Dying felt strange.
This complete peace that enveloped him was nothing new since his first death. He had already felt and welcomed death. He knew how cold and final it was.
He also knew the feeling of resurrection.
Yet, strangely, he did not feel as weak as he had a few weeks ago when he awoke in Dante's arms on the beach.
His wounds tingled.
His perception was focused solely on himself.
Every pain, every twitch, every heartbeat thundered in his consciousness. He felt the bullets slowly forcing their way out of his flesh, felt his blood renewing, multiplying, as if his body were greedily grasping at life. It might have been intoxicating, had it not been for the endless pain.
His forehead seemed to be on fire as the bullet pushed its way out further. It was an unimaginable pain, unbearable.
Groaning, his hand shot to his forehead, his fingers trembling as they touched the cool metal and finally pulled it out. For a moment the world blurred before his eyes, but then his vision cleared again. His mind began working once more, as if nothing had ever happened.
All that remained was rage.
Slowly, Helios straightened up. His gaze locked onto Wallace, who stared back at him, eyes wide, his face twisted with panic and disbelief. The crowd around them also stared as if they had seen a ghost. He probably hadn't been dead long, otherwise chaos would already have broken out. It would have been interesting to know how long he had been gone. Seconds? Minutes?
It didn't matter.
With a sharp motion, he spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. It splattered dark red onto the ground. Then he wiped his lips and chin with a handkerchief, but no matter how much he rubbed – the sticky feeling of blood on his skin remained. He probably looked as if he had stepped straight out of a horror movie.
This was the absolute worst-case scenario.
His eyes briefly flicked to his father's shocked face.
Yep. It couldn't have gone worse. He had better start thinking now about what words to choose when his father confronted him later that evening.
Later.
First, he still had something to take care of.
His gaze fixed back on Wallace.
With an almost provocative calm, Helios brushed the non-existent dust off his clothes, adopted a more elegant posture as if about to perform on a stage, and slowly put one foot in front of the other. At least his dignity, no one could take that from him in this moment.
That little bastard would not escape. Even if he somehow managed to sneak away tonight, Helios would hunt him down. To the ends of the earth if necessary. He would make Wallace pay three times over for every pain he'd been forced to endure because of him. For Penny's death he would inflict such pain that Wallace would beg for death for days! Helios had no doubt anymore that Wallace was behind all of it.
A cold smile settled on his lips as he continued toward the man. Wallace looked as if he might collapse at any moment — sweat pearled on his temples, his breathing came in gasps, his eyes darted through the crowd searching for help. His expression shifted from panic to relief when he apparently found someone in the audience who could help him.
He nodded silently to that person and immediately the next shot cracked through the hall.
The bullet plunged into Helios' chest, threw him backward, made him stagger. Yet he kept going. Slowly, relentlessly. If Wallace thought he could stop him with bullets, he was mistaken.
More bullets hit him: right thigh, left hand, left shoulder, right flank, left cheek. He memorized every wound. Nothing could stop him. Stubbornly he moved on, no matter how intense the pain, no matter how much he wavered, no matter how much he felt like drowning from within.
Every step was a triumph over the pain, over the mortality that had been taken from him. The floor under him grew slick, soaked with his own blood, but he ignored it. His healing hummed like a constant crackle beneath his skin, but he paid it no mind. All that remained inside him was cold, clear fury.
Wallace had just irreparably destroyed his life, and the realization was not half as amusing as Helios had imagined.
He ignored the pain and the constant tingling of his wounds knitting together. All he felt was cold rage. He wanted to kill that bastard, slowly and savoringly, until he'd had enough. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen later when they left the party.
The pleasant part of the evening, together with Dante, was probably off the table now.
Before everyone's eyes, the carefully crafted image of the perfect heir had shattered, and left behind was an immortal freak. A monster people stared at with equal parts shock and fascination.
Probably the next day the company would be flooded with inquiries from everyone wanting immortality.
