Chapter 14: Just a dream

He looked like a boy handed candy—relieved, even joyful. A flicker of a smile touched his cold, sharp features.

He sat up slowly, pulled her gently from where she knelt on the carpet, and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her stomach. He nuzzled there, breathing in her scent.

His nose brushed against the faint outlines of muscle on her abdomen, and the red currant scent grew stronger.

First hands. Then a hug. What came next?

He wanted more.

His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips brushing cautiously against her skin.

She shivered.

Liam stopped. His voice was low. “Is this okay?”

Her hand slid over his face, down to his lips. Cool fingers, gentle touch.

“Yes. You can do anything you want,” she whispered. Then she leaned in, her lips close to his ear. “I want you to feel comfortable.”

That last word landed softly—but it detonated something inside him.

With a groan, Liam wrapped his arms tighter and pushed her down onto the sofa. His strength was unchecked, rough. Her muffled sound beneath him was real, so real.

He braced himself over her, both hands on the cushions, and for the first time, his vision cleared.

Her face came into focus—eyes, nose, lips. Every detail etched into his brain like a brand.

The voice in his head returned, sly and relentless. You like her, don’t you? So why haven’t you kissed her?

Did he? Like her?

What about her? Did she feel the same?

“Do you like me?” His voice was raw.

She smiled. “I do.”

It was the answer he wanted. But instead of comfort, it only made him more afraid.

“What do you like about me?”

“You don’t need a reason to like someone.” Her fingers traced the line of his cheek, then his jaw. “Sometimes it’s a moment. A glance. A breath. That’s enough.”

Her hand touched his lips. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

Before he could answer, she smiled again. “Because I want to kiss you. What should I do about that?”

Boom.

The fragile wall of self-control finally crumbled—utterly, violently. The dust clouded everything, blurring the last sliver of restraint in his chest.

Liam leaned in, lips brushing hers—then pressing down, harder.

All he could hear now was the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears, and the rhythm of their breath entwining.

Liam’s slightly pointed canines grazed her skin—gentle at first.

But when he felt her body flinch in response, the devil inside him overpowered the angel. What started as a teasing rub quickly turned into a bite.

Her soft cry of pain was like gasoline to a lit flame.

Liam lifted his head slightly, eyes glowing red, and stared at the smear of blood staining the corner of her lips—his blood.

Half-lidded eyes burned with hunger as he leaned down and kissed the crimson mark, tenderly, reverently.

The kiss deepened, hot and desperate, with no space left for breath. He devoured her lips like a man starved, pouring every moment of yearning and restraint into it.

“Mmph…”

“Liam… wait—just a second…”

She tried to push him away, panting heavily, but Liam simply caught her wrist mid-motion, pinning it firmly against the sofa.

He gave no reply. Because he had no intention of stopping.

He ducked his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck. The heat of his breath against her skin made her shiver all over.

Her vision blurred. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up—tilting her head instinctively, baring her neck for him.

Liam’s lips brushed along the delicate skin just above her glands.

The scent of red currants filled his lungs, dizzying and addictive. He was no longer in control—he was a beast driven to the edge.

And the barrier patch over her neck?

It was the last thing standing between him and madness.

His sharp canines bit down lightly on the edge and peeled it away with excruciating slowness.

Underneath, her swollen, sensitive gland was exposed—ripe from a passive heat she couldn’t suppress.

“You’re hurting too, aren’t you?” he murmured darkly, blowing softly over the reddened skin.

The sound of his voice, laced with sin, sent a jolt down her spine.

“Don’t… don’t do that…”

Her body collapsed against the sofa, legs weak, trembling from just his breath.

Passive heat was nothing like normal estrus—it was overwhelming, chaotic, and left no room for pride.

Before she could finish protesting, the hand around her wrist suddenly let go.

She thought, for a split second, that he was done.

But his fingers found her chin, gently tilting it up, his lips brushing against her ear.

“You won’t be uncomfortable for long,” he whispered.

“What are you… what are you going to do?”

Liam kissed the shell of her ear, soft and full of affection. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You can’t…”

That one word stopped him cold.

He froze, mouth just above her gland. He echoed, confused. “Why not?”

“No…” Her voice was breathy, faltering. “No… no mark…”

Liam stared at her, watching the way her eyes fluttered open and shut with each wave of heat.

“Alright. No mark.”

He pulled back without complaint and kissed the sensitive skin just behind her ear instead—still intimate, still torturous.

She trembled again.

Then a shift. A startled gasp.

The world tilted, and now Liam was the one lying down, with her straddling him.

His arms wrapped securely around her waist.

“No mark,” he repeated softly, “but can we stay like this? Just hold each other?”

She looked down at him, dazed. “Aren’t you uncomfortable?”

“Of course I am,” he said, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Then his fingers toyed with her earlobe, now hot to the touch. He smiled.

“But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Her eyes never left his.

The burn of her exposed gland still pulsed painfully behind her neck, fogging up every coherent thought. The ache, the scent, the way he looked at her—it was too much.

She leaned down and kissed him. Warm. Soft. Intentional.

