CHAPTER 123: DOG OFF THE LEASH ( EMILIANO’S POV )

"How long was I out this time?"

Luther smiled at me.

This is not making anything easier for me.

"Two days."

"Oh. Did I miss anything interesting? Seems like you two are still alive so that’s good."

Tom smiled. I couldn’t.

I hate useless complications and yet here I am—

The resource for my apocalypse got me feeling uncertain of a decision I wouldn’t even consider a few months ago,

His ex-boyfriend is here watching like a hawk, still alive,

And I am feeling... weird.

Something is wrong with all of this.

What could have changed that much?

Why am I not acting according to my plan?

When did Luther become more important than my revenge? Than my utopia?

"Tom, would you mind giving us the room for a couple of minutes?"

Tom grimaces, the corners of his mouth tight with disapproval.

His jaw twitches.

His eyes flick toward the floor, then back to mine, full of things he’s not saying.

Still, he nods once, sharp and clipped, and turns.

His flippers strike the floor hard as he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.

I exhale.

My wife’s hand lifts, slow but certain, and presses gently against my cheek. Warm skin against mine.

His thumb strokes a slow arc across my cheekbone. I lean into the touch without meaning to.

The air shifts.

He’s studying me.

"You look tired."

His purple eyes gleam, too bright, too focused.

Worry radiates from him, quiet and unmistakable. It’s in the tension of his shoulders. The way his lips press into a line. The way his gaze keeps locking on mine, searching for something I’m not ready to show.

My pulse is loud in my ears. I don’t move.

What should I do? Give him up for a better world or give up the world for him?

Would he even choose me after?

He doesn’t speak. He just watches. His hand lingers, steady, gentle. There’s nothing rushed in his touch, but everything else feels like it’s spinning faster.

I force myself to breathe evenly.

Luther’s hand drops.

The space between us grows again.

But his eyes stay locked on mine, refusing to look away, as if any distraction might make things worse.

His worry doesn’t lessen. It tightens instead, settling in the furrow of his brow and the slight shake of his exhale.

I nod once, and he mirrors it.

"Is that bad?"

His voice is steady, but I can see how scared he is.

"Yeah."

"Am I gonna die?"

"I— no."

"What happened to you?"

"What do you mean, pup?"

"You are not the same man who locked me up and starved me for a week for fun. You look depressed and torn apart."

Hah.

Even my oblivious wife noticed the change.

"Guess I’ve grown attached."

"It’s eerie."

"Are you into sadists without remorse?"

Luther smiled, soft and brief.

He reached up, fingers brushing a dark curl aside, tucking it behind his ear. His eyes didn’t leave mine. The breath he let out was slow, controlled, but not calm. It carried weight.

"I don’t think so. But the dark circles around your eyes are kind of a turn-off."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

We stood in silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Luther’s hand found mine, warm and steady. For a heartbeat, the quiet wrapped around us like safety.

Then his fingers tensed. My chest tightened.

The air shifted.

Whatever peace we held slipped, replaced by something heavier, quieter—sadness settling in.

"Can you tell me what is happening, Emiliano? I am tired of walking blindfolded on this rope."

I gulped. My hand trembled under his.

Not even when I was abandoned to eat Ratatouille from the street - and I don’t mean the dish, but the rat- I have felt this weak and powerless.

"You are transforming into an alpha, Luther. Because of my pheromones that were injected into your blood, your flower is withering. I have no idea what is happening to your body."

"Oh."

His eyes got unfocused.

"If I am an alpha, I become useless to you."

I nodded.

"Are you gonna kill me then?"

"What?"

"Are you gonna kill me after I become useless?"

"Luther..."

"Yes or no. If I become useless, I become a weakness for you. You don’t have weaknesses. And you’ll search for another omega fit for your plans. Are you gonna kill me then?"

I gulped, throat dry and tight.

The weight of the moment pressed in, and I couldn’t shake it.

Luther was right. I knew it—deep down, beneath everything I wanted to believe.

He had been right all along.

That truth clawed at me, but I didn’t want it. I didn’t want that to be real.

Any weakness should be eliminated.

I can’t afford to have him.

Not if I want my utopia. Not if I want my revenge...

The silence stretched between us, thick and unbearable.