A quick glance at his father confirmed what he already knew. The icy smile on his father's lips said it all. The man enjoyed the thought. Helios' fists clenched. How he wished he could wipe that grin off his face! But there would be time for that later.
The only one who truly looked relieved was Dante.
Finally, Helios stood before Wallace. Without another word, he grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his gaze. His fingers dug painfully into the skin and Helios felt Wallace's body tremble.
"Tell them to stop," Helios said with deadly calm. He really had to hold himself back from tearing this bastard apart right here and now. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips as the tingling of his healing wounds subsided. "That hurt like hell."
Wallace's eyes widened, raw hatred and naked fear blending in his stare.
"M-Monster!" he rasped hoarsely. "How do you even know it was me?!"
"You weren't as mysterious as you thought, my dear. I've known for weeks what you were planning." Helios' voice was smooth as ice, his lips curving into a dangerously cold smile. "By the way, you should be clear on two things. First, I can't stand being called a monster. And second, you'll pay for everything you've done to me."
He locked onto Wallace's terrified gaze. Then he leaned forward slowly, so close he could smell the sweat on Wallace's skin, and whispered in his ear:
"And by pay, I don't mean money. This is a blood debt." Helios hissed so quietly that only Wallace could understand.
Suddenly, Wallace's fat fingers grabbed Helios' shirt and ripped it open in one swift motion. Buttons flew, cool air hit his blood-dampened skin. Wallace's expression turned disbelieving, hopeless.
"H-how can this be?! They riddled you with bullets!" he whimpered.
Wallace looked as if he were about to faint.
He stared at Helios' torso, which bore all the scars he had accumulated over the past weeks. Blood or not, they were clearly visible. Even his father studied his bare skin with a shocked expression, his gaze lingering on the scars he didn't recognize.
No surprise, considering Helios had hidden his wounds ever since Soley.
"Don't like what you see?" Helios' smile widened, razor-sharp. "Funny, you're one of the very few who ever get to see this much of me."
"Th-th-there are no wounds!" Wallace cried. "Am I losing my mind?!"
He stretched his fingers toward Helios' chest, but a large hand stopped him. Dante. Helios gave Wallace a broad smile.
Helios' smile deepened. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later. So be patient until then," he said calmly and stood up.
A jacket was draped over his shoulders. Helios pulled it tightly around himself, refusing to expose himself any further. He turned to his father, who was staring at him with open curiosity. His gaze was a mixture of cold calculation, surprise, and greed.
The way his father looked at him sent an icy shiver down his spine.
"Go home and wash all that blood off. We'll talk later," his father said in a businesslike tone. His eyes locked on Wallace. "And as for you, Wallace. It pains me greatly to learn that you seem to be behind all the assassination attempts on my son. How do you ever intend to make amends for that?"
Helios' stomach tightened. His father was enjoying this. He absorbed every moment as if Helios' immortality had given him wings himself. He would exploit this fact to the fullest.
Everything in Helios resisted what was about to come.
He remembered Dante's words about being able to disappear at any time. All at once, he had a very clear idea of what awaited him, of what his father might do to him.
Things worse than pain, worse than death itself.
"Dante…" Helios began. But his father cut him off.
"Seth and Josh will escort you home," his father said, signaling to his personal guards to accompany Helios. "I expect you in my office as soon as you're finished. I'll deal with my old friend here in the meantime."
So he wouldn't get out of this so easily. Fine. Then afterward, he would disappear with Dante. In such a way that no one could trace where they had gone.
"Of course, Father. I'll see you later," he said obediently. He must not betray his intentions. Helios looked at Dante and gave him a nod.
"Let's go."
___
"We'll wait here for you, young master," said Seth as they escorted Helios to his room.
Helios rolled his eyes. "Of course you will," he muttered irritably and slammed the door in their faces. The bang echoed down the corridor, but silence fell immediately after.
He leaned against the door, took a deep breath, and tried to sort out his thoughts. He needed a plan — and fast.
