What Did He Do to You?

031

Inside the sealed bomb shelter, even breathing was audible.

Charles Lang stopped brushing off the dirt. In the next instant, a surge of pheromones hit him.

The smell of resin, wood, and burning fur—sticky and pungent, carrying an unsettling sweetness—clung to Annie's nostrils, refusing to let go.

Even unaffected by pheromones, Annie nearly choked on the scent.

An Alpha could be driven into heat by an Omega.

The heat inducer had triggered Annie's pheromone release, which in turn triggered a response in the only Alpha present.

The Butcher looked up.

His breathing changed rhythm. The uniformed Alpha rose slowly, then...

Cursed out loud.

"Don't come near me!" Charles Lang shouted.

"..."

Wait, those lines were reversed!

An Alpha and an Omega trapped in one room, both plunged into heat, and it was the Alpha who spoke up first like he was guarding against a thief—how was that appropriate?

But the Butcher never played by the rules.

One hand pressed against the back of his neck, the other fumbled over his body in exaggerated, disgusted motions. Thrown into heat by Annie, Charles Lang paced back and forth like an ant on a hot pan.

"What a pain. Of all times for this to go wrong. Wait, where's my leg pouch?" He looked down, didn't see it, glanced around, and finally spotted it beside Annie.

"Little bride, there's a suppressant in the leg pouch," Charles Lang said. "Give yourself a shot."

He carried a suppressant on him?

Annie had brought one too, just in case. But if she'd pulled it out herself, she'd have needed a decent excuse.

Now, the Butcher had brought his own suppressant, saving her the trouble of lying.

Annie immediately scrambled up, grabbed the fallen leg pouch, fished out a universal suppressant, and jabbed it straight into her shoulder.

After pushing the plunger all the way down, most of the lemon-leaf scent faded.

Annie breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

An Alpha and Omega's heat was intimately tied to pheromones. Because Annie wasn't affected by pheromones, once she entered heat, she wasn't swayed by instinct or desire.

But her pheromones could still affect Alphas.

It was one thing to have the confidence to face off against Charles Lang; quite another to avoid exposing her identity as much as possible.

And the Butcher's leg pouch even held five or six suppressants. Prepared for every eventuality, he was.

"I'll toss the pouch over," Annie said.

"No, no—don't break it. Bring it here. I'll hold out," Charles Lang stressed.

Fine.

Suppressants really were fragile; it was a miracle it hadn't shattered on the fall. Annie didn't want any more surprises either.

She had no choice but to carry the pouch over.

One step, two steps.

As she closed the distance with Charles Lang, Annie could clearly sense the Butcher's breathing change again.

She'd taken the suppressant; he hadn't yet.

The induced heat hadn't subsided, and a living Omega stood right in front of him.

Annie held out the pouch. "Here."

The Butcher reached out.

The next moment, he lunged forward.

When the face beneath the red cap suddenly pressed close to hers, Annie's spine prickled!

Charles Lang's speed was so far beyond her perception that even Arthur Kane's agility might not match it.

The Alpha pressed against Annie in a terrifying way, his thick, sweet pheromones flooding her nostrils in earnest.

Breaths intermingled, eyes locked.

The red-medal officer narrowed his eyes. His gloved palm cupped Annie's chin.

"An Empire Omega," he rasped. "I've never known what one tastes like."

"...Can't your nose smell it?"

Annie didn't move.

No resistance, no fear. She stood still, tilting her head to meet Charles Lang's half-smiling, half-not expression.

"If you can accept my husband's wrath," she said softly, "you may sniff all you like, sir."

Charles Lang laughed.

Like a venomous snake, the Alpha bent down, his nose brushing across Annie's neck for a deep inhale—

Butcher: "Bleh."

Annie: "..."

The exquisite tension evaporated in an instant.

Charles Lang straightened abruptly, stumbling back as if nauseated.

Holding his throat and dry-heaving, he fumbled another suppressant from the pouch and jabbed it straight into his thigh.

"That little brother Arthur's scent," the Butcher bellowed, "is choking me! He really did mark you, huh?!"

Annie jerked her head up.

Charles Lang's seemingly casual complaint was more terrifying than his sudden intrusion moments ago.

She touched the back of her neck, shaken—thank goodness she'd extracted Arthur's pheromones beforehand! Before leaving, she'd smeared his scent over her gland.

With him that close, the Butcher had naturally gotten a full blast of Arthur Kane's scent.

But what did those words mean?

"Arthur is my husband," Annie feigned fury. "Are you questioning the authenticity of our marriage, sir?"

"Just a passing remark. No need to get worked up." Charles Lang stayed nonchalant. "Little bride, I brokered your wedding. Whether he marked you or not, it has to be real."

This man...

Annie took a deep breath, deciding not to stoop to his level.

Every word he said seemed loaded, yet he wore that playful grin. She couldn't read his intentions or see his motive.

