Page 120 of The Drama King
"Ten minutes," she reminded me, glancing pointedly at her watch. "That was the deal."
Ten minutes. The brevity was an insult, a deliberate reminder that she was merely tolerating these interactions rather than welcoming them. Each time, the allocated window grew shorter, the physical distance she maintained grew larger, the walls she built around herself grew higher.
She was slipping away from me, from us, from the bond that should have been unbreakable. And I had no idea how to stop it.
"How are your finals going?" I asked, the mundane question a poor mask for the desperate need clawing at my insides.
"Fine." Her response was clipped, disinterested. "Is that what you needed privacy to discuss? My academic performance?"
The dismissive tone made something dangerous stir in my chest. Alpha rage warring with the newfound restraint that had characterized my behavior since the fated mate revelation. I'd always gotten what I wanted. Always. Through charm, manipulation, or sheer Alpha dominance. It didn't matter. People bent to my will because that's how the world worked.
But this was different. This clawing need in my chest, this constant awareness of her absence. It was making me weak. Making me desperate in ways I'd never been before.
"No," I admitted, taking a careful step toward her. "I needed to see you properly. Without the distraction of the café, the constant interruptions, the watchful eyes of other students."
She tensed as I moved closer, her scent sharpening with wariness. "Our agreement—"
"Is being maintained," I finished for her. "We're in a public space. We're having a conversation. Nothing has changed except the location."
Another step closer. I could smell her more clearly now. Jasmine and rain and that indefinable something that marked her as my perfect match. But there was something else in her scent too, something that made my blood run cold with primal fear.
Determination. Resolve. The chemical signature of a decision already made.
"What are you planning?" I asked, the words emerging sharper than intended.
She blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt question. "What?"
"You're planning something," I said, closing another few feet of distance between us. "I can smell it on you. The past three days, your scent has changed. Shifted. You've made some kind of decision."
The flash of alarm in her eyes confirmed my suspicion, making the hollow ache in my chest intensify. "My scent is none of your concern," she said, backing up until she hit the edge of the teacher's desk.
"Everything about you is my concern," I countered, the possessive declaration slipping out before I could stop it. "You're my fated mate. My perfect match. Mine."
The word echoed between us, heavy with implication. She flinched as if I'd struck her, her jasmine scent sharpening with anger and something that might have been fear.
"I'm not yours," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "I never agreed to be yours. What happened during my heat wasn't consent. It was impulse, triggered by months of systematic torment."
The Alpha in me was past caring about reasoning or patience or any of the careful control I'd been trying to maintain. Two weeks of her pulling away, two weeks of watching her plan my rejection, two weeks of feeling the bond stretch and weaken while she researched ways to break what should be unbreakable.
Fuck that. Fuck all of it.
"The bond says otherwise," I growled, closing the final distance between us until I stood directly in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You can feel it as clearly as I can. This connection between us. It's real. It's rare. It's precious."
Her pulse jumped at her throat, visible proof of her body's reaction to my proximity despite her mind's resistance. The claiming bite I'd left there was still visible against her pale skin, though faded to a pale scar she usually kept hidden.
"Back up," she said, her voice steadier than her scent would suggest. "You promised to respect my boundaries."
"And you promised to maintain the bond," I countered, frustration giving my voice a dangerous edge. "Yet every day, it grows weaker. Every meeting, you pull further away. What are you doing, Vespera? What are you planning that has your scent so... resolved?"
She didn't answer, but her eyes flickered with something that confirmed my worst fears. She wasn't establishing boundaries or processing trauma. She was actively working to break the bond, to sever the connection that nature itself had forged between us.
The realization made something snap inside me. Two weeks of careful restraint, of respecting boundaries I didn't believe in, of suppressing every Alpha instinct that demanded I claim and possess and protect. All of it evaporated in the face of genuine threat to the bond itself.
"You can't break it," I said, my voice dropping to that low register that made Omegas respond on a primal level. "No matter what you're researching, what you're planning, what you think you've discovered. The fated bond can't be severed. Not without consequences neither of us is prepared to face."
She lifted her chin with that stubborn defiance that had first drawn me to her. "You don't know what I'm prepared to face."
The challenge in her voice made my control slip further, Alpha instincts surging to the surface with unstoppable force. Before she could react, I had her pinned against the desk, my hands fisting in the fabric of her uniform skirt. She should have been scared. Should have submitted the way her biology demanded. Instead, she met my eyes with that same stubborn defiance that had been driving me insane for months.