Transmigrated Into The True Heiress

Ephyra was pulled out of her thoughts when she felt a hand lacing through hers. She looked up to see Lyle leaning back against the car seat, his eyes closed, jaw tight with tension.

Surprised, she sat up straighter and turned fully toward him, calling softly, "Lyle? Lyle, are you alright?"

Lyle hummed under his breath and tightened his grip on her hand.

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers and asked, "Are you in discomfort? Is it very painful?"

He shook his head, voice low. "No. I can bear it, especially with you closer."

But the truth was far more complicated. For the past week, any time Lyle let himself think about Ephyra leaving—after the antidote was done, after her mission ended—the pain returned. A searing ache that ignited deep inside his body, sometimes violent enough to awaken the part of him he kept locked away. The pain triggered what he now thought of as his ’other self,’ a darker force that hasn’t surfaced in months. But that was before he met Ephyra. Now, it surfaced at close intervals.

He’d been fighting hard to keep the physical symptoms hidden from Ephyra. The grotesque black veins that crawled up his neck, the faint red glow in his eyes, the tightness in his chest—it all stayed hidden. Just barely.

But it was easier to hold it back when she was beside him. When he could smell her scent.

So he breathed her in, deeper this time, and tried to resist the overwhelming urge to bury his face in her hair—or her neck. But the resistance broke. Slowly, he leaned closer until his head rested in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

Ephyra squeaked in surprise, eyes widening. "Lyle? What are you doing?"

His voice was muffled. "I need your scent," he said. Then, softer still, "Just for a while. Please."

Her concern deepened as she looked down at him. She adjusted her position to make him more comfortable and asked quietly, "Is it because of the pain? Is it unbearable? Is that why you need my scent?"