59Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYm6ne7xFTc
An hour later they were in Darcy's car, driving through London to the Gardiners' home. Elliot sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, feeling a strange mixture of relief and loss.
He was leaving Darcy's penthouse. The place where he'd felt safe these past days. Where Darcy had cared for him, demanding nothing in return.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything. I don't know how to repay you."
"I don't need repayment," Darcy kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was gentle. "I only need you to be healthy. To be safe. That's all that matters."
He paused, then added softly:
"And Elliot? When you're ready to talk. About what happened. About my aunt and cousin. About us. I'll be here. I'll wait as long as it takes."
Elliot turned to him, studying his profile. The firm line of his jaw. The serious expression. His hands gripping the wheel tightly.
"Darcy..."
"Not now," he interrupted quietly. "You said you needed time. I'm giving you that time. But know that when you're ready, I'll be waiting."
The car turned onto Gracechurch Street and stopped at a neat townhouse in a respectable neighborhood the Gardiners' home with a red door and a small garden out front. Not as luxurious as Darcy's penthouse, but warm, cozy, lived-in.
They got out of the car. Darcy helped Elliot out, retrieved from the trunk the bag of things he'd bought for him.
The house door flew open and a middle-aged woman with a kind face and warm smile rushed onto the porch. Her scent was soothing: vanilla and fresh bread. The scent of an omega who created comfort with her presence.
"Elliot!" she exclaimed, opening her arms.
Elliot stepped toward her and Aunt Madeline hugged him tightly. But a moment later she froze. Her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, catching something unusual.
Elliot's scent was... different. Not quite his usual aroma of bitter chocolate and old books. There was a strange sharpness to it, a chemical undertone that shouldn't be there. As though something artificial had been overlaid on his natural scent.
Aunt Madeline pulled back, quickly studying her nephew's face. Her eyes widened momentarily she noticed the pallor, shadows under his eyes, tension in his shoulders.
But she said nothing. Only squeezed his hands tighter.
"We were so worried!" she continued as though she'd noticed nothing strange. "Your father called, said you'd disappeared from Rosings Park, no one knew where you were. We were terrified! But after your call, your father called too, said everything was fine, that you'd just been delayed in London for work. Though I didn't correct him, so I didn't mention you'd be staying with us."
"Aunt Madeline," Elliot hugged her again, feeling tension beginning to ease. "Sorry for dropping in on you so suddenly."
"Nonsense!" She pulled back, but her gaze remained concerned. She could see her nephew was exhausted, that something had happened to him. But she didn't press right now.
Aunt Madeline's gaze shifted to Darcy, standing a little apart with the bag. Her eyebrows rose and curiosity mixed with assessment appeared in her eyes.
"And this is...?"
"Fitzwilliam Darcy, ma'am," Darcy stepped forward, bowing politely. "Elliot's friend. I helped him get here."
"Friend," Aunt Madeline repeated, and light doubt colored her voice.
Her gaze moved from Darcy to Elliot. She noticed how close the alpha stood to her nephew. How his scent of whiskey, damp earth, and dark honey wrapped around Elliot, creating a sense of protection.
"Very kind of you to look after my nephew, Mr. Darcy," she finally said, her voice warming. "Won't you come in? Tea?"
"Thank you, but I shouldn't," Darcy shook his head, though Elliot noticed how his gaze lingered on the house door, as though he wanted to enter, wanted to stay near Elliot. "I need to get back. Business."
He handed the bag to Aunt Madeline, then turned to Elliot. In his grey eyes was so much concern, tenderness, and something like pain at parting.
"Take care of yourself," he said quietly. "Please. And if anything happens, if you sense danger, call. Anytime. Promise."
"I promise," Elliot's voice was hoarse.
They stood like that for several seconds, looking at each other, too much unspoken between them.
Then Darcy stepped back, bowed politely to Aunt Madeline, and headed for the car.
Elliot watched as he got behind the wheel, as the car pulled away from the house, as it dissolved into London traffic.
And felt a strange emptiness.
"Ellie," Aunt Madeline said calmly, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Come inside. You look like you could collapse any second."
Elliot let her lead him into the house. Inside smelled of domestic comfort fresh baking, coffee, and something floral. Walls were decorated with family photos, books piled on shelves, soft sofas invited sitting.
So different from Darcy's minimalist, cold penthouse. And yet Elliot caught himself missing that place.
"Edward!" Aunt Madeline called. "Elliot's here!"
