Love Me Like A Sin: 004

Ilya wakes up mindlessly. He scratches the back of his head as he drags himself off the bed and aimlessly finds the door to the bathroom, ignoring the ache between his thighs and lower back. 

The bathroom light is too bright and the smell of whiskey and cedarwood mixed with his own caramel scent swallows him whole. Ilya squints at his reflection in the mirror and splashes cold water on his face from the tap.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror; his messy brown hair and tired amber eyes stare back at him, but what catches Ilya’ attention is the bold mark on his neck.

Instantly, every form of drowsiness vanishes from his eyes as he inspects the mark closely.

It's not a hickey; it's sore, red, and deep. Ilya gasps when he realizes what it is; it's a mate mark. 

His fingers tremble as they hover near his neck. He doesn’t touch it, like it might burn him if he does. The mark looks angry and raw, as if it were pressed into his skin with intent. What the fuck!

“No,” he whispers.

This is not possible. This shouldn’t be possible. He can't be marked.

Suddenly, everything comes flooding back: the mission, him going into heat, Val… Ilya’s thought trails off as realization hits. 

Not only did he go into heat in front of the one person he hates the most, but he also got marked by him.

Ilya is mated to Valen D’Avorin, his enemy’s son.

Suddenly, his breath comes out uneven, panic and fear settling into his bones. This can't be happening.

Ilya runs his fingers through his hair. As panic builds up, so does frustration, adding layer upon layer in his stomach while his heart beats too fast, too loud; fuck, he can even feel it in his throat. 

How could he have let this happen? Why did his suppressant fail? What is going to happen to all his plans? What is he going to do now? So many questions, and yet no answers. 

Ilya yanks his hair till his scalp hurts, till it feels like he’s about to explode in anger.

Valen D’Avorin. The name alone makes his jaw tighten and makes his blood boil.

“Fucking bastard,” Ilya mutters.

In rage, Ilya storms out of the bathroom, and immediately, his gaze lands on the gun sitting on the nightstand and directs his aim towards the sleeping figure on the bed. 

Ilya’s hand is shaking, and his eyes are red with dark black veins stretching on his forehead, ignoring the awful smell of sex and alpha pheromones, thick and possessive in the air as it clings to the wall, making his stomach churn with fury and burning shame.

The cool metal gun feels heavier in his hand than it should as he raises it, eyes burning a hole at Valen, who lies sprawled across the bed as if he owns it, like he owns every fucking thing, with one arm thrown over his head, dark hair messy, and the sheets tangled low on his hips. He looks infuriatingly peaceful, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm.

Ilya aims the gun squarely at his head.

Ilya hates him. Hates how he can still sleep when Ilya’ world is falling apart because of him.

All it will take is one pull, and all of this will be over. He will no longer be bonded to him, and no one will discover his secret; he will get his revenge on the D’Avorin family before they realize it. One clean shot and Ilya will have one less problem to deal with. 

Ilya’s finger tightens on the trigger, but then the mark on his neck starts to burn.

It doesn't burn physically but deep, causing something to twist in his chest, sharp and unbearable. In an instant, his breath stutters, and pain blooms in his mind and body.

“What the fuck—”

Ilya gasps, the gun falling out of his hand that immediately goes to grasp his neck where the mark burns. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he whispers hoarsely, panting as he's suddenly out of breath. He certainly has no idea how bonds work, but not like this. He just wants to kill the bastard and get the fuck out of here. Why does it hurt so much?

Ilya needs to get out of here.

With pain coursing through his body, he manages to find his pants and puts them on, finally realizing that he’s not even wearing his own shirt, but he doesn’t care. With one look at the unconscious form of Valen D’Avorin, Ilya bolts out the door, failing to see the smirk on Valen’s lips.

~*~

When Ilya arrives at his secret penthouse, he flips himself on the living room sofa and shuts his eyes, thinking of the shit he just put himself into. He stares at the ceiling, hoping it will open up and swallow him whole

After a whole minute of pure silence and his miserable thoughts, he lets out a broken laugh. “Of all people,” he mutters. “It had to be him.”

“Had to be who?”

Ilya moves fast; he grabs his gun and aims, eyes hard and stoic but is welcomed with the gasps of his omega best friend, Soren, who has his hands up in mocking surrender and his head tilted.

“Like seriously, do you always have to do this every single time?” Soren rolls his eyes and drops his hands. He approaches Ilya, swaying his hips side to side while his heels rail against the floor. 

Ilya lowers the gun slowly, but his grip doesn’t loosen right away; his heart is still pounding with adrenaline.

“Knock,” he snaps. “Or at least announce yourself.”

Soren snorts, rolling his eyes as he places his hands on his hips once he's in front of Ilya. “I almost live here; I don't see why I should knock and judging by that welcome, I’m guessing you’re having a very bad night. You smell weird too; you smell like alpha. Did you get laid?” He playfully wriggles his brows but when he receives a pointed look from Ilya, he retracts his thoughts and suddenly, his eyes widen as if he has it all figured out. “Did you go through a heat?” 

Ilya exhales through his nose and slams the gun on the table and sinks back onto the sofa. “I didn't just go through a heat,” he mutters.

“…Ilya? Just tell me what happened.” Soren is growing impatient.

Ilya drags a hand down his face. “Have you ever made one mistake? The kind that ruins everything you’ve spent years building?”

“What did you do?”

Ilya laughs again, sharp and humorless. “It’s not what I did. It’s who.”

Soren doesn't need to ask anymore because his gaze lands on Ilya' neck and in an instant, his eyes enlarge. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me— Is that—”

Ilya tilts his head, exposing his neck properly and there's the mark, bold and deep. 

Soren freezes. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, that.” Ilya says bitterly. 

Soren runs his finger through his blond hair, blue eyes gloating with worry. Immediately, he sits beside Ilya on the sofa. “D-do you k-know who did it?”

Ilya wishes he didn't know. It will make his life easier. He swallows hard as he says. “Valen D’Avorin.”

First, there's silence; neither of them moves and then Soren explodes. “WHAT!?” he jerks to his feet. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” Ilya mutters.

Suddenly, Soren is pacing, moving from one corner of the living room to the other. “This is bad, Ilya. This is really, really bad. Fuck, we need to get you out of the state, fuck, out of the continent!” 

Ilya almost forgets his own worries as he sees Soren pace rant and bite his fingers in anxiety. “Relax…”

Soren snaps at him, eyes red. “Relax? How do I fucking relax? He knows you're an omega hiding as an alpha in his home and syndicate; you know better than anyone it's a death penalty! What if they find out you've been trying to kill them all this while? You need to run away.” 

He brings out his phone and searches through his contacts. “I know someone; he can provide us approved visas with fake identities in the next 24 hours.”

Ilya rises to his feet and snatches the phone from the worried omega’s hand. “You need to fucking relax and I'm not running away. I've come so far; I can't leave now that I'm so close.” 

“So, what are you going to do?” 

Ilya' eyes darken at the question while his jaw pulls taut. “It's simple, Soren. I'm going to kill Valen D’Avorin.”