Chapter 197: A Very Public Crisis
The victory feast was, to put it lightly, a complete nightmare.
Cherion wasn’t just in Zarius’s personal space at the high table, he was basically trying to merge with him on a molecular level. His brain felt like fifty tabs open at once, all blasting different music, and every single one was glitching. The Great Hall? Just too much of everything. The smell of roasted meat and expensive Northern wax? Suddenly smelled like actual garbage.
Everything was attacking his senses at once. He felt like he’d been shoved into a microwave on the ’defrost’ setting, alternating between shivering and feeling his blood simmer just beneath the surface of his skin.
Zarius leaned in. The man was a pillar of frost, a beautiful, terrifying glacier. When he spoke, it didn’t just hit Cherion’s ears, it vibrated straight through his ribs like low bass.
"Cherion," Zarius murmured, staring way too closely at his face. "Are you... in heat?"
Cherion let out a laugh. It was not a cute laugh. Not charming. Not even slightly normal. It was sharp, borderline feral, and very much the sound of a man hanging on by a thread.
"Heat? Please," Cherion scoffed, though his voice was an octave higher than usual. "It’s just a cold, Your Grace."
Even as he said it, his brain, the part that had consumed way too many NovelFires with the embarrassing amount of supernatural nonsense, finally caught up. A checklist started scrolling in his head like a broken PowerPoint.
Fever that won’t go away? Check.
Irritability bordering on homicidal? Check.
Sudden urge to rip off all clothing? Check.
A desperate, embarrassing urge to crawl inside the shirt of the nearest Alpha werewolf? Triple-check.
He felt like a complete and utter idiot. He was the guy who mocked the characters for being oblivious. And here he was, literally vibrating like a cheap pager in a 90s rom-com, trying to claim he had a "cold."
God
, I’m so stupid. How did I miss this? Was I really that distracted by my own nonsense to notice my own biology was pulling a fast one on me? Then, a flicker of suspicion managed to pierce through the brain-fog. If he was really in heat, why weren’t the other Alphas in the room eyeing him? Why wasn’t there a line of snarling Alphas trying to haul him off to some dark corner of the castle? He scanned the room, eyes unfocused. No one was looking. No one was pouncing.
Am I defective? Or is Zarius just that scary? Honestly, he didn’t care. The "Why" was a distant, unimportant problem for Future Cherion. Present Cherion was currently dying.
"Yeah," Cherion snapped suddenly, whatever dignity he had left fully disintegrating. "Damn right I am."
With absolutely zero of his usual self-control left, he lunged forward, hooking his arms around Zarius’s neck. He buried his face in the crook of the Duke’s neck like it was the only safe place left in the world.
"You smell... you smell so good," Cherion whimpered, his voice muffled against Zarius’s skin. It was addictive. It was the only thing that made the awful buzzing in his body pause for half a second.
Before Zarius could even react, Cherion started kissing at the line of his jaw, his lips hot and frantic. He felt Zarius stiffen, heard the sharp, hitching gasp that left the Duke’s throat.
Zarius’s hands came up as he pried Cherion back just an inch. Cherion looked at him, genuinely offended. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, his eyes swimming with a mix of lust and sheer, petty annoyance.
"I barely... I can barely smell you," Zarius whispered, his voice strained, his knuckles white where they gripped Cherion’s shoulders. "Your scent is muffled. It’s hidden. But your pulse is racing, Cherion. It’s too fast."
"Then let it be fast," Cherion grumbled, already reaching for him again. "That’s not the problem. The problem is I feel like I’m made of bees."
"No, no," Zarius said, slipping back into full Monster Duke mode, though his eyes were darker than Cherion had ever seen them. "We need to go. Now."
Zarius stood, practically hauling Cherion up with him. Cherion’s legs felt like overcooked noodles, but as they began to navigate the treacherous path down from the high table and toward the center of the Great Hall, a new, chaotic impulse seized him.
