Chapter 80

Chapter 80

When Qiao Yuexun regained consciousness, the pain at the back of his head made him let out a muffled groan.

He felt around the sore spot, his fingers coming away wet—when he looked, it was sticky blood already starting to darken.

He fought through the dizziness and nausea from the head injury, scanning the room.

The suite still reeked of Alpha and Omega pheromones, but the other two had vanished, leaving him alone to face the mess.

The plan had fallen apart.

That realization ignited a blaze of fury in his chest, burning his insides with searing pain.

He'd actually been kicked aside by Wen Yanxu and dumped here like trash.

He nearly lost it completely, cursing nonstop: "Damn that Child of Destiny! Damn Wen Jueqian! Why do they always have to throw a wrench in things?"

Even that outburst made his vision swim; he had to grab the wall just to stay on his feet.

"Where's the medical kit?" Qiao Yuexun asked, his voice had lost its usual icy calm—it sounded like something out of a nightmare.

Following some silent cue, Qiao Yuexun walked over to a decorative cabinet against the wall. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer, he spotted a simple medical kit.

He tossed the kit onto the table and plopped down on the sofa to patch himself up.

He yanked out a roll of bandage and some gauze, his movements rough and sloppy.

He froze mid-motion, as if getting a message from somewhere, his face shifting from fury to suspicion: "There's still a chance?"

His tone turned snappish: "They could be anywhere by now—how the hell am I supposed to find an opening?"

After a beat, Qiao Yuexun seemed to get an answer. He stopped bandaging and stared toward the bedroom.

Forgetting the gash still oozing blood at the back of his head, Qiao Yuexun shot to his feet, ready to storm over there.

But he'd barely taken two steps before he slammed to a stop.

His pretty face twisted so hard it turned ugly. "Wait? Just sit here and listen to them get all lovey-dovey and do every damn thing?"

His chest was heaving, his voice ragged with barely contained fury. "Screw the plot! At this rate, has a single damn plot point gone right? I threw myself at him in heat—did he even touch me? Did he mark me?"

He spat out a few more curses before collapsing back onto the sofa, grabbing the bandage he'd tossed aside and winding it around his head any which way.

His rough movements yanked at the wound, making him hiss through clenched teeth, but the poison in his eyes only deepened.

"In a bit, when they come out, hit Wen Jueqian with mental interference again!"

His eyes were cold and threatening as he ordered: "Make him completely lose it, then have him bolt out of here—ideally with someone outside catching him stumbling out like a wreck!"

Qiao Yuexun seemed to get a refusal, his face souring even more as he snapped shrilly: "You can't? Why the hell not? You can't even handle this one little thing? Useless! You're absolutely useless!"

He sucked in a few ragged breaths, forcing his rage down, then asked: "What about Meng Linwan? Tell him to get his ass over here! And Su Lan—Su Lan owes me! He promised he'd help. Tell them both to get here fast and figure something out!"

His emotions were too raw and his movements too jerky—he yanked at the wound again and let out an involuntary yelp, completely losing it.

He snatched the little white porcelain swan off the side table and hurled it at the floor with everything he had!

The vase hit the carpet with a dull thud but didn't break—it just rolled a few times, completely unharmed.

The swan's neck stayed arched in that graceful pose, like it was mocking his useless fury.

Qiao Yuexun's eyes went bloodshot. He stalked over and booted the porcelain swan.

"Go to hell!"

This time, the porcelain slammed into the table leg and exploded into shards.

"CRASH—"

In the bathroom, Wen Yanxu was washing Wen Jueqian's hands when the sudden crash outside made him flinch, his fingers instinctively clamping down on Wen Yanxu's.

"Is that Qiao Yuexun making all that noise out there? He's up?"

"Don't worry." Wen Yanxu's voice was way steadier, though still rough with the leftover husk of desire.

He didn't seem the least bit bothered by the racket outside, just kept on with what he was doing—dabbing the sweat off Wen Jueqian's skin with a soft towel.

Wen Jueqian noticed Wen Yanxu's forehead was still slick with cold sweat, like he wasn't doing great. He reached for the towel. "I've got it."

