Page 34 of The Drama King

"Hey," I said, letting an edge creep into my voice. "Ready for this?"

"It's just Romeo and Juliet," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"Not like this." I stepped closer, close enough that my cedar scent would wrap around her. "Williamson wants us to explore the physical relationship. The tension underneath the poetry."

Color flooded her cheeks. Her scent shifted—fear mixing with a delicate sweetness that made my body respond immediately. Even terrified, her biology was reacting to sustained Alpha attention.

"You look tired," I observed, cataloging every detail. The way her breath caught. The subtle tremor in her hands. "Late nights?"

"I'm fine."

We moved to the raised platform designated for the balcony. The space was intimate, forcing us close. When I climbed up beside her, the air between us changed, thickened.

"The blocking requires proximity," I said, my voice dropping. "Romeo is desperate. He'd risk everything just to be near her."

"And Juliet knows it's dangerous," she added, her voice gaining strength in familiar territory. "But she's drawn to him anyway."

The parallel to our situation hung between us, unspoken but undeniable.

"Let's start with the text," she suggested, holding up her script like a weapon.

But when we began the scene, something shifted. Her talent was undeniable. She brought layers to Juliet that most students missed. The intelligence beneath innocence. Steel beneath softness.

"Romeo takes her hands here," I said, capturing her fingers. My grip was firm, possessive, but her skin was soft, warm. Her pulse fluttered against my palm like a trapped bird.

"'O, then, dear saint,'" I began, the words familiar but suddenly charged, "'let lips do what hands do.'"

She responded as Juliet, but her voice trembled slightly. "'Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.'"

"'Then move not,'" I said, stepping closer, "'while my prayer's effect I take.'"

The script called for a kiss. We both knew it. The air between us crackled with anticipation and dread.

"We should... discuss the blocking," she said quickly.

"Right." But I didn't step back. Couldn't. "The kiss is essential to the scene."

"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"We don't have to—not today. We can work up to it."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, confusion clear in her eyes. "Why are you being... decent?"

The question hung between us. I could feel Dorian watching from across the room, feel the weight of pack expectations. But stronger than that was the pull toward her, magnetic and undeniable.

"Let's just work," I said roughly, but my hand was still holding hers, and neither of us pulled away.

We ran the lines again, and this time when we reached the kiss, I cupped her face instead. My palm against her cheek, thumb brushing her jaw. She inhaled sharply, and her scent bloomed and made my head spin.

"Juliet leans in," I directed, my voice rough. "Even knowing it means destruction."

She followed the blocking, tilting her face toward mine. Our breaths mingled. Her lips parted slightly, and I could see her pulse hammering at her throat.

"Like this?" she whispered.

"Perfect." The word came out more reverent than I'd intended.

My thumb traced her cheekbone, and she shivered. Not from fear this time—I could smell the difference. Her arousal was threading through the air between us, sweet and intoxicating.