The music was playing, a heavy, rhythmic Northern folk tune that made the floorboards hum. People were dancing. Colors were swirling. And Cherion, in his state of magnetic delirium, decided that leaving was a terrible idea.
"Wait, wait," Cherion slurred, his hand slipping from Zarius’s arm to snag his fingers instead. "Hey, come on. Let’s dance."
Zarius looked at him like he’d suggested they go for a swim in a frozen lake. "No, Cherion. We are leaving."
"Just one!" Cherion insisted. He was being a brat. He knew he was being a brat. But the heat was making every rejection feel like a personal tragedy. "Everyone’s dancing. Look at them. Why can’t we dance?"
He refused to budge, his body swaying to the beat of a drum that seemed to be syncing with his own frantic heart. Zarius let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-growl, but he eventually relented, pulling Cherion into the fray of the dancers to avoid making a larger scene.
As they moved through the formal, rigid steps of the Northern victory dance, the world became a blur. But Cherion wasn’t focused on the footwork. No, his hands had a mind of their own. They started "traveling."
Under the heavy, fur-lined formal coat Zarius wore, Cherion’s fingers found the gaps in the silver-buckled vest. He traced the long, hard line of Zarius’s spine, his palms pressing against the heat of the Duke’s back.
He slid his hands lower, feeling the ripple of muscle in Zarius’s stomach as the man tried to maintain his composure. They were in full view of the court, surrounded by the highest-ranking werewolves in the North, and Cherion was basically conducting a tactile exploration of his fiancé’s torso.
He was in a daze, his head lolling back as they spun. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reiner and Ezek dancing. They were bickering, obviously, Reiner was clearly explaining the ’correct way’ to do... whatever they were doing. And Ezek looked like he was contemplating "accidentally" stepping on Reiner’s toes, but there was a rhythm to them. A familiarity. They looked... fundamentally right. Like two pieces of a puzzle that had been chewed on by a dog but still fit together if you pushed hard enough.
See? Cherion thought, a wave of bittersweet longing hitting him. Everyone is having fun. I would be having so much more fun if my body wasn’t currently trying to achieve fusion.
Zarius’s hand suddenly snapped down, catching Cherion’s wandering wrist and pinning it against his own chest to stop the exploration. Cherion blinked, looking up, and for the first time, he saw it, the flush.
"Enough," Zarius rasped.
He didn’t give Cherion a second chance to argue. He pivoted, his arm winding around Cherion’s waist like a steel band, and began to steer him toward the Hall’s massive doors. They were mere feet from the exit, the cool draft of the corridor already teasing Cherion’s feverish skin, when a voice cut through the haze.
"Leaving already? The night is just getting its teeth, My Lord!"
It was Flio. He approached them with a grin that slowly faltered as he got closer, his eyes darting between Zarius’s grim expression and Cherion’s glassy, unfocused stare.
Cherion, acting on some primal, embarrassing instinct, immediately ducked behind Zarius’s broad shoulder. He peeked out from behind the heavy velvet of the Duke’s sleeve like a shy child, or a very guilty cat.
"Did something happen?" Flio asked, his voice dropping an octave, his gaze sharpening. "Your Grace?"
Zarius didn’t even look at him. He just tightened his grip on Cherion, his jaw set in a way that suggested he was about five seconds away from biting someone.
"Cherion is in heat," Zarius whispered.
Flio froze. His eyebrows shot up, and then he let out a long, low whistle. "Oh. Oh, okay. Wow. Right. Uh..." He cleared his throat, looking suddenly very interested in his own boots. "Should we, uh, stop the party? I can call the stewards, announce a... a sudden illness?"
"No need," Zarius said, his voice dropping to a growl that made the hair on the back of Cherion’s neck stand up.
Without explaining anything, Zarius just turned and started dragging Cherion off like they were escaping a crime scene. Cherion stumbled after him, hand locked in Zarius’s grip, heart going absolutely feral in his chest.