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And those delicious commands, silky smooth and generous, like hypnotism, like a rush of pleasure. The words like a song crooned sweetly to him to please his mate, his Omega, his wife. His Rampage churned within him, a twisting rush of anxiety that burned in his throat. Seraphim took another long hard sniff at the neck of the shirt just as the fabric disappeared into nothing, toxins eating ashes, turning seams into gas – his cum was just that potent.

Seraphim smiled.

In Poseidon's culture, he was married to Rue, had been since the day she laid her fingers on his deadly cum and lived.

If he were to take Rue home, his family would host the grandest of balls, and would deck his palace in red and gold for his bride. She'd arrive concealed in a palanquin, step over the bones of his ancestors, of his siblings who passed from their weakness, of the enemies that he'd slain. They would bow to his family and swear before his court. She'd promise to be his forever. Then she would drink from their waters—flavoured with his semen.

The waters would empower her and provide her with the strength she would need for their wedding night. And then he'd fuck her on their bed for months, let loose every droplet of semen he'd held in his body for years and be freed of the pain forever.

Would his family care of her Omegan status? Would they scream profanities? Declare it to be blasphemy? Diabolical evil? His true mate was rare and unique. An Omega tied to a first-ranked Alpha was the stuff of dreams, of myths, of legends, of stories. But they would accept her as long as Seraphim proved that she existed in his visions, as long as he had evidence to show that she would be beneficial for his empire.

That his true mate was worthy.

He'd searched for her in the waters, eager and desperate. An Omega, he'd whispered to his ancestors, there's an Omega in my pack, in my life, in my future. Show her to me, show me our future together. He'd dragged his fingers over the golden lines, the threads holding, seven souls glowing. He'd searched blindly in the vision, water swirling like mud, metaphorical lichen dragging him under, the goo was building. The vision felt chokingly still, and in the murky depths were flashes of those children. The tiny fingers, the eyes. The little cries.

And yet, there was no flicker of an eighth at the end of each line.

Seraphim sank only deeper. He waded out until he was so far into the future that it dragged him under into the stillness, the darkness, the black hole where only the gold threads existed, guiding him forward. Rue's future was nothing he'd ever seen before, like a blindfold to his eyes, like deep water, like ink.

He was lost in the unknown.

Seraphim was too weak to see her future. It had been a fact he'd theorized, biting his nails, twisting his fingers. That perhaps Rue was so much stronger than he was that predicting her moves was near impossible. But the thought of that had been exhilarating, refreshing. Not knowing had made him hard, had turned him panting for her, and had turned his world upside down. It felt as if the ground had been torn from under his feet, felt as if he were no longer standing, felt as if he were soaring.

His confession was true.

Her control was something he did not anticipate, and to find her freed from her Heat, waiting on their couch with all her demands had been infuriating. His Alpha had itched under his skin, twisting like snakes in his chest. It wanted to fuck her, wanted to impregnate her, wanted to make her happy. The vision fluttered to the forefront of his mind— children, children, children. He used to hiss, used to care about what they would look like. Preferably 0% Omega, 100% Alpha. He'd throw the defects away. But now Seraphim found himself wishing for a child with her eyes.

He licked his lips then.

His eyes turned then, perking up, lunch warm in his hands—waters boiling to create the perfect temperature. He didn't care to look at Halcyon, eyes fixated on her, the softness, the lips so unfairly kissable. The eyes, the health that grew in her cheeks. She did not smile, but he did, and it grew when the corners of her lips twitched upwards in greeting.

He was fucking infatuated.

"Rue," he cried, voice bright and cheerful, "how was class?"

His waters swept towards her, already desperate to drench her in his scent. Halcyon had done a decent enough job, and he could smell him dripping all over her inner thighs. His Rampage hissed forth, boiling within him and then calmed when his flesh made contact with her cheek.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He might jizz in his pants and expose himself to the entire student population watching from the corners of the little park. And oddly enough, Seraphim didn't fucking care, wouldn't give a damn even if his dicks were plastered all over tomorrow's news. On his planet, the knowledge of the seven finding a guide would be celebrated.

And right now, every single alien in Hakon was grinding their teeth in envy at her success.

She moved and swiped the droplets of him off her with a frown. "Don't get me wet."

"Let me wash your hands," he begged, heart racing, teeth snagged on his bottom lip. He'd take the time to leave traces of himself on her, to coat her fingers in his liquids and flavour himself with the taste of her. He could only dream of dripping himself over her flesh, coaxing goosebumps, coaxing moans, dribbling down the folds of her pussy.

"In you?" she gaped, then gagged. "That's disgusting."

"I'm very clean," he assured, fluttering eyelashes. But he didn't push, he never did with Rue, turning to reveal the spread—only the healthiest for his mate. Others would die from this meal, poison drenched in noodles pressed with watery palms, flour kneaded into a dough made from his toxins. But Rue would consume it with relish, would grow healthier with his essence, and Halcyon would merely obtain a mildly upset stomach. The boy seemed to know that, sniffing each dish and squalling with a curse.

Halcyon glared at him, fire in his eyes. Their bond was locking and twisting into words, and he didn't have to speak for Seraphim to know exactly what he was saying. Did you cum in the food? His fingers twitched into a small gesture.

Seraphim glared back. I know not to spite her. It's just small droplets of myself, I thought it would rejuvenate her, and it should. I'm sure of it. I've studied the way her body reacts to certain parts of mine. She will be healthier this way, gaining strength from my nutrition.

She'll figure out if it's your fucking cum. It's not her custom, she won't understand. It'll taste like cannibalism to her. Halcyon's lips stretched into a smirk. And if she knows you're feeding parts of yourself to her, she'll get mad as fuck. I could have her all to myself for today.

Don't. Seraphim resisted the urge to snarl. She knows I touch the food.

She doesn't know you put droplets of your dick in the fucking pasta.

Oh, shut the fuck up. She doesn't know you're sniffing at her feet all fucking night, you dog.

Sera. Halcyon warned.

We have our vices.

Halcyon cleared his throat, body rippling, fury growing, chest puffed out. "Don't make her do what she doesn't want to do."

"I know," Seraphim snapped back, body pressed against her side.

Rue raised a brow then. "Don't fight." She choked down the last spoonful and cleaned her teeth with her tongue. "Gonna go for class now, thanks for the food." She smiled at him, and the thrill that descended upon his soul seemed to spread through his bones. He bubbled a sweet pink and felt as if he were inching closer to the finishing line—an Omega in his bed, his wife in his palace. His Alpha was satisfied.

"O-of course." Seraphim nodded. "It's no trouble at all, I love cooking for you." His breath caught in his throat. I love cooking for my wife.