Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 271 - 265: Marin

The door to the physician’s wing slammed open with enough force to startle one of the interns in the hallway. Papers rustled. A mug shook. The ambient ether flickered once in the overhead panel—whether from palace resonance or sheer irritation, no one could say.

Dr. Marin looked up slowly from his desk, the same man who had told Gabriel two nights ago that he was "a biological myth" and should handle it "naturally, the same way he got pregnant."

He was already regretting not faking a sick day.

"Lord Gabriel," he said mildly. "You’re early. Again."

Gabriel swept past the curtain with all the force of a winter front, coat flaring behind him like scandal. "I need answers. And I need them without a sarcasm tax this time."

Marin blinked. Once. "I’ll do my best. Which, as you know, is limited."

Gabriel stopped in front of the bioscan table, expression tight. "I want to confirm that I am not—and I say this with all due dramatic clarity—going to get pregnant again during heat."

There was a silence.

A long one.

Then Marin, who had diagnosed nobles under fire, mid-rut, and during ether hallucinations, reached for his tablet and said flatly, "I knew Irina would ask something cursed eventually."

Gabriel did not deny it.

Marin rose, activating the scan console with a flick of his wrist. "Lie down. Shirt up. Mind your sarcasm—I only slept four hours."

Gabriel complied, muttering as he did, "Do you think I want to be here? Julian asked me if I know why heats occur. I’m surrounded by mad people."

"Medically? That may be contagious," Marin replied dryly, applying the scan gel with zero ceremony. "Tilt your hips. This machine doesn’t read divine inconvenience unless you cooperate."

Gabriel shifted, scowling. "I should’ve stayed in bed. Or better, vanished."

"Funny," Marin said. "That’s also what your body’s threatening to do if you don’t start eating properly."

Gabriel didn’t answer. The bioscan hummed to life with a quiet pulse, light filtering through the surface of his skin like ether fog caught under glass. Marin’s eyes scanned the lines. Still stable. Still impossibly synchronized.

"Pregnancy remains singular," Marin said aloud, the words clipped but firm. "Twelve weeks. Healthy."

He paused, then tilted the reader slightly, almost as if confirming it again for himself.

"You are not ovulating," he continued. "Which—if you were—I’d have a hell of a research paper to write. So no. Unless you really are a wonder, you won’t get another pregnancy now."

Gabriel let out a breath, slow and flat. "I don’t like how often that word’s being used."

"Wonder?"

"Yes."

"Well, you’re not normal," Marin said dryly. "You’re not broken either. You’re just inconvenient. To biology. And to my blood pressure."

"I aim to impress."

"Then stop," Marin muttered, adjusting the scan for final archiving. "I’d like to survive long enough to retire."

"You are not pregnant with twins," Marin said. "And you are not going to become double pregnant during heat. That myth is mostly paranoia and gossip, and in your case, biologically impossible."

Gabriel exhaled like someone deflating a crisis. "Good."

Then he paused. "You’re sure?"

"I’m sure," Marin said. Then, eyes flicking over to the tablet again, he added dryly, "And while we’re confirming things—your bloodwork from the other night just came in."

Gabriel shifted. "And?"

"And if I had less self-control, I’d file for your temporary exile until you gave birth."

Gabriel made to slide off the table, already tugging his shirt back down with the stiff determination of someone attempting to flee both medical advice and personal responsibility.

But Marin moved faster than expected for a man running on caffeine and contempt. He stepped in front of the curtain, blocking Gabriel’s exit with all the grace of a very tired, very done wall.

"No," he said simply.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted me out of your way."

"I do," Marin said. "But I also want you alive. Which, unfortunately, requires temporary imprisonment."

Gabriel gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "I’ve had four assassination attempts this year, Marin. You’re not the most dangerous thing in the room."

"I’m the only one with clearance to sedate you," Marin replied blandly. "And I’ve had the forms pre-filled for three weeks."

Gabriel crossed his arms. "I’m fine."

"You’re twelve weeks pregnant, entering heat, running on caffeine fumes and sheer hatred, and—according to this bloodwork—one nutrient drop away from collapsing like a metaphor for imperial infrastructure."

Gabriel scowled. "That was one time."

"Gabriel," Marin said, voice low and unyielding, "your body is compensating for three systems at once: the bond, the pregnancy, and the heat cycle. You haven’t eaten enough to fuel one of those, let alone all three."

Gabriel didn’t flinch.

He pulled the blanket tighter around his waist, eyes fixed on a point somewhere past Marin’s shoulder. "Blame the devil’s offspring," he muttered. "It’s not that I don’t want to eat. I just can’t."

Marin’s gaze didn’t soften.

He crossed his arms, datapad still glowing at his side. "Gabriel, that ’devil’s offspring’ is partially your doing."

Gabriel gave him a flat look. "Don’t remind me."

"I don’t need to. Your vitals already did."

He turned to the drawer behind the scan console, pulled out a nutrient pouch, and placed it in Gabriel’s hand without ceremony.

"Drink. Now."

Gabriel looked down at the pouch like it might detonate.

Marin stepped forward again, unyielding. "This isn’t a negotiation, Lord Gabriel. You either drink it here, in relative peace, or I have Edward drag you back in with an IV and a legal order."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You’re not allowed to threaten me."

"Stop being stubborn," Marin said, not missing a beat. "Accept that you’re now vulnerable. I’ll even accept your grimaces after you eat this first one." freewebnøvel.coɱ

Gabriel stared at him, then looked down at the nutrient pouch in his hand like it had personally insulted him.

"Fine," he said. "One."

"Three," Marin replied. "In the next six hours."

Gabriel’s head jerked up. "That’s an escalation."

"That’s math," Marin said calmly. "You’re behind on caloric intake, hydration, and common sense. One won’t fix that. Three might keep you upright through the next bond surge."

Gabriel scowled, lifting the pouch to his mouth like it was a weapon. "If I start glowing brighter, I’m blaming you."

"I’ll wear sunglasses," Marin said flatly. "Now drink."

Gabriel drank.

And Marin stood there, arms crossed, watching every second like a man who knew that victory—real victory—didn’t come with ovations, just a half-finished pouch and a reluctant scowl from an omega who glowed like a palace relic and fought harder than most generals.

Gabriel rolled his eyes but took another sip—bigger this time. He didn’t speak again until he was halfway through, muscles tense, expression tight with something that wasn’t quite discomfort, but damn close.

Then he stilled. Abruptly.

Mid-sip, eyes unfocused, body rigid, like a current had passed through the bond and hit him in the chest.

Marin moved fast, instantly stepping back toward the monitor. "Gabriel?"

No response.