It had taken a long time, but finally, the moment had come. Helios was once again able to walk longer distances without immediately breaking into a sweat or collapsing, gasping, into the arms of Davis or Dante. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like he had just run a marathon—even though he hadn't left the estate a single time during all that time.
His father had strictly forbidden him from leaving the grounds after the doctor voiced concerns about possible further attacks. An assault at the wrong time, a careless movement from one of his bodyguards—and his wounds could have reopened. The risk had simply been too great.
It had annoyed him. The inactivity, the constant supervision, the feeling of powerlessness—all of it had worn him down. Every report from Theo had become a ray of hope that he devoured eagerly. The animal testing had shown the first positive results, and soon, the first tests on human subjects would begin.
Theo had already prepared a selection—all clinically healthy individuals with a low risk of a fatal outcome. If this phase was successfully completed, he could finally administer the drug to Violet. Then, all he had to do was wait and observe whether the medication would help her in the long run.
The incident was now five weeks in the past. The healing process had been slow; his body had been too weak to regenerate effectively. But the light training he had imposed on himself over the last few days was showing results. He felt stronger, more alert, more like himself again.
Helios sighed quietly. He still wasn't going to end up with a body as sculpted as Davis or Dante's—that just wasn't his style. He liked his lean, slender frame. Still, the training had something calming about it. And it brought an added benefit: he was spending more time with Davis. They could be closer, steal small moments together without having to wait for the evening or for chance to offer the opportunity.
Penelope had also been visiting more frequently in recent weeks. They had often played poker—much to Helios' dismay. Alongside Davis and Penelope, even Dante seemed to have an almost unnerving talent for that damned game. Helios lost, as usual, every time—but since he was only playing to humor Davis, he could at least laugh along somewhat as the others teased him for it.
Now, he was sitting at the window, a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand, staring absentmindedly out into the garden. In recent days, he had tried to figure out whether Dante was really as unfazed by pain as Davis had claimed. Apparently, the two of them had been sparring nearly every day since Helios had woken up—as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Helios found that hard to grasp. His own pain was still ever-present, a constant companion that reminded him of his vulnerability. The fact that Dante could fight again just a week after the incident was a mystery to him.
He had tried to find out subtly. Time and again, he tossed Dante small objects—apples, pens… books—forcing him to catch them with both hands. But Dante had reacted effortlessly every time. No visible weakness, no flinch, no hesitation. Nothing.
And that was exactly what made Helios suspicious. Was Dante really that tough? Or was he simply better at hiding his weaknesses?
He had made Dante carry a heavy crate. Heavy enough that any normally injured person would at least wince in pain. But Dante? Nothing. No furrowed brow, no sharp intake of breath, not even a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He had lifted the crate as if it were weightless—like it was something he could do in his sleep.
Helios had been watching him. Every single damn day. But Dante had never behaved even remotely out of the ordinary. No guarded movements, no stiffness, no signs of pain. As if nothing had ever happened.
Once, during his own training, Helios had intentionally messed up an exercise just to make them both laugh. As "punishment," he had made them both do planks. For minutes on end. And of course, they had held the position with apparent ease. Eventually, Helios had given up in frustration and gone to take a shower.
It was as if Dante didn't feel pain at all. Apparently, he only reacted to it if it hit him directly. Helios couldn't make sense of it. How could someone ignore pain so completely?
He had brought it up with Penelope, hoping she might have noticed something. But she had just shaken her head. Back then, they'd been too focused on surviving to pay attention to anything like that. And Helios couldn't blame her. Who, in the middle of a life-threatening attack, would stop to think about whether someone was walking oddly or not complaining enough about a wound?
Davis hadn't noticed anything unusual either. Helios had shared his concerns, but aside from the initial description of Dante's injuries after the attack, Davis had only confirmed what Helios already suspected: Dante apparently had an insanely high pain tolerance.
Maybe… maybe he had imagined the shot to Dante's chest? The whole situation had been chaotic, and Helios himself had been in pretty bad shape.
Helios sighed inwardly. He needed to let it go. There was no point in obsessing over it or, worse, starting to distrust his own bodyguard. Maybe Dante really did have an extraordinary pain threshold. After all, he was a trained soldier. And as such, you had to learn to live with pain, to ignore it, to keep going—even when your body was already screaming at you to stop.
