Chapter 14 #2
Bishop sighed and then heading for the door. “There’s work to be done, and I’m afraid you just inadvertently triggered phase two. I’ll be back to collect your tray in an hour. I highly suggest you eat it all. You’ll need your strength for what comes next.”
“We aren’t done talking, Lefthand.”
“I was instructed to tend to your relative needs,” Bishop quipped. “Not engage in friendly debates.”
“When I get out of here, you’re going to regret this.”
The beta hesitated briefly and then nodded, seemingly accepting his fate. He opened the door and darted into the hall in one swift move, leaving no time for Sarang to even consider attempting to make a run for it.
Alone once more, he stared at the plate of hot food, scowling when he saw they were his favorites. It was insulting, as though they were rubbing it in his face how well Shiloh knew him when he’d been tricked and kept in the dark.
How much of it had been real?
Did the omega actually believe he could get away with this? Even if he’d come to some sort of underhanded agreement with Kian, Sarang refused to take this lying down. He’d take this time to reflect on their past, wait the omega out for as long as he had to, and then he would demand answers.
Maybe he’d spoiled Shiloh too much these past years, had helped form the misgiving that Sarang was harmless.
He was going to have to remind him just who was the alpha in this dynamic.
* * *
True to his word, Bishop returned in exactly one hour.
Sarang was sitting at the end of the bed, elbows resting on his knees.
He didn’t move when the beta retrieved his tray, though he’d been paying closer attention these past few days to the other man’s movements.
If he could track him properly, he should be able to find a chance to catch him off guard and take the tranquilizer gun from his hold.
On his way out, Bishop tossed him a water bottle, another part of the routine they’d developed in the short time they’d been forced together.
Sarang sighed and twisted off the cap, downing a third of its contents while lost in thought. Another day come and gone. Meaning he’d been trapped here for two and a half weeks with no signs of being freed. Hell, Shiloh wouldn’t even see him.
How did the omega expect them to work through this if he wouldn’t meet with him to talk? The fake Shiloh would have been desperate to explain, begging Sarang not to be mad at him.
Knowing Sarang would cave and forgive him. Probably even take it a step further and bring the damn spoiled brat for cake afterward.
Fuck.
“I’m such an idiot.” He’d done this to himself, hadn’t he. Had let things get this far. Had given the omega the opening. Had doted on a lie, and by doing so, had cultivated that lie to the point he could no longer see heads or tails.
What did Shiloh really want? He kept mentioning the bite, but why?
Shiloh had made it sound like it was so he could torture Sarang with their bond by refusing him sex, but that statement was made after he’d discovered the life-bond. He hadn’t known anything about that back in the parking garage.
He also hadn’t said anything about feelings.
Sarang didn’t know if the omega liked him or merely wanted to own him. As far as mates went, he wasn’t humble enough not to recognize he’d make a good catch. Even though he wasn’t a dominant alpha like Kian and some of the other Eumia, Sarang was strong.
Worthy of a prince?
No.
But that was another reason he’d held himself back and had resisted.
He’d always understood his place, so how dare Shiloh try to flip their narrative now, so late in the game.
How dare he make him consider taking what was being offered.
Taking what he’d always wanted.
Craving the omega was nothing knew, but he hated how that hadn’t changed even after all of these unsettling discoveries.
At the end of the day, Shiloh had just shown him they didn’t really know each other.
Many mated couples had exchanged the bite based solely off of instinct alone, but Sarang had always dreamed of more.
Had always considered himself above his baser instincts, and yet—
A sudden pang in his lower abs had him stilling.
It was far too soon for him to experience another rut, but the wave of heat that rolled over him, and the way he started to cramp and tense, was unmistakable. His legs shifted apart, cock swelling unprompted, even as his mind fought against the incoming sensations.
He was already panting by the time he thought to look at the water, sniffing at the contents suspiciously. It was odorless, but that didn’t prove anything. There were many different types of drugs that could force a person’s mating period. Illegal drugs.
Easy enough for the prince of a mafia organization to get his hands on.
Sarang tossed the water bottle across the room, letting out a strangled growl as his balls drew up and his vision momentarily winked out of focus.
He was on his knees a second later, still struggling to resist the pull of a rut, even going so far as to dig his nails into the flesh of his arm, hard enough to draw blood.
The sting only managed to stave off the inevitable for a minute or so, not nearly long enough to allow him to regain control.
When the door to the room opened, he snarled, but Bishop never showed himself. A piece of cloth was tossed in and then Sarang was locked in all over again.
He was already scrambling to the other side of the room to retrieve the piece of clothing, clutching it to his face and inhaling the intoxicating scent of omega from the black fabric. Iris and moss. A deep, spicy scent resembling black licorice mixed with a subtly complex damp earthy note.
His omega.
Shiloh had scented this and instructed Bishop to toss it in here to torment Sarang, that much was apparent. If their goal was to tip him deeper into rut, their mission was a success.
Despite how infuriated and betrayed he felt toward the omega, Sarang’s instincts took over, driven to new heights with the alluring smell of his mate. His clothes came off in a frenzy, and he barely made it to the couch—which was closer than the bed.
Whatever drug they’d given him, it was strong.
He stopped caring if there were cameras, or that he’d fallen into another trap, too focused on the feeling of his cock, erect and aching.
One of his hands gripped himself, wringing his length, fingers collecting precome from his leaking slit to lube the rest of his shaft for a more comfortable stroke.
He kept Shiloh’s shirt on his face, covering his nose and mouth, breathing him in as he pumped his hips hard enough for the couch to creak beneath him. It wasn’t going to be enough, he could already tell. He needed to hold down a warm body, the taste of Shiloh’s tongue, the feel of his skin.
But Sarang refused to give in. He’d roll over and perform for his omega if that was what the prince really wanted.
Would jerk off to thoughts of him, eventually probably hump the couch as he desperately rode the waves of his rut out, but he wouldn’t beg.
It would take a hell of a lot more than this, than a single forced rut, to push him past his breaking point.
Sarang had spent years resisting the urge to claim Shiloh.
If this was how the prince wanted to play things, he was in for a long, drawn-out battle.
The first orgasm ripped through him, and Sarang immediately pulled the shirt down to cover himself, collecting his come as he jerked through it, mingling their two scents together.
He’d barely finished emptying his first release before he was hard again, and he tossed the shirt over one of the throw pillows, settling over it so he could grind down against the plush item.
He rutted the couch envisioning Shiloh, conjuring the way his body had felt clinging to Sarang’s cock, replaying the noises he’d made.
Imagination had gotten him through some of the worst ruts imaginable, and unwittingly, Shiloh had supplied him with more ammunition. His memory fueled his determination, staving off the edge of insanity that threatened to overwhelm him as an unmated alpha.
He’d survived off of fantasy thus far.
What was a little longer?