CHAPTER 110: PHEROMONE OVERDOSE ( EMILIANO’S POV )

"Wait, please!"

Luther’s pathetic whimper caught in his throat as the instinctive urge to mark what was already spoiled by Akna ravished both me and Tom simultaneously.

And so, in a symmetric move, our mouth lavished on the bruised skin- mine on the shoulder blaze while Tom’s on the right side of his chest, just a few inches down under the collarbone.

I could feel Luther breaking between us, chest shivering in an unsuccessful attempt to breathe in properly.

There was no air in the room. Just pure animalistic pheromones, burning the lungs mercilessly.

Filling the brain with a flood of endorphins.

Causing the breakage of whatever faint trace of human reason was left to blur the desire.

I digged my teeth into the mark to the point of-

If I were to squeeze, Luther’s flesh would be torn from his muscle. The unnecessary force was the only jealousy protest I could afford.

For I was scared to stop for the moment.

My wife arched his back both in pain and pleasure, yet Tom’s mouth was just unforgiving. Instead of teeth, he used his lips and tongue to suck on the mark as if he could take out any venom Akna might have left behind.

Trapped between that and my ruthless biting, my poor wife could do nothing but give in to the pleasure and let his weight collapse on my body without any more restrictions.

"Why did you do it, Lu?"

"Were you lonely, puppy?"

As our echoed, raw voices melted into each other, a rapid glance was exchanged between me and the brat I allowed my wife to play with.

It was unclear who turned Luther’s head and who opened his lips first, and yet-

Both our tongues trapped his just as our bodies did. Wet. Sloppy. Blurred.

The kiss suffocated Luther to the point of crying and thrashing as his whole body pleaded for mercy.

Nonetheless, the mirrored version of myself I was sharing my wife with was just as ruthless and cruel as I was.

Guess the marking was triggering him too.

Between our tongues, Luther’s raw whimper came straight from within.

"So weird. My flower..."

I let my hand wander to Luther’s abdomen where his omega flower was shivering so violently that it threatened to shake all the petals, leaving nothing behind but a disheveled, exposed pistil.

I gently scratched the petals as Luther broke the kiss with a desperate, wet gasp for air. His whole body broke-

Chest pumping uncontrollably,

Legs squeezing tightly Tom’s waist,

Hands digged in my own trying to stop the scratch as his cries pulsate in the room.

"Please... please..."

Tom, desperate for release, irrational and just as broken, entangled Luther’s thighs into a desperate movement, positioning him on me—

My face on his stomach as he used the closeness of Luther’s legs to find his undoing.

The abrasive material seemed to do nothing but excite even more the friction between Tom’s throbbing and quite impressive member.

I was too busy digging my nails, my teeth, dragging my mouth on Luther’s flower to care. Even without a per se touch, the ending of this filthy act was peeping for me as well.

As for Luther?

I lost count of the times his body broke under our touches since the beginning. It was both a continuous, choking euphoria as well as a cruel torture on my poor wife.

It was just as sudden as the start when the climax hit all of us, leaving us panting in the suffocating profanity we just indulged in.

But not as sudden as Tom collapsing.

Not even the euphoria had the time to settle on our aching bodies when the redhead just dropped into unconsciousness.

Way to destroy the mood, Tom!

"Tom?! Tom!"

My wife, still having the taste of our depravity on his tongue, quickly hovered over Tom’s unconscious body.

Disappointed, yet resigned, I placed my two fingers on his neck to check for vitals.

The heartbeat, although faint, was still stubbornly clinging to life.

"He’s fine. He’s in a pheromone overdose."

"He’s a beta!"

I ignored the sting in Luther’s tone and focused on Tom’s chest. It rose and fell unevenly, shallow but steady. The skin was flushed, drenched in sweat. His pupils twitched under closed lids, a sign of his system still in overdrive.

"Pup, you transformed Claus too. He will die even if we take him to a hospital right now. Step back a bit. I’ll try my best."

I pulled his head to the side to keep his airway clear.

The scent in the room was thick, almost suffocating, but he pushed through it. My fingers moved to his wrist. Pulse weaker than before, but still there.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

Not after what we all been through.

Beta physiology was fragile under extended exposure to Luther’s pheromones, it seems. Claus collapsed within minutes, nervous system fried before the first spike passes from what I’ve read on his medical chart back when we were trapped in that hell institution.

He lasted longer. Much longer.

It didn’t make sense. His vitals should be crashing completely by now.

He should have been dead the moment we hit the couch.

I checked his temperature next.

Skin burned against my palm. Internal systems close to failure. Muscles twitching in random bursts—body trying to purge what it can’t handle.

He won’t wake for hours. Maybe longer.

If I am not the one who will treat him, he might never wake up.

Luther shifted behind me, impatient, but I kept scanning.

No signs of cardiac arrest. No hemorrhaging in the eyes.

He’s holding on by chance, not strength. One wrong move and it tips either way.

I grabbed a damp cloth from the floor and pressed it to his forehead.

Cooling him down would keep the fever from spiking further.

