74Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8koRm78S6874Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡioVClm8DKe
Elliot tried to open his eyes.
His eyelids were impossibly heavy. The world swam before him, blurred, indistinct. His head was splitting. His mouth was dry, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
He tried to move and felt something dig into his wrists and ankles.
Ropes.
His hands were bound behind his back. His legs too. He lay on his side on the back seat of a car, his cheek pressed against cold leather upholstery.
Panic struck in a wave, but his body was too weak to fight. Whatever Wickham had injected him with was still working, making his muscles useless, his thoughts sluggish.
Elliot forced himself to breathe. Slowly. Deeply. Trying to clear the fog from his head.
*Where am I? Where are they taking me?*
He listened.
The car was moving. The engine ran smoothly, monotonously. Outside the window blurred lights of streetlamps and headlights from other cars rushed past.
Up front, two men were talking.
"How much longer?" one asked. His voice was rough, unfamiliar.
"Forty minutes," the driver answered. Also unfamiliar. "Maybe less if there's no traffic."
Elliot cautiously opened his eyes a crack, trying not to give himself away. Through the narrow slit between his lids he saw the backs of the front seats. Silhouettes of two men. Both large, broad-shouldered.
The thugs from the second car.
The second man turned, glancing back.
Elliot quickly closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly, as though still unconscious.
"Still out," the man said, turning back. "When does the serum start working? Did Wickham say?"
"Half an hour," the driver replied. "Should start soon."
"What exactly does it do?"
"Amplifies pheromones. Artificially induces something like heat. Makes the omega compliant." Amusement colored the driver's voice. "The boss wants the subject calm when we arrive. No problems."
"Smart."
A chill ran down Elliot's spine.
*Serum. They injected me with something. Something that will change my body, my instincts.*
Terror clenched his throat. He wanted to scream, break free, but his body wouldn't obey. His hands and feet were bound. His muscles were still weak from the sedative.
All he could do was lie there and listen.
And wait.
The minutes dragged torturously.
Elliot felt his pulse hammering at his temples. Sweat broke out on his forehead despite the cool air in the car.
And then he felt it.
Warmth.
Faint at first, almost imperceptible. Somewhere deep in his belly, quiet heat that began to spread.
Then stronger.
Hotter.
As though someone had poured molten lava into his veins.
Elliot gasped. His body began burning from within. His skin became too sensitive. Every brush of fabric was almost painful.
And the scent.
His own aroma exploded in the car's confined space. Bitter chocolate became sweet, almost cloying. Smoke transformed into incense, thick, intoxicating.
The scent of an omega in heat.
"It's starting," one of the men up front said. "You smell that?"
"Yeah. Damn. Strong."
Elliot made a quiet sound. The heat was becoming unbearable. His body demanded something. Touch. Closeness. An alpha.
*No. No, no, no. This isn't me. This is chemicals. This isn't real.*
But his body didn't listen to reason. Instincts were taking overbancient, demanding.
The car continued driving.
To Elliot it felt like they drove forever. Each second was torture. The fever came in waves, receding and returning, but never disappearing completely.
He heard the men up front talking, but the words blurred, lost meaning. All he could feel was the fire in his veins and the desperate need for relief that wouldn't come.
And then the car braked sharply.
Elliot felt his body jerk forward, the ropes cutting painfully into his wrists.
"What the?!" the driver swore.
The screech of brakes. The crash of metal.
The car stopped so abruptly Elliot rolled, hitting his head on the door.
"What the hell?!" One of the men jumped from the car.
Elliot heard shouting outside. Sounds of a struggle. Dull thuds. Someone's groan of pain.
Then silence.
The rear door flew open.
Cold night air rushed inside, and Elliot gasped, drawing it greedily into his lungs.
And caught the scent.
Whiskey, damp earth, and dark honey.
Darcy.
"Elliot."
The voice was hoarse, strained, but so familiar Elliot felt his chest constrict.
Strong hands lifted him, carefully, as though he were made of glass. A sharp knife sliced through the ropes at his wrists and ankles.
Elliot opened his eyes and saw Darcy's face bent over him.
Grey eyes were full of fury and fear. Jaw clenched. An abrasion on his cheekbone, his lip split.
But he was here.
He'd found him.
"Are you alright?" Darcy quickly examined him, checking for injuries. "Are you hurt? What did they do?"
Elliot tried to answer, but only a quiet sound escaped his throat.
