Bound to Her Touch

I pushed the penthouse doors open, expecting quiet. Today marked our third engagement anniversary.

Instead, a sharp, sweet scent hit my nose. Omega pheromones. Not mine.

I walked down the hall. My ice-blue eyes locked onto the master bedroom.

Dominic had a blonde woman pinned to the mattress. They didn't even stop when my shadow fell over the carpet.

"Get out of my bed," I said.

Dominic rolled off her. He didn't scramble. He didn't beg for forgiveness. He just smirked, running a hand through his hair.

"You're home early, Eva. Happy anniversary."

The woman snatched the duvet, scurrying into the master bathroom. The door slammed.

"You brought trash into the Vance Global penthouse," I stated. My voice stayed perfectly flat.

"Oh, shut up with the high-and-mighty act," Dominic spat. He grabbed his trousers from the floor. "You think I want to be tied to a block of wood?"

"I bought your family's debts. I handed you your career."

"And you gave me a cage!" he yelled. "Your Alpha aura is suffocating. Your scent freezes my lungs. You don't know how to yield. You don't know how to be touched. You're a machine, Eva. Not a partner."

He pointed a finger at my chest.

"You want a puppet. At least she screams for me."

I didn't blink. I reached out and caught his extended hand.

"What are you doing?" Dominic gasped. He tried to yank his arm back.

"Correcting a mistake."

I twisted his wrist backward. Bone snapped.

Dominic shrieked, dropping to his knees.

Before he could cradle the broken limb, I seized his left hand. I planted my boot against his shoulder and pulled.

Another sickening crack echoed off the marble walls.

He collapsed, sobbing into the rug. Both hands bent at grotesque angles.

"Don't ever speak to me again," I told him.

I turned and walked out.

* * *

The sterile lights of the private hospital blinded me.

"Remove the mark," I commanded.

Dr. Aris shook his head, his clipboard trembling in his hands. "Miss Vance, you can't. A two-way mark removal is suicide. Your Alpha gland will necrotize."

"I refuse to share a neural link with a traitor for another hour. Cut it out."

"You will go into shock. The pain alone will stop your heart."

"Do your job, Doctor. Or I will find someone who can."

He swallowed hard. "Prep the theater."

The scalpel felt like a torch pressed to the back of my neck.

They didn't use general anesthesia. The nerve connections required me to be conscious. I gripped the metal bed rails until my knuckles turned white.

Flesh tore. The bond severed.

A scream ripped from my throat. It didn't sound like me. It sounded like an animal dying in a trap.

Then, the fire spread.

My Alpha gland collapsed.

I woke up hours later in the ICU. My entire body spasmed. Muscles locked and released without my permission.

A terrible dampness soaked the sheets beneath me. I had lost control of my bladder. The humiliation burned worse than the fever baking my brain. I stared at the ceiling, shivering uncontrollably.

My father, Arthur Vance, stood by the window. His face was gray.

"Report," he barked at the medical team.

"Her gland is in full rampage," Dr. Aris said, adjusting an IV line. "She is burning alive from the inside. Her organs will fail by midnight."

"Fix her!"

"We need an Omega. A massive, deep pheromone infusion. But her genetics are too dominant. Anything less than a ninety-nine percent match will kill them both."

My father pulled out his phone. "Run the continental database. Buy whoever it is."

I squeezed my eyes shut. My jaw clamped down hard enough to crack a molar. Every nerve ending shrieked.

"Sir," an assistant whispered from the doorway. "We found one. A ninety-nine point nine percent soul match."

"Who?" Arthur demanded.

"Julian."

The name pierced through the haze in my mind.

Julian. The mechanical watchmaking genius. The "Hand of God." He vanished ten years ago.

"Where is he?" my father asked.

"A rundown clock shop on the coast. He's... not the same, sir. His left leg is disabled."

"Bring him here. Pay him whatever he wants."

* * *

Time lost its meaning. The monitors beeped in a frantic rhythm. My chest heaved, fighting for every ounce of oxygen.

The heavy oak door swung open.

A rhythmic thudding filled the quiet room. A cane striking the floorboards.

I forced my heavy eyelids up.

He paused at the foot of my bed. Julian.

A decade had passed. He leaned heavily on a worn wooden cane, his left leg encased in a rigid brace. But the frail boy from my memories was gone.

Years of brutal manual labor had forged him into something dangerous. A tight, faded henley stretched across massive, bronze pectorals. Thick veins coiled around his forearms like steel cables. His biceps strained the fabric with every shift of his weight.

Yet, his face remained exquisite. Pale, sharp, and hauntingly beautiful. A morbid angel trapped in a gladiator's body.

My father stepped forward, holding out a rectangular slip of paper.

"Ten million," Arthur said. "Just for your pheromones. Save my daughter, and you never have to work in that miserable shop again."

Julian didn't look at the check. His dark eyes were locked on me.

He took in my sweat-drenched hair. The tremors shaking my frame. The sickly sweet smell of necrosis filling the room.

A muscle feathered in his jaw. His knuckles turned white over the handle of his cane.

He felt the pain. I saw the raw agony flash across his eyes.

"Put your checkbook away, Arthur," Julian said.

His voice was a deep, gravelly rasp. It sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Name your price, damn it!" my father shouted.

Julian ignored him. He limped closer to my side. The heavy scent of rain and crushed metal rolled off him. Omega pheromones. Rich. Overwhelming.

My ruined gland twitched. A desperate whine escaped my lips.

Julian stopped inches from my face. He leaned down, bracing his massive, calloused hand against my pillow.

"Miss Vance," he whispered.

I stared into his dark eyes, unable to speak.

"I am just the flesh antidote you bought for an astronomical price," he said, his tone icy. "Once you are cured, I will disappear."

He reached out. His rough fingers brushed the damp hair from my forehead.

"Everyone out," Julian ordered, not breaking eye contact with me.

Dr. Aris hesitated. "He needs to initiate a deep bond. It will be violent."

"I said out."

The door clicked shut. We were alone.

Julian unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a chest covered in scars. He tossed the fabric aside.

"This is going to hurt, Eva," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. "But you are not going to die today."

He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just above mine.

Then, the monitors suddenly flatlined into a solid, piercing scream.