I Married A Proud, Beautiful Omega First, Then Fell In Love - Chapter 20

“Come over here.”

Elan watched Douglas staring straight at him as he spoke slowly, giving him the illusion of being targeted by a bloodthirsty beast.

He suddenly felt an impulse to retreat, but the pride bred into his bones prevented him from backing down. Without even a hint of hesitation, he subconsciously rose to the challenge and walked over.

Douglas looked at the person before him and somehow discerned reluctance from Elan’s calm expression. He chuckled low, pulling the straight-backed swan into his embrace. His strength was heavy and sudden.

Elan slammed into the man’s arms, his shoulder hitting the other’s hard chest, causing an involuntary sting of pain. Whenever he was with Douglas, Elan always had the illusion that he was a delicate vase—that a single careless movement from the other man would break him.

It clearly wasn’t like that; he wasn’t that fragile.

Ignoring Elan’s furrowed brows, Douglas brushed aside the long hair on the man’s shoulder with his large hand, sliding his fingers into the strands to caress that piece of soft flesh known as the gland.

His movements were slow and gentle, yet his skin was rough, as if worn down by years of grit and sand, forming a sharp contrast with Elan’s delicate skin. Under his light touch, Elan’s body trembled; he lowered his eyes, not daring to look at him.

The intense scent of red wine poured out into the air, intertwining with the woody fragrance wrapped in tobacco smoke.

The cigar held between Douglas’s fingers was half-burnt; the brown tube was being eroded and consumed by the smoldering fire, dropping a trail of ash on the ground.

Elan originally disliked the smell of smoke. In his eyes, it was no different from a drug—that swaying cloud of gray mist brought solace while simultaneously bringing destruction. But now, with the strong presence of the cold woody fragrance mixed in, it became acceptable.

They remained in silence, sensing each other’s pheromones. After a long while, Elan spoke with his head lowered: “That Omega named Moting likes you.”

Douglas didn’t know who Moting was, but he could guess from the surname that it was Mo Nanshan’s grandson. Just a short while ago at the induction ceremony, the boy had come to ask if he could stand by his side.

Douglas observed Elan’s expression through the drooping strands of golden hair and laughed: “I don’t even remember his name. Are you jealous?”

Even though the posture remained the same, Douglas felt Elan stiffen slightly at those words. He heard Elan struggle to use a natural voice to say: “I only hope you can respect our marriage.”

Douglas thought Elan was a fascinating person. Roughly ten days ago, the man had been fighting with him and telling him to get out; yet in the last two days, he could act as if nothing had happened, giving Douglas his pheromones to soothe him during his rut, and even asking him to respect their marriage.

He had thought that from the day he was told to “get lost,” the two of them were headed for a quick divorce.

Sensing Douglas’s silence, Elan’s already gloomy mood gave way to a sharp prickle of dissatisfaction rising from the depths of his heart. Just as a puff of smoke drifted over, he deliberately looked for trouble: “It’s choking.”

“I don’t think it’s choking. Want to try?”

This time, the man didn’t extinguish the cigarette as easily as he had during their first meeting; instead, he asked provocatively.

Elan shook his head with great resistance: “No.”

The decisive refusal sparked a sudden sense of playfulness in Douglas. His throat moved; the hand on Elan’s gland slid down to the man’s waist, locked tight, and then he stood up.

The sensation of weightlessness hit without warning. Elan grabbed the corner of the table in a panic, and in the next second, his lips were blocked by a mouth full of the scent of tobacco.

Elan’s eyes widened slightly. The choking taste was as loathsome as its owner, wantonly invading his throat, lungs, and entire body through the tip of his tongue and saliva.

Elan wanted to cough, but Douglas held the back of his head and wouldn’t let go. He could only struggle with his limbs moving wildly. As his struggle grew more violent, the direction of Douglas’s force suddenly shifted, and his lip was cut by Elan’s teeth, causing a small amount of blood to seep out.

Douglas finally let the man go, carelessly wiping the corner of his mouth to smear the blood away. He hadn’t forgotten that on the day of reporting, when he asked Elan for pheromones, Elan had called him a dog.

Thus, with the intent to strike back, he teased: “You are a dog, too.”

It was an uncomfortable, semi-forced kiss. There was saliva on Elan’s chin and uncontrollable physiological tears at the corners of his eyes. He was nearly suffocating, leaning weakly against Douglas’s shoulder, coughing violently.

Douglas didn’t even pat his back to help him catch his breath. He watched Elan’s face, neck, and collarbones gradually flush red, narrowing his eyes in a good mood.

Given Elan’s personality, that vivid red probably wasn’t just from holding his breath—it was also from anger.

Having gained the upper hand, Douglas said considerately: “If you’re still angry, you can give me another slap.”

The red mark on his face had taken a full week to disappear and was now almost invisible. He didn’t mind a repeat of the tragedy; he could just tell others his allergy had flared up again.

“Bastard!”

Elan’s angry face was very beautiful, much more vivid than his usual expressionless self. He was so angry he kicked Douglas’s shin.

This bit of pain was nothing to Douglas. Since coming to the Capital Star, the simple brute who only knew how to fight had learned to compromise and quit while he was ahead. So, he proactively backed away, opening an escape route for the person on the table.

Sure enough, Elan didn’t hesitate for a second to get off the table, his footsteps more frantic and hurried than usual. He walked to the door with a face full of fury: “Next time your pheromones go wild and you’re about to explode and die, I won’t even look at you!”

Douglas didn’t care much about the harsh words, instead asking: “Want to go for a lung purification together?”

