The Reborn Sovereign Chapter 72: Injection site

Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Injection site

Mezos entered like a shadow with military training, crossed the room in five controlled strides, and placed the loaded injection gun on the low table within Arik’s reach. His expression did not move. His eyes did not linger on Liam curled against Arik’s chest. He did not ask questions, did not take inventory, did not allow the scene to become anything a person could later retell.

He only said, "Compatible dose. Selwyn marked the safety seal in blue."

Then he turned and left.

The door closed behind him.

Liam stared after him.

For a long second, he seemed almost unable to process the lack of reaction.

Then his fingers tightened in Arik’s shirt again, smaller this time. Less panic. More disbelief.

"He didn’t look," Liam whispered.

"No."

"He always looks like he knows everything."

"That is his job as chief of my security and shadow."

"But he didn’t look."

"He knows when not to."

Liam swallowed.

The trembling had returned harder after the door opened, running through him in cold, fine waves. Arik could feel the way Liam tried to force his body still and failed. That failure hurt him more than the shaking itself. It was written all over him: the humiliation, the anger, the terror of being witnessed in a state he could not command back into obedience.

Arik reached for the injection gun.

Liam’s gaze snapped to his hand.

Arik stopped. "Do you want to do it?"

Liam looked at the gun.

Then at his own hand.

The tremor was visible now, too sharp to pretend away. His fingers flexed once, as if he could insult them into steadiness.

He could not.

His jaw tightened. "I can."

"That was not what I asked."

Liam’s eyes flashed. "Do not be reasonable with me."

"I will try to survive the accusation."

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

"Arik."

Arik’s mouth closed.

Liam stared at the injection gun again, then exhaled through his teeth. "Upper outer thigh?"

"Yes."

"I know how to do an injection."

"I assumed so."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because your hands are shaking."

Liam’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

For a moment, Arik thought he would argue again. He braced for it, ready to let him. If anger kept Liam upright, then anger could have the room.

But Liam only closed his eyes.

When he spoke again, his voice was low enough that it barely crossed the space between them.

"If I tell you to do it, that counts."

Arik went still.

Liam opened his eyes. They were too bright, his crimson gaze heightened by fear, rage, and the sheer violence of being forced to seek assistance.

"It counts," Liam repeated. "I’m not in heat yet. I know what I’m asking. I need the suppressant. My hands won’t hold steady enough. So if I tell you to do it, that counts."

Arik held his gaze.

"Yes," he said. "It counts."

"Do not make it sentimental."

"I won’t."

"You are thinking something sentimental."

"I am thinking that you are very brave."

Liam looked personally offended. "That is worse."

"It is also accurate."

"I am going to revoke your access to adjectives."

Arik picked up the injection gun. "Tell me where."

Liam swallowed, then shifted with visible effort, pulling one hand free of Arik’s shirt. He touched the upper outer part of his thigh through his trousers, then hesitated.

His hand shook.

Arik waited.

Liam’s face twisted once, pride warring with necessity, and then he dragged the fabric up, but it didn’t budge.

"There," he said.

Arik exhaled. "Liam, you will have to take your pants off... Or change it to another spot."

Liam stopped moving.

Then, slowly, he raised his head from Arik’s chest and looked at him with the cold, offended silence of a man who had just been let down by both medicine and tailoring.

"No," he said.

Arik looked at the fitted line of Liam’s trousers, then back at his face. "The fabric is too thick."

"I heard you."

"It may not deliver correctly."

"I heard you," Liam repeated, more dangerously.

Arik lowered the injection gun to his lap, keeping it visible but not moving closer. "Then we use the upper arm."

Liam’s jaw tightened.

For a second, the room was quiet except for his uneven breathing.

"The sleeve," Liam said.

"Can be rolled."

Liam closed his eyes with the pained dignity of a man suffering through civilization’s collapse at very close range. "Fine."

Arik did not smile. That was wise. Possibly lifesaving.

Liam shifted again, still half in his lap, but this time to free his arm. His fingers were clumsy against his cuff. The tremor made the button slip twice, and the second time his mouth tightened with such raw, furious humiliation that Arik felt something in his chest go cold.

"Let me," Arik said.

Liam’s eyes snapped to him.

Arik held his gaze. "Only the sleeve."

A pause.

Then Liam gave one jerky nod.

Arik moved slowly, undoing the cuff with care and rolling the fabric above Liam’s shoulder. He did not let his fingers linger. Did not brush skin longer than needed; he was safer than anyone Liam had met until now.

Arik looked away from his face and focused on the task. "Here?"

Liam glanced at the exposed muscle of his upper arm and nodded. "Yes."

"I am placing it now."

"Stop narrating like I’m a wild animal."

"You threatened my eye."

"That was fair."

"Yes."

The injection gun touched his skin, and Liam stiffened as he felt the cold, his fingers locking back into Arik’s shirt.

Arik kept his free hand open beside Liam’s arm, not holding him down. "Ready?"

Liam’s throat worked, and then he said, "Do it."

Arik triggered the dose.

Liam flinched hard and buried his face against Arik’s chest again, breath breaking into the fabric. Arik kept the gun flush.

One.

Two.

Liam trembled violently.

Three.

Warm stone and caramel stayed steady in the air.

Four.

Arik’s jaw locked.

Five.

He lifted the gun away and set it on the table.

"Done."

Liam did not answer.

His hand remained twisted in Arik’s shirt, his grip bruising, his body still shaking in waves that now carried exhaustion beneath the fear. Arik folded the sleeve back down loosely, not bothering with the cuff.

"Still alive?" Arik asked softly.

"No," Liam muttered into his chest. "I died of medical humiliation."

"Should I notify Ravenwood Manor?"

"If you do, I’ll haunt you."

"I would deserve it."

"That was too agreeable. Suspicious."

Arik’s mouth almost curved, but the smile died before it formed. Liam’s skin had cooled under his hand, just as Selwyn had warned.

"You’re cold," Arik said.

"I am furious."

"You can be both."

"Do not expand my suffering."

Arik slid an arm more securely beneath him. "I’m taking you to the bedroom."

Liam stiffened.

Arik stopped before standing. "For warmth and containment. Door open unless you say otherwise. You keep your comm. You control the ward. No one enters."

Liam’s fingers tightened once.

Then, barely, he nodded. "If you make one joke, I will recover out of spite and murder you."

"Understood."

Arik stood with him carefully.

Liam clung through the motion, silent now, face hidden, pride exhausted enough to stop arguing but not enough to let go.

The bedroom was already dimmed. Curtains drawn. Bedding turned down. Water and folded cloth waiting on the side table. Agaron efficiency layered over Wrohan architecture like a quiet occupation.

Arik sat on the bed first, keeping Liam in his arms rather than placing him down.

Gold ether slipped from his hand in thin, controlled threads, tracing the doorframe, windows, and walls.

Liam’s head lifted, his pupils already dilating from the injection. "What are you doing?"

"Locking the space."

His eyes sharpened. "Against me?"

"Against everyone else." Arik placed Liam’s comm within reach. "You can open it. No one else can enter."

Liam stared at the comm, the door, and him.

"You are very annoying," he whispered.

"I’ve been told."

"You keep removing the correct reasons to hate you."

"I’m sure you’ll find new ones."

"I will."

"I believe you."