Mark of Sin: Bound to the Cruel Alpha

"Oh, you made it after all?"

I snapped my head up, startled by the voice, and found Askold standing a few feet away. He held a massive trash bag crammed with debris, rusted rods and bent nails poking dangerously through the plastic.

"Yeah, of course," I forced out, shoving my phone deep into my sweatpants pocket as I tried to steady my breathing. "I promised I’d help."

"Should you really be walking around on that leg today?" Askold asked, his brow furrowing as he scanned my frame. "Your burn can’t possibly be healed yet. Isn’t it too early to put weight on it?"

"It’s just a minor setback, don’t worry," I tried to offer a reassuring smile, though it felt brittle. "I disinfected it thoroughly and I’m taking the antidotes on schedule. Thanks again for yesterday, by the way. If you hadn’t jumped in so quickly, the reaction would have been a lot worse."

"How did you even end up with a solvent allergy that severe?" he asked, dragging the heavy bag toward a growing pile against the far wall. "It’s pretty uncommon."

The rest of the crew was already hard at work; my phone call had clearly delayed me longer than I realized.

"It runs in the family," I replied with a faint shrug, finally pulling my water bottle from my bag. "My father has a severe reaction to solvents and certain harsh chemicals, like concentrated bleach. There were a few other triggers, but I can’t recall them all. Mine only flares up around solvents, thankfully. Everything else is fine."

Askold paused, his hands still resting on the trash bag, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unreadable expression.

I shoved my phone deeper into my bag, quickly toggling it to completely silent mode. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the flashing screen—my father was persistently trying to call back, his name blinking on the display like an inescapable specter.

I silently rejected the incoming call without hesitation and pulled out the cold water bottle from the depths of my backpack. Unscrewing the cap with trembling fingers, I took several greedy swallows, letting the cold water soothe my dry throat.

"I see... genetics," Askold remarked distantly, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. "Well, come along then, since you’re here. I could really use your help. It’ll go so much faster with you around—none of the other female volunteers showed up today, they all canceled or were busy. We need to finish cleaning the windows."

I nodded, stowing the bottle back in my bag, and hurried down the filthy corridor behind him, navigating around piles of construction debris.

Work was in full swing; quite a few homeless people had been recruited for the cleanup, hauling heavy bags, clearing rubble, and sweeping floors. Only about five or six volunteers had turned up, but even that small crew made a massive difference given the sheer scale of the task.

The amount of trash accumulated in the building was staggering. Sections of the ceiling and walls had partially collapsed, leaving mounds of plaster and broken concrete behind that had to be bagged up and carried outside for disposal.

The windows were mostly intact, though a few panes were spider-webbed with fine cracks. The undamaged ones needed a thorough wash, while the cracked ones would likely be replaced during the upcoming renovation, so there was no point scrubbing those.

Askold had already set up a large plastic bucket filled with water and stacked a pile of clean rags nearby.

"It makes the most sense to start from the top sections," he said, looking up to gauge the height of the tall window frames.

I glanced at him, then back up at the towering, grime-covered glass, doubting my abilities. "I don’t think I can reach the top even on tiptoes—it’s way too high. Maybe you take the upper half and I’ll handle the lower part?"

"Don’t exaggerate," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "To be honest, I can’t reach all the way up either—these windows are massive. I was thinking... if you don’t mind and aren’t afraid, I could carefully hoist you up onto my shoulders. Together we’ll have more than enough height to wipe down the very top."

I gave him a critical look, sizing up his frame against the dusty glass, before nodding in agreement.

We set to work cleaning the massive windows one after another, talking about everything and nothing to pass the time. Between windows, Askold casually mentioned that he had finally finished that mysterious device he’d been tinkering with in his spare hours. He promised to show me the finished result the next time we met, calling it a Hemotranslator.

It caught me completely off guard that someone like Askold was so deeply interested in medical engineering. To build such a complex, specialized device from scratch in a basement required extraordinary talent. I had seen commercial hemotranslators before in veterinary clinics—bulky, box-like machines. The one he described was small enough to fit in the palm of a hand.

As we were finishing up the very last window in the long row, I stretched as high as I could, straining to reach the top corner where a streak of grime remained. I leaned one hand against Askold’s head for balance so I wouldn’t slip.

And in that exact split second, a powerful hand violently seized the back of my top and yanked me straight down off Askold’s shoulders.

A sharp shriek tore from my throat in sheer panic. I instinctively closed my eyes, bracing for a brutal impact against the concrete, but I didn’t crash down. Strong arms caught me mid-air, hoisting me up before carelessly depositing me back onto my feet. I stumbled awkwardly over the construction rubble beneath my shoes, barely managing to stay upright.

When I opened my eyes, terror seized my chest.

Magnus was slamming Askold back-first into the rough concrete wall with terrifying, inhuman strength, pinning him with his heavy body. But Askold reacted instantly—his grip locked around Magnus’s wrist like a vise, holding him back and preventing him from pressing any closer.

A thick, suffocating wave of feral aggression and mutual hatred exploded between the two males. The vast room filled to the brim with a suffocating, bloodthirsty tension—a primal urge to tear each other apart.

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