Elan gave a cold snort, ignored him, and slammed the door as he left.

Douglas chuckled quietly for a while, extinguished the smoke, and then briskly poured away the brown liquid on the table before making an appointment with Qin for a lung purification.

He had thought Elan would regulate himself as before, but Douglas didn’t expect that this time, Elan was serious.

Three days later, Douglas’s pheromones fell into a state of loss of control again. Following his routine, he locked himself in the principal’s office and sent a message to Elan.

After the message was sent, there was no reply for three hours.

Enduring his temper and suppressing his irritation, he sent a video call to Elan, which was decisively rejected.

A second before losing consciousness, he finally gave up, accepting the fact that his partner was still throwing a tantrum, and sent an emergency signal to Qin.

Qin arrived with three military officer instructors borrowed from the Military Department. The three tall and sturdy elite officers were beaten until they were covered in injuries by the frenzied Douglas, yet they still couldn’t subdue him. It was only when Qin took advantage of the chaos to jab a sedative into Douglas’s neck that the man successfully fell into a deep sleep.

Douglas woke up in the middle of the night. Qin hadn’t left and had been keeping watch over him.

He stared at the ceiling, his mood incredibly weary: “What medicine did you give me?”

Qin refilled his coffee: “An improved inhibitor. The main ingredients are different from those on the market; it was specially formulated for you. However, it can’t be used frequently, or there will be after-effects.”

Having said that, Qin glanced at Douglas several times but still didn’t ask what was going on between him and Elan.

Later, Elan seemed to be avoiding him constantly. He wouldn’t reply to messages on the brain-computer interface, and usually, he was nowhere to be found. Even when they did happen to meet, Elan would leave quickly with a cold and heartless air.

Douglas was extremely annoyed. With the help of the new medicine, his rut was almost over, but his mood was still a tangled mess. He even felt a bit aggrieved—it was just one kiss, wasn’t it? Was it worth such loathing?

After the freshman orientation week passed, the Military Department began its first lesson with live ammunition.

Douglas and the lead instructor, Al Souri, sat in the communications room, Douglas’s face darkening as he looked at a person on the screen who shouldn’t have appeared in this classroom.

He pointed at the blonde Omega standing among a crowd of Alphas, his nose nearly twisting with anger: “Why is he here? Isn’t he from the Medical Department?”

Although the admission notice included a non-disclosure agreement stating that any noble member entering the school must not reveal their identity, Al, who also hailed from one of the three great families, recognized Elan.

He replied seriously: “Members of the Reimann family do not need to take exams to apply for any major; they are admitted directly. Those were the rules set by you. Mr. Elan applied for a dual major in Combat and Post-war Trauma Treatment.”

Douglas: “…”

So it was a pit he had dug for himself.

The 3D projections of the two soon appeared at the simulated training site. The lead instructor, Al, announced the classroom discipline and training content. As the principal, Douglas was actually there to supervise, playing a decorative role on the side.

Moting listened to Al’s speech while being distracted, looking over at Douglas. He found that while Douglas wore a sour expression, his eyes were fixed on a certain direction with a very complex gaze.

Following the direction of his gaze, he saw the elegantly poised Omega standing out like a crane among a flock of Alphas, extremely conspicuous.

Does he like this type? Or do they know each other?

Moting thought pensively.

Al finished reading the discipline and training content and turned off the 3D projection. Through the screen in the communications room, he saw Moting’s obvious distraction. Frowning with displeasure, he opened Moting’s individual communication channel.

Al said in a stern tone: “Concentrate.”

Moting laughed, his laughter carrying through the communicator into the communications room: “You can boss me around once you can beat me.”

These words happened to be heard by Douglas, who was also in the room.

Douglas was somewhat taken asunder by what he heard. He used a strange gaze to sweep from top to bottom over this stern, abstinent, ice-faced instructor beside him: “You can’t beat him? A freshman Omega?”

Al: “…”

Sensing that his abilities were being questioned by his direct superior, Al coughed and defended himself: “There’s a reason for it.”

Skeptical, Douglas began to deliberate whether he should change the lead instructor. After all, an instructor who couldn’t beat a freshman Omega really couldn’t command public respect.

Ever since discovering that Douglas’s gaze followed Elan, Moting’s attention remained focused on Elan.

The students of the Military Department were all transported to the simulated training ground. Pairs of Zerg eyes lit up in the darkness.

This time, they were conducting close-quarters combat. Everyone had only one laser sword and had to rely on the sword and physical strength. This was to prevent situations where a mecha was destroyed and one became unable to fight.

While slaying the rushing Zerg and hacking them into pieces, Moting intentionally moved closer to Elan’s direction.

For the convenience of combat, Elan’s long hair was tied up, revealing his slender neck. He seemed unaccustomed to using this kind of sword, or perhaps his strength was too small; in short, he kept making mistakes during the operation.

Moting lost interest. He boredly hacked off the head of a rushing Zerg, thinking: How could Douglas like this kind of Omega? Slender and fragile like many ordinary Omegas, unable even to hold a sword properly.

His face is just a bit prettier, but I’m not bad-looking either, am I?

Hiss—

Moting heard a muffled groan and a sudden heavy intake of breath from not far away. Turning his head, he saw Elan’s arm had been severely clawed by a Zerg’s sharp talons, with blood seeping through his white combat suit.

Elan clutched his injured arm and retreated. In the darkness behind him, a huge, narrow Zerg eye slowly opened—

Moting’s expression turned grave. He gripped the laser sword in his hand and rushed over quickly.