Chapter 273

Even while feeling terror like he was about to die, Ted couldn’t give up on 3543. With hands trembling from fear, he cupped the back of 3543’s head. Just as he thrust his cock toward that face, red as a blood apple from being hung upside down, and tried to jam it into his mouth—

“Kh!”

Suddenly the back of his knee was kicked, his legs collapsing beneath him. Before he could hit the ground, something cold looped around his throat and yanked upward. A chain.

“Khkk—! Ghhk, ghrrk—!”

Caught completely off guard, Ted clawed at his neck and tried to grab the attacker behind him. But with the chain biting into his throat he couldn’t mount a counterattack. His assailant braced a foot against his back and hauled in the opposite direction, tightening the choke on his carotid artery.

Barely a minute passed before Ted’s eyes rolled bloodshot and his face flushed crimson, his body going limp. Lewis kept the chain tight for half a minute longer, then stripped it from Ted’s throat and wound it around his own waist.

He strode to the shelf where Ted had pulled out the cuffs earlier and grabbed several hinge-linked restraints at random. Before Ted could regain consciousness, Lewis wrenched his arms behind him and locked three pairs in succession on his wrists.

“Lewis... hhh, p-please, let me down...”

“Wait.”

Casting a glance at Siron’s face, red as his own blood, Lewis rose, as if he had more important things to do, and began searching the room. Siron burned with frustration that Lewis didn’t come to free him immediately, but reminded himself who was the one in the weaker position and forced his tone to stay cooperative.

“Fine... just hurry. I really—hh, I’m gonna fucking die here.”

Rummaging, Lewis found a heavy carabiner of the kind used on construction sites. He clipped it to Ted’s cuff links, secured it to another ceiling cable, then swept the room with his eyes. The looming fucking machine and the SM restraints mounted everywhere made him frown. Muttering under his breath:

“What, not confident in sex? Why collect all this filthy crap?”

At last he found an electric winch connected to the pulley. He flipped the switch and reeled in the cable. Ted’s arms, bound behind his back, were hoisted upward at an unnatural angle, shoulders and joints twisting. Lewis watched the damage with satisfaction before turning back. Siron’s bloodshot eyes, streaked with broken veins like spiderwebs, stared at him in desperation.

“Please. Let me down. I’m really... going to die...”

Tears welled at Siron’s eyes, soaked his brows, and trickled down his forehead into his hair. Lewis stood there, staring at him, then spoke suddenly, in a quiet voice:

“Right. You always were like that... whining you were dying.”

“I’m not! I really thought I was!”

Without realizing it, Lewis gave a short laugh and finally came over to release him.

The sudden release of pressure left Siron lightheaded, his body collapsing in exhaustion and numbness. Sprawled on the floor, he looked up at Lewis through dizziness. Lewis, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders drawn in, was staring at Ted as if Siron didn’t exist.

“Hmph. For all that bulk, not much to show for it.”

He chuckled at Ted’s cock, still erect even in unconsciousness. Lewis mocked it as unimpressive, but to Siron it was a hideous weapon. He had nearly been ravaged by it, and he couldn’t believe Lewis could act so playful, so void of alarm.

How? Where’s the Lewis who treasured me like gold and jade?

Tears pricked his eyes. He glared, demanding answers.

“Who the hell are you?”

“What?”

“You’re not Lewis. You’re some spirit wearing his body!”

Like a man possessed by a shaman’s god, Siron jabbed a furious finger at him, voice thundering. Lewis looked down at him, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter. But the laugh scattered like sand slipping through his hand, gone without a trace. He pushed back his fallen bangs with a careless flick.

“Hm. Same as ever. That’s exactly the kind of question you’d ask, Yoon Siron. Not surprising at all.”

Siron’s suspicion only deepened—then he startled. The flesh around Lewis’s wrists was shredded, bloody. He still wore the cuffs. He had broken the links by brute force, tearing his wrists raw to free his arms.

“Your arms!”

