That sloppy toss—the refusal to hand it over—was the final crack in Lucien's patience.
He surged forward in three hard strides, closing the gap and fisting Nikolai's collar, yanking him close.
Like a defensive kitten yowling, back raised and tail puffed, Lucien's show of intimidation was almost comical. Amusing, even. Nikolai was glad the mask hid the wide grin plastered on his face, though the curve of his eyes threatened to give him away. He had been enjoying the back-and-forth until he realized Lucien wasn't stopping at words—he was closing the distance, heat and fury rolling with him.
Instinct made Nikolai tense. His hand twitched toward the underside of his hoodie where the gun sat snug, a reflex carved out of too many ugly confrontations. But he restrained himself, reading the moment. No alarms of danger, not yet. Just the weight of Lucien's fever-bright glare pinning him in place.
Their faces hovered inches apart, breath mingling, the air thick with heat and that strange scent that refused to let go. Lucien's voice scraped low, frayed at the edges, dangerous.
"So," he growled, each word pressed like a blade against Nikolai's mouth, "you gonna be respectful… or what?"
Then his fist connected—clean, hard.
Nikolai let himself be seized, the punch landing with a sharp crack against his jaw. The scent radiating off Lucien drowned out the sting of danger, interfering with the instinct to fight back. He knew he was digging his own grave with the way he kept needling him, childish antics stoking the fire. But then came the impact.
Lucien felt the thud reverberate up his arm, and absurdly, a small relief washed through him, hot and bright. "Fuck," he muttered, half-laugh, half-curse, canines flashing for the barest second. He shoved Nikolai back, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and narrow. "That felt good."
Pain splintered across Nikolai's cheek and jawline, the sharp ache buzzing through nerves, bone singing from the blow. But instead of retaliation, instead of snarling back, he laughed—light, cracked, unnerving. His eyes glinted with amusement, almost mocking, as though they were asking, that's all?
A single punch was nothing compared to the beatings he'd survived before, but it was enough to snap him back into himself. Pain sharpened him, gave him bearings, a twisted clarity.
Lucien's flicker of satisfaction died quick. Nikolai's eyes curved with that damned grin, and it set something off under Lucien's skin—a fuse lit, white-hot, buzzing through his veins. Seeing him take the punch, barely blinking, still looking at him like it was all some sick joke, was enough to set his teeth on edge.
The veins in his temples jumped. Heat coiled beneath his skin, boiling higher, like the July wind that could singe.
What the hell was wrong with this shithead?
However, Lucien wasn't about to give Nikolai the satisfaction of thinking he could rattle him. He snorted, expression twisting into disgust, muttering under his breath, "Bastard." He kept up the act—smirk plastered on, shoulders squared—but anyone with eyes could read the tension vibrating through him.
"Why don't you take your mask off, huh," he grunted, voice rough, aiming to focus on anything but the man's infuriating grin. "It's not like I haven't seen you before."
If he'd wanted to be brutish, he could've kept swinging until the smugness cracked and blood stained that perfect face. But he didn't. He wasn't the kind of man who just hit for the hell of it. Still, the temptation flickered sharp and dangerous in the back of his mind. Should he apologize? Should he not? Pointless questions. Waste of breath.
And that mask—what was up with that? Was the blond sick?
Not that it mattered. Lucien was the one sick, fever chewing him alive from the inside. Nikolai had sounded perfectly fine on the phone earlier.
Nikolai's languid yer sharp gaze read Lucien like an open book. He merely shrugged on the jabs, eyes still curved. Like Lucien, he too wondered if the kitten was perhaps sick, however that scent— Why was Lucien releasing his scent? Perhaps heat— however he let that train of thought die quickly.
Sweat beaded at his temple, rolling hot down his skin. He fumbled for his wallet, clumsy fingers knocking his car keys and pill bottle to the ground. A groan slipped out, more irritated than pained, as he bent to retrieve them, palms sticky. Finally he fished out the card, shoving it right under Nikolai's nose with a sharp glare.
"Now give me the information. Where are those bastards hiding?" His lips were cracked, dry. He licked them, impatient, jaw flexing. "But first—go buy me a drink. You made me wait."
