The Hunger And The Hauting

The penthouse didn't feel like a prison anymore; it felt like a fucking decompression chamber. The air was sterile, filtered, and mercifully free of the pheromonal war zone that was the office.

Wenlang was practically a fucking ghost by the time they walked through the door. His legs were moving on pure fucking spite, but his brain had checked out somewhere around the elevator ride. He didn't even bother taking off his shoes before he fucking collapsed onto the massive velvet sofa in the living room, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to count the molecules in the air.

"Get up," Hua Yong's voice drifted from the kitchen. It wasn't the roar from the Rut, but it still had that sharp, "don't-fuck-with-me" edge.

"Go to hell," Wenlang muttered into a cushion. "I'm staying here until I decompose. Call the board. Tell them the CEO is now a decorative pillow."

"You're an S-Tier Alpha. Act like you haven't been hollowed out by a single day of work," Hua Yong said, appearing in the archway. He had changed into a simple black t-shirt and sweats—a look so casual it was almost more threatening than the suits. It made him look bigger. More predatory.

He was holding a bowl of something that smelled like ginger, beef, and actual hope. "Eat," he commanded, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a heavy clack.

Wenlang sat up, his body screaming at the change in position. He looked at the food, then at Hua Yong. "What, no poison today? Or did you decide that starving your favorite pet was bad for business?"

"If I wanted you fucking dead, Wenlang, I would have finished the job in the office," Hua Yong said, his eyes narrowing. He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, watching Wenlang with a dark, unreadable intensity. "Your blood sugar is bottomed out. Your body is trying to repair the damage I did. Eat the fucking food before I fucking force-feed you."

Wenlang grabbed the chopsticks. He wanted to throw them at Hua Yong's head, but the smell was winning the war. He started eating, and for the first few minutes, the only sound in the room was the clink of ceramic and Wenlang's ragged breathing. It was the first "domestic" moment they'd ever had, and it was fucking weird.

"You're staring," Wenlang said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Stop it. It's creepy as shit." "I'm observing," Hua Yong corrected. He leaned back, his arm draping over the back of the sofa. "The marks on your neck are darkening. We'll need high-collar shirts for the press conference tomorrow. I've already contacted the tailor."

"Of course you have," Wenlang spat. "God forbid anyone sees what a monster you are. Why did you do it, Hua Yong? And don't give me that 'bond' bullshit. In the office... when you told me to leave. You were actually trying to be a decent human being for five seconds. Why?"

Hua Yong went still. The silence stretched out, becoming fucking heavy and jagged. He looked away, his gaze fixing on the city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I don't understand why I did it either," Hua Yong admitted, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl. "You were supposed to be a tool. A means to an end. But seeing you break like that... seeing you turn into a fucking mess on the floor because of me..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening. "It didn't feel like a victory. It felt like a mistake."

"A mistake?" Wenlang laughed, a bitter, sweary sound. "You've fucking branded me, fucking robbed me of my company, and turned my biology into a goddamn cage. And now you're having an existential crisis because you felt a little bit of pity?"

"It wasn't pity," Hua Yong snapped, turning back to him, his eyes flashing violet for a split second. "It was... something else. Something I don't fucking like."

He stood up abruptly, the "gentleness" from earlier vanishing back behind the wall of ice. He reached down and grabbed Wenlang by the chin, forcing him to look up. His grip was firm, reminding Wenlang exactly who held the power.

"Don't mistake my restraint for weakness, Wenlang," Hua Yong hissed. "I still own every fucking breath you take. Tomorrow, we stand in front of those cameras and we tell them exactly what I want them to hear. If you trip up, if you try to signal for help, I will bring you back here and I will make that Rut look like a goddamn Sunday school picnic. Do you fucking hear me?"

Wenlang stared into those dark, terrifying eyes. He saw the predator, but he also saw the man who had wiped the sweat from his brow in the bathroom. The two versions of Hua Yong were fighting for dominance, and Wenlang was caught in the fucking crossfire.

"I hear you," Wenlang whispered, his heart thudding against his ribs. "I always hear you."

"Good," Hua Yong said, releasing him. "Finish your food. Then go to bed. Separately. If I smell you too much tonight, I might not be able to keep the monster in the cage twice."

Wenlang watched him walk away. He looked back at the bowl of food—the care and the cruelty sitting side-by-side. He was an S-Tier Alpha, a King of industry, and a man who had never bowed to anyone. He picked up the chopsticks and finished the meal.

He was starting to realize that the "Rescue" Zhao had tried to pull was never going to work. Not because Zhao was weak, but because Wenlang was already too far gone. He was starting to crave the very thing that was destroying him. "Fuck," Wenlang whispered to the empty room. "I'm so fucking done."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wenlang pushed the empty bowl away, the ginger and beef sitting like a fucking lead weight in his stomach. The "gentleness" Hua Yong had shown him in the kitchen was already curdling, replaced by that sharp, fucking familiar coldness. He stood up, his joints popping like dry kindling. Every inch of his skin felt tight, a size too small for his body, bruised and buzzing with the aftershocks of the Enigma's power.