His father's guards hadn't taken their eyes off him for a single second in the car. Their gaze had been uncomfortable, and he had felt like an animal in a zoo. Slowly, he began to understand how his patients must have felt when he observed them to see whether his substances and poisons worked as intended.
A strangely bitter mirror.
His thoughts raced.
He had to stay calm.
They had to pack. Stay calm. Get out of here unnoticed. He needed to pack his suitcase, take money with him, and make sure to transfer his savings to another account as quickly as possible. Preferably somewhere his father would have no way of interfering.
But where should they flee? The continent they were on was not an option — nearly the entire country was under his father's control, no matter where he went. His father would find him.
Unless…
…Penelope's wig was still in his secret lab. Maybe he should disguise himself as a woman again. But then there was still Dante, and disguising him wouldn't be so simple.
Damn!
His chest tightened. He didn't actually want to flee. It was only because of Wallace that he even had to consider running at all!
Slowly, he slid to the floor, his back sliding down the door until he sat on the cold wooden boards. Hopelessness washed over him like a wave.
He had to think through and plan everything. If he acted in haste, everything would fall apart. So much depended on the decisions he now had to make. His fingers clutched at Dante's jacket.
He was afraid of leaving this life behind. It was all he had ever known.
Since the age of eight, he had lived the same structured routine. He lived in a gilded cage that had given him both security and shackles. The thought of giving it all up filled him with cold panic. To build a new life, far from his father, far from his father's ever-present influence? It felt like a leap into the void.
Helios and Dante would have to keep a low profile. No one could learn who he was — his father would find him and drag him back by force. Once in his father's sights, there would be no escape.
Strong arms wrapped around him. Dante gently pulled him into an embrace, and Helios immediately closed his own arms around him.
"Breathe, Helios," Dante murmured soothingly. His deep voice tingled in his ear.
"It's all over, Dante…" Helios whispered, barely audible. The two guards outside could not be allowed to hear a word. His whole body trembled, panic gripping him as if it were devouring him from within.
"Let's disappear." That was all Dante said. He said it with such certainty that Helios almost believed everything would be all right.
Helios exhaled slowly. Nothing would have pleased him more than simply running away, but he shook his head. "We won't get out of here. Not before I've spoken to Father."
Dante looked at him seriously, then nodded slowly. "Then we'll disappear afterward."
A weak, almost desperate smile flickered across Helios' face. He forced himself to nod.
"If it hadn't been for that damn Wallace…" Helios cursed breathlessly. "He ruined everything."
"I wanted nothing more than to tear him to pieces right there," Dante growled. He pulled back slightly and looked into Helios' eyes with concern. "The pain must have been terrible. Are you really all right?"
"You know what it feels like," Helios said quietly. "I'm fine, it's all healed after all."
"Thankfully your wounds heal faster than mine," Dante murmured. He kissed him and pressed his forehead to Helios'. "I was so afraid for you. When you were shot in the head, I thought I'd lost you all over again…"
His voice broke.
"Luckily everything worked the way it was supposed to," Helios whispered. He kissed him tenderly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"I'm just so glad you're alive, Lio," Dante breathed, returning the kiss.
Helios lost himself in the kiss, Dante making sure he didn't think too much about everything else. He gave himself completely to this moment of peace and calm. He opened his lips, let Dante in, and challenged him with his tongue to deepen the kiss.
Dante gave himself to him with the same desperation. His large hands roamed Helios' body — one gripped his ass firmly, the other slid under the torn shirt, exploring his skin. Helios' hands traced over Dante's chest, following the contours of his muscles as if to burn them into memory. He focused entirely on his beloved.
Just as he was about to tear the ruined clothes off his body, he remembered the state he was in. Dante didn't seem to mind that he was covered in blood, but Helios still wanted to wash before facing reality again.
So he did something he normally wouldn't have done. At least not with two guards standing outside his bedroom door.
But what did he have left to lose? He was already on the verge of losing everything. He and Dante would have to run. Helios had no way of knowing how the conversation with his father would go.