Because Darcy's scent enveloped him completely, cutting through the remnants of sedative in his system. The whiskey became scorching. Damp earth transformed into something fertile, alive. Honey became dark, almost smoky.
The scent of an alpha who sensed an omega in heat.
And was responding to it.
Elliot saw how Darcy's pupils dilated. How his nostrils flared, drawing in the scent. How his body shuddered, muscles turning to stone.
"God," Darcy breathed, his voice full of pain. "What did they give you?"
"Serum," Elliot forced out. "Pheromones... amplifies..."
Darcy swore through his teeth. His hands gripped Elliot's shoulders, then released abruptly, as though the touch burned.
"I need to get you somewhere safe. But I... god, Elliot, your scent..."
"Darcy," Elliot reached for him, and even through the haze he could see how the alpha struggled. How every muscle in his body was strung tight as a wire.
"Please. Don't touch me," Darcy's voice was almost pleading. "If you touch... I'm not sure I can control myself."
But Elliot wasn't listening. Instincts demanded the alpha. This alpha.
He grabbed Darcy's hand, and the world exploded.
Darcy's scent became almost suffocating. Whiskey transformed into pure alcohol, searing. Damp earth became so fertile it seemed to radiate life itself.
Darcy gasped, his eyes darkening almost to black.
"Elliot, let go. Right now."
"Can't," Elliot whispered. "Darcy, I feel so awful... so hot..."
"I know." Darcy closed his eyes, his jaw turning to stone. "Alright. I'll take you to my place. But you have to try to hold on. Don't touch me more than necessary. Understand?"
Elliot nodded, though every cell in his body screamed in protest.
Darcy carefully lifted him in his arms. Elliot pressed against his chest, breathing in the scent that was simultaneously salvation and torment.
"Almost home," Darcy whispered, carrying him to his car. "Hold on, Elliot. Just hold on."
He settled Elliot in the passenger seat, fastened the seatbelt. His fingers trembled slightly as he clicked the buckle.
Then he slammed the door, ran around the car, got behind the wheel. The engine roared to life and they tore away.
Elliot watched Darcy through a veil of flame. His rigid face, hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
"How did you know?" he rasped.
"A message," Darcy answered shortly, eyes fixed on the road. "Anonymous. To my phone. 'Elliot Bennet has been kidnapped. They're heading to London. You have an hour.' I didn't know if it was real or a trap. But I couldn't risk it."
"Who..."
"I don't know." Darcy shot him a quick glance, and pain filled his eyes. "But I'll find out. And they'll answer for this. Everyone involved."
Elliot wanted to respond, but a new wave crashed over him. He groaned, burying his face in his hands.
His body burned. His skin was too sensitive. Every breath brought Darcy's scent, and it stoked the flames even higher.
"Elliot?" Darcy's voice was harsh with restrained tension. "What's wrong?"
"I heard... them talking," Elliot forced out the words. "Wickham injected me with a serum. To amplify pheromones. It's... god, Darcy..."
The car swerved sharply, tires squealing. Darcy swore through his teeth.
"We're almost there," his voice was strained to the breaking point. "I'll take you to my place. You'll be safe there. There I can..."
He didn't finish.
Elliot turned to him and saw the tense profile, clenched jaw, hands frozen on the wheel, the vein bulging at his neck. When Darcy glanced his way for a moment, his pupils were enormous, almost black.
"Darcy," he whispered. "It's too strong..."
"I know," Darcy's voice was hoarse, broken. "I feel it. Your scent... god, Elliot..."
He swore again, accelerating.
"But I won't allow myself. Understand? Whatever happens, I won't take advantage. This isn't you. This is the serum. This isn't real."
Elliot closed his eyes, fighting the desire tearing him apart from within.
Part of him knew Darcy was right. That this wasn't real. That this was chemistry, manipulation, artificially induced heat.
But the other partbthe instinctive part didn't care about logic.
He wanted an alpha. Wanted this alpha.
"We're here," Darcy's voice brought him back to reality.
Elliot opened his eyes and saw they'd stopped at a tall building. A modern residence in central London, all glass and steel.
"This is my home," Darcy explained, cutting the engine. "No one enters without my permission. You'll be safe."
A butler came to the car, but Darcy stopped him with a gesture.
"Mr. Darcy..."