He started walking toward the guest wing, his footsteps heavy on the polished hardwood. He just wanted a door between him and that fucking psychopath. He wanted to lock himself away and pretend the last twenty-four hours were a fucking fever dream.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Hua Yong's voice came from the darkness of the living room. He hadn't turned on the lamps; he was just a shadow sitting in a designer armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

"To bed," Wenlang snapped, not turning around. "You said 'separately,' remember? Or did your fucking brain leak out during your Rut?"

"I said 'separately,' I didn't say 'out of sight,'" Hua Yong rumbled. The ice in the glass clinked—a sharp, lonely sound. "My bedroom. Now. You're sleeping on the chaise at the foot of my bed."

Wenlang spun around, his face flushing with a mix of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated rage. "You have got to be fucking kidding me! I'm not a goddamn golden retriever, Hua Yong! I'm not sleeping on a bench at your feet like a fucking pet!"

"You're exactly what I say you are," Hua Yong said, finally standing up and stepping into a sliver of moonlight. His face was a mask of jagged edges and fucking dark hollows. "Your scent is still spiked, Wenlang. If I let you go to the other side of the apartment, the bond is going to pull at my gut all night like a fishhook. I'm not dealing with that. You stay where I can see you, where I can smell you. It's for my comfort, not yours."

"Your comfort? FUCK your comfort!" Wenlang roared, his S-Tier pheromones flared for a split second before his body realized it was too weak to back up the threat. He staggered, his head swimming. "I am... I am a human being. I am Shen Wenlang. You can't... you can't just..."

"I can," Hua Yong interrupted, closing the distance between them in three silent, predatory strides. He grabbed Wenlang by the back of the neck, his fingers pressing into the violet mark. It wasn't a choke, but it was a heavy, undeniable reminder of who owned the air in the room. "I told you earlier, I don't understand why I didn't fucking break you today. I don't like the fact that I feel... protective of you. It makes me want to wrap my hands around your throat just to prove I still can. So don't push me, Wenlang. Not tonight."

Wenlang's breath hitched. He looked into Hua Yong's eyes and saw the "Monster" peeking out from behind the exhaustion. It was a warning. A fucking promise.

"I fucking hate you," Wenlang whispered, his voice cracking. "I hate every fucking molecule of you." "Good," Hua Yong said, his thumb grazing the brand. "Hate keeps you sharp. Now, move."

The master bedroom was a cavern of black marble and grey silk. It smelled like Hua Yong—cedar, expensive tobacco, and that underlying metallic tang of Enigma power.

Wenlang was forced to strip down to his boxers under Hua Yong's watchful, fucking predatory gaze. He felt fucking exposed, his body a map of the day's violence, the bruises turning a sickly shade of yellow and deep plum under the recessed lighting. He climbed onto the silk-covered chaise at the foot of the massive bed, curled on his side, and stared at the wall.

He heard Hua Yong move—the sound of a shirt being discarded, the heavy thud of a watch hitting the nightstand, and then the rustle of the sheets.

The silence that followed was worse than the fucking shouting.

Wenlang lay there, his heart thudding a slow, rhythmic beat against the velvet of the chaise. He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't fucking come. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the phantom buzz of the plug. He felt the weight of Hua Yong over him in the office. He felt the way his sister looked at him—like he was a fucking stranger.

"Stop thinking so fucking loud," Hua Yong's voice came from the bed behind him. "It's fucking irritating." "Then let me go to another room," Wenlang hissed into the darkness.

"No."

A few minutes passed. The air in the room was getting fucking thicker again. The bond was a living thing, a tether made of silver and blood that was currently fucking vibrating between them. Wenlang could feel Hua Yong's heartbeat. It was steady, but there was an edge to it—a restlessness.

"Wenlang." "What now, you prick?" "Come here." Wenlang froze. "No. I'm stayin' right here. You said the chaise. I'm on the fucking chaise." "I changed my mind," Hua Yong said. There was a shift in the mattress, the sound of the duvet being thrown back. "The bond is fucking screaming. It's like a goddamn siren in my head. If I don't touch you, I'm not going to get a minute of sleep, and tomorrow's press conference will be a disaster because I'll be in a mood to kill every reporter in the room. Get in the fucking bed."

Wenlang sat up, his hair messy, his eyes wild. "You're... you're unbelievable. You're a fucking parasite!" "In the bed. Now. Or I'll put the collar back on right this fucking second."

Wenlang crawled onto the massive bed, staying as far to the edge as humanly possible. He felt the heat radiating off Hua Yong's body—a lingering remnant of the Rut.

"Closer," Hua Yong commanded. Wenlang moved an inch. Suddenly, a heavy arm wrapped around his waist and jerked him backward. Wenlang let out a muffled "Oof" as his back hit Hua Yong's chest. The Enigma tucked his head into the crook of Wenlang's neck, his nose pressing directly against the violet mark.

"Don't... don't do this," Wenlang whispered, his whole body tensing up. "Please. Just... don't." "Shut up," Hua Yong muttered, his voice muffled by Wenlang's skin. His grip was tight, fucking possessive, but not painful. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just... settling the bond. Go to sleep, Wenlang. Before I decide to do something we'll both fucking regret."

