Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 346 - 340: Double dose

"Sorry to disappoint," Damian said, his voice pitched low and too calm, "but I’d bet the weight of the crown that it was Hadeon."

Gabriel exhaled, slow and steady, as if willing the weight in his chest to shift, even just a little. He lifted his hand without thinking, fingers threading through Damian’s dark hair with the kind of careful precision that betrayed just how much he wanted to fall apart. He dragged his touch downward, slow and unhurried, until it reached the nape of Damian’s neck, where skin still pulsed warm from the antidote, and the line between vulnerability and survival blurred.

"You," Gabriel said, his voice flat but quiet, "get in the bath. And I won’t kill anyone with my own hands."

Damian arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "How generous."

Gabriel didn’t smile. "It’s the best I can offer until you’re no longer walking around like someone took a hammer to your soul."

Damian stepped back then, just enough for the air to shift between them, but not so much that Gabriel didn’t feel it, the gravity, the bond, the weight of someone who had never known fear until the moment he saw his mate bleeding.

Damian glanced over his shoulder, lips curling in that infuriatingly unrepentant smile he wore like armor. The kind that made Gabriel want to throw something at him, and then drag him back to bed to make sure he didn’t collapse halfway to the bath.

"Still in the mood for giving orders?" Gabriel asked, one brow lifting, sharp as the edge of a scalpel and just as deliberate.

"I’m the Emperor," Damian replied, already unbuttoning his shirt with the lazy grace of someone who had never truly been denied anything in his life. "If I don’t give orders, people worry I’m dead."

"You were poisoned this morning."

Damian hummed thoughtfully, pausing at the second button, then shrugged one shoulder. "And you’ve already threatened murder, extortion, and sedatives in response. So I’d say the balance of power is intact."

Gabriel didn’t answer. Just leaned back against the chaise, arms crossing over his chest as his gaze followed Damian’s every movement—not with concern this time, but with something quieter, more dangerous. Something that said: you almost died. And I’m not done being angry about it.

"Five minutes," Gabriel said, his voice crystal clear. "If you’re not out by then, I am coming in." freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Damian didn’t look back. But his smirk, as he disappeared into the bath chamber, was audible.

The door to the bath chamber closed behind him with a soft click, and for a moment Damian just stood there, bare feet on the warm marble, breath caught in the hollow of his throat.

Then he exhaled.

A sharp, shallow thing, more hiss than sigh, rattling through clenched teeth as pain lanced down his spine and across his ribs like fire dragged over raw nerves. The poison hadn’t simply burned. It had lingered, coiled, and clung to the edges of his ether channels like thorns sunk too deep to be seen. He’d downplayed it, of course, because what good was panic when there were wars to plan and an Empire to hold, but even he knew the truth: this wasn’t something his body would forget quickly.

He moved toward the sunken bath, stripped with practiced ease, and sank into the steaming water one inch at a time, jaw clenched tight enough to creak. The bath was laced with ether-neutral herbs and pain-dulling minerals, Gabriel’s doing, no doubt. The warmth bit into him like acid before it eased into something bearable.

Damian leaned back, head tilted against the cool edge of the stone, and let his eyes drift shut.

Five minutes passed in slow, agonizing increments.

Then came the knock—light, formal.

The door opened and Dr. Marin entered, already adjusting his gloves. "You’re awake, which means you’ve ignored at least half my instructions. Congratulations."

Damian cracked one eye open. "Gabriel sent you, didn’t he?"

"He did," Marin replied, already scanning him. "Because he knows you. And because he said, and I quote, "If he pretends to be fine, knock him out.’" He opened the portable reader and began assessing Damian’s ether pattern, which flickered faintly in response to the bath’s herbs. "Your ether is still ragged. The poison residue was laced with illusion properties, designed to mask itself as something weak. Not bad, whoever crafted it. I’ve seen worse, but not recently."

Damian didn’t speak. Just looked toward the closed door.

Marin didn’t miss the glance. "He’s still outside. Didn’t even take off his shoes. I think he’s waiting for you to try and teleport."

"I wouldn’t dare," Damian murmured. "He’s already sharpening the metaphorical knives."

"I checked. One of them’s not metaphorical," Marin said blandly, reaching for a fresh vial. "Now hold still. You need another dose, just in case. And then you’re not moving from this wing for at least thirty-six hours. Emperor or not."

"Give me double." Damian said, his gaze still on the door.

Marin didn’t blink. Didn’t raise an eyebrow. Just uncapped the vial with a slow, deliberate movement and inserted the syringe into the auto-injector.

"That bad?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Damian’s fingers flexed against the rim of the bath, knuckles pale against the stone. "You know exactly how bad it is."

"You nearly bled through your lungs," Marin said, adjusting the dosage.

Damian’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile—too grim, too tired. "Make it fast."

Marin crouched beside the bath and pressed the injector against the inside of Damian’s arm. A sharp click. Then the burn. Immediate, vicious, tearing through muscle and nerve like liquid fire. Damian didn’t flinch.

The syringe clicked again, the faint sound oddly sharp in the hush of the steam-filled room. "You’re lucky we caught it when we did," he said, voice low. "Another few hours and your muscles would’ve started to degrade. Quietly."

Damian didn’t respond. His eyes were half-lidded, golden irises dulled by exhaustion, but not by pain; he had long since learned how to mask that.

Marin adjusted the second vial with clinical precision. "This one will numb the deeper nerves. You’ll feel like your limbs are underwater for a while. Don’t fight it."

"I don’t have time to feel anything," Damian muttered, his voice stripped of the arrogance he usually wore like armor.

"You don’t have time to be dead either," Marin replied, sliding the injector under the skin with practiced ease. "And right now, that’s what you’re closest to."

The liquid burned again, this one slower, deeper, as though threading through marrow, and Damian exhaled, a sound between a breath and a growl.

Then silence.

The kind of silence only pain or the truth could carve out.

Marin stood, wiped his hands, and gave Damian a final look. "Rest. If you’re not curled around your mate and pretending to be asleep next time I check on you, I’m telling him how close it was. Down to the second."

He left without waiting for a response.

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