Luther scoffed, not out of anger but because there was nothing left to say.

He turned slightly, eyes glistening as he blinked hard. Then the first tear slipped free, tracing a path down his cheek.

Another followed.

He didn’t hide it. He didn’t flinch. He just stood there, face tight with the effort to stay still.

I looked away.

I didn’t know where to put my hands. My chest ached.

Every second dragged, and I wanted to speak, to move, to fix something. But I stayed frozen.

"Got it.", he broke the silence." What about Tom? How is he doing?"

"Is this really the moment to talk about Tom?"

"Do you want to describe how you’ll kill me? Or do you wanna offer me some empty comfort? I don’t need it. I’m a grown man. I can deal with a heartbreak."

"Heartbreak?"

"How is Tom doing?..."

"Why heartbreak?"

"Why do you care? If I shove my feelings down your throat, is it gonna make a difference? Will you add a tear or two when you hover over my dead body then?"

"Luther..."

"It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but you know— it’s fine. Just tell me about Tom."

"Tom is an alpha."

"No, he’s not."

"He is. That’s why the vinegar wrapping made him worse and started the convulsion."

"Because of me? Because of what happened in college?"

"That would be my guess."

"Hah. F-ck."

"It’s a good thing!"

"How is that a good thing?"

"Alphas— well, they are the most privileged. You did him a favor."

"No. I didn’t. He worked so hard to prove he is more than his second gender, only to end up an alpha. Only for every one of his efforts to become meaningless."

"I—"

"Anything else I should know about?"

"Puppy."

"At least let me have my dignity and treat me how you normally do before you kill me, would you?"

"I will not kill you."

"Sure."

"I’ll just keep you like this. With blood draining and cleaning of your lungs. For the rest of our lives."

"We both know you’re lying, Emiliano. This is just a temporary solution. It will eventually stop working."

"Puppy."

"So, what else is new?"

"You are searched nationally for obstruction of the law, killing the Prime-Minister and a terrorist attack."

Luther’s eyes widened.

"The grenade.", I explained.

Luther let out a dry laugh, sharp and humorless. It cracked in the air, brittle as glass.

Tears kept falling, streaking his face as the sound died in his throat.

His shoulders shook, not from laughter, but from everything else breaking loose.

"Great. Anything else?"

"Killian is getting married soon. He and Damian are expecting a baby."

"Oh."

"Are you jealous, puppy?"

"Why would I be?"

"You spend the night with him at the hotel..."

"You knew?"

"What do I not know, puppy?"

He smiled faintly.

"It doesn’t matter. It was just a one-night stand. He lied about loving me, but who didn’t lie to me? I got used to it."

"May I come in?"

Tom’s voice echoed from the hallway, sharp and impatient, cutting through the heavy silence.

Each word bounced off the walls, too loud, too present, dragging us back whether we were ready or not.

"Sure."

Luther didn’t look at me anymore.

Tom stepped into the room, eyes narrowed, scanning everything with practiced suspicion. His posture was tense, shoulders stiff, hand hovering near his side like he expected trouble.

"Had a nice talk?"

"Yeah."

Luther’s response was dry.

Tom arched his brow, looking at me.

"Did you tell him?"

"I don’t keep secrets from my wife."

Tom gulped.

"Tom.."

Luther opened his arms without speaking.

Tom blinked, uncertain, clearly thrown. He hesitated, looking between the two of us, then slowly climbed onto the bed. His movements were stiff, unsure.

He leaned in, wrapping his arms around Luther’s torso in a guarded hug.

Luther embraced him gently. No tension. No hesitation.

I stood to the side, silent. I didn’t look at them at first. I didn’t want to. But the silence stretched.

Something pulled my eyes back.

Tom had relaxed. His scent was shifting—soft, faint, but definitely there. His pheromones, low and possessive, slipping into the space around them.

My body tensed.

Despite the pheromones, Luther had no reaction. No imbalance, no collapsing.

I stared at his stomach peaking from under the shirt.

The mark didn’t change.

No new petal dropped. The color didn’t drain. No blackening, no spreading cracks. Nothing.

Tom was holding him. His pheromones were active. And Luther wasn’t collapsing.

That shouldn’t be possible.

