It was a short sleep, but it was peaceful in a way Lord Jethro had never experienced before.
He stirred after barely an hour. And even before his eyes opened, he felt warmth beside him. His hand was wrapped around something soft and warm.
Without thought, his hand shifted, caressing more, guided by the sensation it drew from that touch.
Slowly, awareness returned. His instincts began to wake, one by one, as he struggled to remember where he was and what it was that felt so right beneath his palm. The answer reached him before memory fully settled.
His eyes snapped open, only to confirm that Grey was lying beside him. His body reacted before his mind could intervene. His legs swung down, as though escape was the only instinct left. The next moment, his balance was gone, and his entire body followed the motion. He hit the floor hard, the cold biting into his skin.
For a long moment, he did not move.
He lay there on the floor as though stillness might undo what had happened, as though even the smallest movement would solidify the panic clawing at his chest.
His heart pounded violently. He had never known panic like this. Since becoming an enigma, emotions like fear, confusion, and loss of control were things he believed no longer applied to him.
They were weaknesses stripped away with the title and power.
But now, panic coursed through him openly and uncontrollably.
It was not only because he had done exactly what he had warned the citizens of Crest Empire against. It was because he had done something he had never once imagined himself capable of doing.
Something he had never even allowed himself to consider. What made it worse, what he would never admit aloud even to himself, was that every part of it had felt natural. Like something his body had been waiting for without his awareness.
What made it worse was that for the first time in his life, he had felt complete. He had felt like he was where he belonged.
He wanted to curse that realization and reject it, but the words would not come. The denial would not take root.
That only deepened his confusion.
And as his senses fully returned, another realization struck him. This was not an accident. Someone had set it up with intent. He did not know how, or why.
Anger rose swiftly, fierce and consuming. No one would dare do this to him.
He did not know what that person had already done, or what they might do now that he and Grey had been pushed to that point.
Maybe they wanted proof, a recording of him doing what he forbade?
His fingers clenched tightly as anger surged higher, a low curse slipping from his lips as he vowed that whoever was responsible would regret ever thinking of it, let alone doing it.
But even as the anger surged, it did not stand alone. Shame crept in beneath it, dull and heavy, tangling with confusion until neither could be separated.
Shame at the thought that someone might have done this intentionally, just to force him into crossing the very line he had condemned, and he couldn't control himself, instead he was controlled.
Shame at the thought that others might see it. Might hear about it. Might judge him for it.
The idea of the world knowing drove him to his feet unconsciously.
He searched the room for his clothes, his movements tense and rigid, but he saw nothing. His gaze avoided the couch intentionally, even though he knew Grey was still asleep.
Near the door, he spotted Grey's shirt on the floor.
The sight pulled memory back into place. The bathroom. The shower. Being fully dressed beneath the water.
Instantly, he knew where his clothes were.
He turned toward the bathroom, but the memories did not stop at the clothes.
He remembered how the water had not been enough. The heat inside him had not eased. He had undressed under the spray. His body had demanded release, and he had tried to give it what it wanted.
He had gone as far as touching himself, but it had done nothing. All he could think about was Grey. The way he had looked earlier. The vulnerability he had tried to hide. The way his body had reacted as he fought against his own heat.
Lord Jethro could not pretend that Grey's attractiveness was something new. He had noticed it from the beginning.
Grey was the kind of young man who drew attention without effort.
But ever since he had known him, it had never mattered. Grey's attractiveness had never mattered to him.
It had been years since he first saw him, maybe five, maybe three, he did not remember clearly. Grey might have seen him only a week ago, but it was not the same for Lord Jethro.
Before he was chosen to be an enigma, he had a dream that pushed him toward Grey, but not only Grey. There were many other boys, and even girls too.
He himself had grown up in a harsh environment as a child. He knew how it felt to live in such conditions, to the point where all he could dream of was studying, finishing school, getting a good job, and then doing something that would prevent other children from growing up the same way.
Maybe he would build a comfortable home for them. He was not sure yet.
That dream forced him to look into families who were raising their children in such environments.
Grey's family was one of them, and it was the most serious case.
A week ago when he insisted on giving Grey his name and having him move in, it was for two reasons. To try and raise that pack, and to take Grey away from his toxic home. That was all.
There had been no romantic intention behind the arrangement.
That was why it was so confusing now. He had seen Grey several times over the years. Even if they never spoke, even if there was distance between them, he had never reacted this way before.
And yet now, he realized that Grey's attractiveness felt unbearable.
It had drawn him closer. It had made him want to touch. To feel. To press himself against Grey and know the shape of him beneath his hands. To kiss him.
And the only explanation he had for it, the one he kept telling himself, was that it was the drug.
If it were real, he would have felt it before. He would have known it when his senses were clear, when his body was not altered or pushed into need. He repeated that logic again and again, clinging to it.
He told himself that it was because Grey was the only one there. That his body had reached for the nearest presence when it demanded someone.
That it meant nothing beyond circumstance, so he swore to himself that he wouldn't act on it.
But despite every attempt to stop himself, he had opened the door, he had lost control, he had been ready to cross the distance between them.
What stopped him was not only himself.
It was fear.
Fear that Grey might not want it. Fear that he would take something that was not freely given. Fear that he would become something he despised.
That was not something he could forgive himself for.
So he had shut the door again, using everything he had left to stay away.