My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 83: Emiliano’s Rut ( Luther’s POV )

Chapter 83: Emiliano’s Rut ( Luther’s POV )

"What is wrong with you? You’re dying!"

"You’re so pretty, puppy. And you smell so good."

"Emiliano, we have to treat your wound now."

"You’re worried about me. I’m happy!"

It’s like talking to a wall.

I could feel his panting on my neck. His body was so weakened, he just leaned on me with all his weight as the hole where the glass was a few seconds ago was gushing blood.

But this man did not care in the slightest.

His fingers brushed my arm first—light, almost careless—but they didn’t move away.

Instead, they lingered.

Slow, deliberate, tracing just enough to make me notice. He wasn’t in a hurry. His hand slid up to my shoulder, then rested there like it belonged, his thumb making small, aimless circles against my shirt. It wasn’t forceful, but it wasn’t unsure either.

It was the kind of touch that made it very clear he wasn’t asking for permission.

The mix of the pheromones in the air made it hard to concentrate. Especially since I could feel his heartbeat against my chest.

Especially since the heat of his body was burning me through my clothes.

Especially since—

That’s it.

Heat.

"Emiliano?"

"My puppy."

He smiled at me—soft, slow, and completely unguarded.

There was nothing teasing in it, nothing calculated. Just warmth. Honest, open warmth that made his eyes soften and his whole face light up like I was the only thing he could see.

And just like that, my knees nearly gave out.

This was not good for my poor heart.

"I’ll give you a wish. Permission to do anything you want to me once if you can let me burn that wound."

"Anything?"

I gulped.

"Anything."

Emiliano moved his body with difficulty, leaving enough space for me to escape and to grab a surgical blade, a sanitary alcohol and a lighter.

God help us all.

The smell hit first—flesh and alcohol, sharp and foul—and I hesitated for half a second before pressing the heated blade to the wound.

The sizzle was immediate, brutal. The skin around the glass-blackened edge curled slightly under the heat, blood bubbling where it met metal. I expected a jolt, a flinch, something.

Emiliano didn’t move.

Not a sound. Not a twitch.

Breathing steadily. His jaw stayed tight, unmoving, like the pain wasn’t real, or like he refused to give it the satisfaction.

I kept going, working quickly, forcing myself not to look at his face again.

Because the stillness scared me more than screaming would have.

Whatever he will wish for, it’s gonna be brutal for me.

Thankfully, the wound closed rapidly. I hope he doesn’t have any organs affected, although I doubt it.

If the glass had hit an organ, he would have been convulsing, foaming at the mouth from the pain, all passed out.

I saved it.

For now.

As soon as I removed the blade and took a second, Emiliano switched quickly to face me.

His eyes changed.

One blink, and the warm honey color I knew—the soft, steady glow he always used to manipulate and judge—was gone. In its place was red. Deep, sharp, unnatural red, like heat and instinct had boiled up to the surface and taken over everything calm underneath.

He didn’t move. He didn’t have to.

That look pinned me where I stood.

There was a kind of affection in it.

I could still see that—fierce and full, like he wanted to reach into my chest and live there. But tangled up in it, just beneath the surface, was something rougher.

Hunger.

Lust that didn’t try to be gentle.

A want so sharp it bordered on threat.

My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t hear it. My hands twitched at my sides—half an instinct to touch him, half an instinct to step back.

Emiliano moved without a word—sudden, certain, and fast.

His hand gripped the back of my head, fingers buried in my hair, and before I could react, he yanked me forward, crashing our mouths together.

There was no hesitation.

No softness.

Just heat and force and the overwhelming press of him taking what he wanted.

His tongue pushed past my lips immediately, demanding space, filling my mouth with his taste—too much, too deep, too fast.

I gasped, but he didn’t give me the chance to breathe.

My hands shot up—one against his chest, the other grabbing his wrist—but he didn’t let up.

His other hand slid to my throat, not rough, but firm. His thumb pressed just under my jaw, steady and deliberate.

It wasn’t choking—not really—but it made me feel pinned, like all the control had been ripped from me and handed over to him, and he knew it.

I couldn’t pull back. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I’ve never felt this—

Good.

Emiliano pulled back just enough for air to slip between us.

I gasped—sharp, frantic breaths, chest heaving like I’d been underwater too long. My lips were wet, swollen, my throat tight from the pressure of his hand.

I couldn’t speak.

Could barely think.

Just breathe.

Breathe and try to make sense of what the hell had just happened.

Across from me, Emiliano’s face was flushed, hair messy, lips parted.

His eyes—no longer warm, no longer soft—were wild.

Bright.

Thrilled.

He looked at me like I was something he’d hunted down, caught, and wasn’t planning to let go of anytime soon.

