Vengeance in His Bed

Jannah scrambled to her feet, her hands trembling as she hauled her skirt and underwear back up, her face a mask of burning, tear-streaked humiliation. The cold marble felt like ice against her skin, but the heat of Dorrent’s insults burned far worse. She clutched her satchel to her chest, her knuckles white. She was small, she was poor, and she was "unkept" by his high-society standards, but the venom of his arrogance sparked a flare of suicidal bravery in her gut.

As she turned toward the door, she whispered under her breath, the words barely a sound. "How can an impotent man even worry about being aroused? He’s just finding excuses for his own failure."

She didn’t expect him to hear. She thought the distance and the sound of the splashing water would bury her defiance.

She was wrong.

Dorrent’s head snapped toward her, his eyes widening with a sudden, violent intensity.

"What did you say?" he hissed, his voice a low, tectonic rumble.

Jannah didn’t have time to answer. Dorrent didn’t even move a muscle in the tub, but a wave of invisible, telekinetic force slammed into her chest like a physical fist. She was lifted off her feet, her satchel flying as she was hurled backward through the doors, across the plush rug of the bedroom, and straight out into the hardwood corridor.

She landed hard on her backside, the impact jarring her spine and sending a white-hot flash of pain through her hips.

"No doctor jokes with their patient’s state, especially not a gutter-rat like you," Dorrent’s voice boomed from the room, echoing with a chilling, god-like authority. "If you ever speak of my condition with such disrespect again, I won’t just throw you out of the room. I’ll throw you out of this life."

The heavy walnut doors slammed shut with a deafening bang, the locks clicking into place with finality.

Jannah lay on the cold floor of the hallway, wincing and clutching her lower back. Her vision was blurry with tears of pain and frustration. She let out a soft, jagged sob, rubbing her backside as she tried to gather her scattered pride.

"Jannah?"

A pair of polished leather shoes appeared in her field of vision. She looked up, blinking through her tears, to find Guron Grefo standing over her. His expression was a mixture of concern and a dark, simmering irritation directed toward the closed doors of his son’s suite.

He reached down, his large, powerful hand gripping her elbow and hoisting her to her feet with surprising gentleness. "Are you alright? I heard the impact from the gallery."

"I’m fine," Jannah lied, her voice shaking as she rubbed the small of her back. "It’s not that serious. I just... I slipped."

"Don’t lie to me," Guron growled, his golden eyes flaring. "I know my son’s temper. He used his pressure on you, didn’t he?"

Jannah looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "He was angry. I said something I shouldn’t have. Please, Alpha Grefo, it’s okay. I’ll just go to my room."

"No," Guron said, his voice hardening into a command. "You are my guest and his physician. He will not treat you like a common intruder in my house. Come. You will see me teach my son a lesson in hospitality."

"Please, don’t," Jannah pleaded, her hand catching his sleeve. "It’ll only make him hate me more. I don’t want a scene."

But Guron was already moving. He ignored her protests, his hand firmly on her arm as he led her back to the double doors. With a single, forceful kick, the locks—reinforced as they were—snapped under his dominant strength. The doors swung open, hitting the walls with a thunderous crack.

Dorrent was still in the tub, his chest heaving, his face contorted in a snarl as he watched his father enter with the omega in tow.

"Father, I told you—"

"Silence!" Guron’s voice shook the room, his own alpha aura expanding until it smothered Dorrent’s. The air grew thick and suffocating, the power play between the two men making Jannah feel as if she were being crushed. "You will not lay another finger on this woman. She is here by my word, and she will perform her duties without fear of your childish tantrums."

Guron turned to Jannah, his expression softening only slightly. "Do your work, Jannah. Now."

Jannah looked at Dorrent. He looked like he wanted to murder her, his eyes burning with a silent, murderous promise. But under his father’s crushing gaze, he remained motionless.

Trembling, Jannah stepped toward the edge of the emerald marble tub. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a handful of crushed, silver-veined leaves—Siren’s Breath and Winter Root. She leaned over, her shadow falling once more across his wet, muscular chest, and sprinkled the herbs into the steaming water.

The reaction was immediate. The clear water began to swirl with a soft, iridescent blue hue. A cool, minty fragrance rose from the surface, cutting through the heavy, hot steam.

Dorrent let out a low growl, intending to stand up and shove her away the moment his father turned his back. "I’m done with this. I’m leaving."

He gripped the edges of the tub to hoist himself out, but as the blue-tinted water lapped against his skin, his muscles suddenly failed him. A deep, unnatural coolness began to seep through his pores, racing through his veins like liquid silk. The fire of his rage was smothered by a wave of profound, heavy relaxation.

His grip on the marble loosened. His broad shoulders slumped against the back of the tub. The tension in his jaw dissolved, and his heavy eyelids began to droop. He tried to focus on Jannah, but her form was beginning to blur, swirling into a soft, hazy silhouette.

The room grew quiet. The heavy alpha pressure that had been suffocating Jannah moments ago vanished, replaced by the peaceful, rhythmic sound of the water.

Dorrent’s head rolled to the side, his breath slowing into a deep, steady draw. He felt dizzier than he had ever felt in his life, his mind slipping into a thick, dark fog of slumber.

He looked up at Jannah one last time, his voice a mere, slurred whisper that barely carried across the water.

"What... what did you put in the water... you..."

Before he could finish the sentence, his eyes slid shut, and the ruthless S-tier alpha fell into a deep, drug-induced sleep.