Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 290 - 285: Rest or Be Bullied

The door didn’t close for long.

Damian had just let his eyes fall shut again, steam soft against his skin, the echo of Gregoris’s voice still lingering in the corners of his mind when he heard it—a softer sound this time.

And then Gabriel’s voice, low and even:

"I’m not here to yell."

Damian didn’t open his eyes. "Then why are you here?" freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"To keep you company." There was the faint rustle of clothes. A careful pause. "Unless you’d prefer to sulk alone in a boiling tub like a martyr soaking in his own consequences."

Damian huffed once, something close to a laugh, and cracked one eye open.

Gabriel wasn’t armed with anything this time, not a vase, not a crystal swan, not even an annoyed cup of tea. Just him. Loose robe draped over one shoulder, hair slightly damp like he’d gotten caught in the mist from the adjoining room. Barefoot. Tired.

Beautiful, in that unshakable, sharp-edged way that had always made Damian feel like he could breathe, even when it hurt.

"I thought you were still angry," Damian said after a beat.

"I am," Gabriel said plainly, stepping onto the heated marble near the bath. "But being angry at you and loving you are, unfortunately, not mutually exclusive."

Damian closed his eyes again. "Gregoris told you?"

"No," Gabriel said. "I know."

That made Damian’s brow tighten, just a little.

"I know what it feels like," Gabriel continued, softer now. "When the ether crawls through your veins and eats the nerves from the inside. When the only thing you can feel is light, but it’s the wrong kind. Cold in the bones. Too fast. Too much."

Damian didn’t speak.

Gabriel moved closer, sitting down carefully on the wide ledge of the bath, just at his side. Not touching, yet.

"You keep thinking I’ll panic if I see you in pain," he said. "But I’m not scared of the pain, Damian. I’m scared of not being there when you feel it."

Damian opened his eyes then. Turned his head just enough to meet Gabriel’s gaze.

"I didn’t want you to see me like this."

"I’ve been like this," Gabriel said simply. "That’s why I came."

Damian looked at him for a long moment.

Then, very quietly: "It hurts."

Gabriel didn’t flinch.

He reached out, slowly, and took one of Damian’s hands—scarred, faintly glowing, still trembling beneath the surface—and wrapped his own around it with a care that was more anchor than comfort.

"I know," he murmured. "I’ve got you."

Damian let his head fall back against the edge of the bath again, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

And Gabriel didn’t move. He just sat there, fingers steady around Damian’s, as the water steamed and the silence settled.

—

Damian didn’t remember falling asleep in the bath.

But he remembered waking.

Not from pain, though it lingered, dull and stubborn in his joints, but from the feeling of warmth. Real warmth. The kind that came from another person, not a spell, not steam, not self-inflicted survival.

Gabriel was beside him, in their bed now, legs tangled with his under the linen covers, one hand resting on Damian’s chest with infuriating precision. He was awake, barely, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable in the early light.

"How long was I out?" Damian asked quietly.

Gabriel’s fingers curled just slightly against his skin. "Three hours. You passed out in the bath and twitched every time the water cooled."

Damian shifted, suppressing the hiss that almost followed. "You should’ve let Edward carry me."

"I did." Gabriel yawned. "I just supervised. And threatened."

"Of course you did."

The sheets smelled like chamomile and Gabriel’s skin. The bond between them pulsed faintly, not flaring, not blinding. Anchored. Soft.

Damian inhaled deeply and let it settle through the pain.

"You know," Gabriel murmured, "they pushed the civil examination."

That got Damian’s eyes to open fully. "What?"

"Christian filed the request this morning. You’re officially on leave. So am I." Gabriel’s tone was maddeningly smug now. "Reason listed: post-heat and rut stabilization. Entire week."

Damian blinked. "Huh, Christian was faster than Gregoris."

Gabriel hummed, barely containing the smug satisfaction in his voice. "Gregoris suggested a combat rotation. You should’ve seen Christian’s face. He looked offended at the lack of flair."

Damian groaned. "I told Gregoris to use the rut as an excuse and he still didn’t."

Gabriel smirked, eyes still half-lidded. "Because he has dignity. And a reputation to maintain."

Damian scoffed. "He threatened to file me as ’unavailable due to high-voltage emotional damage.’ That’s not dignity; that’s slander with a thesaurus."

"It’s also not inaccurate," Gabriel murmured, fingers tracing idle circles over Damian’s sternum.

Damian narrowed his eyes. "You’re enjoying this."

"Oh, immensely," Gabriel said, without shame. "You nearly burned yourself alive rerouting soul-level ether, and now the entire court thinks you’re recovering from a week of aggressive bedroom politics. Frankly, it’s the only win we’ve had all month."

Damian stared at the ceiling. "My legacy will be sealed in court gossip and fainting omegas."

"They used your glowstick performance and my medical records," Gabriel replied. "But yes. Heat and rut protocol means no court, no audience, no paperwork."

Damian turned his head slightly. "You weaponized the palace HR forms."

"I’m pregnant, bonded, and overworked," Gabriel said with a shrug. "I deserve this week."

A pause. Then—softer: "You do too."

Damian stared up at the ceiling, trying not to focus on the tingling in his hands or the way his ribs ached with every inhale. "I don’t know what to do with rest."

"That’s fine," Gabriel said, snuggling just slightly closer. "I’ll supervise."

"You terrify the staff."

Gabriel smiled against his shoulder. "They work faster that way."

Damian closed his eyes again, breathing in the scent of lavender that had finally faded from the Empress Quarters, replaced with something warmer. More familiar. His.

"Do I at least get to read reports?"

Gabriel sat up just enough to look down at him with a mock-serious expression. "Only if you can hold a pen without flinching."

Damian’s fingers flexed under the sheet.

He flinched.

Gabriel arched one brow. "Mm. Thought so."

Damian groaned and let his head fall sideways into the pillow. "This is humiliating."

"No," Gabriel said, laying back down beside him and tucking himself in close. "This is marriage. Now stop trying to be functional and let your mate bully you into resting."

Gabriel had just begun to settle back under the covers when he felt it, Damian’s hands, warm and a little clumsy, sliding from beneath the sheet to rest at his waist.

He just narrowed his eyes slightly, breath steady, one brow arching in that slow, dangerous way that always meant, I know exactly what you’re doing, and I am two seconds from turning the tables.

"Careful," he said quietly. "That’s a loaded gesture for someone who can’t hold a spoon without flinching."

Damian didn’t respond at first.

Just let his fingers slide along the dip of Gabriel’s waist, thumbs tracing the curve of his hip bone through the fabric of the sleep shirt Gabriel hadn’t bothered to button fully.

"I may be wounded," Damian murmured, voice low, hoarse from rest and restraint. "But I’m not helpless."

Gabriel hummed. "Hm. You’re in bed, recovering from a soul-level ritual with scars that still glow when the lights are off. I’m pregnant. We’re both banned from paperwork and publicly declared too hormonally unstable for civil service."

"Exactly," Damian said, dragging one hand slowly across Gabriel’s lower back. "This is the perfect time to be bullied. In bed. By you."