"Not now, Benson," Darcy's voice brooked no argument. "I need no one entering the penthouse until morning. No one. Clear?"
The butler looked at Elliot, his eyes widening as he caught the scent. But he only nodded.
"As you say, sir."
Darcy got out of the car, walked around, opened Elliot's door. Leaned in to help him.
And when their hands touched, the world exploded.
Elliot didn't remember how they got to the elevator. Didn't remember how they rose to the top floor. Didn't remember how Darcy opened the penthouse door.
He remembered only fire. Unbearable, all-consuming. And Darcy's scent wrapping around him, penetrating every cell, calling, demanding.
Darcy carried him inside, kicked the door shut behind them, leaned back against it, gulping air.
The penthouse was enormous. Panoramic windows looked out over nighttime London. Minimalist furniture, expensive, stylish. But Elliot barely saw anything through the haze.
"Bedroom's there," Darcy's voice was hoarse. "I'll take you, and..."
"Darcy," Elliot wrapped his arms around his neck. "Please..."
"No," Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, his hands tightening on Elliot's waist. "Elliot, no. You're not yourself. This is the serum. You don't really want this."
"I do," Elliot buried his face in his neck, breathing in the scent straight from the source. "God, how I want..."
He felt Darcy's body shudder. How his scent changed, became smoky, intoxicating.
The scent of an alpha losing control.
"Elliot," Darcy's voice was full of suffering. "Please, don't do this. I'm barely holding on. If you continue..."
Elliot raised his head, meeting his gaze. Grey eyes had darkened, blazing with desire mixed with desperation.
"Then don't hold on," he whispered. "Darcy, please. I need you..."
Darcy exhaled, closing his eyes.
"You're killing me," he whispered. "You're truly killing me."
But he moved. Not to the bedroom. To the large sofa in the living room, by the panoramic windows where London's lights flickered below.
He lowered Elliot onto soft cushions.
Elliot pulled him down, and Darcy didn't resist. He sank down beside him, and their bodies connected.
Elliot felt every inch of contact. The heat of Darcy's skin through his shirt. The hardness of his muscles. The wild beating of his heart.
"Kiss me," he whispered. "Please."
Darcy looked at him for a long time, fighting himself. Then surrendered.
He leaned in, and their lips met.
Vertigo. Free fall.
The kiss was desperate, hungry, almost violent. Darcy kissed him as though drowning and Elliot was air. His hands slid down Elliot's back, holding him, pulling him closer as though afraid he'd disappear.
Elliot responded with equal passion. His fingers wove into Darcy's dark hair, his body arching, demanding more, more, more.
Their scents tangled in the air, creating something almost tangible. Bitter chocolate (turned sweet from the serum) mixed with whiskey. Old books with damp earth. Incense with honey. It was an intoxicating blend that stripped away the last remnants of reason.
Darcy kissed his neck, lips sliding over sensitive skin, finding the place where his pulse beat. Elliot gasped, his body arching.
"Darcy," he breathed. "Yes... god, yes..."
Darcy's hands slid lower, along his sides, along his thighs. His breath was hot on Elliot's skin, ragged, uncontrolled.
Elliot felt the heat building inside. His hands reached for Darcy's shirt, fingers finding buttons, beginning to unfasten them.
One. Two. Three.
The fabric parted, revealing skin. Elliot pressed his lips to Darcy's exposed chest, breathing in his scent.
"Elliot," Darcy's voice was hoarse, almost breaking. "Stop... we can't..."
But Elliot wasn't listening. His fingers unfastened another button. Then another.
Darcy grabbed his wrists.
"Elliot, no."
And suddenly everything stopped.
Darcy froze. His hands held Elliot's wrists firmly but carefully, not causing pain. Simply stopping him.
His breathing was ragged, his face contorted with pain.
"No," he repeated, his voice breaking. "I can't. I can't do this."
He released Elliot, pulled back, and the cold that filled the space between them was almost physically painful.
Elliot stared at him, not understanding. His body screamed from the loss of contact, instincts demanding he reclaim the alpha.
"What?" he whispered. "Why? Darcy, please..."
"Because this is wrong," Darcy sat up, moving further away. His shirt was unbuttoned, hair disheveled, lips swollen from their kisses. He looked as though he himself was on the edge of breaking. "Elliot, this isn't you. This is the serum. They pumped you full of chemicals that make your body react this way. This isn't real desire."
