Page 114 of The Drama King
I found her scent trail in the main stacks and followed it with single-minded focus. Third floor. Private study rooms. The small space at the end of the hall where she liked to work when the library got crowded.
She was there, alone, surrounded by textbooks and notes, her laptop open to what looked like exam preparation. The sight of her made something primitive in my brain roar with satisfaction and rage in equal measure.
Mine. There. Unprotected. Vulnerable.
She looked up when I entered without knocking, and I watched her nostrils flare slightly as my scent reached her. An involuntary response she couldn't suppress despite the immediate wariness in her green eyes.
"Dorian." Her voice was carefully controlled, but I could smell the spike in her arousal, the way her body responded to my presence even as her mind resisted. "What are you doing here?"
I closed the door behind me with deliberate care, the click of the latch seeming to echo in the small space. The sound was satisfying in ways I couldn't fully articulate. Territory secured, boundaries established, privacy ensured.
"I needed to see you," I said, though the words came out rougher than intended. My voice sounded strange even to my own ears, carrying undertones of possession that hadn't been there hours earlier. "The separation was... unbearable."
She set down her pen with precise movements, turning to face me fully. There was something different about her posture. More guarded than I remembered, as if she'd been expecting this confrontation. "Unbearable how?"
"Physical symptoms. Anxiety. Rage." I moved closer, unable to stop myself from entering her personal space. Every instinct demanded proximity, scent marking, physical confirmation of the bond. "The separation was affecting my ability to function. I couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything except getting back to you."
A flush crept up her neck, confirmation that she'd been experiencing similar symptoms. But instead of the relief I expected to see, her expression hardened with what looked like determination.
"So you decided to ignore the boundaries we established," she said, her voice gaining an edge I didn't like. "To track me down when I specifically asked for space to process everything."
"I'm not tracking you," I protested, though even as I said it, I recognized the lie. That's exactly what I'd done. Followed her scent through the library like prey, found her hiding place, cornered her in a space she couldn't easily leave. "I needed to make sure you were okay."
"I was fine," she said, but I could smell the deception beneath her calm exterior. She'd been struggling with the separation too, fighting it with typical Vespera stubborn determination. "I wasmanaging the symptoms and focusing on my studies. You know, those exams I mentioned? The ones that determine whether I pass my courses?"
The accusation stung, though I couldn't deny its accuracy. She'd lost three crucial days to the heat we'd triggered, and now I was disrupting her attempts to catch up. But the rational recognition of my selfishness did nothing to ease the drives dictating my behavior.
"I can help with that," I offered, though my voice carried undertones of possession that made the words sound more like a threat than assistance. "Whatever you need academically, we can provide resources, tutoring, connections—"
"What I need is space to work without Alpha interference," she interrupted, and something in her tone made my hackles rise. There was confidence there that hadn't existed before, a certainty that suggested she'd been planning this conversation. "What I need is time to figure out how to manage this situation without feeling like I'm being stalked."
"Stalked?" The accusation hit like a slap, mainly because it was uncomfortably accurate. "I'm checking on my mate. Making sure she's safe, healthy, properly cared for."
"Your mate," she repeated, and the bitter laugh that escaped her made something cold settle in my stomach. "Is that what you think this is? A claiming that transforms months of systematic torture into some kind of romantic fairy tale?"
"It's reality," I said, my voice dropping to a growl that I couldn't quite control. The Alpha in me was responding to her defiance with predictable aggression, the same instincts that had driven months of systematic breaking now redirected toward claiming. "The fated bond exists whether you want to acknowledge it or not."
"And there's the Dorian I know," she said, her green eyes flashing with something that looked almost like satisfaction."For a moment there, I almost believed you'd actually changed. But you're still the same controlling Alpha who spent months tormenting me, aren't you? With a new excuse for the behavior now."
The accuracy of her assessment hit like a physical blow. She was right. I hadn't changed fundamentally. I was still the same person who'd orchestrated her systematic breaking, who'd taken pleasure in her struggles, who'd seen her as a problem to be solved rather than a person to be respected. The fated bond had given me new justification for the same possessive instincts.
"That's not—" I started, but she cut me off with a gesture.
"I've been researching, Dorian." She pulled out her phone, scrolling through what looked like extensive notes. "Fated bonds, neurochemical dependency, the ways Alphas use biology to control resistant Omegas. Want to know what I've learned?"
The question made something cold and sharp settle in my chest. I could see the intelligence in her eyes, the systematic way she'd been preparing for this conversation. This wasn't emotional reaction. This was strategic planning.
"Tell me," I said, my voice coming out more threat than request.
"That the separation anxiety peaks in the first 72 hours after claiming," she said, consulting her notes with clinical precision. "That tolerance builds over time if the Omega can resist the initial drive. That bonds can be weakened through deliberate separation and medical intervention."
Each fact hit like a precision strike, cutting through my assumptions about inevitability. "The physical consequences—"
"Can be severe," she agreed, meeting my gaze directly. "Potentially dangerous. But not immediately fatal if managed under medical supervision. And definitely not impossible."
The casual way she discussed potentially rejecting our bond made my vision blur at the edges, Alpha rage mixing withgenuine fear in ways I'd never experienced before. "You're talking about refusing your fated mate. Your perfect match."
"I'm talking about maintaining autonomy over my own life," she corrected, and something in her tone suggested she'd rehearsed this conversation. "About refusing to be trapped by biology in a situation I never chose with people who spent months systematically tormenting me."