•
Cyan arrives at her office late that evening, after having to go through a long day of work consultations and plot deliberations. Despite learning that Forbes now owns three of her five inherited hotels, and that her Emperors Royale Casino has fallen into a load of debt following its closure three years ago, the alpha is in a good mood.
Today she was able to settle half of her tax repayments with the ARS which will allow her to reopen the doors of her casino by the end of the month. She has made a deal with the bureau to settle the other fifty percent over a period of monthly instalments that stretch for two years. Meanwhile, the restitution of Emperors will definitely fair well on her behalf, regardless of her repayment arrangement, as casinos always rake in good cash. Especially Cyan's. And beside one of her hotels combined to the royal casino, with her other building near the Saint Bel International Airport, rich men, travellers and tourists never bear empty pockets.
Though the alpha was in jail, along with how she had been framed by Basil Forbes, she has still been able to maintain her empire. Albeit it is not as strong or fortified as it once was—what with the irrecoverable loss she has sustained, and the sole betrayal of the men that flew under the wings of her hellish nemesis—Cyan has enough to climb back to the top again. Arms trade is much too dangerous to deal with currently, as she is under the heavy scrutiny of the court's council and board of supervisors. She will tread lightly for now, and integrate her weapon's deals once having nestled herself back in a secure money and luxury market, with an array of trustworthy clients.
Money, power, good faith and glory—those are her principles, the biblical fundamentals that she will regard on her road to a criminal promise land. And more than her determination to return the vanity and influence of her name, she yearns to crush the one who had put her in this position.
Cyan met Basil when he had just turned sixteen.
The alpha lost his parents in an airplane crash when he was twelve, and was left to look after his little sister under the mediocre caretaking of their aunt. But that was bearable. Violet kept him alive, she kept him going. As long as she was okay, so was he. However when his aunt got a boyfriend, life became all the more difficult. Albeit, the alpha repeatedly told himself this: as long as they had food every evening, and a roof over their heads, Basil was willing to stay with them. But his world began to tremble only a short while later. When he learnt that this boyfriend was beginning to take advantage of a seven year old Violet, Basil knew he had to get them both out of there.
Basil killed his first man at fifteen years old, and with the blood of his victim splattered onto his clothes, he stole his aunt's jewellery worth twenty thousand dollars, discarded the murder weapon in a ravine, and took the late evening bus with Violet to spend the uncertain nights that would succeed them at a motel one hundred kilometres away—to the city Saint Bel.
Although his aunt couldn't have been bothered to search for the children or even file a missing person's report, evading the law and child protection services was still fairly challenging. But when Basil organised for himself a fake ID, lying to the department that Violet was his daughter became fairly doable. Especially considering the alpha looked years older than his actual age. The boyfriend's murder turned into a cold case when the police ended every turn of the investigation with a verdict of insufficient evidence. When Basil learnt of this, he felt he could relax, and started anew in the glorious city. He landed a good job as a mechanic to pass the time, and even earned enough to pay for Violet's primary schooling.
But he always knew that his life could amount to more than that—more than just middle class, or below the line living. He wanted people to know his name, for alphas around the world to envy him, and the power he could behold. So every night once Violet was tucked in, Basil would sneak out and find himself at Emperor's Royale Casino, the most formidable casino in Saint Bel. And once he got a whiff of what life in the bourgeoisie could be like, the young boy never looked back.
He yearned for that soft life. He would sit in the corner of the gambling halls and watch in awe the people that walked in and out onto those floors. Not the ones who wasted their money in endless slot deals and spent most of their nights draped over poker tables with vodka bottles dripping loosely in their hands. Not those guys—those guys were pathetic.
Basil wanted to be the men in the Valentino fur coats, who smoked expensive cigars and rented out entire floors just to gamble with themselves. He wanted to be like the alphas who drove in escalades and limousines, and bet whores instead of Benjamin's. These alphas reeked of a smell that Basil only tasted in his dreams. And it wasn't just their money, or their grades that brought them to this position, but rather, how they used this privilege to get there.
That's what he wanted—power.
When Basil got a taste of having someone's blood on his hands, there was absolutely no turning back. He only wanted more, and to sip one drop was to continue to sip in everlasting buckets. And one late Wednesday evening, when he met Cyan Cisneros, he found the key to open the door to a life he so yearned.
The alpha liked the kid, and noticed his potential regardless of his past.
