Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel! Chapter 256: Going Feral

"Leon’s pride won’t let him back down. He’s not going to retreat with his tail between his legs. He needs to be crushed. We show strength, he folds."

Riven looked down at his hands. "You’re seriously suggesting we escalate this?"

"I’m seriously suggesting we finish it before it drags on," Soren said flatly. "If we don’t act first, he will. He already took the first step when he entered this town with soldiers."

Riven sighed. Of course, to Soren, it felt like the most obvious thing in the world, but Riven, Riven ca from the modern world, killing was not as easy as Soren made it sound.

He rubbed his temples, wishing he could shut his brain off for five minutes. He ca to this world for fun, why weren’t things going his way? BL Gods what is your plan?!

Soren got up and crouched beside him, resting a hand on his thigh. "I’m not saying we actually go to war. I’m saying we prepare for it. Because I don’t want you to regret anything."

Riven t his eyes, what he said... Seems to make sense. Just prepare for it. Yes, they were not starting the fight. But if it escalated, they had to be prepared. He nodded in agreent, and Soren imdiately inford the lieutenant.

---

The small room was cloaked in silence, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the steady rhythm of Riven’s breathing.

Soren lay beside him, arm loosely draped over Riven’s waist, his expression calm and his breathing steady. He looked at peace, and that made him feel relaxed. The pit in his stomach dissolved.

But the mont he felt Riven’s body fully relax, his breathing softened into sleep, Soren’s eyes fluttered open.

Not soft.

Not sleepy.

Cold and sharp.

A predator’s gaze.

His eyes, usually calm, now glowed with sothing darker. He stared at Riven’s sleeping face for a long mont, drinking in the slope of his cheek, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In the dim firelight, Riven looked so vulnerable. So trusting. So his.

And yet... Hah...

Leon.

He had seen it—felt it—the second Leon laid eyes on Riven earlier that evening. That subtle shift in expression, the spark of sothing too familiar. It wasn’t just arrogance or rivalry—Leon knew Riven. There was history there. And Soren didn’t like history he wasn’t a part of.

He wanted to believe Riven didn’t return it. He needed to believe that. Riven hadn’t smiled at Leon. He hadn’t looked at him with affection. No flushed cheeks, no downcast eyes. Only a distant, professional mask.

But still...

What if?

Soren’s hand slowly curled into a fist beneath the blanket.

He had spent weeks taming himself, presenting a palatable version of who he was to Riven. Cool, controlled. Calculative, even. He didn’t want to scare him away, though Riven already knew he had a dangerous side to him, he did not turn him away. He had worked hard to be patient, to play nice with the wolf, to not rip out anyone’s throat the mont they touched what was his.

But the truth?

The truth was that he was obsessive.

Possessive to the bone.

He had toned it down, not erased it.

He could never erase it.

He leaned forward just slightly, brushing his lips across Riven’s forehead so softly it wouldn’t wake him up. "Don’t you dare look at anyone other than ." He whispered.

---

Leon couldn’t sleep. No matter how many tis he flipped his pillow or changed positions, the frustration churning inside him refused to let him rest.

He punched the mattress and sat up, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. His jaw clenched, and his golden eyes glared into the dark as if it were the night’s fault for everything going wrong.

Why?

Why did Riven act like they were strangers?

Why did he bring Soren, of all people?

And why? Why did it hurt?

He shouldn’t have been hurt over this. Over him. He should’ve laughed in Riven’s face and sent him right back to that snow leopard’s territory with his tail between his legs. He should’ve been able to look into those eyes and feel nothing.

But instead, he burned.

Anger, jealousy, longing—it all swirled together, unbearable and ugly. A storm with nowhere to go.

Leon kicked off the covers and stord to the window. He yanked the curtain aside and looked out across the shadowed village.

And there it was. That house. Their house. The one Soren and Riven were sharing for the night.

He could picture them together—Soren’s arm probably wrapped around Riven like a possessive bastard. Probably smug. Probably whispering sweet things in his ear while Riven smiled and leaned in.

Leon’s hands curled into fists at the windowsill, nails biting into the wood. His breath ca out in a sharp exhale through his nose.

"This is torture," he muttered to himself.

What the hell am I doing?

He didn’t even want the town anymore. He didn’t care about the stupid strategic positioning, the neutrality agreents, or whatever bullshit reasons the townsfolk gave him.

This wasn’t about the land.

This was about him.

Riven.

That wolf had crawled into his thoughts, made a ho there, and now refused to leave. No matter how many nights passed. No matter how many tis Leon told himself he didn’t care.

Snarling under his breath, he pushed away from the window and grabbed his coat. But then he paused.

No.

A coat wouldn’t help tonight.

The heat in his chest was pulsing too strongly now, sothing wild stirring just beneath the surface. His pride blood, his lion soul, his instincts—they were all clawing at him. Demanding release.

He stord to the door, stepped into the moonlit streets, and when he made sure no one was watching, he shifted. Only a few had the honour of looking at him in his lion form. And no one here deserved it.

Right now, he didn’t feel like the King of the Golden Pride. He didn’t feel diplomatic or regal or composed.

He felt feral. Completely animal.