A middle-aged man with a kind face and gentle brown eyes emerged from the study. Uncle Edward was an alpha, but his scent was calm: sandalwood and old leather bindings. He worked as a publisher, had dealt with books his whole life, and it showed even in his scent.
"Elliot, my boy," he approached to hug his nephew but stopped a couple steps away.
His nostrils flared. His brow furrowed.
The scent. Something was wrong with Elliot's scent.
Uncle Edward was an alpha, he caught aromas more acutely than most people. And now he sensed a strange admixture in his nephew's natural scent chemical, artificial trace, very wrong.
His gaze darted to his wife. Aunt Madeline nodded almost imperceptibly she'd sensed it too.
Uncle Edward hugged Elliot carefully, but when he pulled back, his face was serious.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, restrained alarm in his voice. "Your father was very worried."
"Better," Elliot answered tiredly. "Much better than I was."
Uncle Edward pulled back, studying his face. His brow furrowed deeper, seeing the pale face, circles under the eyes, exhausted appearance.
And that scent. That damned chemical trace.
"You look like you've been through something serious," he said slowly. "Want to tell us?"
Elliot hesitated. He knew his aunt and uncle wouldn't insist. They never insisted. But he also understood he couldn't tell the whole truth about the kidnapping, the serum, what had really happened.
"I got into an unpleasant situation," he said carefully. "Nothing serious, but it was unpleasant. Mr. Darcy helped me, took care of me."
Uncle Edward and Aunt Madeline exchanged a quick glance. They both knew Elliot wasn't telling the whole truth. That chemical trace in his scent was too obvious, too alarming.
But they also knew that pressing him now wasn't the best idea.
"Mr. Darcy," Aunt Madeline repeated, and that curiosity sounded in her voice again. "That Fitzwilliam Darcy? Of Pemberley?"
Elliot blinked.
"You know him?"
"Of course," Uncle Edward confirmed. "We published a book about Pemberley a year ago. His ancestral estate one of the most beautiful in Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy is very proud of it."
Uncle thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
"Serious man. Influential. One of England's largest landowners, connections in political circles at the highest level. They say even the Prime Minister listens to his opinion. Not someone you want to cross."
"And cold," Aunt Madeline added. "At least, that's his reputation. But the man I just saw..." She paused, looking at Elliot carefully. "He didn't look cold. Not at all. He looked at you as though you were the most important thing in his world."
"We're just friends," Elliot said quickly.
"Of course," Aunt Madeline smiled, but her gaze was penetrating. "Just friends."
"Madeline, leave the boy alone," Uncle Edward said affectionately, but his eyes remained concerned. "He's tired. Ellie, go upstairs, rest. We prepared your room. The same one as always."
"Thank you," Elliot said gratefully.
Aunt Madeline picked up his bag and led him upstairs. The room was small but cozy a bed by the window, bookshelves, a writing desk. Everything so familiar and so safe.
"Rest, dear," Aunt set the bag by the bed. She hesitated, then added quietly: "Ellie, if you want to talk about what happened... we're here. We won't judge. We just want to help."
Elliot felt a lump in his throat.
"I know, Aunt. Thank you."
She kissed the top of his head and left, quietly closing the door.
When she came downstairs, Uncle Edward was waiting for her in the living room. His face was grim.
"You felt it too?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Aunt Madeline sank onto the sofa, her hands trembling. "That scent. Edward, it wasn't illness. It was something chemical. Something artificial."
"I know," Uncle clenched his fists. "And I'm afraid to imagine what they did to him."
Aunt Madeline closed her eyes.
"He said someone tried to harm him. God, Edward, what if it's connected to his gift? What if those people..."
"Don't," Uncle hugged his wife. "Don't think the worst. He's here. He's safe. And we'll make sure it stays that way."
Aunt Madeline pressed against his shoulder.
"And that Darcy..." she whispered. "You should have seen how he looked at Elliot. As though he was ready to stand between him and the whole world. As though nothing else mattered except Ellie being alright."
"Good," Uncle Edward exhaled. "Then he has a protector. Strong. Influential. That's... that's good."
They sat in silence, holding hands, praying their nephew would be safe.
***
Elliot remained alone in the room's quiet. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling exhaustion wash over him in a wave.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a message from Darcy:
*Are you alright? Did the Gardiners receive you well?*
Warmth spread through Elliot's body. Darcy had left only half an hour ago and was already checking if everything was fine.