Nikolai's fingers rubbed at his jaw, massaging the tender ache from the punch, eyes narrowed with thought. He watched Lucien clumsily empty his pockets, gaze catching on the small bottle that clattered to the ground. Recognition cut through him—sharp, suspicious. His brows furrowed, but before he could comment, the flash of plastic was shoved into his line of sight.
Go buy me a drink. You made me wait.
His gaze tracked the motion of Lucien's tongue swiping over dry lips—an unintentional gesture that added fuel to an already overwhelming blaze. When his eyes lifted, meeting Lucien's head-on, there was something curious there. A flicker of questions he wasn't ready to ask yet. Not while this man's scent was clawing through his restraint.
Scent, huh… I wonder.
Before he could think twice, Nikolai's hand shot out, gripping Lucien's wrist—the one holding the debit card. The touch was sudden, deliberate. For a flash, his memory sparked—back to that first encounter, the spill of a drink, liquid soaking through fabric.
This time, no accident.
This time, he held Lucien still. Letting that thick, intoxicating aroma stoke the fire he'd been barely containing. A fire threatening, now, to erupt.
Lucien tugged at his collar like fanning himself, trying to cool the sudden flush, when the bastard grabbed his wrist. "What are you—" he started, scowl deepening. His gaze quickly went around to see if someone was looking as he tried to pull his arm away but Nikolai held it firmly.
Nikolai leaned in, tilting his head until his nose brushed against the tender skin of Lucien's inner wrist. A quiet inhale, soft but deliberate, drew Lucien's scent deep into him. Nikolai exhaled just as slowly, as if that fragrance alone was enough to summon something buried, something primal, clawing to the surface.
Lucien couldn't understand just whst the other was trying to do. What kind of crazy behavior was this. It took him back to that cursed night. "Let go off my arm. Dont make me use force!" His voice came out as a venomous quiet threat, however his lips parted in shock as he felt Nikolai's nose brush again his skin.Lucien's eyes widened with shock.
Gradually, the air shifted. Wafts of rich floral intertwined with musky undertones, herbaceous notes weaving through fruity hints—like jasmine and chamomile tea brewed strong enough to settle storms. But this was no comfort. This was the release of power. Nikolai began to bleed his own Alpha pheromones into the space, thick and heady, saturating the air with his presence. His intent was unmistakable: to coat, to mark, to brand Lucien with his scent.
The world tilted for Lucien.
Jasmine and chamomile rolled through the air like some intoxicating fog, and something in Lucien's chest thudded weird and wrong. His breath quickened, his body heated in a way that had nothing to do with fever. He felt the pull and hated himself for it—tried to clamp down, tried to think past it—but the scent wrapped around him and made his knees lighter and his mouth drier. It was as if something in him pulled him towards the other. The resistance and disgust he felt earlier seemed to be gone.
Lucien's pheromones had been compelling, magnetic. But Nikolai knew his own weren't any less effective. Omegas folded. Betas faltered. Another Alpha? That was uncharted territory.
The liberation of his scent snapped the invisible leash, freeing him from the feverish hold of Lucien's aura and grounding him back in control. A smile curved under the mask.
"The least you could dooo," he drawled, stretching the word out like silk, "is say please." His tone tipped into a chuckle, low and pleased. He pressed a feather-light kiss against Lucien's wrist, audacious and mocking all at once. "But yes, I made you wait. So I'll give you what you want."
As soon as Nikolai opened his mouth, the spell cracked. Lucien's jaw tightened; a harsh tingle rattled his teeth. He forced words out between clenched jaws, each syllable rough and edged.
"Why the fuck would I say please to you? Do you even have a basic sense of time? Not everyone's schedule is 'stroke-your-fucking-ego-o'clock.'"
His tone tried for control but couldn't hide the flare underneath. Then came the sudden, deliberate press of lips against his wrist. Heat seared through the spot, instinctive and wrong. Lucien jerked his arm back like he'd been burned, heart thudding loud and uneven, the rhythm more annoyance than fear.