Mark of Sin: Bound to the Cruel Alpha

"It’s stunning," I admitted, unable to take my eyes off the faint blue pulse. "What is it? What does it do?"

Askold turned the device over in his thick, calloused hands, squinting as he inspected the golden center with a critical, master craftsman’s eye.

"It isn’t finished yet, and I haven’t tested it in the field," he murmured, his thumb tracing the flat edge of one of the needles. "There are still a few components to calibrate—the internal spring mechanism needs fine-tuning. Once I get it fully functional and run a proper test to make sure it won’t backfire, I’ll tell you what it’s built for."

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head in wonder. It was almost impossible to comprehend: an exiled rogue, living in the forgotten belly of the city, hand-forging high-level, masterwork technology out of scrap metal scavenged from junk heaps.

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, wrapped tightly in his faded blanket, shaking his head with heavy disapproval.

"Jane, you shouldn’t have spent so much money on me," he rasped, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and pain. "It’s too much. I’m not worth that kind of expense—truly."

A sudden wave of intense emotion flared in my chest, and I whirled around to face him.

"No," I said, my voice ringing with absolute certainty as I met his gaze. "That money wasn’t wasted. A person’s life isn’t something you can put a price tag on, Adam. All the money in the world can’t buy the feeling of having the people you care about alive and beside you. Askold needs you. Everyone who calls you a friend needs you."

Adam turned his face toward the damp stone wall, his lips pressing into a tight line as he fought to suppress his emotions. I saw his shoulders tremble, his throat work through a heavy swallow, and his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Alright, alright... don’t make a big deal out of it," he muttered in a thick voice, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Askold let out a low, warm scoff, stepping beside me and resting a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, I’ll walk you out," he said gently. "There’s no point in sitting down here breathing in his plague bugs. You’ll end up sick too."

Adam nodded in agreement, feebly waving me off. "He’s right. Go on, Jane. And... thank you. Seriously. I won’t ever forget what you did for me."

They were right—staying around a severe respiratory infection was reckless. But the thought of returning to Magnus’s penthouse after everything I’d uncovered today made my stomach turn. I resolved to find a quiet café somewhere across town and just disappear into the crowd until dark.

Askold and I climbed the creaking, paint-chipped wooden stairs out of the old cellar. Lost in my thoughts, I descended the ruined front porch without watching my step.

It was a mistake.

My shoe skidded across a slick, moss-covered step, and my balance snapped. Askold’s whip-fast reflexes saved me from a nasty fall—his strong grip caught my forearm instantly—but my right foot slammed directly into a murky puddle at the base of the porch.

The moment my shoe submerged, an agonizing, searing heat blasted through the fabric. I let out a sharp scream, jerking my leg back as excruciating pain shot up my calf.

Without hesitation, Askold scooped me up in his arms and hauled me back inside, setting me down on a battered wooden chair in the kitchen. Trembling violently, I hitched my denim jeans up toward my knee, exposing my bare lower leg.

My skin was already flushed a horrific, angry crimson—a severe chemical burn blossoming across my skin, with tiny, fluid-filled blisters beginning to bubble up before my eyes.

Askold whirled toward the cellar door, his voice echoing through the rotting house with raw alarm:

"Adam! What the hell was left out on the porch?! What did you spill out there?!"

Despite his burning fever, Adam rushed up the stairs, stumbling slightly as he gripped the doorframe for support. He hurried outside, his face drained of color.

A minute later, he shuffled back into the kitchen, breathless and terrified.

"There... there were broken glass bottles under the steps," he stammered, looking at my leg in pure horror. "Industrial solvent... I used it yesterday to strip down metal tools and forgot to clear the glass away. Jane, I’m so sorry! Please, I’m so sorry!"

"—I have an allergy to solvent," I squeezed out, my voice trembling as fear flared inside me. "A bad one. Very bad."

Askold froze for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes narrowing as he scanned my face for signs of anaphylaxis or sudden swelling.

Adam was already sprinting back into the kitchen, dragging an old metal bucket sloshing with ice-cold water and leaving a trail of wet splashes across the floorboards.

Ripping off my right sneaker, I tossed it into the corner. Working together, they gently poured the cold water over my leg, washing away every last trace of the caustic chemical. The agonizing searing ebbed slightly, but my skin still throbbed with a white-hot, hellish heat.

Without a word, Askold stood up, disappeared into his room for a moment, and returned with a tattered foil blister pack, popping a single pill from the slot.

"What is that?" I gasped, glancing at the unfamiliar foil stamped with foreign characters.

"A high-potency antidote," he said concisely, holding it out to me. "It works within minutes. Sometimes I get burned with silver when I work with my tools, so this helps."

Maybe it was the sheer shock of the pain, or perhaps the steady, unshakeable calm in his voice, but I didn’t question him. I took the tablet from his calloused palm and swallowed it with a glass of tap water Adam handed me.

Miraculously, within three minutes, the suffocating internal burn began to recede, settling into a dull, manageable ache—though the skin remained flushed and hot to the touch.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!