The door clicked shut behind Almos, muffling the hum of the party. The quiet of the private lounge pressed in.
Alistair moved with sharp efficiency, pulling off his jacket, his expression as unreadable as polished stone. The illusion-spell had done its job well—the crimson stain bloomed across the lapel as though it had seeped deep into the fabric. Alistair held it up between two fingers, his jaw taut.
"You," he said evenly, eyes cutting toward Almos. "Wait outside. You're not supposed to be here."
Almos leaned back against the door, every inch of him relaxed, his lips curled into the kind of smile that was both invitation and taunt. "And yet here I am," he replied smoothly. "Life's full of pleasant surprises, isn't it?"
Alistair's gaze sharpened. "You're an assistant in my office. Not a partner. Not a client. You have no business at this event."
"Mm, perhaps." Almos tilted his head, He stepped forward slowly, measured, predatory grace hidden beneath casual movements. "But you looked far too bored tonight, standing there with Selene hanging off you like some accessory. I thought you could use a different type of… company."
Alistair scoffed softly, though his shoulders shifted—just slightly—at the words. "Selene is my assistant. Nothing more."
Almos's smile widened. "If you say so." His tone made it sound more like a dare than agreement.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Alistair busied himself with unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, his movements neat, precise, as though trying to ground himself in routine while he felt a rising steady heat building. But Almos watched him with the patience of a hunter circling prey, every subtle twitch and breath feeding his confidence.
Finally, Almos stepped close enough to brush the edge of Alistair's personal space, his voice low, velvet with teasing intent. "You know what I think? I think you're bored of this little charade. The parties, the empty smiles, the same faces with the same hollow promises. But me—" he tilted his head, letting his eyes linger shamelessly on Alistair, "—I'm not hollow. I know you better than you think."
Alistair's hand stilled halfway through folding the stained jacket. His eyes snapped up, sharp and searching. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Almos's grin curved into something sly, secretive. "It means I've seen sides of you Selene couldn't even imagine. The real you. Not the mask you wear for them."
Alistair's eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing there—yet beneath it, something else flickered. A spark of familiarity? Memory? Desire?
Almos leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over Alistair's ear, though he didn't touch. "And whether you admit it or not, you've missed me."
Alistair stiffened. He said nothing, but he didn't pull away either.
The tension thrummed like a taut string between them, Almos could feel the battle in Alistair's silence—the iron-clad logic that told him to push away, warring against the pull he couldn't quite explain.
And then—
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"Sir?" Selene's voice carried through, carefully polite but tinged with urgency. "Do you need assistance?"
Alistair straightened instantly, the spell of the moment shattering like glass. His expression iced over, his composure snapping back into place. He moved toward the door, jacket draped over his arm, as though nothing had happened.
Almos only smiled, slow and wicked, stepping back with unhurried grace. "Well then," he purred, his voice deliberately loud enough for Selene to hear through the door, "we'll have to finish this conversation another time."
Alistair shot him a warning glare, but his silence betrayed more than words could.
Selene's figure appeared in the doorway as Alistair opened it, her eyes darting from his face to Almos standing behind him. Suspicion burned there, though she masked it quickly with professional poise.
"Shall we return to the party, sir?" she asked sweetly, her voice just a touch too tight.
"I'm not feeling well, I'm heading home" Alistair said abruptly, his voice low, almost clipped.
Selene hesitated, glancing down at her wristwatch which was still early but Alistair never faltered. "Of course, sir," she murmured.
"I'll walk you there." Almos offered. "It's a shame you're leaving so soon."
The cool night air hit Alistair as soon as he stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chatter of the ballroom. He took a steadying breath, trying to ground himself, but the effect of Almos's spell made his pulse feel faster than it should, his senses sharper, more attuned to every nuance—the scent of Almos lingering, the soft brush of his tuxedo against Alistair's arm, the warm lilt of his voice.
He wasn't used to this… feeling. It wasn't just the wine; it was something else, something intoxicating, pulling at him in ways that made his chest tighten with a mix of irritation and familiarity.
Selene's sharp gaze followed them as they moved toward the exit, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Sir—" she began, but Alistair raised a hand without looking back.
"I'll be fine, Selene," he said curtly.
She frowned, but nodded once and turned back to the venue.
Almos had Alistair's full attention now, he planned to take action with the aphrodisiac would take full effect in a few minutes.
"So what do you think? Do you want to take me home?" Almos asked, his voice low, seductive.
Alistair stared at him blankly, his mind struggling to keep up with the conversation.
Almos's grin widened, perfectly aware of the aphrodisiac coursing subtly through Alistair's veins. He tilted his head, letting a lock of his hair fall over his forehead, his eyes locking with Alistair's. "You're far from fine," he said softly, his voice teasing but deliberate. "I can see it. The heat in your cheeks, the way your hands want to… do something. Relax, Alistair. Let me help you."
Alistair's jaw clenched. His mind scrambled for logic, for reason, but every time he tried to think clearly, his senses rebelled. Almos's presence was overwhelming, the faint scent of him wrapping around Alistair like silk, the warmth of his proximity impossible to ignore.
"You—you've had… something in your wine," Alistair muttered, though there was no real accusation, just a faint rasp in his voice.
"Ah," Almos said lightly, tilting his head as though considering it, "perhaps a little… enhancement. Nothing dangerous, of course. Just… enough to make the night more interesting."
Alistair's breath hitched. His fists clenched at his sides, trying to resist, but it was like holding back a tide. The spell was doing exactly what Almos had planned, lowering his defenses just enough to make him pliable, attentive, distracted—utterly aware of Almos.
Almos reached out slowly, letting his fingers hover just near Alistair's wrist without touching. "I promise," he murmured, voice dripping with charm, "I won't do anything you don't want to"
Alistair's eyes flicked to Almos, his pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling unevenly. The blush on his cheeks deepened, betraying the confusion and desire he couldn't quite name.
Almos smiled, satisfaction curling his lips. He leaned just a fraction closer, so the soft warmth of his body brushed against Alistair's side. "Shall we go, then?" he whispered, low, intimate, full of teasing promise.
Alistair hesitated, a flicker of resistance battling the intoxicating effect of the spell—and the undeniable pull he felt toward the man before him. His voice was rough when he finally spoke. "Yes… we should go."
Almos's grin widened, victorious but subtle. "Good," he said softly, taking a step back to offer his arm, like a gentleman escorting a very reluctant—but very interested—companion.