Page 106 of The Drama King

Whatever came next, we would face it together. As a pack. As mates bound by more than just biology, but by choice and commitment and the hope of something better than what we'd been before.

thirty-eight

Corvus

IwaiteduntilDorianand Oakley had left—gone to coordinate with the household staff for supplies, food, and fresh clothing for our newly discovered fated Omega—before making my move. Their protective instincts had kicked in with biological predictability, all that systematic torment transmuted overnight into something resembling care.

Fascinating, if somewhat disappointing.

The staff had been discretely dismissed from this wing entirely, leaving us complete privacy in the master suite. Dorian had given explicit instructions that we were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. The soundproofed walls ensured our activities would remain contained, while the climate control maintained perfect conditions for heat management.

Strategic advantages, all.

Vespera was dozing in the elaborate nest, temporarily sated after multiple rounds of claiming. The heat still lingered in herscent, but the edge had dulled, giving her brief periods of lucidity between waves. The silk and cashmere that surrounded her spoke of resources most could never dream of—a not-so-subtle reminder of what she'd gained through this bond.

Perfect for what I had planned.

I approached with deliberate quietness, observing her with genuine interest. Even in sleep, the evidence of our claiming was obvious: bite marks decorating her throat and shoulders, bruises in the shape of fingers on her hips, her scent thoroughly corrupted by our combined markers. Dorian's sandalwood was strongest, of course, marking his primary claim, with undertones of Oakley's cedar and my dark chocolate forming the secondary bonds.

And beneath it all, the unmistakable signature of fated compatibility. Not as strong with me as with Dorian, but significant enough to be valid.

Time for a more... thorough assessment.

I moved to the dresser, quietly gathering what I needed: silk ties from Dorian's collection, the leather belt from my discarded pants. Improvised, but effective.

I settled beside the massive bed, close enough that my scent would register even in her sleep. As expected, her body responded instantly—pulse quickening, breathing shifting, the sweet notes of arousal threading through her jasmine. The imperative was beautifully predictable, even in an Omega who had fought us for months.

"I know you're awake," I said, my voice deliberately neutral. "Your body gives you away. Always has."

Her eyes opened slowly, that familiar wariness flickering to the surface despite the claiming bond. Good. I would have been disappointed if all her delicious defiance had vanished completely.

"Where are the others?" she asked, voice rough from sleep and hours of use.

"Coordinating with the staff," I replied, reaching out to trace one finger along the curve of her throat where Dorian's bite stood out most prominently. "Ensuring we have everything needed for proper care. We have some time alone. For a more... controlled exploration."

Fear sharpened her scent, cutting through the heat-haze and arousal. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm curious about how you respond to certain... parameters." My touch moved lower, following the path of her collarbone with deliberate precision. "Fated mates are exceedingly rare. Your responses to controlled stimulation even more so. I intend to map your limits properly."

She tried to pull away, but I was already moving, silk ties in hand. "What are you—"

"Testing boundaries," I said simply, catching her wrists and securing them to the bedframe with efficient knots. The silk was gentle against her skin but utterly inescapable. "Both physical and psychological."

She tried to pull away, but the nest constrained her movement, and her heat-weakened body betrayed her with fresh slick at my continued proximity. I could smell it—her body preparing for another claiming despite her mind's reluctance.

"I'm not a fucking experiment," she snapped, that defiance I'd found so entertaining during our months of breaking her.

"Everything is an experiment if approached with the right mindset." I smiled, letting my hand settle around her throat with calculated pressure. "But perhaps 'study' is a better word. I want to understand the parameters of our new arrangement."

Her pulse jumped beneath my palm, fear and arousal battling for dominance in her scent. The contradiction was delicious—her mind still fighting while her body surrendered completely to imperative.

"The others have become rather... sentimental since the discovery," I continued, my thumb tracing small circles against her rapid pulse. "Dorian especially. It's quite the transformation—from systematic tormentor to protective mate in the space of a breath."

"And you haven't?" she challenged, those green eyes sharp despite her vulnerable position.

"I remain... analytical." My other hand moved beneath the sheets, finding the warm skin of her thigh with precise intent. "The fated bond is significant, certainly. Worth preserving and protecting as a rare resource. But I see no reason for it to fundamentally alter our dynamic."

Her breathing quickened as my hand moved higher, finding the slick evidence of her body's readiness despite her mind's resistance. "Our dynamic was you torturing me for months," she reminded me, though the words came out breathless as my fingers found their target.