He needed Dante to be able to think clearly again.
"Dante…" he breathed between kisses. "Will you shower with me?"
Dante didn't answer. Instead, he lifted Helios up, held him tightly against himself, and rose to his feet with him. Moments later, their lips were joined again.
At least for a moment, Helios wanted to give in to the illusion that everything was fine. Once they were done, they would have to discuss the plan as quickly as possible, and then he would have to face his father.
When they reached the bathroom, Dante set Helios down. They stripped out of their clothes as quickly as they could. Helios let his blood-smeared glasses fall into the pile of laundry, and shortly after he was back in Dante's arms. He let himself be guided backwards into the shower, Dante turned on the water, and soon it was streaming down over them in warm rivulets.
Helios hurried to wash the blood from his body. He didn't want to waste any more time—he wanted to feel Dante on him and inside him.
Dante let his hands wander over Helios's body, as if to reassure himself that Helios was truly unharmed. Only when he was certain that Helios's wounds had fully closed did his hands find the very places where Helios was most desperately craving touch.
Their lips found each other again—greedy, demanding. There was a hunger in him, one Helios was only too eager to surrender to. He needed this so much. His mind seemed to slowly shut down, and all that remained was the raw desire for the man whose lips pressed against his own and whose fingers were caressing his most intimate place.
Helios moaned softly into the kiss as his fingers closed around Dante's hardness, stroking it with that familiar, yearning pressure Dante loved so much. Inside him, expectation throbbed—longing for what he held in his hand. Time and again, it amazed him how impressively Dante was built, and instantly his body recalled the memory of how deeply and completely he filled him.
The image grew even more vivid when Dante pressed the first finger inside him, slowly but surely preparing him for the main act.
He pressed himself against Dante, growing impatient. They had so little time for this, and there was no way to truly savor those fleeting moments.
Inwardly, he cursed Wallace once again for that foolish stunt at the evening party, but the thought vanished instantly when Dante found his most sensitive spot. A surge of electric fire shot through him, erasing every coherent thought, leaving nothing but the consuming desire.
In Dante's grasp, Helios lost control—writhing breathlessly, craving more, always more. Dante made him melt, pliant, addicted to every touch. But his hunger was insatiable; Dante's fingers were no longer enough.
"Dante, that's enough. I need you. Now," Helios whispered between breathless kisses, his lips greedily seeking more.
"You're still far too tight," Dante growled huskily into his ear before sliding another finger into him.
A hoarse moan escaped Helios as those fingers relentlessly pressed against his most sensitive spot. A tremor ran through his thighs, and his nails dug into Dante's shoulder—so hard that even he was surprised at how little control he still had over his own body. He felt his legs threaten to give way, and only Dante's arm, holding him tightly, kept him from collapsing.
His grip on Dante's hardness weakened the closer he came to his climax. His entire body burned, his thoughts scattered, and all that remained was that searing, pulsing desire coiling like a storm in his lower belly. He was certain he was about to lose control when Dante abruptly pulled out of him. A cry of protest caught in his throat. But before he could even register the emptiness, he was lifted up, and with a single, merciless thrust, Dante drove deep into him.
He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out loud. Dante was fully inside him—no space left between them, only heat, closeness, and the overwhelming sensation of teetering on the edge of being torn apart. He felt full, far too full, and yet in that moment, there could be no more exquisite feeling for him.
His orgasm crashed over him more violently than he had ever imagined. For a moment he went blind, everything dissolving into a dazzling white as he trembled and sank into Dante's arms. All he could still perceive was Dante deep inside him, the powerful arms holding him, and the relentless throbbing that sent him quaking.
Dante's lips stayed firmly pressed to his, anchoring him in that whirlwind of lust and ecstasy as he began to move within him. But this time there was no cautious restraint. His thrusts were hard, deep, demanding. Each impact reverberated through Helios, making him shudder anew.
Oh, how he needed this. Rough sex was simply the best way to ignore unpleasant things.
