I Became the Villain Chapter 207: A Bubble Built for Two

Chapter 207: A Bubble Built for Two

"Please let people think this is a hickey and not a bruise."

Cherion leaned closer to the little vanity mirror, squinting at the spectacular mess of purple and red blooming all over his throat. He tilted his head, poking at one particularly dramatic mark right over his pulse point, which was currently beating like it had somewhere urgent to be.

Honestly, his neck looked like Zarius had gotten hungry and forgotten how moderation worked. And the worst part? Looking at it made his legs feel weak all over again. Fantastic. His reflection stared back at him, flushed cheeks, damp curls sticking out in every direction, and eyes way too glassy for someone insisting he was "totally fine."

He really shouldn’t have been surprised. The cedar tub situation had been... experimental. Yeah. Let’s call it that. Water changed everything. It made every touch slippery and impossible to escape, turned simple movements into this slow, dizzying mess that left his brain buffering like a bad inter connection. He looked down at his fingers and noticed they were still wrinkled from soaking too long.

Worth it, though. Every second of water spilling over the tub and steam turning the room into a sauna from hell had absolutely been worth it. Apparently the Duke possessed both stamina and creativity, which honestly felt unfair. Cherion wasn’t complaining, obviously. He was simply acknowledging facts.

Leaving the mirror behind, he wandered toward the trunk of clothes Zarius kept shoved in the corner of the cabin. Apparently the man stocked spare clothes everywhere. Everything inside smelled like him too.

After digging through layers of expensive fabric, he found a simple black linen shirt. It was enormous. On Zarius, it probably fit perfectly. On Cherion, it looked like he’d stolen clothing from a much larger and significantly more dangerous species. The hem brushed the middle of his thighs, soft fabric sliding against skin that was still way too sensitive.

He pulled it on and rolled the sleeves up because they completely swallowed his hands.

Then he looked at the trousers.

His legs immediately responded with an offended little tremor that basically said, absolutely not.

Why bother? The shirt was long enough. It wasn’t like he was trying to be provocative or anything. Absolutely not. It was a matter of utility. Comfort. And if Zarius happened to catch sight of a little bare leg, well... Cherion supposed he could allow it.

The smell hit him before he even reached the stairs. Savory. Rich. Sizzling butter and herbs and something smoky enough to make his stomach growl loud and traitorous. He followed it downstairs, bare feet quiet against the wooden floorboards, until he reached the kitchen doorway.

Then he stopped dead.

Because honestly? The sight in front of him felt illegal somehow.

Zarius was cooking.

Topless.

The Duke’s broad back flexed with every movement, all scars and muscle and ridiculous strength shifting under warm golden light. He wore nothing except black trousers and a belt pulled tight around a waist that genuinely made no sense on a man built like a war machine. Sweat gleamed faintly on his skin while he worked over the cast-iron skillet like some terrifying domestic god who’d decided violence and cooking were equally valid hobbies.

He looked lethal.

He also looked extremely busy being attractive about it.

Cherion took one look from behind him and whistled softly. "Wow. Didn’t realize the Duke also included line cook duties." He nodded solemnly at the fish. "Respect."

Zarius didn’t turn right away, but Cherion caught the slight tension in his shoulders and the rumbling sound that escaped him, somewhere between a growl and an amused exhale.

"I have many skills you’ve yet to uncover, Cherion." He flipped the fish with a practiced flick of his wrist, the skin crackling as it hit the hot oil. "But don’t go getting used to this."

"Haha, sure, Your Grace. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Cherion chirped. "Though I have to say, the topless look really adds something to the flavor profile. Very rustic. Very ’I just killed this with my bare hands and now I shall nourish you’."

Zarius finally turned, plate in hand, his red eyes glowing with a muted, satisfied heat. He set the food down on the wooden table, flaky white fish, wild greens, and something that looked suspiciously like toasted bread. "Eat. Your body is currently running on nothing but spite and pheromones. You need the replenishment."