He typed a reply:
*Everything's good. They're very kind. Thank you for bringing me*
The response came almost instantly:
*Always happy to help. Rest. If you need anything call anytime.*
Elliot stared at the screen, rereading the message. Then typed:
*Darcy... thank you. For everything. I don't know what I would have done without you*
A long pause. Then:
*I don't need thanks, Elliot. I only need to know you're alright*
Elliot felt a lump in his throat. He wanted to write something more but didn't know what. Words stuck somewhere between heart and fingers.
Finally he wrote:
*Thank you, Darcy.*
*Rest, sunshine.*
Elliot dropped the phone onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.
What was happening to him? Why did Darcy's absence feel like physical pain? Why did a simple message make his heart beat faster?
*I'm falling for him*, he realized with horror. *God, I'm falling for Fitzwilliam Darcy.*
How was this possible? A few weeks ago he'd hated this man. Thought him arrogant, cruel, unworthy of attention.
And now... now he missed him after half an hour apart.
Elliot lay on the bed, closing his eyes. He needed to think. Sort out his feelings. Understand what was real and what was consequence of trauma, rescue, and care.
But thoughts tangled, his body demanded rest, and soon he fell asleep.
***
Elliot woke to the smell of casserole.
Outside was dark he'd slept the rest of the day. The clock on the nightstand showed eight in the evening.
He got up, feeling somewhat better. Pain had subsided, weakness receded. He was still exhausted but could move without dizziness.
Going downstairs, he found his aunt and uncle in the kitchen. Aunt Madeline was taking a golden pie from the oven, Uncle Edward setting the table.
"Here's our sleepyhead," Aunt smiled warmly. "How do you feel?"
"Better," Elliot sat at the table. "Much better."
"Good," Uncle Edward poured him tea. "Then maybe you'll tell us what really happened? We're not fools, Ellie. We can see it wasn't just an 'unpleasant situation.'"
He paused, his voice becoming softer but more serious.
"Your scent, Ellie. There's... an admixture in it. Something chemical. Something wrong. We both sensed it."
Elliot froze, cup suspended halfway to his lips.
"You... you noticed?"
"Of course we noticed," Aunt Madeline sat across from him, her eyes full of concern. "Ellie, we know something happened to you. Something serious. Your father said you left Rosings Park suddenly. Then didn't answer calls for several days. Then appeared with Mr. Darcy, exhausted, with this... this trace in your scent."
She reached out and took his hand.
"Ellie, are you in trouble?"
Elliot looked at their worried faces and realized he couldn't keep lying. Not to them. They deserved at least part of the truth.
"I... yes," he finally admitted. "I was in trouble. Someone tried to... harm me. Darcy saved me. And took care of me while I recovered."
Uncle Edward straightened, his sandalwood scent sharpening an alpha's protective reaction.
"Who? Who tried to harm you?"
"I can't say. Not now." Elliot shook his head. "But I'm safe. Darcy made sure of that. And I won't return to Longbourn until the situation is resolved."
"That chemical trace in your scent," Uncle Edward said slowly. "Ellie, did someone inject you with something? Give you substances?"
Elliot closed his eyes and nodded.
"Yes. But I... I can't talk about it. Not now. Please."
Aunt Madeline gripped his hand tighter, her eyes moistening.
"Oh my god, Ellie..."
"Is this connected to your... gift?" Uncle Edward asked carefully.
Elliot's head snapped up.
"You know?"
"Dear," Aunt smiled through tears, "we've known you since birth. Of course we noticed. You've always been special. Always saw what others didn't."
"We never spoke about it," Uncle Edward added, "because we didn't want you to feel... wrong. But we knew. And we'll always protect you if needed."
Elliot felt his eyes moisten.
"Yes," he whispered. "It's connected to the gift. There's... an organization. They're interested in people like me. Want to study us. Control us."
"OGA?" Uncle Edward asked sharply, his voice full of contempt. "The Organization of Genetic Anomalies?"
Elliot froze.
"You know about them?"
"I've heard," Uncle Edward poured himself whiskey. "Several years ago an author came to me with a manuscript investigative journalism about OGA. He'd gathered evidence that under the guise of charity they conduct illegal experiments on people with special abilities. We wanted to publish the book, but were stopped. Threats. Pressure. The author disappeared. Since then I understood who they are."
Edward's face was grim.
"If they got to you, Ellie, this is serious. Very serious." He squeezed Elliot's shoulder. "You're safe here," Uncle said firmly. "I won't let them near you. I have connections. I'll protect you."