He focused on the kiss, clinging to Dante and letting his lover do whatever he pleased. Even if Helios had wanted to, in this position he couldn't have done anything anyway.
Dante held him so tightly that his legs had no room to move. They were pressed close together, and behind Helios there was only the bathroom tiles. He could neither escape nor move freely.
Dante's lips trailed down to his neck, lingered on the delicate skin, and bit down gently. A shiver tore through Helios's body, and his insides clenched around Dante as if they never wanted to let him go.
Their breaths echoed heavily through the bathroom, mingling with the steady rush of water. Dante kept his pace steady. The rhythm of their bodies filled the room—unmistakable, unstoppable.
Helios's voice kept breaking from his lips, even as he desperately tried to hold the sounds back. He was far too sensitive after his first climax; every thrust pushed him closer to the edge. His body arched, unable to endure any longer, and soon he was swept away again by waves of pleasure. Together they lost themselves in this second climax, merging into one another, until Dante pulled out of Helios just before his own release and spilled onto the shower floor.
Their lips found each other again; they kissed passionately, as if the breaking of their lips would mean they could never find one another again.
Helios gasped, trembled—and yet his hunger was not sated. He wanted more, wanted Dante to keep driving him, robbing him of thought until he broke completely beneath his passion. But time was against them. What little they had taken for themselves was hardly more than a quickie, a hurried escape from reality.
Breathing heavily, he clung to the thought that this wasn't the end. In just a few hours they would leave everything behind, and then Dante would give him all that he was already aching for.
They would still have to hide from his father, but at least they would no longer have to deny their love. The thought burned in Helios's chest—liberating and yet painful at the same time. His stomach clenched tight the moment he pictured all that lay ahead of him.
"I love you, Lio," Dante whispered against his lips before kissing him again.
Helios's heart stumbled. The words echoed inside him—spoken so softly and yet carrying such weight. It was already the second time Dante had told him he loved him. Had Helios ever even told him that he loved him too?
Thinking about it, he realized he had never said it. So why now did he feel such an urge to, as though he would miss his chance if he didn't?
But was it truly love he felt for Dante?
He wanted Dante always close, just as it had been with Davis. He grew restless when Dante wasn't near, and he slept so much better when he fell asleep in his arms.
If that wasn't love, then what else could it be? He brushed his hand gently along Dante's cheek.
"I lo—" he began, but was cut off by a knock at his bedroom door.
The moment shattered like glass. Shocked, he bit his lip and swallowed the words. His gaze shot to the door. Who dared disturb them now?
"Put me down, Dante," he whispered quickly.
He slipped free of Dante's arms, washed himself hastily, stepped out of the shower, and dried off in a rush. His heart was racing, each second feeling heavier than the last.
"I'll go to Father alone," he said firmly as he wrapped a towel around his hips. "You pack everything we need. Hide it in the secret passage once you're finished. Tonight we disappear."
"Are you sure? Shouldn't I go with you?" Dante asked worriedly.
Helios shook his head.
"There's money in my safe in the wardrobe. Take it all—we'll need it," he added quickly as another knock came.
Again—a sharper, more impatient knock. Helios's pulse hammered at his temples. Hurriedly he gave Dante the combination to the safe, pulled him close, and kissed him with urgency. The words he longed to say burned on his tongue, but the atmosphere was too fractured, too tense, too wrong. He was too rushed to speak them as they deserved to be spoken.
"See you soon," he whispered instead, brushing Dante's cheek lightly. "Pretend you're still showering."
Worry lined Dante's face, his eyes pleading silently. "All right. I'll get everything ready. Come back quickly."
"I'll try," Helios answered with a faint smile meant to give him more courage than he truly felt.
He left the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind him, and forced himself to calm down. Quickly, he pulled on a pair of pants, fastened his finger prosthetics, tugged on his leather gloves, and threw a shirt over his shoulders, leaving it unbuttoned.
Then he called in the one who had been knocking so impatiently at the door.