Steam choked the bathroom the moment the door clicked shut, trapping them in the heavy, dark musk of Vyn's rut. They stood locked in the center of the tiled floor, eyes tethered in a silent, jagged exchange of need.
Elio's hands moved with slow, deliberate tremors as he reached for the buttons of his pajama shirt. He unfastened them one by one, letting the fabric slide off his shoulders to pool at his feet. Vyn watched the movement, his gaze tracking the silk's descent before he discarded his own clothes. Every motion was agonizingly measured—a deliberate torment until they stood bare, stripped down to the raw heat of their shared gaze.
Vyn stepped into Elio's space, his thumb finding the fresh, red bite mark on Elio's neck.
"My angel," he murmured, before leaning down to swallow Elio's lips.
Elio met him halfway, his fingers digging into the muscle of Vyn's shoulders as Vyn trailed damp, burning kisses down his jaw and against his Adam's apple.
A stray elbow hit the shower handle, and cold water suddenly cascaded over them, slicking their hair and tracking in rivulets down their chests. The shock broke the dam between them; the slow worship sharpened into something frantic and predatory.
Adrenaline surged, and Elio shifted his grip. With a sudden burst of strength, he pivoted, pinning Vyn firmly against the tiled wall.
Vyn let out a low, gravelly growl, his pupils blowing wide as Elio's scent bloomed, answering the crushing weight of Vyn's rut-driven presence with a sharp, intoxicating musk that filled the cramped stall.
Elio didn't back down. He leaned in, his movements carrying a heavy, mesmerizing focus. He nipped at Vyn's jawline, tracing a path of heat down his throat, then hovered directly over Vyn's scent gland, kissing and worrying the sensitive skin with a possessive hunger that made Vyn's breath hitch. Elio's palms slid down Vyn's drenched torso, his tongue swirling against the firm heat of his chest, deliberately teasing him until Vyn's knees buckled.
Vyn's breath came in ragged, undone hitches, his hands gripping Elio's shoulders to anchor himself. Elio pressed harder, trailing his mouth across Vyn's stomach, lingering near his navel as the heat between them reached a boiling point.
With a slow, magnetic deliberation, Elio sank to the wet tiles.
His gaze remained fixed, an unblinking anchor as he took Vyn's aching length into his mouth. The sudden, sweltering heat of his throat against the sharp, biting chill of the wet shower tiles made Vyn's head snap back against the wall with a strangled gasp. His fingers clawed at the grout, his raw Alpha instincts buckling and warring against the overwhelming, liquid tide of pleasure.
"Elio... please," Vyn choked out, his voice shattered. "Can I… take you now?"
Elio stood up slowly, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up Vyn's stomach until their lips met. He bit Vyn's lower lip—hard enough to leave a sting—and pulled back, his gaze dark and focused.
"Claim your reward," Elio murmured. It was a challenge, not a request.
Vyn shattered. He stepped in, hands anchoring hard into Elio's hips, using his weight to pin him flush against the wall. The water sheeted over Vyn's shoulders, spilling down Elio's back.
Vyn dropped to his knees, his hands sliding to the backs of Elio's thighs to pull him closer. He leaned in, his mouth heavy and hot against Elio's skin, his tongue tracing the tight opening, coating the resistance with thick, scalding saliva.
The room felt airless. Elio's palms were slick against the tile, his fingers splayed wide as his knees gave way, trembling under the weight of the sensation. The constant, brutal drumming of the shower water against their backs blended with the slick, invasive heat Vyn was forcing into him. Vyn's tongue worked with a slow, deliberate hunger, matching the rhythm of his mouth until the tension in Elio's muscles finally broke, melting into a shuddering surrender.
Vyn stood back up, chest heaving against Elio's wet back.
He didn't wait for the steam to clear. He reached around, his fingers tangling with Elio's on the tile, locking their hands together. He leaned his mouth against Elio's ear, his breathing a ragged whisper, and drove into him in one deep, possessive stroke.
A soft, caught sound escaped Elio's throat, swallowed by the hum of the water. Then everything blurred into a frantic rhythm, guided only by the heavy spray and the intoxicating, raw tangle of their scents.
Vyn pressed flat against Elio's back, his grip tightening until there was no space left between them. A deeper heat began to swell, expanding within Elio and locking them together in a profound, velvety knot.