Basil first started working for her in the casino, and she taught him the ins and outs of a criminally run society. He was in charge of counting up the money and making sure it fell into the right hands. At one point she made him her assassin, and no man in her organisation had killed more than Basil, and remain undetected. It earned him a prominent nickname: The Night Angel, one who controls the world but hides behind the scenes, Saint Bel's very own Lucifer—the very purpose of his existence being to defeat all of God's moral purposes.
Then, he moved up a rank, and seeing as he was so persuasive, Cyan used him to talk up her clients and get her more customers to load weapons onto. Soon, Cyan trusted Basil more so than she trusted anybody in her inner circle; more so than she trusted herself, and he became her right hand man, her eyes and her ears, her most reliable soldier. He was young, but that's what made it so easy: the alpha perceived that she could mould Basil into an ideal image of herself, and when she died, he be the one to honourably take over her empire.
If only she'd known that trust is a principle that must be limited if you wish to survive this business.
There are two important days in your life: the day you are born, and the day you find out why.
At seventeen, Basil Forbes had an epiphany during one of his endeavours with Cyan's clients. The alpha is a lone wolf—he had been one his entire life—and he knew that if he was to enter this business, he was going to find a way to make it on his own, without being barred by a so-called leader or boss. He wasn't born to serve others but himself. And the only serving he needed was by those who would serve him.
He started going behind her back and recruiting his own people, along with her people too. Got himself a credible place—a warehouse on the outskirts of Saint Bel. Unlike Cyan, Basil posed himself on his grounds of intuition—he wanted to provided the unprovidable; give to the rich and powerful what they all wanted, but something that they could never expose themselves for coveting. Cyan's focus was arms, casinos, hotels, and weed and prescriptions here and there. But who wants copper when you can be offered gold for the price of silver? Forbes initiated the cocaine boom, and such a dishonourable feat is what politicians and socialites alike desired. And how better to ingest the white powder with a whore on your lap, and another with her legs spread in your face?
The alpha got accustomed to his mentor's clients, and soon he felt formidable enough to fly from under her wings into his own sanctuary. Two years was all he required to uproot her clientele, and base his own empire in an emporium of clubs and drug trafficking. All the while, Cyan had no idea that this was happening behind her back. She thought that Morry was behind the whole operation, but even this alpha knew that such a deal couldn't be instructed by someone so dense. Someone new had infiltrated the business, but who?
When Forbes was nineteen, it didn't take a Harvard law student to piece together the betrayal he had imposed. Cyan Cisneros was sentenced to fifteen years in prison under charges of hefty cocaine possession, worth fifty million dollars. Basil overtook her empire, transformed her laughable realm into something he knows the hierarchy will enjoy more than hotels and weapons: drugs and whores. But he is as smart as he is ruthless. The alpha still supervises her hotels, after purchasing her buildings under a secure guise. Money is still money, and wherever it is, one should always seek it.
'I am you,' Cyan remembers the sweet words of the alpha during his one and only visit to her in the prison visitors booth 'only your you, belongs to me.'
Seven years is a long time; time to train, time to think, time to plot, time to scheme. Revenge. Vengeance grows, it thickens when one is confined to the thick walls of an inescapable hell. Her anger was fuelled by the chains that burnt into her wrists, and the bars that welted into her grounds of freedom.
Cyan has but one desire now that she has been released on parole—she will become the main crime house of the country again, and may God be her witness to one final promise: Basil Forbes' head will soon be dished out on a plate succeeding the rise of her empire, and the downfall of his.
The curtain will come down, and this alpha will make sure she reigns the victor.
••••••••••
"Are you still claiming jurisdiction over Morry's market?" Crispin asks, going through the folder with furrowed brows. "Now that his sentence has been shortened?"
Basil bends forward, inhales the strip of white powder and snorts, before closing his eyes and leaning back into his office chair. The cocaine immediately runs from his nose into his veins, and he groans in pleasure. He doesn't wait, rubs his nose with the carpal of his hand and snivels, before going in again to sniff the second of the three remaining lines.
"Jesus Christ, I need to fuck someone right now." he groans, completely ignoring the other alpha in the room. He spins in his chair, and pushes off to walk to his cabinet of expensive alcohol. It ranges from fermented farm wines to year-old bottles of scotch. Basil pours himself a glass of six-year old single malt Talisker, downs one glass, before pouring again. "Who's my secretary today?"
