L*st and Death

Siron had never thought of Isaac as an ascetic, but raping a rapist was far beyond anything his moral compass could comprehend. Mouth agape in stunned silence, Siron stared at Rafael, who smiled lightly and said:

“So you should be careful too—ah! What the hell, disgusting!”

Rafael had just been smacked in the face with the very fishing net he’d thrown at Isaac moments ago. Scowling in disgust, he grumbled.

“If you’re going to keep running your mouth, then take the helm. I need to rest.”

Isaac said this while leaving the pilothouse.

“What? What the hell does an alpha get tired from? If you’re tired, then I must already be dead!”

Isaac forcibly hauled Rafael to his feet and practically threw him into the helm. As Rafael rubbed the shoulder that had smacked against a piece of equipment, he shot Isaac a dirty look—only for his face to melt into a sweet smile when he met Siron’s eyes.

“Take a break, my amigo.”

Isaac mercilessly slammed the pilothouse door shut and grabbed Siron’s arm.

“Let’s head to the lounge.”

“I’ll go myself. Let me go.”

Siron, being dragged along by Isaac, tried to shake off his grip—but his body suddenly tilted, losing balance.

“Ah!”

His foot had landed right on a gaping, manhole-like hole with no lid. The moment his left leg plunged into the dark void, Isaac instinctively yanked his body back.

“Careful.”

“Ugh, it stinks.”

The moment he landed in Isaac’s arms, an overwhelming stench hit Siron’s nose like a punch. He turned his head away in alarm, but the vile smell still clung to the air.

“Ugh, did you roll around on rotting fish or something?”

Isaac answered with dry disbelief.

“I object to that assumption. The smell’s coming from the fish hold.”

Still held in Isaac’s arms, Siron glanced behind them. The hole he’d stepped into was apparently a storage bay for freshly caught fish. A thick, yellowish mist of putrid odor seemed to drift upward from it.

“Why the hell would you leave that open like that?”

“It needs to be ventilated.”

“Why does it need ventilation?”

“There’s someone inside.”

“What?”

Siron had assumed—at most—there might be some dead fish in there. His eyes widened. He tried to peer into the dark opening, but Isaac pulled him along before he could protest. The room they entered was the main lounge in the center of the ship.

“Who? Who the hell’s in there? Don’t tell me—it’s Baekgyeong?”

“Manu Singh. He’s not going to die from a little fish smell. Let’s focus on what we need to do.”

Siron had been about to say that locking someone in a fish storage hold was inhumane—but stopped himself. Given what Manu Singh had done to the people he’d kidnapped, the fish hold might actually be too generous. A septic tank would’ve been more appropriate.

Shaking off the discomfort in his head, Siron looked around the lounge. It was a large rectangular room, split evenly into sleeping quarters and a common area. Baekgyeong and Sonia were asleep in the lower bunks of a double-decker bed.

“Sonia’s not waking up at all.”

“The sleeping pill takes a while to wear off.”

Isaac knelt and gently brushed Sonia’s swollen feet.

“If her kidneys are damaged, the drug will stay in her system longer. She’ll be much better after an IV. We’ll treat her once we reach land.”

Siron felt a sudden wave of anxiety. He worried they might’ve overdosed her. Her face was puffed up around the eyes, and as he stared at her, concern written all over his face, something brown entered his peripheral vision.

“Here.”

Isaac shoved a paper bag with some weight into Siron’s arms.

“What is it?”

“New clothes. Change.”

“Clothes? I don’t... need them...”

Siron’s voice grew fainter by the second. His clothes were soaked with Baekgyeong’s blood and had served as a barf bag during his bout of seasickness. After being washed with nothing but water and left to air-dry repeatedly, they reeked like a damp rag.

Still, Siron hesitated, staring at the bag in silence, unable to accept Isaac’s gesture so easily.

“Worried I packed some weird costume for you or something?”

The memory of the perverse hospital gown he’d been forced to wear in Secreta flickered in Siron’s mind. He knew all too well that Isaac had no problem imposing his questionable tastes on him.

“Well, I’ve heard things. And lived through a few.”

