Ewan spent the entire afternoon in a hazy daze, feeling as though every ounce of his vitality had been siphoned away. By the time he finally returned to his quarters, his strength had abandoned him completely. He wearily collapsed onto the bed, burying himself deep within the heavy cotton quilt, ignoring the unforgiving hardness and the biting chill of the mattress beneath him.
Ewan felt his body akin to a parched sponge that was gradually being saturated by a scorching, viscous fluid. His throat felt as rough as sandpaper, and his heart hammered against his ribs at a frantic, abnormal rhythm. A sweet, heady fragrance began to diffuse from the glands located at the nape of his neck, growing stronger with every beat of his pulse.
Although Ewan was intellectually aware that this biological vessel was classified as an Omega, his soul hailed from a different reality entirely. In his previous existence, he had been an ancient entity, a soul existing for ten thousand years without such complex, messy biological gender classifications. Transmigrating into an Omega body in a world teeming with Alphas and governed by ruthless, primal physiological laws was a variable to which he had not yet adapted. Today, the sheer physical exertion of simultaneously summoning five Elemental Slimes had drained his stamina reserves. Coupled with the psychological shock resulting from the aggression of that middle-aged woman, these factors had combined to form the spark that ignited this body's dormant heat cycle.
The scent of Champagne Roses began to thicken in the air, dominating the room. This was no ordinary floral fragrance, it was the complex aroma of roses steeped in vintage wine for decades. It carried a hint of intoxicating spirits, a touch of cloying sweetness, and an air of elegance and haughty nobility that demanded attention.
Ewan let out a low, choked whimper, instinctively curling his body into a tight ball. His fingers involuntarily clawed at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the fabric. His consciousness began to blur and fracture, leaving behind only a maddening itch deep within his flesh and a primal, overwhelming yearning to be soothed and sheltered by another.
...
In the outer room, Asher Ryder was busy clearing away the dishes when he suddenly froze mid-motion. A distinct, incredibly alluring scent unexpectedly slipped through the crack of Ewan's door, assaulting his keen olfactory senses with the force of a physical blow.
It was the unmistakable scent of Champagne Roses.
Asher suddenly recalled the abnormalities Ewan had displayed earlier that day. He had harbored a fleeting suspicion that the Omega might be approaching his heat cycle, but the complete absence of pheromones at the time had made him complacent. He had assumed those signs were merely preliminary symptoms, days away from the actual event.
He had not anticipated it would arrive with such precipitous speed.
Gritting his teeth against the sudden biological response, Asher rummaged frantically through the storage cabinet. He was searching for specific medicinal leaves, the kind locally harvested for treating heat cycles and periods of heightened sensitivity. It was moments like these that reminded him of just how frustratingly backward the planet of Anvia really was. The technological stagnation here meant that its citizens had no access to synthesized, pharmaceutical-grade inhibitors. The majority of the population relied on wild herbs gathered from the mountains. While these herbs were indeed the primary active ingredients for modern suppressants, here they were used in their raw, unprocessed state, lacking the refinement of advanced alchemy or science.
Asher hurriedly grabbed a handful of the dried herbs and strode toward Ewan's room. As he walked, he had to clench his fists tightly, digging his nails into his palms to ensure he maintained his composure. After all, Asher was an Alpha, and he was inherently susceptible to the influence of an Omega's pheromones during their heat. This was especially true given how devastatingly seductive this particular scent was. It was like a sugar-coated poison, luring an unwary soul to dive in and drown in its suffocating sweetness.
Halfway there, Asher paused as a thought struck him: an Omega's delicate constitution could not easily absorb these coarse, raw leaves. He immediately doubled back to the kitchen, moving with urgent efficiency. He quickly boiled a pot of water and dropped the herbs inside. The rising steam, thick with a bitter medicinal odor, partially diluted the overwhelming scent of Champagne Roses that was beginning to flood the entire house.
Carrying the bowl of hot, dark medicine, Asher approached Ewan's door once more. He paused on the threshold, the door handle feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds in his grip.
"Ewan? Are you lucid?" Asher asked, his voice rasping and significantly hoarser than usual.
It was clear that the scent of the herbal brew was insufficient to combat the tendrils of pheromones now winding tightly around him.
No answer came from within the room, only the sounds of heavy, labored breathing and choked whimpers that tugged at the nerves. Asher hesitated for a long moment, wrestling with propriety, but then he remembered that there were neighboring houses nearby. In this settlement, there were surely other Alphas.
This wouldn't do. He could not allow these potent pheromones to leak out for too long, or the situation would spiral beyond his control.
Decisively, Asher pushed the door open and entered.
The scene before him nearly caused him to drop the bowl of medicine, his composure fracturing. Ewan lay on the bed, his hair a tangled mess against the pillow. His cheeks were flushed an unnatural, feverish red, and his skin glistened with sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut, but his long lashes trembled incessantly, betraying his distress. He looked so fragile, yet so incredibly seductive, that the sight would ignite a dark, possessive desire in any man who witnessed it.
Asher clamped his jaw shut, feeling a violent struggle waging within his mind. Half of his instincts screamed at him to move forward, to embrace the trembling boy, to mark him and claim him as nature dictated. But the other half, his rationality and human morality, forced him to halt, anchoring his feet to the floor.
Fighting the haze in his own mind, Asher approached the bed. He set the bowl on the small nightstand and gently lifted Ewan's head, supporting the boy's neck.
"Ewan, be good. Drink this." He murmured. His voice was strangely gentle, soft and coaxing, as if he were tending to a small, wounded animal rather than a person.
In his delirium, Ewan felt a wave of cool air radiating from the man beside him. Unconsciously, he leaned his head against Asher's solid chest, seeking relief from the internal fire consuming him. The scent of Asher, the aroma of rich, strong tea, was the pheromone the Alpha could no longer fully suppress. It mingled with the scent of steady, grounded masculinity, enveloping Ewan in a sensory cocoon that made him feel inexplicably, wonderfully safe.