"Thank you," Elliot wiped his eyes. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this."
"Don't apologize," Aunt Madeline took his hand. "You're family. We'll always be on your side."
They ate casserole in silence, and Elliot felt the warmth of their care enveloping him, making him feel slightly more whole.
"And Mr. Darcy," Aunt Madeline finally said, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Does he know about your gift?"
"No," Elliot shook his head. "I haven't told him. But he saved me without knowing. Just because he cares about me."
"He's very caring," Aunt said carefully. "I saw how he looked at you. Very, very eloquent."
Elliot blushed.
"We're not... I'm not..."
"Ellie," Aunt took his hand, "I just want you to know if you feel something for him, that's normal. You have a right to happiness. To love."
"We're not a couple," Elliot mumbled. "We haven't even... we haven't had anything."
"Yet," Aunt Madeline smiled. "But I see how you light up when you talk about him."
Uncle Edward chuckled, smiling.
"Madeline and her observations. Though I must admit, she's usually right about such things."
Elliot didn't know what to answer. Part of him wanted to argue, deny. But the other part the one that missed Darcy after a few hours apart, that felt warmth from a simple message was silent.
Because maybe Aunt Madeline was right.
***
Elliot spent the following days at the Gardiners' home, slowly recovering. He slept a lot, read books from his uncle's extensive library, helped his aunt in the kitchen.
With each day the chemical trace in his scent weakened. Aunt Madeline noticed this with relief the natural aroma of bitter chocolate and old books gradually returned, displacing the artificial admixture.
Darcy wrote every day.
Sometimes briefly:
*How are you feeling?*
*Sleep well?*
*Did you eat today?*
Sometimes more:
*I spoke with my lawyer about the de Bourghs. Gathering evidence. They'll answer for what they did*
*Found information on Wickham. He's worked for OGA for three years. Recruits omegas with special abilities.*
Elliot reread every message several times, saving them all.
***
On the third day Elliot woke to his phone vibrating. A message from Darcy. He opened it and froze.
A photograph.
An enormous estate, majestic, built of grey stone that glowed softly golden in morning light. Wide windows reflected the sky. Around it impeccable gardens, tree-lined avenues, manicured lawns. In the distance a lake was visible, its surface mirror-smooth, reflecting clouds. Beyond it hills covered in forest, stretching to the horizon.
Pemberley.
Below the photo was a message:
*I wish you could see this place. I think you'd like it.*
Elliot studied the photo for a long time, enlarging details. Imagined walking through those gardens. Breathing in the scent of flowers. Sitting by the lake with a book, listening to rustling leaves.
With Darcy sitting beside him.
That thought no longer frightened him. Didn't cause panic. It felt right.
Elliot wrote a reply:
*Beautiful. Maybe one day I'll see it.*
The response came quickly, almost instantly:
*I would very much like that. Pemberley's doors are always open to you. Always.*
Elliot felt a pleasant shiver. He reread the message several times, savoring each word.
*Always.*
He placed the phone on his chest and closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine that future. If only for a moment.
***
On the fifth day after arriving at the Gardiners', Elliot woke and realized he felt almost normal.
Pain was gone. The weakness that had dragged him down recent days had receded. When he got out of bed, the world didn't spin. Muscles didn't ache in protest.
He approached the mirror and studied his reflection. Color had returned to his face. Shadows under his eyes had nearly vanished. His eyes were clear, not clouded.
His scent had also returned to normal bitter chocolate and old books, familiar and comfortable. No trace of that artificial admixture that had so alarmed his aunt and uncle.
He was himself again.
Elliot stood at his room window, watching morning London. The city was waking people rushing to work, cars crawling through streets, life continuing despite everything.
And he thought.
About Darcy. About his letter still kept in the desk drawer, read to tatters. About how he'd saved him from the kidnappers' car, risking his own safety. About how he'd cared for him for days, demanding nothing in return. About how he'd stopped when he could have taken everything. About how he'd let go when Elliot asked for time.
About what he felt now.
Attachment. Tenderness. Gratitude. Admiration.
And something else. Something deeper. Something that made his heart beat faster with every message. Something that made Darcy's absence physically palpable.
He wasn't ready to name it aloud. Not yet. But he no longer denied it.
Elliot picked up his phone and looked at Darcy's latest message:
*Good morning. How did you sleep?*
He smiled and began typing a reply...
59Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ58QVlfSYeJ
59Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKvoWjCUIOO
59Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS0lpU3Wnxc
and then Add to home screen.