Maybe that was all it was. He decided to let the matter rest. If he kept going down this path, he'd end up chasing ghosts.
"Helios, are you listening to me?"
The voice pulled him from his thoughts so suddenly that it startled him. So close, so abrupt, that he flinched. In the sudden movement, the coffee cup slipped from his hand. With a dull crash, it shattered on the floor, dark liquid splattering in small droplets across the carpet.
"Damn it!" Helios cursed, bending down reflexively—only to freeze mid-motion. A sharp pain shot through his side. He pressed a hand to the scar and groaned.
"You okay?" Dante's voice was full of concern now, his hand already steadying Helios' arm, ready to catch him if he lost balance.
Helios slowly straightened up again and took a deep breath. He removed his hand from the scar. The scar throbbed, but the pain faded quickly. He finally nodded.
"Yeah… I'm fine. Just moved too fast. Can you pick up the shards? Thomas won't be back until later, and I really don't feel like stepping on glass barefoot."
"Sure, no problem." Dante crouched down and began carefully gathering the broken pieces.
Helios walked over to his armchair, sank into it slowly, and watched him.
"What was that all about anyway? Did you want something from me?" Helios asked.
Dante let out a quiet sigh. "You were holding your cup at such a weird angle, I seriously thought it was going to slip right out of your hand."
Helios smirked. "Well, that's exactly what happened. So your concern wasn't completely unfounded."
Dante shot him a crooked look but said nothing more. Instead, he silently kept collecting the larger shards.
"What were you thinking about so intensely?" he finally asked, without looking up.
Lately, they had been getting along surprisingly well. Helios still watched him closely—almost critically—but Dante didn't seem to notice. On the contrary, he often initiated conversations himself, brought up new topics, or followed up when Helios got lost in thought. Over the past few weeks, they had talked a lot—about Helios' work, his research, Theo's progress. And also about things far beyond that.
"Well…" Helios sighed and leaned back, his gaze drifting out again into the gray of the early afternoon. "I'm just bored, Dante. I can barely stand it anymore. I want to finally get back to work. Just because of this damn wound, everyone treats me like I'm made of glass."
"No wonder," Dante replied calmly as he knelt to gather the last of the shards. "You nearly died, Helios. They're just worried."
"Yeah, I know." Helios' voice sounded resigned. "And that's exactly what's driving me crazy. The constant caution, the pity in their eyes. I just want to do what I enjoy again. I'm pretty frustrated, if you know what I mean."
Dante suddenly flinched slightly. "Damn it...," he muttered and cursed quietly as he cut himself on a sharp piece of porcelain. Helios raised his eyebrows in surprise. Dante's ears had instantly turned red.
At first, Helios didn't understand what had just happened—until he thought about the way he'd said the word "frustrated"… and the tone he'd used. And then he remembered. The night of the attack. Their conversation just before the shot.
Back then, he had said that his mind only quieted down when he was sleeping—or having sex. And Dante… had reacted just as flustered as he was now.
And the thing was—Helios hadn't even remotely meant it in a sexual way this time.
Helios laughed. First quietly, then louder. He tried to suppress it, pressed a hand to his aching scar—but it was no use. The pain flared up, but the laughter was stronger. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.
"God… that look on your face!" he gasped between laughs. "I'm sorry, really. But that was just too good."
Dante grimaced but said nothing.
Helios handed him a napkin from the table. "Here. Press that on it before you bleed all over the room."
He got up and walked over to his suitcase. From one of the compartments, he pulled out a band-aid and some disinfectant. When he returned, Dante was still kneeling there, obediently holding the napkin against his finger.
Helios lowered himself onto the floor beside him, soaked a compress, and held out his hand. "Let me see." He took Dantes right hand into his, the cut was alongside the middlefinger.
"It's just a scratch," Dante mumbled, but didn't resist as Helios tended to the small wound.
His ears were still red. Helios couldn't help but smile. There was something oddly endearing about how sensitive Dante was to the topic. Normally, he seemed so controlled, so disciplined—but the slightest sexual hint and he completely lost his composure.
Helios wanted to tease him more.
"A scratch that, along with the coffee, is ruining my carpet," Helios teased.
He carefully unwrapped the napkin from Dante's finger and examined the wound. A clean cut, just under a centimeter long, but it looked deep.
