Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 126: – The Scent of Hunger

Chapter 126: – The Scent of Hunger

William slung Lucas over his shoulder like a sack of malfunctioning tech, one hand braced against his back for balance, the other already reaching for the door sensor.

Ava followed without speaking.

She didn’t need to ask where they were going. She already knew.

The hallway felt dimmer than usual, the soft lights tracking movement. William moved with the kind of ease that only came from habit—not just strength, but practice. He wasn’t doing it the careful way, the respectful, ’don’t disturb the patient’ way. No gentle arms. No princess carry. Just shoulder and motion and silence. Lucas would have approved as manly.

At the end of the corridor, the door to their room opened.

Except it wasn’t hers. Not really.

She’d occupied it. Laid her head on its pillow, use the bathroom. But it had never stopped being his.

William stepped inside and crossed directly to the bed. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. He dropped Lucas with precision, not carelessness—just enough weight to settle him, not enough to jolt him. Then he turned the blanket down and adjusted the pillow with the kind of economy that only long service taught.

"He’ll stay out," William said as he straightened. "The plasma’s working. But the pain will return when it wears off."

Ava hovered near the doorway. "How long?"

"Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. His system’s been... rewritten. Hard to say how it’ll respond next."

She nodded, though her eyes never left Lucas.

William’s gaze flicked to her once. Then he gestured toward the small tray resting on the sideboard by the wall.

"Food’s ready. Left it before we left."

She glanced over. A covered plate. Steam curled at the edge of the lid. Bread, broth, something protein-heavy underneath.

Her stomach turned.

"Thanks," she murmured.

William didn’t move.

"You should eat," he said flatly.

"I know."

"Your last full intake was thirty-two hours ago."

"I know," she repeated, sharper.

William said nothing. Just offered a stiff nod and turned to leave.

The door closed behind him with a soft finality.

Ava stood there for another few seconds, fingers flexing at her sides.

Then she crossed to the food, lifted the lid.

The scent hit her—warm, rich, familiar.

Her stomach growled.

And yet...

She didn’t reach for it.

She stared down at the tray. Her mouth wasn’t watering. Her hands didn’t twitch toward the bread.

It wasn’t enough.

That wasn’t what she was hungry for.

She turned.

Her eyes landed on the bed.

Lucas hadn’t moved. His breath was steady now, not smooth, but stable. The plasma still threaded faint light through his veins, glowing under his skin. His lips were pale. His pulse visible at the base of his throat.

And suddenly she was aware of every inch of him.

Every breath.

Every beat.

Her system pulsed.

[System Alert: Biological Shift Detected][Subject: Lucas Bai – Core Saturated][Olfactory Trigger Recognized: Receptor Response Active][Blood Profile: 93.2% compatibility. System synchronization possible.]

Ava blinked hard. Her vision sharpened unnaturally, like her retinas had clicked into a new lens.

She smelled him.

Not the way someone smells sweat or blood or antiseptic.

It was different. Deeper.

It made her nerves buzz.

She swallowed hard, stepping back from the food tray.

Her fingers curled, knuckles whitening.

He smelled like power. Like heat. Like something alive and electric and made for her system to absorb.

She turned back toward the bed, slowly.

Lucas’s shirt was torn at the collar. His skin exposed at the throat. The core residue still pulsing faintly.

She could feel the pull now. Not metaphorically. Literally.

She told herself she was just stabilizing her balance. Just anchoring herself to keep the system from overloading. That if she moved too fast, she’d mess up the intake rate and flood her nervous system.

But that was a lie.

His blood was fire.

Not burning, but molten. Heavy and slow and alive inside her, spreading heat through every vein it touched. Her skin flushed before she even realized it, her breath hitching once, then again as the next wave hit.

Lucas shifted under her—just a slight roll of his hips against hers, but enough to make her pulse spike.

She didn’t mean to tighten her grip on his arm.

She didn’t mean to lean in closer, her knee sliding further up the bed, her thigh grazing his.

But her body was moving before she could argue.

He made another sound—low, rough, caught somewhere in the back of his throat. His hand, still curled around her side, slid—slowly, deliberately—along her waist. It wasn’t the grip of someone fully conscious. But it was the touch of someone responding.

She froze.

His palm settled just above her hipbone, fingers curling lightly into fabric.

His head tilted, breath warming the side of her neck.

"Lucas," she said softly. A warning. A question.

No reply.

Just that sound again.

A half-moan, half-sigh, pulled from someplace deep.

And still he didn’t wake.

She hated how easily she fit there, in the space between his arm and his chest, how the lines of his body curved into hers like it was meant. Like muscle memory had already mapped it out long before she caught up.

Another pulse hit her system.

She gasped, just once. Sharp.

[System Integration: Stable][Neural Feedback Elevated][Hormonal Spike Detected – Adrenaline / Oxytocin / Dopamine][Warning: Emotional parameters interfering with system regulation.]

Her jaw clenched.

"I didn’t authorize that," she growled, her breath still trembling.

Lucas’s hand flexed against her side. His fingers dipped lower, skimming the curve of her waist like his body was trying to memorize it.

She should’ve pulled back.

Instead, her hand slid up his chest—flat palm over his heart. She felt it hammering. Not weak. Not fading. Alive.

Fast.

And maybe—just maybe—accelerating because of her.

The air between them thickened.

His lips parted.

Her eyes dropped to them.

Another mistake.

They were flushed now. Soft. His breath passed between them in shallow bursts, and his head tilted just enough that she could see the edge of his jawline, the shadow of stubble against pale skin.

She leaned in—just a little.

Close enough to see the tension in his throat when he swallowed in his sleep.

"You’re not allowed to enjoy this," she whispered, lips barely brushing the curve of his jaw. "You’re unconscious. That’s cheating."

Still no response.

Just his body, tangled in hers now, practically pulling her closer with every slow, instinctual shift.