Crispin clears his throat, amazed at his boss' sense of total nonchalance even when his market may be threatened by the reopening of another. "I think Claire. But I'm not sure. You change them every week, I cannot remember who it was I saw when I came in." He answers honestly.
"Nah," he shakes his head, sipping again. "That bitch is a second grade. I want a first." Basil clicks his tongue in irritation and spins on his heels. He points a finger at Crispin, narrowing his eyes. "Which reminds me to remind you that you can't keep hiring second or third grade omegas. I don't always have the time for orgies or plane bought prostitutes." Then he grins a massive wolffish grin. "The best whores are the ones right under your nose."
Crisping chuckles, shrugging with sigh. "You ought to cut your tongue and stop referring to every omega as a whore except for Violet. Besides, I'm not in charge of Human Resources."
Basil ignores the second sentence and jumps, "Of course Violet is an exception." He states coldly, as though this fact is biblical and cannot be denied or contested. "Violet is pure and cannot be discussed with the likes of such people. Her and me," he pauses, thinks. "And you–" Basil decidedly adds and offers Crispin a grin, who only frowns and strolls to the large shelf of files in the corner of the room. "are gods on this earth encroached with peasants."
"Hmm," Crispin only hums, not bothered to remain attentive to another one of the alpha's arrogant and egotistic rants.
Crispin has known the alpha for twelve years, having been one of his good friends since high-school. They met in Crispin's freshman year, and were quite close. But one day Basil disappeared and the alpha never heard from him since then. Crispin himself is a runaway, but not because of dire circumstances—the alpha comes from a rather wealthy background, but did not like himself there. When he was given the task to marry at the tender age of sixteen to an omega from another country, all to maintain the family name and sire an heir, Crispin took off.
They met again when Crispin himself was seventeen, and Basil couldn't help but give aid to an old friend, and allowed himself to take him in. It was a sort of debt he felt he had to pay off, because back in their high school days, Crispin would always act big and tough to impress Basil, and whenever he needed something—be it small things like food or extra pocket change—Crispin never thought twice in giving it to his older alpha. That's why up to this day, he has sworn to protect Basil as much as Basil protects him, even if it comes at the cost of his own life.
Right now the two alphas are in one of Basil's main buildings, a thirty floored sky-rise where he runs most of his industrial meetings and deals, and overlooks his clubs and hotels. Apart from this, Basil owns the three story mansion where Violet stays, his bachelor pad, and another apartment story complex in the centre of the city run by one of his good men, Rudy. This complex hides its purpose by housing general residents, as it is where their monthly shipments are sent to, and where their orders are arranged and packaged to be sold off to clients.
"But I digress," Basil speaks. "Anything grade one is fanciable, and I must confess that grade one omegas are the most desirable bodies on this earth." He sets the glass in the air and twirls the brown drink in inspection. "Whether I consider them as whores or not."
Crispin heads towards the alpha with another folder. "You haven't said anything about Morry," he drones, holding the brown notes at Basil and pushing forward. "And also, what am I supposed to tell Rudy today? He's expecting the shipment, but we haven't heard from that minister."
"Morry has never been an issue. He can sell kilograms of Vicodin and I'd still make a mountain of profit with one gram of coke. Fucking fentanyl sells more than his shit." Basil declares as he sets his whiskey glass on the mahogany table. He walks to the sofa and shrugs on his jacket, before reaching in his pocket for his phone. "I don't need his market, but I do need his clients. Set up a meeting with Wang, I must try and get all his people before they set a release date. The fucker must come back to dust when he tries to reinstate himself out of prison. Keep Rudy. And also, keep an eye on Cyan. I haven't felt threatened since the explosion, but our men must still scout her perimeter."
With Cyan, Basil will not be taking any chances. She is clearly ready to enter the battlefield again, now that she has regained control of her casino. And something tells the alpha that apart from killing him, she may just want to infiltrate his market and test out her waters in this drug trafficking business. So as always, awareness and caution is key with the green-eyed alpha.
Crispin nods, filing quickly and sending Rudy a text message to meet up with him tomorrow. "But we still haven't heard from Ramsey," Crispin frowns. "I expected you to ask me to kill him, but you've been silent ever since."
"No," Basil says, rounding the table to taste another line of his fantastic cocaine. "Sure he upset me, and I want his head on a plate, but I still need to find a way to bring these drugs into the country, especially now that I'm under 24 hour fucking surveillance till god knows when." He curses, licking his fingers when he finishes all five lines in one sitting. "Besides," he hums his word and groans when the white particles wash his sanity, making his brain explode in fireworks, and blasting him off him to euphoria. "I have a surprise for him."