Gently, he dabbed the area clean.
"How's the stab wound doing?" Helios asked. "We're heading back to the lab the day after tomorrow. That's when forced vacation officially ends."
Dante had applied pressure to the small cut on his finger surprisingly well—there was no fresh blood to be seen.
"Doesn't hurt anymore, don't worry. Compared to your injury, this is nothing," Dante replied.
Helios let out an amused snort. "Watching you makes me feel like the biggest wimp of the century."
Dante met his gaze seriously. "You're allowed to be in pain after getting shot, Helios. And you complain less than most of the guys I used to serve with." His tone softened a little. "You're handling this better than you think."
Helios grinned as he placed a band-aid on Dante's finger. He tossed the used compress into the trash with a flourish. "Wow. Think I could've made a good soldier?"
"Definitely not," Dante laughed, shaking his head.
"Great." Helios rolled his eyes in mock disappointment. "I was really considering a career change."
"Sure you were."
Helios dropped back into his armchair and watched as Dante collected the last of the shards.
"If you want, I could give you a night off," Helios said eventually. "You could visit your family."
Dante hesitated briefly, his gaze lingering for a moment on the band-aid on his finger, almost absentmindedly. "My family lives pretty far away... I wouldn't make it there and back in one evening." Something in his voice sounded fragile, more vulnerable than usual. But he smiled. "Still, thanks for the offer."
Helios watched him quietly for a moment. "So, you're from farther away? Have you moved around a lot?"
Dante nodded. "A lot. Depending on where they sent me."
"Is anyone waiting for you? Or do you have a different flame in every city?" Helios grinned, his tone teasing.
"With my job? That'd be a bad idea," Dante replied with a faint smile.
"Point to you," Helios murmured, leaning back a bit. "But why don't you tell me something about yourself? I've heard enough stories about your work. What about the real Dante?"
Dante gave a quiet chuckle and began wiping the spilled coffee off the floor. "The real Dante, huh? I'm afraid there's not much to tell. I was drafted pretty early, stayed in the military, and basically spent half my life in uniform. No exciting private life, no roots. Just different places, different missions—always on duty."
Helios smirked. "Honestly… doesn't sound that bad. Aside from the constant life-threatening danger, maybe."
Dante gave a crooked grin. "Don't even think about it. The job description definitely didn't mention regularly crashing on a genius's couch in a lab."
"Killjoy," Helios shot back with a grin.
Dante glanced at the clock on the wall. "Shall we get going? Davis is probably already waiting at the training grounds."
Helios took a deep breath. "Just give me a minute. I'll go change real quick."
___
Helios was resting after his workout, muscles still warm, his breathing slowly calming. He sat at the edge of the training ground, a towel loosely draped around his neck, watching his two closest bodyguards as they faced each other—focused, tense, alert.
He had seen Davis fight many times before, but mostly in stressful, chaotic situations. Never like this—so calm, so clear. Now he could actually enjoy the moment—the raw skill behind every move.
With an impressive mix of brutality and precision, Davis and Dante exchanged blows. Their fists flew—block after block, kick after kick. Then came the retreat, the slow circling, as if they were trying to read each other like an open book. Helios had to admit: damn, he loved watching this.
Davis moved with the elegance of a predator—fluid yet explosive. Every step, every motion had something panther-like about it. Helios could hardly take his eyes off him—Davis looked like raw power in motion. His sculpted, athletic body seemed built for combat, and yet it carried an aesthetic, almost artistic beauty.
Dante, on the other hand, was the complete opposite—a walking fortress. Broader, more massive, powerful. He didn't just look like a war machine—he was one. While Davis surprised his opponents with agility and strategy, Dante tore through any defense like a force of nature. It was obvious that nothing could easily throw him off balance.
Originally, Helios had planned to head straight for the shower after his exercises. He hated the feeling that came after working out—the sweat, the sticky film on his skin, the mix of overheating and the sudden chill that followed. While Davis and Dante seemed euphoric and full of energy post-training, Helios just felt uncomfortable. That so-called high had never once found its way to him.
Sports had never been his thing—and probably never would be. Of course, he'd keep going, keep pushing through the exercises to stay in shape. Maybe even regularly. But any ambition to get good at it? No way. There were far more important things waiting for him. Things that actually fulfilled him.