Wenlang lay there, paralyzed. He was trapped against the man who had ruined his shitty life, his body reacting in ways he couldn't control.

The "Desire" was a fucking cruel, sweary bitch, and right now, it was telling him that this—this proximity, this heat—was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He closed his eyes, a single tear of pure, unadulterated shame leaking out and disappearing into the silk pillowcase. He was an S-Tier Alpha. He was a King. And he was currently being held like a favorite fucking toy by the monster who stole his crown.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Wenlang whispered into the dark. "I know," Hua Yong replied, his breathing finally slowing down. "But not tonight."

The morning didn't arrive with a sunrise; it arrived with the fucking cold, artificial chime of Hua Yong's bedside alarm.

Wenlang woke up with a jolt, his heart fucking hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. For a terrifying second, he forgot where he was, only to feel the heavy, oppressive weight of Hua Yong's arm still draped across his waist.

The Enigma was already awake, sitting up against the headboard, staring at the far wall with eyes that looked like they hadn't closed once during the night.

"Get up," Hua Yong said, his voice a dry, toneless rasp. "The tailor will be here in twenty minutes. We need to look like we haven't spent the night tearing each other to pieces."

Wenlang didn't argue. He couldn't. His body felt like it was made of fucking lead and broken glass. He rolled out of the bed, his feet hitting the cold marble floor with a dull thud. He stumbled toward the master bathroom, and Hua Yong followed, silent as a goddamn shadow.

The bathroom was a fucking cathedral of black obsidian and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Hua Yong flicked the light on, and the sudden glare was a physical assault.

"Damn... fuck..." Wenlang hissed, shielding his eyes. "Look at yourself, Wenlang," Hua Yong commanded, standing behind him.

Wenlang forced himself to look. He stared at his reflection, and a cold, fucking hollow dread settled in his gut. He looked like a goddamn disaster. His chest was a mottled landscape of fucking purple and yellow bruises. There were teeth marks on his shoulder—deep, jagged indentations that had broken the skin. But the worst was his neck. The violet mark was no longer just a brand; it was a sprawling, vibrant map of the bond, the veins around it standing out in dark, bruised relief.

He looked like he'd been fucking hunted. He looked like he'd been eaten.

"You did this," Wenlang whispered, his fingers trembling as he touched the raw skin of his shoulder. "You fucking animal. Look at me. I look like a goddamn victim." "And look at me," Hua Yong countered, his voice low and jagged.

He pulled his black t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Wenlang's eyes widened. Hua Yong's back was a fucking mess of long, red furrows where Wenlang's nails had raked through the skin during the peak of the Rut.

There was a dark, fucking swollen bruise on his jaw where Wenlang had managed to land a desperate, frantic punch.

The most powerful man in the city was covered in the marks of a struggle he'd nearly lost. "We look like we went through a fucking meat grinder," Wenlang said, a hysterical, bitter laugh bubbling up in his throat. "The 'Great Enigma' and the 'S-Tier King.' We're just two fucking beasts in expensive suits, aren't we?" "We are what the bond made us," Hua Yong said, stepping closer until his chest was inches from Wenlang's back. He didn't touch him, but the heat radiating off him was still a fucking physical weight. "Look in the mirror, Wenlang. Really look. Do you see the Alpha you were a week ago? The one who thought he could run this fucking city alone?"

Wenlang stared at his own eyes in the glass. They were gold, bright and fucking predatory, but there was something else there now. A hollowed-out, fucking desperate hunger that he recognized from Hua Yong's own gaze.

"He's fucking dead," Wenlang whispered. "That man is fucking dead. You killed him." "I didn't kill him," Hua Yong whispered back, his breath hot against the mark on Wenlang's neck. "I just stripped away the lies. This is who you are now. You're the Alpha who survived an Enigma's Rut. You're the partner to the man who's going to own everything you ever fucking touched."

"Partner?" Wenlang spat, turning around to face him, his eyes flashing with a final, sweary spark of defiance. "You keep using that word. Is that what you call this? You think a 'partner' is someone you keep on a hidden leash and bruise until they can't stand up?" "In our world? Yes," Hua Yong said, his hand coming up to grip Wenlang's chin, his thumb pressing into the bruise on his jaw. "It's the only kind of partnership that lasts. Now, wash the blood off your shoulder. The tailor is bringing a silk scarf and a high-collared shirt. By the time we hit those cameras, you're going to look like a goddamn god again. And I'm going to be the one standing right behind you." Wenlang looked at the hand on his face, then back at the mirror. He saw the marks, the blood, and the raw, violent truth of their connection. He was an S-Tier Alpha, and he was currently leaning into the touch of the man who had fucking ruined him.

"I'm going to make you fucking regret this," Wenlang whispered, his voice a jagged promise. "Every time I have to hide these marks, every time I have to lie for you... I'm going to be sharpening the knife in my head." "I'm counting on it," Hua Yong smiled, and for the first time, it wasn't a shark's grin. It was the look of a man who finally found something worth fucking keeping. "Now, get in the fucking shower. We have a world to lie to."