The fullness drew a breathless, ragged gasp from Elio, his head falling back onto Vyn's shoulder as his fingers clenched within Vyn's grasp. Vyn let out a low, rough sound into the shell of Elio's ear, his arms wrapping around Elio's chest to hold him steady as the connection sealed them together, transforming the raw intensity into a deep, consuming embrace.
Every movement felt like an unspoken vow, drawing them closer until the world narrowed down to the heartbeat between them, and they melted into each other, finding peace in a shared, breathless release.
——
Two days later, the quiet intimacy of their bonding—the lingering ghost of the mark—was swallowed by the industrial grind of the studio. The fluorescent lights hummed, a flat, sterile drone against the silence as the music cut out. The four members of ELYS collapsed onto the polished wood, chests heaving, their reflections caught and distorted in the thick fog clinging to the mirror wall.
"Great job, boys," Leia called out from behind a tripod near the door. "Take ten minutes to breathe, and then we'll set up the phone for the group live. Fans are already waiting."
Elio sat a little further back than the others, resting his spine against the cool mirror and pulling the hood of his oversized white sweater lower over his head.
Underneath the soft cotton, his body was in turmoil. A strange, dry heat was ticking away in his throat, and the mating bite Vyn had left on his neck two days prior was throbbing with a restless, unusual heat.
As Lucas, Yohan, and Sixth bickered playfully over a dance formation, Elio felt his phone buzzed against his thigh. He glanced at the screen: Aris.
He slipped an earbud in, shielding the glow with his palm. "Hello?" he whispered, his voice small beneath the sudden, loud laughter of his group mates.
"Elio," Aris's voice cut through, sounding unusually sharp and clinical. "Come straight to my lab."
"We just finished," Elio murmured, his eyes tracking the others across the room. "We're about to go live. Is something wrong?"
"Ada will be here," Aris said. "She retrieved old recordings."
"After the live," Elio replied.
"Be safe."
The line went dead. A second later, a text appeared. Vyn.
Vyn: When are you coming home? I'm waiting for you.
Elio: I need to see Aris after our live.
Vyn: Okay. I'll watch your live. Just want to see you.
A soft, genuine warmth cut through the restless heat in Elio's veins, giving his heart a comforted thump.
Elio: Take your meds and rest.
Elio added a sticker of a cute, fluffy white bear hiding its blushing face under a blanket, then locked his phone, slipped it away, and stood up to join the members just as Leia signaled them.
"Alright, we are live in three, two..." Leia gave a sharp nod.
Instantly, the notification chime rang out. Within seconds, the viewer count on the screen exploded into thousands. The digital feed transformed into a chaotic waterfall of colorful sticker packs, floating heart animations, and virtual gifts.
"Hello! We're ELYS!" They chorused, the exhaustion smoothed away by practiced, brilliant smiles.
Yohan crawled closer to the screen, squinting at the fast-moving chat while virtual rose icons flashed across the interface. "Everyone is asking why we look so dead. Well, we just ran our routine five times in a row. Cut us some slack!"
Sixth sat right next to him, casually leaning his chin on Yohan's shoulder. As the charming maknae of the group, Sixth knew exactly how to play to the camera—he flashed a sleepy, devastating dimple smile and gave a tiny wave that would undoubtedly become a viral gif within minutes.
"Lucas almost tripped on the third run," Sixth teased smoothly, using his youthful charm to deflect the exhaustion in the room.
Lucas let out a dramatic, deeply offended gasp. "Hey! It was the floor's fault, okay? The grip on my sneakers failed me. Elio, back me up here."
Elio forced a soft laugh, leaning into the frame. "He really did almost slide into the wall," he murmured playfully, causing the chat to explode with amused comments.
"Wow, look at the messages," Yohan noted, leaning closer to the phone screen.
"Everyone is spamming 'Angel of Onyx!' and 'They all look so cool and handsome today!' Ah, they love our visuals. Thank you everyone," he laughed, glancing toward the camera. "Look, someone said Elio looks incredibly sharp and handsome in that white sweater."
Elio gave a quick, self-conscious tug at the ribbing of his sweater, his gaze flickering briefly to the camera before he looked away with a shy smile.
"Tour schedule and fan meeting coming soon," Lucas added, leaning over Yohan's shoulder. "We can't say much yet."
As they kept scrolling through the flood of supportive emojis, Yohan's eyes suddenly snagged on a string of rapidly repeating comments from a chaotic username, directed strictly at Elio.
