing over Elias’s skin with the weight of a collar he’d never agreed to wear. He stayed still, arms folded, but his voice was steady when he asked, "And if I keep ignoring your clothes?"

Victor’s mouth curved, slow and deliberate, like patience sharpened to a knife’s edge. "Then I’ll undress you myself. Every time."

Elias didn’t bother answering. He crossed the room, the damp heat of his skin still clinging faintly to the cotton of his shirt, and with one practiced flick, he switched off the lamp beside Victor’s elbow. The room dropped into shadow, the faint outline of crimson eyes still glowing faintly against the dark.

"Not tonight," Elias said simply, his tone unbothered and final. "Two days in a row is enough. I’m not a machine and you’re not getting a third."

There was the barest beat of silence before Victor exhaled, low, like a predator amused by prey that dared to bare teeth. He didn’t argue. He didn’t press. Instead, he shifted deeper into the bed, then in one smooth motion, reached for Elias. Strong arms caught him, drawing him firmly against his chest as though the decision had never belonged to him at all.

Elias gave a faint, incredulous laugh into the darkness. "What now?"

Victor’s reply came against his hair, voice low and absolute. "I can’t sleep unless you’re in my arms."

"Can’t sleep?" Elias tilted his head just enough to glance at him over his shoulder, unimpressed even as Victor’s embrace refused to loosen. "You’re a god, Victor. You can figure it out."

"I won’t," Victor corrected softly, the words carrying the same weight as an oath. His grip didn’t tighten. The insistence was in the steadiness of his breathing, in the way crimson eyes stayed open in the dark, watching Elias as though daring him to move away.

Elias let the silence stretch, unbothered by the hunger in Victor’s gaze, letting his own stillness be its own form of defiance. Finally, he closed his eyes, voice edged with quiet finality. "Then I suppose you’ll just have to suffer."

The room fell into quiet again, Victor’s arms still locked around him, the god of Numen forced into something that looked suspiciously like surrender.