Siron replied, defiant, as he pulled the clothes from the bag. But to his surprise, they were completely normal.

A black T-shirt, black cargo pants with cuffs, plain black Adidas sneakers, and black socks. The only splash of color was the pale gray underwear, but the entire set was oppressively drab. Isaac clearly broke out in hives if he wore anything with color.

Carrying the clothes, Siron stepped into the adjoining shower. He was too sweaty and grimy to put them on as-is—it would be an insult to clean clothes. He took a quick lukewarm shower, toweled off, and slipped into the underwear. Just as he reached for the rest of the outfit, the door slammed open.

“What the—?!”

Isaac stepped into the shower stall. The narrow space, barely the size of a single bed, suddenly felt like it was being devoured by his presence. Siron tried to dart past him, but the door slammed shut again.

“I need to confirm something.”

Siron looked up at him with a baffled expression.

“Right now? Seriously?”

“Yes. Right now.”

Isaac leaned casually against the door, arms crossed. Whatever he needed to “confirm,” he was dead serious about it—his eyes were laser-focused.

“I don’t know how urgent this is, but could we do it after I put some clothes on and leave the bathroom?”

“That’s not an option.”

Despite Siron’s polite protest, Isaac remained planted by the door, watching him.

“Wh-What are you staring at so hard?”

Face turning red, Siron hastily covered his crotch with the clothes in his hands. The scrutiny in Isaac’s eyes was too intense. Siron felt exposed, humiliated. He turned his body slightly. But then something else invaded the small space—Isaac’s pheromones, thick and heavy.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“I need to measure your response to pheromones.”

Siron backed into the wall like a man dodging a tidal wave. That feeling again. A sharp ache spread from his tailbone, an unknown thirst building inside. Something slick was leaking between his thighs, coating him with a sticky wetness. He glanced at the exhaust fan—dead. Not moving.

Under the dim fluorescent light, Siron’s skin flushed red with heat. His cheeks, neck, collarbone—every inch began to glow.

“Too... it’s too strong...”

“What does that feel like?”

“It—nngh—it triggers sexual arousal!”

Isaac’s gaze dropped toward Siron’s crotch.

“You’re hard.”

“Exactly! So stop! You’ve... already confirmed it...!”

Tears were slipping down Siron’s face as he glared at Isaac with resentment. Isaac stared closely at Siron’s ass.

“Looks like your underwear is soaked.”

“You bastard!”

Siron shouted, dropping to the floor and hugging himself like he’d just had a terrible secret exposed. He shot Isaac a fierce, wounded glare.

“Turn it off. Turn your damn pheromones off.”

But Isaac’s pheromones continued to saturate the air like an unending exhale. He dropped to one knee to match Siron’s eye level, carefully observing how his pheromones were affecting him. Siron, who had once resisted so vehemently, was now unconsciously breathing deeper and harder—like someone deprived of oxygen.

“Do the pheromones affect your sense of smell?”

Isaac cupped Siron’s cheek, asking softly.

“It stings... burns... itches...”

“And the scent?”

“I... I don’t know.”

Isaac leaned in even closer. Siron realized if this kept going, they’d end up kissing. He stared blankly at Isaac’s parted lips, remembering the taste—and just like that, the sticky, pulsing sensation inside surged upward.

“Haa...”

“I need to confirm something. Raise your hips. Spread your legs.”

“No!”

He still had pride, damn it. He’d rather dive off the ship than let anyone see slick leaking from between his legs.

“Do it.”

“I said no! No!”

Isaac pinched Siron’s nose between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a tug. It was the kind of playful gesture someone might do to scold a child—but in Isaac’s huge hand, it hurt like hell.

“Gah!”

“Being stubborn is pointless.”

Isaac’s voice carried a quiet laugh.

“It hurts... ngh, it hurts so bad...”

“If you prefer being forced, I’ll indulge you. But I’d really like to be as gentle as possible.”

Siron clutched his nose, tears brimming in his eyes as he looked up at Isaac with pure loathing. But Isaac’s expression had gone cold—his face unreadable.

“Stop resisting. Do what I said.”

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