The alpha then thinks about the omega chained to the bed in the captive room on the highest floor of this building. Tonight, he will play with omega—only a bit of talking, a little bit of teasing, nothing too serious. He wants to scare the guy, making his recovery more trialing than Padma had instructed. The omega owes him nothing—Basil hasn't even been bothered to learn his name. But the alpha has an evil idea in how he can convince the minister to ship his drugs again. Apart from his other proposal, this milk-skinned grade one can surely provide himself to give Basil all of what he wants. He hasn't seen him since he woke up, and he believes this visit must leave a memorable mark in the omega's mind, because the plan in Basil hands will surely be one memorable to the first fight in this perfect omega's life.
He grins, wiping under his nose as he plans to go to one of his clubs before tying himself to more business deals. He will end up fucking other people today, because he has been needing more sex than usual lately. Something makes his wolf itch and claw for a taste, but he does not know what exactly. He will relieve a small portion of this undesirable hunger with the omegas from his own place. Though he doubts it will sate him any more than the people he fucked yesterday.
He heads for the door, grabbing the keys to his V12 Aston Martin, and mouths finally to Crispin, "Actually, make that two surprises." He winks. "I've got another offer that the minister would not dare refuse."
••••••••••
Ren has counted four days since he woke up from his coma. The skylight was opened when Basil left the other day, and he has been able to feel the warm touch of sunlight in the day, and count the bright stars at night. Though it is not much, it is better than having to stay in the dark for all his time in the room. Wherever it is that the omega is being held captive, it is most definitely on a high plain because he is so close to the sky that he sees how the birds can fly into the clouds at such a close proximity.
Currently it is dusk, and above him there is a solitary cloud, a shadow in the setting sun. Ren feels like he has been a hostage for forty years, and has cried so much that his tear ducts are dry. He still has the damned cuffs on his wrists, and they truly ache as he continually pulls and pushes. His throat is as dry as his eyes, scratching whenever he opens his mouth to say something. But he will still use his voice, even as his shouts and screams continue to fall on deaf ears.
Forbes had not bothered to listen to the doctor that treated the omega, and as she had suggested, did not bother to have the omega train his arms with the correct amount of exercise. The wounds themselves are healing, but the muscles inside are still torn, and if Ren does not stretch soon, his shoulders may very well become stagnant and paralysed. All that Ren does all day is lay on the bed and stare at the eerie emptiness of the room. He refuses to eat whatever is offered to him, only drinking water when he feels that dehydration may kill him.
He calls for help and fights in intervals:
at the crack of dawn, he kicks and screams with all his energy and might, ignoring completely the complaints of the guarded alphas who watch him. Then he rests for about thirty minutes, before beginning again. The alphas purposely skip to bring Ren breakfast, as his screams are blood-curdling and will pierce their earbuds if they dare to get any closer to the omega. When the alphas come in with lunch, Ren is able to decipher that it is noon, and in his arrangement, he curses and swears at the people who have abducted him. Unfortunately due to a depleted energy from a busy morning, he can only resort to insults. But anything is durable as long as he tries. Evening is where the omega gives himself a break, and instead of yelling, he pretends to be kinder and proposes that they set him free by mouthing whispered begs and pleas.
But as he is learning, it is better to fight when you have energy. With his hunger strike, the omega was not able to give out half as much today as he had in previous days, and the little kilojoules that should target his strength are no longer sparking. As Ren stares at the single cloud that begins to drift, he hears his stomach growl, and whimpers as the thoughts of food cross his mind. Grandma is who he thinks of first, and her finely cooked homemade meals. The omega wants to wail as he wonders how she must be feeling now that she has not received anything from him in over three weeks.
Worried—that is definitely one thing. And frightened, that is another. These are not things Grandma should be experiencing as she must focus on recovering everyday with her illness. Ren knows that his disappearance weakens his grandmother more than she already is. There is not even a single notion of thought that can help him decipher all of what a had happened after the explosion, and this uncertainty is what scares him the most.
Who had died? How many people had died, how many missing? Is he one of the ones noted as missing, or did they list him as dead? Is Botan alive? Does grandma even know he was at the club that night?