Siron pointed at the blood-soaked wrists, only to be struck by dizziness again, clutching his forehead.

Lewis frowned at the wound, pain belatedly registering. Though calm in mind, his pulse raced, body burning. The ice of his mind veiled his senses, dulling the hurt until he hardly noticed.

Rifling through a drawer, he found basic medical supplies and sprayed coagulant on the cuts, wrapping them roughly in bandages.

Then he drew a metal case from his pocket. Inside lay a purple ampoule—by now, Siron recognized it: alpha anesthetic. Lewis filled a syringe and, without hesitation, drove it deep into Ted’s lower abdomen. The brute’s eyes flew open with a flash of pain, then glazed over and slipped shut again.

“So you’re saying an alpha can surpass his natural lifespan through Imprint?”

Lewis’s question made Siron nod eagerly.

“More important—once an Imprint is complete, pheromones can only be sensed by the bonded partner. To everyone else, it’s like they don’t exist.”

His eyes shone as he spoke. Since an omega’s pheromones had such powerful effects on an alpha’s body and mind, emitting them meant never escaping an alpha’s threat. To Siron, Imprint felt like the ultimate defense.

Lewis studied Siron’s face, which seemed to gaze past the present into some better place, as if dreaming.

“So that’s why you climbed the prison wall—to learn how to Imprint?”

“Yeah. I went to find Gezar Bazelli, to learn the method. Though... it didn’t exactly work out.”

Bitterness crept into his voice. Then his eyes flashed sharp, like a feral cat, and he glared at Lewis.

“How did you even find me? It was pitch black out there.”

“Thermal scanner.”

“Huh?”

“Your body temperature was warmer than the sea. You showed up on the display, floating.”

Siron blinked, stunned—he hadn’t imagined that was possible. His gaze turned hazy, unfocused, but fixed on Lewis.

“Just me?”

“What?”

“Was there anyone else in the water? Baekgyeong, or Isaac?”

Lewis shook his head.

“No. The waves were too rough. Finding you at all was a miracle.”

Siron stared, searching for any lie, then asked the question he hadn’t dared until now.

“Then... why were you out there? And Ted—how did you get mixed up with him?”

“Just happened.”

Lewis shrugged. A non-answer.

“Just happened? That’s not an answer.”

Lewis gave a cryptic smile, eyes dropping. Siron felt as though behind that smile lurked something twisted, some beast devouring the Lewis he had known.

Taking a deep breath, Lewis shifted the subject with a grin.

“So, did you learn how to Imprint?”

Siron’s eyes flicked, lips tight. After a long pause, he finally admitted, sheepish:

“They were speaking a foreign language. I couldn’t understand.”

“Foreign language?”

“Yeah.”

At that moment came a ding—the sound of a microwave announcing its work was done. Rising, Lewis pulled out a steaming frozen pizza and set it on the table.

“Eat.”

Reluctantly, Siron accepted the plate of slices he handed over.

“After this, we’re going to Anna, right? ...We are, aren’t we?”

He asked carefully, unsure if this Lewis was friend or foe, or ready to return to their lives.

“I don’t like this place. Let’s not waste any more time here.”

This mansion was a crime scene itself. Built on a small peninsula jutting south, it overlooked both east and west coasts. The panoramic horizon outside the 270-degree windows was breathtaking—but Siron couldn’t take in the view at all.

On the second floor, in the torture chamber, Ted Stone—the man Siron had once dubbed Beardface—hung from the ceiling, knocked out by elephant-grade anesthetic. It would keep him down at least ten hours, but Siron still feared the psychopath would wake and rampage again. He didn’t want to hear even his groans.

But Lewis only grinned. Detached, indifferent, he let Siron fret while he took a massive bite of two stacked pizza slices, watching Siron stew.

“You must be hungry. Eat.”

Memory always burnishes the past, but even gaunt, Siron’s face was still unreal in its beauty. That god-crafted countenance stirred Lewis’s heartbeat and a pang in his chest, but his mind stayed cold, unnervingly calm.