I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 24: The Cost of Concentration

The dust motes danced in the pale candlelight, looking like tiny, suspended spirits as Cherion reached for yet another leather-bound monster on the shelf. His fingers brushed against a spine that felt like cold, pebbled skin, only for a much larger, much more calloused hand to materialize beside his own. With an effortless flick of the wrist, the book was plucked from its perch.

Zarius didn’t even have to stand on his tiptoes. Show-off.

"Thought you said you weren’t here to help," Cherion muttered, snagging the heavy volume as the Duke handed it over. He couldn’t help the little smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Changed our minds already, have we? Or is the brooding-in-the-corner business getting a bit boring?"

Zarius didn’t even crack a smile, though there was a glint in those crimson eyes that suggested he wasn’t entirely annoyed. "I changed my mind the moment I realized you were three seconds away from snapping your neck on a rickety stool. Cleaning up a corpse in the middle of the night is a messy affair, even for me."

"Oh? So you were worried about me?" Cherion tilted his head, eyes sparkling with a bit of newfound mischief. It was a risky game, teasing a man who looked like he could crush a boulder with his bare hands, but the adrenaline from the "neck-sniffing" incident was still humming in his veins.

"Of course I am," Zarius replied. He stepped back, the oppressive heat of his body retreating just enough for Cherion to breathe again. "You are the one tasked with curing me. If you die, my survival rate drops to zero."

Cherion’s grin soured into a sneer. "Naturally," he muttered under his breath, turning his back on the Duke. What did I even expect? A heartfelt confession? In this economy? In this genre?

He marched over to the massive table. He had what he needed, or at least, he had the books that claimed to have what he needed. He cracked open a particularly thick volume on the history of the Three Breaths, the pages groaning like a living thing.

He read. Or at least, he tried to.

He blinked. He read the same sentence again. And again. Somehow, the words were refusing to stick. They were sliding off his brain like water off a duck’s back. He shifted his weight, resting his chin in his hand, trying to channel every ounce of his former student-life cramming energy.

It was no use. There was a prickle on the side of his neck. A heavy, magnetic pressure that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up. It wasn’t a ghost, god, he hoped it wasn’t a ghost, he really didn’t need a haunting trope added to his already cluttered life, but it was definitely someone.

He looked up.

Zarius was sitting in the chair across the table, his long legs stretched out, his hands folded with agonizing stillness. He wasn’t looking at the fire. He wasn’t looking at the door. He was staring. Deep, not blinking, and entirely too intense, his gaze was fixed squarely on Cherion’s face.

"Can you... not?" Cherion blurted out, slamming his hand onto the open page.

Zarius didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. "Can I not what?"

"Staring! It’s like being under a spotlight in an interrogation room."

"I have eyes, Cherion," Zarius said. "It is the primary function of the organ to observe."

"Yeah, well, observe the walls! Observe the ceiling! Observe literally anything else!" Cherion’s voice rose a pitch, the frustration finally bubbling over. "I can’t concentrate!"

Zarius tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Perhaps your inability to focus is a personal deficiency. Do not blame me for your lack of mental discipline."

"Lack of discipline?" Cherion’s face went from pale to a vivid, angry pink. "Oh, right. Tell me, Your Grace, could you focus on... I don’t know, doing your private business in the bathroom if I was standing there staring at you with that exact same look?"

Zarius didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked... hungry. "I am afraid, Cherion," he rumbled, "that you would be the one who couldn’t focus if you were looking at... that."

Cherion felt the heat surge up his neck, a searing crimson tide. His brain actually sizzled. He didn’t have a comeback for that.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched across the stone floor like a dying animal. Without a word, he stomped over to the Dark Magic section, his boots thudding with enough force to wake the dead. He grabbed a stack of the most depressing, ink-blackened books he could find and marched back.

He shoved the pile onto the table right under Zarius’s nose. The Duke didn’t flinch, merely raised a single, perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"Since you’re so bored that you have to treat my face like a landscape painting," Cherion snapped, his chest heaving slightly, "read these. It’s your curse. You know your own body better than anyone. See if you can find anything useful there."

Zarius looked at the books, then back at Cherion. For a heartbeat, Cherion thought the man might actually throw him out of the room. But then, Zarius let out a long, weary sigh, a sound that made him seem far older than his years. He reached out, his long fingers trailing over the book cover.

"Fine," Zarius murmured.

Cherion huffed, straightened his robes with a series of jerky, agitated movements, and sat back down. He pulled his own book closer, creating a literal wall of paper between them.

Cherion forced himself to read, his eyes scanning the same lines again, and this time, the words actually started to form images in his mind. But every few minutes, the silence would feel too loud.

He’d peek. Just a tiny, microscopic glance over the top of the parchment.

Zarius was actually reading. He had one hand supporting his jaw and his eyes were moving rapidly across the ancient script. He looked focused. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a grim concentration that made Cherion feel a sudden, unwanted pang of sympathy.

Zarius shifted. His eyes flicked up, fast as a snake, catching Cherion’s gaze before the Omega could retreat.

Cherion practically dove into his book, his face buried so deep in the pages. He could feel it, though. That magnetic pressure was back.