'You belong only to me, Elio.'
'You look so fragile today, my angel.'
'I'll take care of you, my Elio.'
Recognizing the chillingly possessive tone immediately, Yohan clapped his hands together, forcing a bright, booming laugh to shatter the ice before the fans could notice.
"Oh! Look at this sticker!" Yohan cheered, pointing at the screen. "Someone sent a dancing potato that looks exactly like Sixth when he tries to wake up in the morning!"
"Hey!" Sixth whined, leaning into the camera with a perfectly timed pout that had the fans spamming crying-laughing emojis. "I look much better than a potato, right guys? Tell Yohan he's being mean to me!"
The smooth distraction worked flawlessly, and the creepy comments were quickly buried under a new wave of fan love.
Leia stepped out from behind the tripod, checking her watch and waving her hands at the boys to wrap it up.
"Alright, ELYS, that's all the time we have for today! The van is waiting."
"Ah, Leia is giving us the death stare," Yohan laughed, waving dynamically at the phone. "Bye-bye everyone! See you at the music show tomorrow! Keep streaming our tracks!"
The moment the live stream clicked off, the members let out a collective groan of exhaustion, grabbing their gym towels.
Elio stood up, pulling the collar of his sweater tighter around his throat to hide the inflamed mark on his neck. "Lucas, Leia," Elio called out softly, gathering his bag. "I have to head out separately. I need to see my doctor for a quick check-up."
Lucas looked up, his protective leader instincts instantly flaring. "Are you feeling okay, Elio? Do you want me or Leia to drive you?"
"Just a post-cycle check," Elio said, offering a tight, reassuring smile. "Aris is waiting. See you tomorrow."
"Alright, don't push yourself too hard," Leia said, giving his shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"
"I will. Bye, guys," Elio murmured.
He turned and disappeared through the private exit, leaving the hum of the studio behind.
——
Monitors inside Aris's private lab washed over the three of them in stark hues. Ada sat at the main terminal, her fingers slightly trembling as she slotted a small, heavily encrypted flash drive into the console.
"I had to bypass three layers of legacy encryption just to pull this," Ada whispered, her voice tight. "It's an archival security file from twenty years ago, back during the Onyx Biotech Research era."
Aris stood rigid behind her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the screen, while Elio stood on Ada's other side. The room went completely quiet as Ada clicked play.
The media player popped open, a grim unveiling in the sterile light.
The footage was low-resolution, captured in the slightly washed-out, clinical colors of a mid-2000s surveillance system. In the upper-left corner, a blinking red recording indicator sat beside a harsh, stamped classification code: 09/18/2006 // ONYX BIOTECH // SUBJECT: EN-00001.
The camera angle was high, looking down into a sterile operating theater. In the center of the frame, a man was violently thrashing against thick leather restraints on a heavy steel surgical table. Surrounding him stood a dozen elite Onyx security forces, heavily armed with tactical carbines, their under-barrel laser sights painting shifting red dots across his chest. Every operative, including the medical staff, wore heavy, pressurized rubber respirators—industrial chemical masks connected by thick, ribbed hoses to air tanks on their vests, forcing a constant stream of synthetic oxygen to physically block out external pheromones.
Static tore through the audio—a high-frequency shriek, the sound of a biological surge shredding the digital recording.
Then, the pressure wave hit. Guards stumbled, their weapons dropping, their bodies folding into a submissive crouch despite the masks. One guard hit the floor, clawing at his head as if the air itself had become solid.
The man on the table snapped the leather straps like thread.
A young, cold-eyed Maximillian entered the frame. He wore a customized, tight-fitting black chemical respirator, a sharp extraction cannula clutched in his gloved hand.
As he stepped closer, the raw, dominating pressure from the table hit him. Even with Maximillian's own piercing, pitch-black shadow aura flaring to combat the weight, he visibly faltered—his knees slightly buckling under a presence far more ancient, suffocating, and powerful than his own S-Class biology. Realizing his commanding power was being utterly outmatched by this rare dynamic, Maximillian's exposed eyes hardened into something desperate and venomous.
Instead of fighting a losing biological battle, Maximillian stepped back and gave a cold, careless wave of his hand.
Two guards dragged a woman in a white lab coat into the frame. Maximillian immediately seized her, pulling her body flush against his as a human shield while pressing a heavy chrome pistol directly against her temple to use as absolute leverage.