Then I rolled him on his side, stabilizing his breathing. My mind kept circling the same thought.

He shouldn’t be alive. No beta survives this level of saturation without breaking. Yet here he is.

"Is he gonna be ok?"

My wife’s voice trembled,weakened.

This is an advantage I should use to the fullest.

"I can stabilize him in the next days. Maybe a week. If you take him to a hospital, he will die. They don’t have any knowledge."

"But you do?"

"I torture, lie and trick for a living, puppy. All in the name of science."

"So will you help him?"

"You know the price I’ll ask from you if you want to save him."

His jaw tightens, and he gives a single nod. I smirk.

I shove my fingers deep into Tom’s throat.

His body jerks weakly, a gag reflex forcing up what’s left inside him.

A foul mix spills out, thick and warm against my hand.

He coughs without waking, eyes rolling under heavy lids. I hold him in place, keep his mouth open, keep pushing until his stomach empties in short bursts.

His body trembles hard, then goes slack again.

I grab the water bottle from the table and tilt his head back.

The liquid streams down fast.

I pour it straight into his nose and mouth.

He spasms, choking hard, thrashing weakly in my grip.

His chest convulses.

Water shoots out mixed with bile.

He sucks in a ragged breath, almost collapsing into stillness again.

I pour more.

Aggressive, fast, no breaks. His lungs fight it, pulling and rejecting in the same second.

The airways need to be washed down.

Since the state of his heart is weak, the usual alcohol used in this situation is out of question so I just have to resume to plain water.

A lot.

But I didn’t mind torturing Tom a bit.

After all, he did step out of line.

Behind me, Luther freezes.

I can feel his stare.

His shoulders rise and fall like he’s holding back words.

He stays where he is. He trusts me. He knows what I am.

He might not have an ounce of trust in me as a man or a lover, but as a doctor?

He knows I am the best in the secondary-gender field.

He doesn’t move when Tom jerks in another fit, body seizing against the floor before settling into shallow breaths.

I check his airway again.

Clear enough.

I wipe his mouth with the back of my wrist, then grab his arms and pull him up.

He’s dead weight.

My hands slip on the sweat and water covering him, but I don’t stop.

I drag him to the stairs, step by step, his legs bouncing against each step as I haul him to the top.

The bedroom door swings open with a kick.

I pull him inside and drop him on the bed.

The sheets are clean, but they won’t stay that way.

I grab the bucket from the corner, fill it with vinegar water, and soak the spare sheets until they’re dripping.

The smell fills the room fast, sharp and bitter.

I wrap him tight.

Arms, chest, legs.

Every inch sealed in wet fabric.

His skin shivers under the touch, body twitching from the shock. His breathing stays thin, but steady. I check his pulse again.

Still there.

Slower than before, but steady.

Both my pheromone and Luther’s have a sweet undertone. That needs to be canceled out from the skin absorption by something rather opposite.

If the pheromones would have been more unnatural, salty or sour, the vinegar would have the opposite effect.

But only me and Luther had pheromones. So it’s the best alternative I have first at hand in this mundane, deserted apartment.

Next is the IV.

I set the stand by the bed, tear open the pack, and fix the line.

Needle slides into his vein easy, blood flashing back before the vitamins start to drip. It’s the best I can give him now.

His body takes it without resistance.

No movement.

No sound.

I strip the gloves off and let them fall to the floor.

My hands reek of vinegar.

I don’t care.

Luther steps in, slow. His face is tight, eyes darting from Tom to me.

He looks pale.

He says nothing.

I close the gap between us.

My hand slides around his waist, pulling him close.

He stiffens.

I feel the tension in his back, the way his muscles lock up. He doesn’t lean in, but he doesn’t move away either.

The deal keeps him here.

Not the passion we shared minutes ago.

Just plain compliance in a rigid business.

A life for a life.

My fingers press harder into his side.

I bring my face close and kiss him.

His lips stay still under mine, cold and unyielding. He doesn’t return it. He just breathes out slow through his nose, like forcing calm into his body.

I arch a brow when I pull back.

His eyes meet mine for a second.

I smirk.

It’s ok.

I enjoy a slow burn. Don’t you?

The vinegar on my hands clings to his shirt now, sharp against the air between us.

The room smells of acid, sweat, and something that never leaves after this kind of work.

I glance at Tom.

His chest rises once, slow and heavy, then falls.

The sheet sticks to his skin, draining heat, pushing the fever down.

The IV keeps dripping, one slow bead after another.

I check the line, make sure it stays clear, then turn back to Luther.

He hasn’t moved.

His arms hang by his sides, fists tight enough to make the knuckles pale. His jaw clenches when I reach for him again, but he doesn’t stop me.

My hand grips his hip this time, firmer. I lean close until my breath brushes his ear.

He stays still.

The silence stretches. The only sound is the IV tapping its rhythm and Tom’s shallow breathing filling the space between us.

I pull back, watching him. His eyes stay on mine. I smirk again, slower this time, and hold it until he blinks first.

Tom will live. For now.

"So, what’s for dinner, darling?"