Just the thought of his lab made Helios smile. Working there was his domain, his world—precise, demanding, full of possibilities. The doctor would examine him one more time tomorrow. If all went well, he'd finally get the green light. Finally, a return to the place where he could truly unleash himself.
"They've really come a long way these past few weeks," said a voice beside him.
Helios turned his head and saw Maxwell standing next to him, arms crossed. The old guard was watching the two fighters with a critical but appreciative eye.
"Don't they spar with each other a bit too often?" Helios asked, wiping his forehead with the towel. "Won't they get too used to each other eventually?"
Maxwell, a veteran through and through, had served the Vale family for many years. He had once been Helios' father's personal bodyguard, until a leg injury—never fully healed—forced him out of active duty. Helios had still been a child then, more interested in books than in combat techniques.
Like Thomas, Maxwell was one of the few who had known Helios since he was little. And although they didn't see each other often, Helios liked the old guard. Maxwell wasn't a man of many words, but he was a man of principle. He lived his role—to train, assign, and mentor the new guards. Everything that happened within the security unit passed through him.
"In official training, I forbid it," Maxwell replied at last, snorting softly. "No one is allowed to have the same opponent two days in a row. I want them constantly facing new challenges. They need to keep adapting, keep pushing themselves."
His gaze remained fixed on Davis and Dante. "But as long as they're training in their free time—and that's all this is—I let them. For now, they're still benefiting from each other."
Helios nodded slowly. "You think that won't last forever?"
"Eventually, they'll know each other too well. Then it's just routine, no longer a challenge." Maxwell looked at Helios. "But they're not there yet. They're still growing. And that's all that matters."
Helios leaned back and turned his eyes back to the training field. Davis dodged a kick, spun swiftly to the side, and countered with a precise strike. Dante blocked—with that stoic calm that made him seem so unshakable.
Yes, they were different—and maybe that was exactly what made them so effective. Two sides of the same coin.
Helios smiled again.
Tomorrow was the last day of his forced rest period.
"I don't really know much about fighting," Helios said as his gaze remained fixed on the scene unfolding on the mat, "but that definitely doesn't look bad. They're constantly trying to throw each other off. Honestly, I didn't expect that level of focus from either of them."
Maxwell chuckled quietly. "That's because they're always on alert. As a guard, you develop a sixth sense—for danger, for anything unusual. I can guarantee you, especially those two can react instantly to even the smallest change in their surroundings."
Helios briefly thought back to the attacks over the past few years. "You're right," he murmured. "No matter when or where we were attacked—they were ready every single time. It's honestly... impressive how fast those muscle mountains can move."
"I find it almost more impressive to see you here so regularly," Maxwell countered with a faint smile. "Who would've thought the day would come when you train voluntarily?"
Helios snorted in amusement. "This is less training and more rehab. I'm just trying to get my body back into halfway decent shape."
"And? Your wounds—healing well?" Maxwell asked, casting a quick sideways glance.
Helios nodded and stood up, stretching briefly. At that moment, Dante hit the mat with a dull thud—Davis had swept his legs with a precise kick.
"For the most part, yeah. Sometimes it still pulls, depending on how I move," Helios answered honestly. "But it's getting better. Bit by bit."
"I was honestly shocked when I heard about your injuries," Maxwell said, his voice as gruff as ever, though for a moment there was genuine concern in his eyes. "It's good to see you on the mend."
Helios shrugged. "It was just bad luck. And wounds like that are just... annoying."
"It'll get better," Maxwell said firmly. "With a bit of luck, you'll only feel it on rainy days."
"Then I guess it's time to develop a cure for weather sensitivity." Helios grinned mischievously. "A little personal research project—don't you think?"
Maxwell gave him a rare, genuine smile. "Let me know when you've finished it. I'd be very interested in something like that."
As they spoke, Davis helped his training partner back to his feet. Dante took the offered hand without hesitation, let himself be pulled up, and the two gave each other a respectful pat on the shoulder. Without many words, they grabbed their towels and water bottles—sweaty, breathless, but full of energy.
Maxwell turned to them. "You fought well. Dante, you…" And with that, he began sharing his observations—analyzing, praising, critiquing. Precise and objective, but with that underlying firmness that left no doubt each word carried weight.
