Page 9 of The Drama King

"Close your eyes," Cruz instructed. "Feel your connection to the floor. Feel gravity, feel the earth supporting you."

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the exercise despite the Alpha presence in the room. The wooden floor felt solid beneath my feet. I concentrated on my breathing.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Feel the space. Be present. Don't think about predatory Alphas with too much money and too little supervision.

"Now, keeping your eyes closed, begin moving slowly through the space. Listen with your entire body. If you sense someone near you, adjust your path."

Tentatively, students began to move. I stepped carefully, extending my awareness, navigating by sound and subtle shifts in air pressure. For several minutes, it felt almost meditative. Rustling clothing, soft footsteps, murmured apologies when paths crossed. I was beginning to think I might actually gain something from this exercise.

Then I caught his scent.

Sandalwood, approaching from behind. The sharp surge of Alpha pheromones was deliberate, targeted, designed totrigger biological responses I couldn't control. My body reacted instantly. Pulse quickening, skin warming, and to my horror, the telltale dampness of arousal.

"Your posture's too rigid," Dorian's voice came low near my ear, his breath hot against my neck. His hands settled on my shoulders without permission, fingers dangerously close to my scent glands. "Let me help you."

Before I could object, his hands slid down to my waist, gripping me with possessive familiarity that sent unwanted heat through my body. My eyes snapped open, looking for Cruz, for help, for anyone—but the professor was across the room, completely oblivious.

"Eyes closed," Dorian reminded me, loud enough for Cruz to hear. "This exercise is about physical awareness, not sight."

It's also about consent, you entitled jackass, I wanted to say, but the words stuck in my throat as his thumbs found the exact point in my lower back that made my knees want to buckle.

I squeezed my eyes shut again, every sense heightened by proximity and fear. Dorian's thumbs pressed into the small of my back, forcing my spine to arch. From across the room, I heard Cruz offering general guidance to the class, completely unaware or choosing to ignore what was happening.

"Better," Dorian murmured, his chest nearly touching my back. "Now breathe deeply."

I inhaled sharply. A mistake. His scent flooded my senses, triggering a cascade of Omega responses I couldn't suppress. My own scent sweetened with involuntary arousal, my skin flushed warm, and I knew with mortifying certainty that he could smell every biological change. It was like having my body betray me in high definition.

"Good girl," he whispered, for my ears alone. His fingers tightened at my waist before he stepped away, leaving me trembling.

"Excellent work," Cruz called, bringing everyone's attention back to center. "Now let's explore partner breathing. Find someone nearby and face each other."

Before I could move toward the Beta girl I'd been sitting near, Dorian's hand closed around my wrist. His fingers easily circled the bone, a casual reminder of the physical power imbalance between us.

"Partner with me," he said. Not a request, but a command. "I'll demonstrate proper technique."

Cruz nodded approvingly. "Wonderful. Everyone please observe Mr. Ashworth's demonstration with—" He paused, looking at me expectantly.

"Vespera," I supplied, my voice smaller than intended. Damn it.

"With Ms. Levine. Watch their breath connection and synchronization."

Trapped by the academic context, I had no choice but to stand facing Dorian in the center of the circle. The rest of the class gathered around to watch, making escape impossible. I was caught in a performance where I hadn't consented to the role.

He positioned us close enough that our bodies nearly touched, his hands rising to rest lightly on my ribcage just below my breasts. The placement was technically correct for the exercise, but his thumbs pressed deliberately against the underside of my chest with each breath, his fingertips finding the exact spots that would make my body respond.

"Breathing begins here," he explained to the watching students, his tone professionally instructional while his eyes remained locked on mine with predatory intensity. "Feel your partner's rhythm. Match it, then guide them to deeper, slower breaths."

His hands pressed gently, directing my breathing pattern. I tried desperately to treat this as the academic exercise it wassupposed to be, to think of his hands as just random body parts attached to a fellow student. But when his thumbs brushed just below my breasts, contact so brief it could be dismissed as accidental, I knew exactly what was happening.

I was being marked. Claimed. Humiliated. All under the guise of educational instruction.

Around us, other students paired off. I noticed Corvus working with a nervous freshman Omega, while Oakley partnered with a Beta boy who looked increasingly uncomfortable. Their strategy continued. Dividing the vulnerable students, surrounding them with Alpha dominance.

"Your heart's racing," Dorian observed quietly, his fingers detecting my pulse through my ribcage. "Nervous about your first college-level exercise?"

I met his gaze directly, refusing to show fear despite the biological responses I couldn't control. "I'm focusing on the technique, Mr. Ashworth."

"Of course. Such a dedicated student." His hand went upward, thumb deliberately grazing my scent gland at the base of my throat. "But your body tells a different story, doesn't it? I can smell exactly what this does to you."