The terrifying force in the room instantly vanished. The man by the table froze completely, his entire body locking up as his eyes locked onto the weapon held against the woman. The static on the audio track died into a chilling, absolute silence.
The woman looked straight into the lens, her lips moving in a silent, defiant shake of her head.
Don't surrender.
A split second later, a flash strobed on the grainy feed. The woman was shot in the head, her body instantly collapsing to the floor as Maximillian casually let her drop.
"Mommy!" Ada's breath hitched, then snapped into a jagged, high-pitched cry that seemed to vibrate against the lab's walls. She slammed her hands against the edge of the desk, her knees buckling as she stared at the screen. "No, no, no—Daddy! Mommy!"
Aris went deathly pale, his hands over his mouth to choke back a scream. Tears tracked through the grime on his face. "It was them," he whispered, his voice splintering. "They were murdered."
On the screen, the final moments played out with sickening speed. Driven into a terrifying rage by his wife's death, the man lunged forward, grabbing a stray scalpel from the surgical tray. He moved with a blinding, desperate speed that bypassed the guards' laser sights, driving the blade deep into Maximillian's shoulder and chest, nearly tearing open his throat and ripping the heavy rubber respirator clean off his face.
Maximillian let out a choked roar of pain as blood sprayed from his neck.
Reacting to the threat, the surrounding security forces instantly opened fire. Gunfire strobed across the grainy recording as a volley of high-caliber rounds tore into the man's torso. The physical impact of the bullets slammed into his chest, jerking his body backward, but the sheer, monstrous adrenaline of his biology kept him upright.
Bleeding heavily from the gunshot wounds and realizing there was no escape, the man turned the scalpel on himself. With unhesitating, terrifying precision, he drove the cold blade straight into the nape of his own neck.
A sharp, collective intake of breath echoed in Aris's quiet lab as the man on screen violently ripped the small blade downward, tearing open his own scent gland. He didn't stop. Driven by a desperate, frenzied intent to destroy the sample before Onyx could harvest it, he plunged the scalpel back in again and again, hacking into his own flesh with sickening force. Dark, thick crimson fluid didn't just spill—it jetted violently across the glass partitions, painting the stark white room in brilliant, horrific streaks of red and instantly contaminating the extraction machinery.
Despite multiple gunshots and injuries that would have instantly claimed a lesser man, he remained wide-eyed and hyper-conscious, his chest heaving as he stared directly into the high-angle camera with a chillingly empty gaze.
Then, as the flooding blood shorted out the console below him, the video feed violently glitched, cutting abruptly to harsh static and absolute black.
"No..." Aris strangled out, the single syllable tearing from his throat in an agonizing, shattered whisper.
The clinical, medical coolheadedness Aris always maintained completely vanished. He lunged forward, grabbing the edges of the monitor as if he could physically reach through the glass and change the past, his chest heaving violently. Seeing his father choose such a horrific end just to protect them and destroy his own biology tore Aris apart from the inside out. His hands slid uselessly down the frame before he dropped his head onto the cold desk, his entire body shaking as he wept uncontrollably.
Ada fell completely out of her chair, sobbing hysterically on the floor, her fingers clawing at her hair as she wailed for her parents, the decades of buried grief tearing out of her all at once.
The sheer, agonizing distress caused Ada's pheromones to violently leak from her control. The usually crisp, soothing notes of her bergamot and dried sage soured instantly under the weight of her panic—turning into a bitter, burning aroma of scorched citrus and acrid, smoldering ash that flooded the laboratory. It was a heavy, suffocating combination, fueled entirely by raw trauma.
Beside them, Elio didn't make a sound.
He stood frozen, his eyes locked on the black screen as silent tears carved tracks down his face. His chest heaved against the suffocating air, and his free hand curled into a tight, trembling fist, the cuff of his oversized sweater pulling taut over his white knuckles.
The footage was a brutal unveiling of what Onyx was truly capable of. The crushing realization of everything they'd stolen from Aris and Ada crashed over Elio in a silent, suffocating fury. As the grief and rage pooled in his chest, he struggled to breathe, his body trembling as he fought to keep himself from completely falling apart.
Then, the phone in his hand vibrated. Through the tears blurring his vision, he looked down at the glowing screen.
It was a call from Vyn.