My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 85: Drying Flower ( Killian’s POV )

Chapter 85: Drying Flower ( Killian’s POV )

I won.

For the first time since I’ve met Luther, I’ve won.

He is crumpled into my arms as I am taking him to a motel.

The press was hard to deal with, but we went through that. Luther just nuzzled more intensely into my chest as I made my way through the crowd of hungry vultures.

We must be trending by now.

Good.

It will prove that I am Luther’s savior. That he is mine.

The hotel wasn’t anything fancy, but it was clean. That was the point. No smell, no stains, no weird buzzing light overhead. The kind of place where everything worked and nothing stood out. The elevator was quiet. The hallway was empty. Room 408. I swiped the keycard without saying anything, pushed the door open, and let him in first.

Bed made.

Sheets tight.

Air cool but not cold.

The desk was clear except for my bag, zipped shut. TV off.

Curtains pulled.

No sounds from the room next door.

No city noise leaking in.

Just the low hum of the AC and the soft click of the door when I closed it behind us.

He glanced around like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. I liked that. The carpet was clean under my shoes. Not even a scuff on the walls. The bathroom light was still on—soft, not too bright. Everything was still. Everything was finally under my control.

I carefully placed Luther on the bed.

His skin was cold and a faint mark bloomed on his Adam’s Apple.

That b-st-rd used all that he heard in my moment with Luther through the vents before we escaped for the first time.

I caress the marking with my thumb.

It was not the time to be jealous or angry. I’ve already won.

The past is the past and his future is me.

"I’ll prepare a bath for you."

My voice softly bounced against the walls. Warm. Calming. Reassuring.

Luther gulped.

"How did you know I was there? You never saw the basement before."

"I looked everywhere. I just had a bad feeling about it-"

He was shivering. Crying. Hugging himself tightly.

"Did-did he do this to you?"

"Yeah."

"What did he do?"

Luther frowned, frustrated. The small crease between his brows twitched.

I am an idiot, aren’t I?

"What is this? An interrogation?"

It echoed through the room like a slap. The quiet we’d been standing in was gone—snapped clean in half.

Get a grip, Killian! You’re ruining things.

"I am sorry, babe. I’m a bit scared. You look like you’re about to break."

Then I saw his eyes.

They went wide, like he’d just remembered something terrible, or seen something that shouldn’t be there.

His whole body tensed. It all happened so fast, but I swear, in that one second, everything changed.

His face twisted — not just surprised anymore, but hurt.

Really hurt.

Not the kind of hurt you fake, not even the kind you curse about.

This was deep.

Real.

His mouth opened a little like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. He looked at me, and I felt this awful twist in my gut. Like he was trying to tell me something, ask for help, but didn’t have the time.

Then I saw his hands clutching his stomach. Hard. Like he was trying to hold something in — blood, maybe, or just the pain.

I don’t know.

His fingers curled into the coat I’ve covered him with like he could squeeze the hurt away if he just gripped hard enough.

I think I said his name — I must’ve — but he didn’t answer. Just stood there, swaying a little, face pale and eyes kind of... far away.

God, I didn’t know what to do.

I should’ve moved faster.

I should’ve grabbed him, held him up, anything.

But I just froze for a second. Watching. Hoping it wasn’t as bad as it looked.

But it was.

"After the grenade was thrown, Emiliano carried me with a giant glass in his back. Without even flinching. Without complaining. I-"

He took a deep breath.

"I was in and out of consciousness, but I saw the look on his face. He was panicking. And it wasn’t because of that stupid explosive or the men following us. It was because I was bleeding."

"Oh."

His eyes filled with tears.

My heart sank.

I clenched my hands to control the deep rage and jealousy I was feeling. If only I were there.

If only I were the one carrying him, would Luther have come just as undone for me?

"He passed out as soon as he got me stabilized and safe. The idiot didn’t even treat his wound. I-I didn’t know what to do. I am not a doctor."

I reached up and brushed his hair back, soft and slow, like I was afraid he’d break if I touched him wrong.

His hair was damp with sweat, and I kept running my fingers through it, trying to calm him, or maybe myself — I’m not even sure which.

It felt like the only thing I could do.

He didn’t even seem to feel my hand in his hair. His jaw was tight, breath shallow, and I could see his whole body trembling.

I held his head close, my hand still gently combing through his hair, and I just kept talking to him — soft, steady, even when my voice wavered.

"I tried to get his adrenaline up. I started his rut to make him out of it enough to burn that wound. We-I. F-ck. I believed him! I let my guard down, but the moment my flower bloomed-"

"Your flower bloomed?"

I yanked my hand back.

No.

That can’t be.

I backed away without thinking, just a few inches, pushing myself back across the hotel carpet.

My palms scraped against the floor.

My chest felt tight. I couldn’t catch a full breath.

The space between us felt small, but suddenly it was too much.

Too close.

I didn’t want to be near him, not right now. Not while everything was falling apart.

He didn’t move. Just kept looking at me like I was someone he didn’t recognize.

And then his eyes started to well up.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic.

He didn’t sob or look away.

Just that slow build-up, like it snuck up on him.

I saw his jaw shift a little, like he was trying to hold it in.

But his eyes were already glassy, and one tear slipped out before he even blinked.

That’s when it really hit me. I’d hurt him.

And I hated it.

I wrapped my arms around myself, still sitting there on the floor.

My throat was burning.

My stomach was a knot.

I felt like I was shaking but I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know if I was scared or sad or both, or something worse that didn’t have a name.

The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to take it all back. But I couldn’t.

He was still standing there, eyes locked on me. Crying, but barely moving.

"Why are you acting like that?", cried Luther. "You think I’m all used up now, right? You don’t want to recycle garbage!"

I pushed myself up from the floor and threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him before I could think twice.

My body hit his, and I held on tight, like I was scared he might vanish if I let go.

He didn’t react at first.

He was stiff.

Frozen.

But I didn’t stop.

I buried my face into his shoulder and held on tighter.

My whole body was shaking — not just a little, but full-on trembling.

My chest kept jerking every time I tried to breathe. It was like all the panic, all the guilt, all the fear I’d been holding back just exploded out at once.

"No, Luther, no! How can you think that?"

"The moment an omega blooms for someone, he is doomed to be the mate of the alpha he bloomed for. Incapable to— sterile. I can’t have kids with anyone else. My scent- my scent is turning disgusting to any other alpha."

The crying broke his voice. He was hyperventilating.

Suffocating in his own delusion.

F-ck.

I kissed him.

I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his, firm but careful.

Not to make a point.

Not to prove something.

Just to stop the spiral — to anchor him.

His lips were shaking under mine. I could feel how tense his jaw was, how uneven his breathing still was.

But I stayed there, close.

Still.

My hand moved to the side of his face, just holding him steady, trying to remind him I was real.

That he wasn’t garbage.

No matter how biology works with our secondary gender, he will never be disgusting to me.

He didn’t kiss back at first. I didn’t expect him to. But he didn’t pull away.

His breathing slowed, just a little.

Enough for him to close his eyes.

Enough for him to stop gasping.

When I pulled back, I kept my forehead against his. My thumb brushed just under his eye where a tear had gotten stuck.

"You’ll never be disgusting to me, babe. Don’t cry. Blooming or not blooming, you’re still Luther to me. It’s not like your scent was comforting before. You nearly killed me last time you let it loose."

Luther chuckled between the tears, holding me tightly. Just for a moment.

"Then why did you react like that?", he asked.

I tensed up.

"Because your flower started to dry up when you inhaled my pheromones. Emiliano might have almost mated you, but you were about to transform into an alpha because of me."