"It is real!" Elliot reached for him, but Darcy evaded. "Darcy, I want..."
"You think you want," Darcy closed his eyes, his jaw turning to stone. "But tomorrow, when this stuff clears from your system, you'll realize it wasn't. You'll remember how I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you couldn't resist. And you'll hate me even more."
"No..."
"Yes!" Darcy opened his eyes, and they held such despair Elliot fell silent. "You already hate me. For James. For my arrogance. For everything I've done. And if I continue now... if I take you when you can't give real consent... you'll hate me even more."
His voice broke.
"And I won't survive that. Understand? Your hatred already tears me apart. But if I do this... if I become someone who took advantage of you in this state... I won't be able to live with myself."
Elliot looked at him through the haze. Saw the vein bulging at his neck from the effort. Saw sweat on his forehead, dark pupils, clenched fists.
Darcy was fighting himself. Every instinct screaming, demanding he claim the omega who was ready, pliant, his.
And he was winning.
For Elliot's sake.
Tears burned his eyes. Elliot didn't know if it was from the fever, from despair, or from something else.
"Then stay," he whispered, extending his hand. "Just stay close. Don't leave. Please."
Darcy looked at that hand, at the trembling fingers. Then his gaze slid higher: pale face damp with sweat, lips swollen from their kisses, eyes filled with tears.
"Elliot..."
"Don't do anything," Elliot's voice broke. "Just lie with me. I'm so scared, Darcy. I feel so awful. And you... your scent... it's the only thing that helps. Please. Don't leave me alone."
Something broke in Darcy's face. He made a sound like a groan of pain and surrendered.
"Alright," he whispered. "Alright. I'll stay. But only that. Promise me you won't try anything more."
"I promise," Elliot nodded, though every cell in his body screamed in protest.
Darcy returned to the sofa, carefully, as though afraid any sudden movement would shatter his fragile control. He lay on his back, and Elliot immediately settled beside him, laying his head on his chest.
The sound of Darcy's heartbeat was loud, wild. Elliot closed his eyes, breathing in his scent.
It was simultaneously relief and torture.
Relief came from the alpha's closeness, which calmed the fire in his body at least a little. Torture, because instincts demanded more than just an embrace.
Darcy held him tighter. His hand settled in Elliot's hair, fingers gently combing through the strands.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
Elliot placed his palm on Darcy's bare chest (his shirt was still unbuttoned), feeling how wildly his heart pounded.
"Thank you," he breathed. "For saving me. For stopping. For staying."
"Don't thank me," Darcy's voice was strained. "I'm barely holding on. You have no idea how hard it is to lie like this, feel you, breathe in your scent and not do what every instinct is screaming for."
They lay like that in silence, listening to the rain that had begun outside. Listening to each other's breathing. Fighting instincts that tore them apart from within.
It was torture for both.
The hours dragged endlessly.
Elliot fell asleep and woke in waves. Each time the flames were slightly weaker, but still agonizing. Each time Darcy was there, holding him, whispering soothing words.
"I'm here."
"You're safe."
"I won't leave you."
"Everything will be alright."
Sometimes Elliot felt Darcy's hands trembling slightly. Heard him stifle a quiet sound when Elliot unconsciously pressed closer.
But Darcy didn't give in.
He held Elliot. Stroked his hair. Kissed the top of his head innocent, tender. Whispered words Elliot barely heard through the fog.
And slowly, very slowly, the serum's effects began to fade.
Elliot felt his body becoming less hot. His thoughts clearing. Instincts quieting, receding to the background.
He opened his eyes and saw dawn breaking outside. The sky was painted in shades of pink and gold.
Darcy still held him. His eyes were closed, breathing even. But Elliot felt the tension in his body, saw shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
*He didn't sleep. All night. Just held me.*
Something caught in his chest. This time the reason was different, deeper.
Exhaustion crashed over him suddenly, like a wave. His eyelids grew heavy. The fever was receding, leaving behind only depletion.
Elliot closed his eyes, pressing closer to Darcy's warmth.
*He's here*, was his last thought before sleep claimed him. *Darcy's here. I'm safe.*
Darcy's hand continued stroking his hair, even as Elliot's breathing evened and deepened.
Dawn painted the sky in pink and gold.
And they remained like that, holding each other, while the city awakened outside the window.
74Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwpRp1LfxBf
74Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9gRpKklMZZ
74Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdRt766pC2d
and then Add to home screen.