Before he can think about any more plaguing ideas, the door creaks open. He hears the flick of a switch and the single bulb that dangles in the air illuminates the room. It shines brightly, more than the stars in the night sky, and Ren must avidly blink to adjust to the light. It is the first time that the lamp has been turned on ever since the omega had woken. At first he thought that it was just broken, but the other alphas had just wanted to spite him by keeping him in the dark.
"I hear that you have not been eating," Basil starts, chuckling disgustingly after. Ren grimaces, looking away still and opting not to look at the grin that must be set on the alphas face. "You can starve yourself all you like, I still will not let you go. Though I would prefer you stay energised, so you must eat."
"Or what?" Ren croaks, head turned completely and not daring to crane sideways. "You'll threaten me? Hurt me? Kill me with your own hands?" He scoffs in derision. "Whatever you do, death is the outcome I am searching for."
"Kill?" Basil clicks his tongue, and Ren hears the loud scraping of a chair pulling up close to him. "No, not you."
Basil pauses deliberately after his sentence, and this heavy exaggeration in the weight of his words causes Ren to finally look at the alpha with furrowed eyebrows. Ren's mouth is dry, and though he opens it to say something, no words come out. Basil had not finished his earlier statement, and the omega wants to ask what he had meant.
No, not you.
Then who?
The omega's subconscious is scared as he imagines just who of his close relatives and friends may be in danger under the control of this monster. But everything is muffled, even his thoughts, rushed in his ears and filling up the canals with hot blood. The only thing in focus is Basil, and the terrible look in his eyes.
"I like it when you look at me like that. All scared and vulnerable, cowering before me like prey." He whispers and leans closer, feeling the omega's heavy breath on the top of his hand. "It's sexy. Just does something to me." He licks his lips with a slightly enigmatic smile, keeping a fixed gaze on Ren. "You know what I think about when I see you like this?"
Though he tries, Ren cannot prevent the increase of his breathing as complete apprehension fills from within and makes his heart beat unbearably fast. Basil instantly grins, pushing his chair closer to be at complete level with the omega's head. Ren fidgets, sweat dripping from the tendrils of his hair to his brows, and he swallows constantly to try and ease himself down. But that doesn't work—Basil is frightening, even with a single look.
"First, you don't want to look at me, and now you won't even talk. You're giving me too much work kitten, too much trouble." He sighs, and presses his back into the chair again. "But it's fine, I'll tell you anyway." His grin returns, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Looking at you like that makes me want to fuck you."
Ren grips the chains tighter, scrunching his toes, and bites down onto his tongue. The omega doesn't like any of this, not one bit. He does not like what Basil had said, and how he had sounded. His tone of voice is unnerving, and Ren grows wary when he considers how he and the alpha are alone in this room, door shutting them out from the reality that bustles outside. If he wants, Basil can rape Ren right here without any disturbances, and as he has learnt over the past four days, his screams will not even be heard by the birds who soar just outside from the skylight's view.
Basil groans, covering his eyes. "Holy fuck... I know I said you're not my type, but you are definitely unbelievable. I never thought I would admit it to myself, but ever since I saw you at the club, smelt you those few days ago, and now I am doing it again, I cannot help but wonder how you fucking taste." He sucks in a sharp breath. "You're a guy, but you know you look like a chick, right?" He raises one eyebrow, thinking that Ren will answer.
He doesn't.
Basil shakes his head. "Just for today, I am going to pretend that you are, because you are driving me a bit crazy right now. Sex is tangible, but how would it feel like with you?" He gets another bite of his lip, finally understanding why all the bodies in recent days had not satisfied him. Basil cocks his head to the side and carefully examines the omega. "I can only imagine the sounds you would make. You being down here, crying and whimpering, already turns me on. Don't think I don't know about your attempts to scream for help, I am very aware." He rises from his seat suddenly, and Ren's eyes widen. "So how about a take for when I rail your brains out? How would you sound then?" He swallows, walking a little forward, and Ren feels how he trembles. "Just this once, we don't have to tell anyone."
Basil lowers himself and hovers over the omega's body, arms and legs on either side of him. His face slowly approaches and Ren presses his head into the pillow, although it is useless as Basil's lips are just an inch away from his. The only thing that keeps Ren awake are the black eyes that stare into his soul, and he clings to the remnants of his consciousness. He chokes on the alpha's smell as it enters his nose, and replaces the clean air in his lungs. It is a poison that attracts, only to kill brutally. He smells incredible, like the name that succeeds him, with a hint of blackened coffee and an odd glaze of peppermint. Inadvertently, Ren inhales again and he must grind his jaw to ignore the smell his wolf seems to enjoy, and thinking like this only makes the omega dizzier.
