CHAPTER 81: CHAPTER 81: DIFFERENT SCENT

Elias stirred.

It was subtle at first, a shift under the covers, a faint furrow of his brows as if the weight of too many voices had chased him into his dreams again. Then his fingers twitched against the edge of the blanket, slow and uncertain, like the world he was waking to might be worse than the one he’d left behind.

Victor turned the moment he felt it, that slight ripple of presence like a string pulling tight across the room. His entire posture changed. The distant chill faded from his face, and in its place came something smug, soft, and impossibly content.

Ashwin noticed the shift immediately. He didn’t say anything. Just exhaled under his breath like a man brushing dust off his shoulders, then nodded toward the door.

"I’ll be outside," he said dryly. "Try not to scare him into another coma."

Victor didn’t answer, but the curve of his mouth deepened, slow and self-satisfied. Ashwin rolled his eyes and slipped out, the door clicking quietly behind him.

The moment it shut, Victor crossed the room with quiet, measured steps.

Elias’s eyes cracked open, barely slits at first, lashes dark against his skin.

Victor dropped to one knee beside the bed, leaning in just enough that his breath touched Elias’s temple.

"Good morning," he murmured, voice low and smooth. "Did you dream of me?"

Elias blinked slowly, trying to orient himself, half-lost, half-aware. The scent of ozone still clung to the air, faint but familiar now, threaded with something darker, something warm.

Victor’s smile widened, lazy and entirely unrepentant.

"Because I didn’t stop thinking about you," Victor whispered.

Elias blinked slowly, the ceiling drifting into view like it was trying not to be too abrupt about existing. His lashes fluttered, then stilled as he breathed in and immediately regretted it. The air was saturated with ether and pheromones, warm and thick and clinging to his skin like a second, smoggier atmosphere.

His fingers twitched against the sheets, searching for something familiar, something real. The bed wasn’t his. It was too soft, too expansive, and way too warm. His limbs felt like they’d been rearranged by a storm and stitched back together by want, and then...

’Oh.’

’Oh, that’s right. Fuck.’

He groaned. Loudly.

Victor, perched beside the bed like sin made sentient, leaned in closer. "Was that for me?"

Elias didn’t answer. He dragged the blanket over his face and groaned again, longer, deeper, with the tortured sigh of a man who’d survived both an orgasmic apocalypse and the morning-after gloating of a god.

Victor’s lips twitched. "I’ll take that as a yes."

"You," Elias said hoarsely, his voice a rasp dragged through gravel. "Of course you’re here."

Victor didn’t flinch. He leaned in a little more, breath brushing Elias’s cheek, deliberate as a liturgy.

"Where else would I be?" he murmured. "You look divine when you sleep. Like something stolen from the gods before they got greedy."

Elias squinted at him, face contorting with disbelief. "Are you high?"

Victor grinned, slow and pleased, as if Elias had just complimented him instead of insulted his sanity.

"No," he said, entirely unbothered. "Just addicted."

Elias stared, unsure whether to be flattered, horrified, or both. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but whatever scathing remark had queued up behind his teeth short-circuited the moment Victor dragged a single knuckle across his jaw, reverent, maddening.

"Stop that," Elias muttered, voice cracking. "You can’t just... touch me like that."

Victor’s eyes gleamed crimson in the low light, all molten amusement. "I think you’ll find I can. In fact, I already did. Repeatedly. You were quite vocal about it."

"I will murder you."

Victor’s grin widened like unrepentant sin.

"As much as you like," he said smoothly, his voice honey-laced and sacrilegious. "I’ll come back every time. But I require compensation."

Elias squinted at him, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "You’re disgusting."

"And you’re radiant," Victor replied without pause. "Even now. Especially now."

Elias looked like he was debating whether to launch a pillow at his face or throw himself out the window. Possibly both. But he didn’t move. He didn’t pull away, either.

Victor’s hand hovered near his cheek, close enough to be felt but not quite touching, like he was waiting for permission he didn’t need but asked for anyway, just to see what Elias would do.

"You’re not mad at me," he said after a pause, gaze sharpening in the low light of a new morning.

Elias arched a brow. "And what gave you that brilliant idea? The way I threatened to end you?"

Victor’s eyes dipped half-lidded, a smugness flickering beneath his calm, his hand still brushing Elias’s jaw with slow movements.

"No," he said. "The way you smell."

Elias blinked, trying to understand if he was still dazed from the long sleep or Victor was mad. "The what?"

"You smell different when you’re mad," Victor murmured, leaning in again, voice low like confession in a temple long since abandoned. "When you’re agitated. Hurt. Anxious. You smell like temple incense, sacred and burned-out. As if the gods themselves are pacing. But now..."

He breathed in, and Elias swore it was more than scent he was sensing, like Victor could feel him in the air.

"Now you smell like imperial irises," Victor finished, quieter this time. "Sharp. Lush. Like something rare in bloom. Relaxed. Intoxicating. On the edge of heat, maybe. Or simply content."

Elias froze, every nerve in his spine stiffening.

Victor noticed. Of course he did.

He didn’t laugh this time. Didn’t tease. He only let the silence stretch, then softened his voice as he added, "You can lie to me with your mouth all you want, Elias. But your body speaks fluent truth."

Elias dragged a hand over his face with a groan that bordered on embarrassment. "You are so lucky I’m too sore to throw things right now."

Victor, as always, took that as a compliment.

"And you," he said, brushing his fingers lightly down Elias’s forearm, "are so lucky I’m here to worship every ache I caused."