There was no apology in his gaze. No hesitation. Just raw, gleaming excitement.

His scent of burned wood, pepper and vanilla made my entire body shiver helplessly.

I was weak, defenseless against his hunger.

Scared and excited.

Will he continue to be rough?

Will he switch to being gentle just enough for me to let my guard down?

My heart was aching in the wait. An unhealthy addiction was starting from within me.

"My puppy."

His voice came low and hoarse, rough around the edges like it had been dragged through fire.

All I could look at were his lips.

Plump. Red. Swollen from the kiss.

Still slightly parted, damp with the heat of it. They looked unreal up close—too full, too soft for someone who held me like that. My throat tightened just watching them move, slow and deliberate, shaped by a voice that still vibrated in my chest.

Oh, God, I’m gonna regret this.

I pulled him in. No control, no plan ahead.

And I am not that good at improvising. But Emiliano didn’t care.

As I bit his lower lip until droplets of blood started to show, he did nothing but stare at me. Waiting. Provoking me to do more.

I licked his wound clean as I started exploring his chest with my hands— grabbing, caressing, feeling the burning skin under the pressure of my fingers.

As I start to slurp his tongue with circular motions, I catch his gaze. I can only assume my eyes were as desperate as his since the mere second of a glimpse made him groan frustrated.

Greedy for more.

I licked my lips as we parted for air.

"Was that your wish?"

"No."

No?

Then what was that?

"Oh. Then what do you want from me, Emiliano?"

"I want more."

His raspy voice made a shiver go down my spine. Or maybe it was a drop of cold sweat.

I couldn’t tell if I was happy or scared.

But then, I guess, with Emiliano you never know which is which.

I grabbed the belt of his pants, ready to explore deeper, but he grabbed my wrist, pinning it away.

Before I can even react, Emiliano grabs me with this sudden, fierce grip and shoves me down onto the surgical table.

The cold surface presses against my back, and I’m caught completely off guard.

His hands are firm, holding me in place like he’s trying to stop himself from doing something worse—or maybe trying to stop me.

I can feel his breath close to my face, quick and heavy.

"No. I want more."

"Oh."

I can’t breathe under his gaze.

He wants all of me. My entire body.

"Ok.", I say breathlessly. "But please, be gentle. You are my first alpha after all."

I glance up, and for a split second, his eyes flicker with surprise—like he didn’t expect me to admit something like this. Then that surprise shifts quickly.

There’s this brief flash of joy, subtle but unmistakable, like he’s proud of himself, or maybe proud of us, even in this messy moment.

But the joy doesn’t last long. His eyes change again, growing darker and sharper, flickering with hunger. It’s raw and urgent.

I can feel it in the way his hands tighten on my arms, in the way his breath catches and his whole body leans into me.

"You expect me to believe that?"

Strangely, I feel offended. Why would I lie in a moment like this?

"Think. You are the only one that doesn’t die if I let my pheromones on the loose."

The red eyes turned honey-like just for a split second, softening—

Believe me.

"Pup, you’re driving me crazy. Since you came, I can’t function properly. Everytime I see you, I just want to have you all for myself."

A love confession?

Surely, it’s because of the pheromones.

There is no way Emiliano is actually in love with me. Right?

Does a psycho like him even knows how to love?

So then, why do I feel my heart aching for more?

I—

I can only blame it on the pheromones. Anything else-

I don’t think I would be able to handle it.

Emiliano continued his plea nonetheless.

"I want to lock you up and have you just for myself."

Nope. Red code. Stockholm syndrome.

"But that’s not enough anymore. Not without your smile or your stupid, snarky remarks.."

What?

No.

Please, don’t continue.

Don’t.

I-I’ll just fall for it.

And that surely will be my death sentence.

"The week you came back after the dinner with your father, you looked so sad. Away. Untouchable. You were the perfect subject for my tests and yet— I couldn’t breathe at all that week."

He grabbed my chin and placed a soft peck on my lips. Just a light pressure.

Longing.

Emiliano was longing for me.

And all I could do was to cry in defeat. He won.

Cuz I was yearning for him too. Now. Maybe before too.

Could be loneliness or could be genuine affection. Or just pheromones.

But it doesn’t matter. I can’t break free from it anymore.

He won.

Emiliano gently brushed my tears away with the soft pad of his thumb, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and tenderness.

His red gaze was soft. Comforting. Addictive and dangerous.

"Can I make my wish now, puppy?"

I nodded, holding my breath, expecting him to start undressing me.

But that didn’t happen.

He remained placed on top of me, both of us fully clothed, but with our hearts on our sleeves.

And I was scared that only mine was not an illusion.

Emilliano’s voice mumbled softly as he nuzzled his nose into my collarbone:

"Would you marry me?"