Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega Chapter 61: New information

"You fucked and marked like a monster!"

Gregoris said nothing but let his gaze slide slowly over Rafael, the fresh bandage, the bruising along his collarbone, and the stubborn fire still simring under the exhaustion. His mouth curved in a very pleased grin.

"Yes," he said simply. "You wore that coat and walked into a gala with no underwear."

Rafael’s brain stalled. "That is not..."

"It is exactly that," Gregoris replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. "You challenged ."

Rafael went red in a way that had nothing to do with rage.

Gregoris leaned back slightly, coffee cradled in one hand, like they were discussing a mildly amusing administrative mishap rather than the complete destruction of Rafael’s dignity.

"You looked at ," he continued calmly, "completely aware of what that would do. You stood there and smiled like you were immune to the outco. And I assure you, Rafael, I am very... responsive."

Rafael dragged a hand down his face. "You could have exercised restraint."

"I did," Gregoris said, utterly shaless. "For an impressive duration, considering the circumstances. I am, after all, only a man."

Rafael shot him a look that could have stripped paint. "You are not ’only’ anything."

"No," Gregoris agreed. "But neither are you. And you do not get to dress yourself like an invitation, provoke with every movent, and then gasp in surprised outrage when the reaction exceeds your optimism."

Rafael opened his mouth. Nothing ca out. His pride tried to assemble an argunt. His mory said absolutely not.

Gregoris tilted his head slightly, studying him.

"You knew exactly what you were doing," he went on, voice softer but no less shaless. "You just didn’t anticipate that I would be... quite so committed to the outco."

He let that hang between them.

Rafael swallowed. "You’re insufferable."

"Yes," Gregoris replied pleasantly. "And still very much not sorry."

Rafael glared at him.

Gregoris smiled like a man deeply satisfied with the universe and every questionable decision that led to this mont.

"And for the record," he added, unapologetically amused, "if you ever do that again, I will consider it a free ticket to have you at a public event."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "You wouldn’t dare."

Gregoris looked genuinely offended by the accusation. "Rafael. Please. I do very little in this life by half asures."

"That wasn’t an invitation," Rafael snapped.

"It was," Gregoris corrected calmly. "You simply did not read the terms and conditions."

Rafael wanted to throw sothing at him. Preferably the bed. Or the coffee. Or the entire manor.

"I am never wearing that again."

Gregoris’s gaze ward with sothing visibly pleased. "You will. Eventually. You enjoyed the attention."

Rafael scoffed. "I enjoyed annoying you."

"You succeeded," Gregoris said smoothly. "Spectacularly. And now you are here, marked, resting, and under my care. Cause, effect. You’re a brilliant man; apply the logic."

Rafael sank back against the pillows, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him.

Gregoris took another slow sip of coffee, utterly unbothered.

"Why did you mark ? We could have stopped at sex." Rafael asked without the courage to look at now... his alpha.

"Because I liked you before feeling your scent and... after feeling it and you..." Gregoris paused, not searching for poetry, just accuracy. His gaze didn’t soften; it steadied.

"You want the blunt answer," he said. "So here it is."

Rafael braced.

"You fit," Gregoris continued simply. "Not in so mystical, destined way, but the way you think, argue, and look at like I’m dangerous and still keep pushing anyway."

He lifted his coffee again, as if this conversation wasn’t quietly rearranging Rafael’s insides.

"And then there’s your scent," he went on. "It settled under my skin in a way that didn’t fade. Most ogas I’ve encountered sll pleasant and very forgettable. Yours didn’t. It made every instinct I’ve spent a lifeti controlling decide that you were... optimal."

Rafael blinked. "Optimal," he repeated flatly. "Truly, nothing lts the heart like hearing one is biologically efficient."

Gregoris’s mouth twitched. "You asked for bluntness. Now you’re offended it isn’t poetic?"

Rafael didn’t answer.

Gregoris leaned back slightly, watching him.

"I marked you because I liked you," he said, finally putting it plainly. "I liked you from the very start of it. And once I had proof that my instincts weren’t lying to , I didn’t see a reason to pretend otherwise."