I moved fast. Crossed the room, grabbed Tom by the shoulder, and pulled him away. He stumbled back with a noise of protest, landing roughly at the foot of the bed.

Luther didn’t fall.

He stayed sitting up, breathing evenly. His hands rested in his lap. His eyes found mine.

I dropped my gaze back to the flower.

It was exactly the same.

Still two petals. Still alive.

My lungs stopped working.

If Luther’s omega mark was reacting to alpha pheromones because of my semi-marking by blood, it should have responded to Tom’s. But it didn’t. It stayed still. Unchanged.

Which meant the withering wasn’t caused by pheromones.

Wasn’t caused by my blood.

At least not the way I thought about it.

I took a step back, then another, a wild pressure building in my chest. My vision blurred, not from tears but from the force of the thought slamming into me.

It wasn’t me.

The laughter came out of nowhere.

Sharp. Cracked. Loud.

I laughed once, then again, harder, louder, broken and raw. It poured out of me before I could stop it. I bent forward, gasping between waves of it, arms hanging loose by my sides.

Tom straightened, eyes wide, not daring to move.

Luther sat still, confusion flickering in his expression.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn’t understand yet.

But I did.

Until I stopped laughing.

It’s not my fault, yet the situation stayed the same.

Luther was transforming into an alpha. I had no idea why or how to stop it.

We were back to square one.

"Emiliano?"

Luther’s voice flickered half scared, half curious.

"Puppy, I need to cut you open again."

Luther gulped.

"Why?"

"Because I was wrong."

"You gotta have a better reason if you want my approval, dude."

"Good thing I don’t need your approval, puppy."

I inhaled, then exhaled slow—controlled—and pushed my pheromones into the room.

They rolled out thick, unmistakable, and laced with intention. Not murderous. Not enough to trigger a painful death.

But they were possessive, sharp, dominant, and impossible to ignore.

Just enough for my puppy to enter heat. Just enough to torture everyone else with unbearable pain.

Luther arched almost immediately, a broken gasp tearing from his throat.

His thighs tensed. Fingers curled tight into the sheets.

His eyes fluttered shut as his body yielded to the sudden pressure.

His Belladonna mark pulsed visibly against his stomach, the petals trembling as heat overtook him. The room thickened with the scent of it.

Let’s see what will happen to the mark once the bond is complete.

If Luther will truly become useless or just more obedient.

Tom jerked, whole body spasming, then wrapped around Luther like a clamp.

One arm locked across Luther’s chest, the other at his waist, snarling low in his throat.

His pupils shrank to pinpricks, and he dropped his head like a feral animal defending his mate.

White bubbles foamed at the corners of his lips.

He growled—loud, ragged, warning me to stay back.

I took a single step forward.

His whole frame snapped tight. A guttural noise tore from his throat. His nails dug into Luther’s skin. His eyes were blank with rage, unseeing.

Not protective.

Possessive.

Territorial.

One wrong move and he’d strike.

I stopped.

And smiled.

The scene was absurd. Pitiful. Desperate.

I chuckled under my breath, slow and bitter, and slid a hand into the inside of my coat.

My fingers wrapped around the scalpel.

It felt cool and steady in my grip. I didn’t raise it—yet. Just let it rest in my hand. Just in case.

I respected my wife’s wish to save him from the pheromone overdose. I never promised to keep him alive after that.

This?

A frothing dog wrapped around my omega like he owned him?

No.

No more of that.

Enough puppy play.

I stared at Tom, still growling, his body trembling from the pressure of my scent.

I could see the edge of the leash now—the one that had always belonged to me.

Luther.

His heat.

His mark.

His submission.

Everything had its place. Should have stayed in place.

Luther at the end of the chain, quiet and obedient.

The rest of them? Just noise for me to cancel.

The scalpel was warm now in my hand. I didn’t raise it.

Yet.

But I would if I had to.

I let the thought settle in.

It was time to wake up. Enough softness. Enough guilt.

If I can’t help but feel love, why should it be this painful? I’ll love the way I lived so far.

Merciless. Selfishly. Suffocating.

The weak part of me—the one that hesitated, that flinched, that let others touch what was mine—was finished. My puppy no longer held any power over me.

Let the other dogs circle if they wanted.

I’d euthanize every last one of them.