Cherion didn’t need to be told twice. He sat down and took a bite. It was incredible. The fish was buttery and fresh, melting on his tongue in a way that made him want to weep. "You missed your calling, Zarius. You could have run a five-star restaurant in the capital. People would have fought to the death for a seat at your table."

"I much prefer my current profession," Zarius replied calmly while demolishing his own, much larger portion. He pointed a fork at Cherion’s plate. "Finish it all."

"Okay, but seriously," he muttered, lowering his fork. "We’ve been gone for what? Almost a full day? The castle must be in an absolute state of panic."

Zarius didn’t even look up. "They have the note and they are not fools, Cherion," Zarius said. "They know exactly what is happening. They know a ’heat’ requires privacy and... attention. They will manage. For now, the world ends at the door of this cabin."

Cherion leaned back, nursing a cup of tea he hadn’t realized was there. "So, how long are we staying in this bubble?"

"Two days. Maybe three," Zarius answered firmly. "I am not taking you back until I am certain your cycle has fully settled. It’s too unpredictable. There are no pheromones, Cherion. Yet your body is reacting as if it’s being torn apart from the inside. It is concerning. And why didn’t you tell anyone about this?"

Right. It was weird. In this world, a heat was supposed to be a siren song of hormones and smells. But Cherion was empty. "Haha, yeah, about that," he began. He couldn’t casually admit he was a foreign soul piloting Cherion’s body like a stolen rental car. "With everything going on... I guess I just... forgot. I got distracted."

Zarius’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read the thoughts Cherion was frantically burying. "You forgot your own cycle? A dangerous oversight."

Cherion laughed weakly. "Yeah, well. Turns out biological catastrophes should probably go in the planner."

He finished his meal in a hurry, the silence becoming a bit too heavy for his liking. When he was done, he stood up and reached for Zarius’s empty plate. "I’ll do the dishes. It’s the least I can do since you provided the ’catch of the day’."

"Sit," Zarius commanded, though his voice was surprisingly soft. "I didn’t bring you here to play maid. I have it."

Cherion didn’t listen. He stood beside Zarius at the small basin anyway, leaning his shoulder against the Duke’s arm. "So, two or three days. Just us. In the middle of nowhere. What exactly are we supposed to do with all that time?"

Zarius stopped scrubbing a plate, the water dripping from his fingers back into the basin. He shifted, turning his body until he was facing Cherion head-on. The height difference was staggering, especially with Cherion being barefoot. "Anything you want."

"Anything?" Cherion whispered, his hand reaching out to rest against Zarius’s bare waist.

"Anything," Zarius confirmed.

The way Zarius smiled should’ve come with a warning label.

Cherion swallowed hard.

Then he pushed himself onto his toes, fingers brushing along the Duke’s jaw. Their faces hovered inches apart, close enough for Cherion to feel the sheer gravitational pull of the man.

"Well then," he whispered, pulse stuttering wildly, "maybe we should start with..."

Before he could finish the sentence, Zarius’s hands were under his thighs, hoisting him up with a terrifying ease. Cherion let out a sharp, surprised gasp, his legs instinctively circling Zarius’s waist as he clung to the Duke’s shoulders for dear life. The black shirt rode up, exposing everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

"It seems," Zarius rumbled, his lips brushing against Cherion’s ear, "we are thinking of the same thing."

Cherion let out a breathless, shaky chuckle as Zarius carried him across the small space. He felt the cool wood of the dining table against his back as Zarius laid him down there carefully, the surface already cleaned of everything. Zarius’s hands moving to spread Cherion’s thighs wide.

"I wonder," Zarius whispered, "if you’ll let me have my dessert now."

Cherion reached up, tangling his fingers in Zarius’s dark hair and pulling him down, his eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and absolute surrender.

"Come and get it, you big wolf. I’m not going anywhere."