-

She opened her mouth to interrupt him, but the look in his eyes had her growing silent.

Icarus cleared his throat, and shifted nervously, fingers scratching the back of his neck. "When I saw you under that monster, I felt like I could die," he mumbled, suddenly all soft, all nervous. He bit his lips, teeth snagging on crimson flesh. "Before all this, I thought if you died, I'd benefit from it. I'll be able to have my fill, drink your blood. But when that Lonely came for you. M-my chest. It felt like it was pulling me towards you, and my feet moved on their own. I cannot begin to describe the horror I felt thinking of your death."

She was quiet, waiting, as he cradled her. And his face crumpled, a sudden shimmer of humanity that she hadn't seen on him before. It broke through him like a ray of sunlight on a cloudy day.

"I care for you so deeply, I cannot understand what I feel," he whispered. "Perhaps, you are right. I do want something from this. But selfishly deep down, there has always been more. I don't know what it is, but there is more. That I can promise you."

"That's not enough."

"I know."

"It's not going to be easy," Quinn answered. Her voice seemed so far away, drowning in the lavender in his eyes.

"I know," he repeated, throat bobbing, a dangerous swallow. He seemed to search his head for answers, eyes shifting. A blink and his eyes widened. "Will secrets help?"

"Depends on what you tell me."

"The Omegas in the city are becoming Lonely," he stated gruffly. "As you know, the rate of increase used to be consistent, but now it is growing, and the numbers are concentrated amongst our people."

"Omegas in the city?" Quinn's lips parted, surprise growing. Her eyes widened. She'd forgotten bits of information that she knew and had shoved it deep within the recesses of her mind when facing those monsters. The narrative that had always been changing over the years.

No one seemed to know the truth.

But it was known that Lonely were once people. That was something she'd learnt during her time in the wastelands. There were assumptions made about the cause, that it could be a virus. That those who were bitten would eventually change, and that proximity might result in the transformation.

But Quinn had been bitten so many times, that it just never seemed to be the reason for the change. And the Omegas did not treat the bites as if they were something that they feared. Even the kings had rushed into battle as if they knew a bite did not mean a transformation—

Her eyes snapped to his. "The Omegas in the city, were they bitten?"

"No," Icarus shrugged. "If it were a virus, Hemlock would have gotten it first. Some Omegas that transform have never even seen a Lonely in their lives." Icarus exhaled heavily as if his words weighed on his shoulders. "It's a secret of the state, but we struggle to conceal it. We don't know what causes the change or what triggers it. All we know is that the numbers are rising amongst the elite. And they continue to increase. The desperation will break our citizens, we have nowhere to hide and nowhere to run."

"Azarius, the heart of your army, is in the capital," her voice was scratchy. "You've been killing your people, your Omegas."

"We have to," Icarus nodded slowly. Her surprise flooded her, and she was unable to speak for a moment. Her mind swirling, questions growing. It seemed almost like an underlying genetic disease, the Lonely. And yet, what had resulted in the spike in numbers?

"Are there no solutions?"

"If there was one," Icarus smiled, looking exhausted. "You won't see Lonely in the capital."

"Has something changed?"

"I suppose," Icarus mumbled, "the people think that it is related to the rise in the number of Alphas from the wastelands. There could be some merit to that, but Alphas and Omegas living together? That's not new."

"And yet you need us," Quinn pondered.

"We do. We'd starve without Alphas, but the rate of increase is strange." Icarus paused; lips pressed tight into a thin angry line. "That's all I can say, don't push it. And keep it between us, Klaus will fucking kill me if he knows I told you the truth."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

Icarus burst into a laugh; the smile suddenly so glorious on his face that her heart skipped a beat. It disarmed her, as alien as it was, and yet it felt like everything she could ever want. His eyes cresting into moons, grin growing. It seemed to free him. "Quinn, I've never been more honest in my life."

He took her hand, and like an idiot, she allowed him to, allowed him to turn it over, a thumb to the sensitive centre. And of all fucking things he could do, he pulled it towards him, lips hovering pressed to the thin sensitive skin of her pulse. His lips were warm, and had butterflies in her belly, fluttering in her stomach. She exhaled, cheeks suddenly hot, skin suddenly tingly. The pulse of Elysian's absence was now almost completely gone.

"I fucked up," he admitted. "I'm sorry if I hurt you with my feelings."

"You didn't," she answered, honestly. "I just don't want the labels. I don't want the promises. I don't want your words."

"I understand," he nodded, a look so forlorn flashed across his face, so utterly disappointed that it seemed to drench his entire figure, and he sagged into the bed. His fingers pulled away from hers and he turned slowly, head down, crushed and frustrated. Her heart fluttered. "I guess—"

She surged forward and banished the distance between them. A single press of her lips on his, the gentlest of touches. A moment of unfamiliarity, of exchange, of panted breaths, of a gentle tongue. The surprise hitched in his throat, but he didn't move away. Instead, his hands reached to cradle her cheeks, soft and tender, angling her head to deepen a kiss that she didn't know if he would truly want. Or if she even wanted the kiss in the spur of that moment.

Yet her heart soared when his eyes fluttered, when his fingers mapped her jaw, when he kissed her, burying himself into her as if she were precious. He tasted glorious, oddly sweet despite what should be the aftertaste of her blood on his tongue, flooding the air with his saccharine scent—smooth whisky and spicy juice. His fingers cupped her cheeks, his thumb rubbing slowly as if she were a treasure.

And suddenly, it wasn't about the slow fucking burn. He was digging himself into her, tasting her, lips so eager for more, to connect and to drive deeper. His body was pressed to hers, and their kiss was now sloppy with need. A moan twisted from her throat echoed by his own, mewls rising from his throat.

His lashes fluttered, hips jerking, and the whine that keened from his lips had her body pulsating, her clit throbbing. She broke away from him gasping for air with her forehead to his and his on hers. Quinn was panting, her heart beating so hard and so fast it felt like a stampede in her chest.

And in his dilated pupils, glazed with lust, there were a million stars.

They did not speak another word.