"You don't wanna try that?" Basil whispers in his ears, and before Ren can even whimper in response, kisses him.
Ren gasps when the lips open onto his own, bursting a tongue in. He squirms, weakly holding onto the chains as he cannot do anything else but that. The alpha tastes the cherry lips, coaxes for the omega to open wider. Ren in his addition to catching his breath, parts his lips and Basil uses this as his gateway to force his entire tongue into the hot mouth. Breath pools, mixes, until he groans at the feeling of a warm tongue pushing against his own.
At first Ren fights, but then he gives in and swallows the kisses as the alpha purposely tries to gobble him up. He can only focus on one thing, and that is the lips that move on his own. Apart from his natural scent, Ren can smell the fragrance of whiskey that Basil had been drinking, and it mingles with his stringy cologne. He hates that he likes these smells, and wobbles at the knees when Basil nibbles his bottom lip, tugs, and again, shoves his tongue in the space between.
The kiss kills, resurrects, and kills again, and Ren can only bear the consequences of such a passionate encounter of a death that repeatedly revives him.
There is an intense heartbeat, and for a moment Basil thinks that it is the omega's, but realises that it is actually his own. He is filled with a deep astonishment as to how a single kiss can make him feel like this, and thus to find a meaning, he angles his head and kisses deeper. Wrapping his fingers around the omega's neck, he runs the pad of his thumb on his throat, and cranes to push harder and mash his mouth onto the overly swollen lips.
Though he searches, all he gets in response is how the sweet scent of the omega draws him in. How his rosy smell emanates and steals Basil's breath away. His thoughts condense into one moment, and there is nothing remote he thinks of but what it might feel like to enjoy this kiss in it's entirety. The taste of the omega's lips drive him to the edge of the cliff he races along on his way to devour him with this kiss—he runs, and just as he is about to fall over into a pit filled all around with roses, he abruptly stops.
Basil rips himself away, rising to his knees and looking down with wide eyes. Ren coughs, having to catch his breath through his nostrils as his mouth is still filled with the spit of another, and his own. He gulps, and water dribbles down the corners of his mouth as he watches the alpha in total incredulity.
"I won't fuck you," he heaves, wiping the saliva away from his own mouth, and stares at the omega as heavy breaths escape his parted lips. "I'm not gay."
Ren nervously clutches the chains, wringing his fingers, and remains disoriented to what had taken place. At this point he is sure he is not even breathing. The alpha does not turn, continues to stare down at him as he himself struggles to maintain a normal breathing pace. The tension in the atmosphere is palpable, replacing the air itself with their breaths and turning it into a sea of rather imperceptible emotions that drift. Inside this already small room, it feels like a vacuum. If they both continue to breathe so heavily, gape so intensely, the room will be discharged and they will both be sucked into the dense space that compacts all sense of sanity and reason.
Basil breaks away first, and hastily throws himself off the bed. "I won't fuck you, but other people will." He says, back turned to the omega as he opens the buttons of his shirt so that he can fucking breath. Ren finally does so as well, exhaling through pursed lips, and stretches his neck to see where he walks.
Basil's tone of voice is icy, but it is only a cover to how flustered he is. He rubs the back of his neck, and walks around to the table. The alpha curses under his breath when he notices that the scotch is finished, and slams his fist into the table when he realises it is his men that have been drinking it. Ren flinches, whimpering silently. Basil needs something to calm himself down; stimulants to dive into and drown in. Because currently all he drowns in is the rosy scent of the omega on the bed.
"Ramsey van Olsen, that's who your bending over for."
There is not even another second where he turns to inspect the omega again, and immediately stalks out of the room without a following word. Here he leaves an already pale-skinned Ren to turn to the colour of a ghost as he begins to register these untimely words.
Ren feels this, how his stomach turns so vilely that he wants to throw up. The damn kiss still lingers, and it crawls under his skin like burning tar, hot and nauseating. But nothing is worse than the way his inner animal subconsciously itches for more of such a sensation. Thinking of how he must restrict himself to similar means with others whom his wolf will not entice like the devil who had kissed him, Ren gags. Tears cannot even account for how he feels, nor can they wash away the venom that now flows through his arteries and veins. And when the darkness of such a fate consumes him, blackens his soul, the single lamp is switched off and the omega is engulfed completely in an abyss of his demise.
Surely, this is what death must be like.