Silence.

Rafael stared at him, breath held sowhere shallow in his chest, like his body didn’t quite know how to respond to being chosen this plainly.

"That’s it?" he asked quietly. "No grand destiny. No empire-level strategy. No noble reasoning?"

Gregoris shrugged slightly. "You are the best decision I’ve made in a long ti. I tend not to overcomplicate good decisions."

"Please go away or bring sothing to eat. I need strength to confront Delphine," Rafael muttered, leaning back against the pillows with the air of a man bracing for war.

Gregoris didn’t move. Dukes didn’t take orders from ogas. Commanders didn’t retreat. And Gregoris Frasner, unfortunately, was both.

"Food I can arrange," he said, entirely too composed. "Distance, however, is strategically inadvisable."

Rafael glared. "You’re insufferable."

"And you’re fragile," Gregoris countered smoothly. "It’s an unfortunate combination."

"I am not fragile," Rafael snapped, regret stabbing through his body a half-second later when muscles disagreed with heroic indignation.

Gregoris watched the wince, and the satisfaction in his eyes softened into protectiveness in the distinctly dangerous way only he could manage.

"You are an oga," he said clinically, like announcing a weather pattern. "And I am not simply an alpha, Rafael. I am a dominant alpha. There is a difference. Your body is feeling it. That’s why everything hurts, why you’re still exhausted, why your nape is screaming, and why you keep trying to pretend otherwise."

"You are a WHAT?!" Rafael exploded, instantly regretting every decibel as his body staged a violent protest.

Pain flared down his spine. His vision sparked.

Gregoris sighed like soone dealing with an especially dramatic report, stood, and reached toward him. Ether rolled through the air, clean and powerful, flooding outward in a quiet, controlled wave before sinking into Rafael’s system. Warmth spread beneath his skin; the worst of the ache dulled.

"This will help," Gregoris said, voice steady. "If you stop screaming."

Rafael sucked in a breath, glared spitefully through the relief, and hissed, "There are around ten dominant alphas. Three are Damian, Max, and Christian. How... how are you... how did I not... how did nobody?!"

Gregoris tilted his head. "You thought I was rely talented?"

Rafael stared at him as if strangling was suddenly not only reasonable but perhaps morally correct.

"You’re not registered," he snapped. "You’re not listed. You are not in any official genetic record or imperial classification. I would have known."

"Yes," Gregoris agreed calmly. "Which is precisely why I am not listed."

Rafael blinked. "That’s not... that is not how the system works."

Gregoris tilted his head slightly, as though Rafael had said sothing adorable rather than deeply alarming. "I’m the Commander of Shadows, Rafael. One of the chiefs of intelligence in the Empire. Do you truly think public docuntation is sothing I encourage about myself?"

Rafael opened his mouth, then shut it because, unfortunately, when phrased like that, it sounded... distressingly logical.

"That..." he tried again, hands lifting uselessly before dropping back to the sheets when his muscles protested. "That is illegal."

"Many useful things are," Gregoris replied pleasantly.

Rafael made a strangled noise that his dignity imdiately disowned. "Please don’t talk anymore. It hurts my brain and at least fed if you decided to kidnap ."

Gregoris’s mouth twitched like he was considering whether to be insulted or entertained, and, predictably, entertainnt won.

"You’re dramatic when unfed," he observed. "Noted."

Rafael glared. "Kidnapping victims are often dramatic. It’s the trauma."

"You’re not kidnapped," Gregoris replied, entirely too calmly. "You’re recovering. In my ho. Under dical advisent. And imperial authorization."

"That is literally just a more organized form of kidnapping," Rafael muttered.

Gregoris ignored that and tapped a discreet button on the table beside him.

"Peter."

The response was imdiate, efficient, and annoyingly respectful. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Breakfast," Gregoris said. "Sothing with protein and hydration with electrolytes. A stabilizer infusion prepared in case his vitals waver. And ensure the warded corridors stay sealed until I say otherwise."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Rafael blinked. "Did you just... order dical-grade hostage catering?"

Gregoris turned back to him with a look of mild patience. "I ordered food."