Liam’s eyes widened for a heartbeat… then closed.

And in the darkness behind his eyelids, he poured everything into feeling her—mind, body, soul.

Her kiss was light, careful. And yet, it calmed the chaos inside him, slowly guiding him back from the edge.

Time passed without measure.

The sting in his gland dulled. The heat faded into something gentler.

Liam, curled up on the sofa, suddenly opened his eyes. He was alone in the empty house.

The only light in the dim room came from the massive French windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

Liam sat up slowly and reached for the back of his neck, his fingers brushing over his own gland. He let out a bitter laugh.

“It was just a dream.”

But it had felt so real—every touch, every breath. The weight of her body, the heat of her skin, the taste of her lips... it all lingered like ghostly fingerprints.

Even now, awake and alone, he could still smell it—the faint trace of red currants in the air.

After a moment, as he moved to stand, something caught his eye.

The blanket—Amelia’s blanket. It was the source of the scent.

He froze.

Then he stepped forward, slowly, as if afraid it might vanish if he moved too fast. Bending over, he picked up the soft fabric from the sofa. For a long moment, he just stood there, holding it in silence. Then he lowered his head, pressing his nose to the cloth.

The fragrance wasn’t as strong as in the dream, but it was still there. Still hers.

“I thought…” he murmured, voice tight.

Another bitter smile twisted his lips.

He could still feel her kiss on his skin. Still hear her breath trembling against his ear. Still remember every broken whisper exchanged in the heat of a dream that wasn’t real.

It had been so vivid that, for a fleeting moment, he wanted to fall asleep again—just to go back.

But that desire was shattered by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, voice distant.

The alpha who pushed the door open immediately choked on the scent that hit him like a wall.

“Ahem… Boss, you—”

Liam turned his head, calm but sharp, eyes flicking to the doorway. “No need to come in. Just speak from there.”

The alpha coughed once more, covering his nose with a hand before speaking quickly: “Lucas just reported in—he saw Miss Amelia near the boxing ring.”

That name hit him square in the chest.

Every image from the dream came rushing back again.

“Boss?” The alpha hesitated, then stepped forward slightly. “We’re not sure if she’s gone inside. Should we pull out now?”

“Leave?” Liam repeated, glancing down at the blanket still in his hands. His fingers traced the delicate velvet lines like he was holding something far more fragile. “Where exactly would I go in this condition?”

The question wasn’t really for anyone else.

Then he added, “No. They won’t come in. The boxing ring will operate like normal tonight.”

“Got it, boss.” The alpha didn’t dare linger a second longer. He shut the door fast and hurried off, muttering under his breath as he ran down the hallway, “Shit, that was intense… another minute and my glands might’ve burst.”

The other alphas posted nearby looked at him like he was overreacting—until they caught a whiff of the pheromones still hanging in the air, drifting from the slightly open hallway door.

They exchanged looks.

And instinctively stepped away, fast.

Inside the closed room, the once-faint scent of green hazelnuts now filled every corner like a slow-burning fire.

“Source” wandered around the room, searching for his phone—unsteady, feverish.

Liam, still coming down from a full susceptibility episode, was pale and exhausted. His limbs were heavy. He finally found the phone and collapsed back onto the sofa, the velvet still cradled in one hand.

He stared at the familiar number glowing on the screen, thumb hovering for a long time before pressing call.

It connected quickly.

Wind rushed into his ear through the speaker—cool night air. He could hear it clearly, along with the sound of distant footsteps and drunken laughter echoing from a nearby street.

Liam’s voice was soft, almost hoarse. “You’re outside?”

Amelia glanced down the empty alley ahead of her. “Yeah.”

“Did something happen?”

She immediately picked up on the strain in his voice. He was hurting. “Liam…”

“I’m here.”

The laughter faded.

The only sounds left were the wind, the faint hum of neon signs, and the rhythmic tap of her boots on the pavement.

Colorful reflections danced across the wet ground, painting the shadows in flashing blues, reds, and yellows.

Not far away, Maverick stood on alert, watching everything with a guarded expression.

Amelia gave him a glance, then pushed herself off the wall and snapped her fingers at Maverick. As he approached, she spoke softly into the phone, “If you’re not feeling well… you can call me.”

Liam stood by the tall French window, eyes lowered to the surging crowd below. His voice came gently through the line, tinged with something unspoken. “Any time?”

Amelia paused in her steps, halfway to the car. “Didn’t you say you'd only call me before going to sleep?”

Liam glanced at the blanket still in his hand, his fingers unconsciously smoothing over the fabric. “What if I’m not okay at other times? What should I do then?”

Amelia took a few more steps, then stopped beside the car. She turned to glance back at the alley behind her, her brows slightly furrowed. “Not okay?”

“Yeah,” Liam said quietly. “My glands were damaged before. Every time I hit a susceptible period, it’s… unstable.”

“Liam.” Amelia cut him off gently. “It’s late. You should rest. Call me if it gets bad—any time. I mean it.”

“…Okay,” he said. “You should rest, too.”

The call ended with a soft click. The test was over.