But Wen Yanxu wouldn't let him, so Wen Jueqian just let him keep going.

Only when Wen Jueqian was clean and his rumpled clothes were neatly straightened did Wen Yanxu finally stop.

He stepped back, giving Wen Jueqian a slow once-over. He looked mostly put back together—except for the pink at the corners of his eyes and the slightly swollen lips that gave away what they'd been up to.

Then he started getting himself sorted.

Wen Jueqian watched him calmly button his shirt, but the knot of unease in his chest wouldn't loosen.

He asked, worry creeping into his voice: "Axu, your rut isn't over yet, is it? Shouldn't we find some suppressants first?"

An Alpha's rut usually lasts three to five days—once it's triggered, it doesn't just stop. What they'd just done was only a temporary fix.

Wen Yanxu did up the last button, straightened his collar, then looked at him. "Qianqian, with pheromone levels that high in there, this suite obviously wasn't built with proper pheromone shielding. By all rights, the Meng estate's security alarm should've gone off ages ago, and someone should've come knocking."

He turned to Wen Jueqian, his voice dripping with sarcasm: "And yet, not a single person has come to bother us."

He paused, his eyes cutting like knives: "Which means the Meng family's security tonight is a mess—we've been pulled into someone else's game."

Wen Jueqian caught on immediately, a chill running down his spine: "But if we stay in here, what about your rut? And what if someone walks in and sees you like this..."

He glanced at Wen Yanxu—even cleaned up, there was no hiding that he was an Alpha in rut.

If someone with bad intentions saw him, and then Qiao Yuexun piled on accusations, the fallout would be a nightmare.

"So what if they do?" Wen Yanxu reached out and flicked Wen Jueqian's forehead lightly, the gesture easy and familiar.

"Ow!" Wen Jueqian clapped a hand to his forehead, staring up at him in surprise.

Wen Yanxu gave a helpless smile: "Silly little cat, is worry making you sloppy? You were sharp as a tack when you were shutting Qiao Yuexun down earlier."

Wen Jueqian's face flushed, and he stayed quiet. He just hadn't wanted to watch Wen Yanxu get backed into a corner and actually mark Qiao Yuexun.

Wen Yanxu pulled his hand back, his voice steadying: "I know my own limits. Right now, the priority is getting out of here and somewhere safe. As for the Meng family..."

A cold light flickered in his eyes. "What happened tonight isn't going to be brushed aside."

And beyond that, there were still things he needed to verify.

Just now, his heat had been thrown into full force, as pheromones flooded out of him uncontrollably, and his mind felt like it was being churned up, with fragmented images rising from the depths of his consciousness in broken flashes, assaulting his awareness.

Those images were so vivid they felt real, yet he had no memory of them before—like a dream.

But back then, the situation was chaotic and dangerous, and instinct had taken over, leaving him unable to ponder why his head ached so fiercely or where those fragments of memory came from.

Only after his physical desires were temporarily appeased, reason regained the upper hand, and the only person beside him was Wen Jueqian, who instinctively made him feel safe, did the intense headache gradually subside, allowing Wen Yanxu to finally contemplate those memories.

The sensation of that supple waist beneath his palm as he pressed Wen Jueqian against the wall in a deep kiss; the overwhelming peace and satisfaction that filled his chest when he lay in bed, holding Wen Jueqian tightly in his arms, listening to the other's steady, even breaths; and even more fervent fragments—skin against skin, sweat mingling, breaths intertwining, and a wild craving to merge Wen Jueqian completely into the depths of his soul...

Surfacing alongside these were unmistakably vivid, intense emotions—a deep cherishing of Wen Jueqian, longing, desire, and an almost obsessive possessiveness and protectiveness.

Were those his feelings? And what kind of feelings were they?

These memories were so real, the emotions within them too distinct, and the instinct deep in his heart told him this was not an illusion but his own memory.

This was his own, real memory that he had forgotten.

Why had he forgotten?

For the first time, this realization settled in Wen Yanxu's mind with absolute clarity.