Dante and Davis listened attentively. Both nodded from time to time, exchanged brief glances, commented on individual points, offered suggestions for improvement. A good team—disciplined, respectful, focused.
Helios, however… was no longer listening.
His gaze had gotten stuck on Davis—or more specifically, on a single bead of sweat slowly sliding down his neck.
Helios swallowed. Hard.
That bold little droplet was currently closer to Davis than he was. Too close. His thoughts drifted—away from training, toward things that had nothing to do with sparring. Soft skin. Heated kisses. The way Davis sometimes whispered his name at night, barely audible, like he was trying to hold onto him in a dream.
A shiver of desire rushed through him—hot, urgent, almost painful.
He forced himself to look away. But his heartbeat had already picked up, as if his body remembered things his mind was still trying desperately to suppress.
He couldn't help it. The last few weeks, he'd been too exhausted, too injured, to even think about getting close to Davis—at least not in that way. Of course, he had enjoyed their closeness. It had been enough to fall asleep in Davis' arms, to feel his warmth, to hear his heartbeat.
They had touched, yes—but they hadn't kissed. Not really. Maybe because they both knew it would rarely stop at something as innocent as a kiss. And Helios had made peace with that. Told himself it was enough. But now…?
Now everything was different.
His common sense was screaming at him—loudly. His body wasn't nearly ready for that kind of physical strain. The wound was barely healed, the pain still present. And yet… every fiber of his being screamed to ignore it.
Why did he want this so badly?
He kept watching as that single, defiant bead of sweat slid across Davis' collarbone, followed the damp trail down his chest, and finally disappeared under his shirt. Helios' throat was dry. Too dry.
Enough.
Without a word, he turned and walked away. He didn't care what the others thought or whether Maxwell was still speaking. He couldn't stay here any longer. Not when Davis looked like that. Not when his own body reacted the way it did—with a tingling heat that surged through his lower abdomen like a wave. His whole stomach felt warm, pleasantly tight, electrified.
He exhaled slowly, trying to focus on anything else. But it barely helped. His thoughts kept circling back to Davis—to his hands, his lips, his body.
With a practiced motion, Helios held his towel where it was needed—not too obvious, but effective. He moved calmly, with control. No signs. No tells.
He was going to shower. And… take care of the problem.
Damn it, why was that man so irresistible even without touching him? Davis had him completely wrapped around his finger—no matter what he did or didn't do. Helios was putty in his hands. No one had ever made him feel this way. No one. Only Davis.
Suddenly, he heard quick footsteps behind him. Then Davis's voice:
"Helios! Wait!"
He kept walking. "What is it? You guys can keep talking to Maxwell. There are more than enough guards around," he said, a bit more sharply than he meant to.
"Are you alright?" Dante's voice joined in. Apparently, he had followed as well.
Helios glanced over his shoulder. "Just a headache. I'm going to shower, then lie down. Use the time, do whatever you enjoy—we'll see each other later. In like, four hours or so." He waved them off without slowing down.
Davis watched him go with a strange look in his eyes. There was something there. Maybe concern. Or something else Helios couldn't quite place.
He heard the two of them speak quietly behind him, their voices quickly fading the farther he walked. Good.
It was the middle of the day. His father was at the company, Thomas out running errands. Most of the guards were either resting or accompanying his father. There were still plenty of people in the house to make it more secure than any maximum-security prison, but near his room, it was quieter than usual. Davis and Dante were, after all, usually responsible for his protection during the day.
If he wasn't mistaken, the staff had also finished their work on the upper floor.
That meant: finally, some damn peace and quiet. No one to walk in unexpectedly. No unwanted interruptions.
When he reached his bedroom door, he felt an almost absurd sense of relief. No one had stopped him.
Then—a voice, right behind him:
"Are you really okay?"
Helios flinched. The voice was so close, it felt like a touch. He spun around.
Davis was standing there. Alone. The hallway was empty. No Dante. No Maxwell. No guards. Just the two of them.
Perfect.
Helios looked at him for a moment. Then a slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
"How about… we continue this conversation inside?" he asked softly, his voice lower than usual, smooth as silk—with an unspoken promise woven into it.
Davis opened his mouth, as if to say something—but before he could utter a word, Helios had already grabbed him by the wrist, opened the door, and pulled him into the room.
Before Davis could even register what was happening, the door clicked shut behind them.