Was he suspicious that Arthur hadn't marked her? Or was he, as he claimed, just making idle talk?

"Don't take it to heart. Phew, good thing I brought suppressants. Wait..."

The universal suppressant worked remarkably well.

The Butcher's shot to the thigh brought his breathing back to normal within moments of speaking.

His pupils stopped constricting, his temperature normalized, and the sticky pheromone scent gradually dissipated.

But when Charles Lang looked at Annie again, a hint of his flippancy had receded.

He approached once more.

Still an almost offensive distance, still bending down to sniff.

Catching the metallic burn of Arthur's scent, Charles Lang wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"You're awfully calm, little bride," he said, realization dawning. "No reaction at all when you're in heat?"

Finally, the hook was set.

Annie deliberately displayed tension she'd barely hidden, averting her gaze. "I won't betray my husband."

Charles Lang raised an eyebrow. "That's not an answer to why you're unaffected by heat."

Annie closed her eyes in resignation.

Her lips trembled, showing just the right amount of emotion.

"So what if I'm not?" Annie deliberately answered off-point. "I have a flaw... Arthur doesn't despise me for it! He even said this way, he doesn't have to fear other Alphas luring me away. He's willing to accept me, even if I'm not a perfect Omega. We've already passed the test at the Ancient Temple—why do you keep questioning us?!"

By the end, her tone was nearly plaintive.

Annie blinked, and a sheen of tears veiled her dark eyes. "I just have a flaw. That's not something you can—"

Charles Lang immediately raised both hands.

"Alright, alright, I'm wrong. I apologize. I shouldn't have poked at your sore spot!"

He'd seen Annie wail her eyes out back when she first arrived at the Governor's Mansion. The Twilight officer surrendered without a fight. "This isn't a flaw, it's clearly a plus! Otherwise, with you in heat right now, wouldn't we both be done for?"

That was more like it.

Annie looked up, tears in her eyes. "You... you really think so?"

The Butcher nodded vigorously.

Then he hesitated before speaking. "But don't blame me for being curious, little bride. Were you born this way, or did it happen later?"

Annie pressed her lips together.

Charles Lang feigned thought. "I remember hearing about the An family back in university. Over a decade ago, a leak of new suppressant raw materials contaminated large areas of Spica. Many victims suffered lifelong effects—"

Annie let out another sob.

"Stop, pause! Let me finish," Charles said, his grin vanishing into rare seriousness. "If you were a victim of that leak, I can use you."

"What?"

For a moment, Annie almost forgot to keep up the crying act.

"You think," the Butcher said lightly, "that with Twilight's level, they could develop a genetic weapon that even the Empire and Federation couldn't crack?"

What did he mean?

At those words, Annie let herself gape in shock.

An innocent Omega hearing something like that would naturally look bewildered. Charles Lang smiled at her surprise and silence.

But beneath the surface, Annie's heart hammered uncontrollably.

Was the Butcher hinting that the genetic weapon's development was tied to the Galactic Empire—to the failed research of Annie's own family?

Why tell her? Why bring up the genetic weapon at this exact moment?

He was practically shoving clues and questions down her throat. What was Charles Lang's real motive?

"It's good news for you."

Seeing Annie stay silent, Charles Lang continued, beaming. "Haven't you been wanting to help my little brother? Now's your chance. Just follow my lead—let's get out of here first."

With that, the Butcher even extended a hand.

The Alpha's palm patted the back of Annie's head.

In the Galactic Empire, that was only a kind gesture of comfort. But on New Thebes, any physical contact with a married Omega could bring death to both Annie and the Butcher.

He didn't care at all.

The red-medal officer stepped back, resuming his usual slouch. "Come on. There's another exit from the shelter."

...

...

Even after leaving the underground, Annie still couldn't figure out what he was after.

The surface fight ended quickly.

The Resistance fighters who'd slipped into the city, no matter how capable, couldn't hold against the Twilight soldiers' assault. The once-bustling streets were now stained with blood and strewn with corpses.

"What a shame."

Charles Lang led Annie to the altar and shook his head at the grand preparations. "We've missed the right time. But the Flame Festival isn't on a fixed date—let's hold it again tomorrow."

Madam Hado stood on the altar in silence.

Her white robes made the bloodstains on the ground all the more glaring.

Annie had barely steadied herself when a powerful force seized her from behind and lifted her clean off the ground.

She didn't need to look up to know who it was.

The familiar metallic burn of his scent wrapped around her. She exhaled a shallow sigh of relief. "Is there news from Boss He about this attack?! Arthur—what are you doing?!"

Her voice spiked on the last words.

Arthur Kane's grip on her waist tightened viciously, a sharp pain that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

Her cry drew stares, but Arthur paid them no mind.

The Alpha hoisted Annie up like a rabbit, easily "carrying" her behind the altar.

A towering shadow loomed over her. Those blue eyes were filled with barely contained fury and shock.

"The Butcher's scent," Arthur gritted out. "What did he do to you?"