Page 113 of The Drama King
What's happening to me?
I'd never been ruled by instinct before. Had prided myself on my control, my strategic thinking, my ability to manipulate situations to my advantage. Now I was fighting basic drives with intensity that left me shaking like some untested Alpha experiencing his first rut.
The walk to my off-campus apartment became an exercise in endurance. Each step away from her felt like swimming againsta riptide, my body fighting every movement that increased the distance. By the time we reached my building, sweat was beading on my forehead despite the cool air, and my hands were trembling with the effort of not turning around.
"We give her until this evening," I decided finally, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "As agreed. Then we check in. Maintain the bond."
Corvus nodded, his dark eyes assessing me with analytical precision. "The symptoms should diminish with time. As the bond matures, short separations become more tolerable."
"And if she decides she wants more than short separations?" Oakley asked quietly, voicing the fear that had been growing in my chest since the moment she'd woken clear-eyed from her heat. "If she can't forgive what we did before we knew?"
The question made something twist painfully inside me. Not the physical discomfort of separation, but something deeper. The idea of my fated mate, my perfect match, rejecting me was physically nauseating. But I couldn't dismiss the possibility, not after everything we'd put her through.
Inside my apartment, I tried to function normally. Attempted to eat breakfast, but the food turned to ash in my mouth. Tried to review the script for my upcoming audition, but the words blurred together meaninglessly. Every few minutes, I'd catch myself unconsciously orienting toward campus, toward her, like a compass needle seeking magnetic north.
Oakley wasn't faring any better. He'd started three different projects. Organizing files, cleaning the kitchen, attempting to work on a paper. Only to abandon each within minutes, unable to concentrate on anything except the persistent pull toward our missing Omega.
Even Corvus, with his legendary self-control, was showing strain. He'd been researching fated bonds on his laptop for twohours, but I could see him checking the time obsessively, his usual clinical detachment cracking under the weight of need.
"This is insane," I muttered, pacing the length of the living room for what felt like the hundredth time. The motion did nothing to ease the hollow ache in my chest, the persistent pull toward campus, toward her. "How long has it been?"
"Six hours," Corvus replied without looking up from his screen. "Six hours, twenty-three minutes."
The precision of his answer revealed how closely he'd been tracking our separation. Even the most analytical of us was reduced to counting minutes like a lovesick teenager.
"I feel like I'm dying," I admitted, the words scraping my throat raw. The separation was becoming unbearable. Not just uncomfortable, but actively painful in ways I'd never experienced.
"The initial bonding period creates temporary chemical dependency," Corvus explained, though his voice lacked its usual authority. "Your brain is interpreting her absence as a survival threat. The anxiety response is proportional to the perceived danger."
"So what you're saying is that I'm literally addicted to her," I said, the words coming out harsher than intended.
"In the most clinical sense, yes. The neurochemical changes associated with fated bond formation create dependencies similar to drug addiction. Separation triggers withdrawal symptoms."
The comparison made my skin crawl. I'd never been dependent on anything or anyone before. Had built my entire identity around self-sufficiency, control, the ability to manipulate rather than be manipulated. Now I was reduced to a puppet, dancing to the tune of hormones and pheromones I couldn't control.
The hours crawled by with excruciating slowness. I tried to shower, but standing still under the hot water only made the separation worse. Attempted to run lines for my theater class, but the words felt meaningless without her presence to ground me. Every few minutes, I'd catch myself unconsciously orienting toward campus, toward her, like a compass needle seeking magnetic north.
By mid-afternoon, rational thought was becoming increasingly difficult. The hollow ache in my chest was becoming sharper, more insistent. I could feel the bond stretching like an overtaxed rubber band, and something feral in my brain was taking over from the careful control I'd always prided myself on.
"I can't do this," I announced suddenly, abandoning any pretense of patience. The words came out more growl than speech. "I need to see her. Now."
"Dorian," Oakley warned, his cedar scent spiking with alarm. "We said we'd give her space. You agreed—"
"That was before I understood what this would feel like," I shot back, already moving toward the door. My movements felt jerky, uncontrolled, driven by instincts I couldn't suppress. "She's experiencing the same symptoms. She needs us as much as we need her."
"You don't know that," Corvus said, but his own tension was visible in the rigid line of his shoulders. "She could be learning to push through them. Building tolerance to the separation."
The suggestion hit like a physical blow. If she was fighting the bond, finding ways to resist the pull, then every moment of separation was working against us. Every hour she spent away was another step toward potential rejection.
"I'm going to find her," I decided, the words feeling inevitable. The Alpha in me was taking over completely now, rational thought buried under waves of possessive need. "Campus. Library. Wherever she is."
"This isn't what we agreed—" Oakley started.
"I don't care what we agreed," I snarled, my control finally snapping completely. "She's my mate. My fated Omega. And she's been away from me for too fucking long."
The walk to campus was torture and relief in equal measure. Each step closer to her easing the pressure in my chest while simultaneously ramping up a different kind of tension. My movements felt predatory, purposeful, driven by instincts I'd never experienced with such intensity. Students scattered from my path without conscious awareness, responding to whatever Alpha energy I was broadcasting.
By the time I reached the library, rational thought had been almost entirely subsumed by drive. I wasn't Dorian Ashworth, acclaimed actor and master of calculated performance. I was an Alpha whose mate had been away too long, whose claim needed reinforcing, whose territory required patrol.