Page 25 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)
eighteen
Vespera
The Grand Theater loomed against the early November sky, its Art Deco facade illuminated by vintage marquee lights announcing "THE DUCHESS OF MALFI – LIMITED REVIVAL ENGAGEMENT.
" Rain fell in a steady mist, catching the colored lights and transforming downtown into a blurred impressionist painting.
I huddled deeper into my secondhand wool coat, grateful that at least the department had provided transportation.
Charter buses idled at the curb, disgorging theater students into the damp evening.
"You okay?" Stephanie murmured, linking her arm through mine as we joined the crowd moving toward the theater entrance. "You've been quiet all day."
I forced a smile I didn't feel. "Just tired. And not exactly thrilled about spending my evening watching a revenge tragedy with," I broke off, my eyes catching on three familiar figures already standing in the lobby, visible through the glass doors. "Them."
Stephanie followed my gaze, her expression hardening when she spotted Dorian, Corvus, and Oakley greeting Professor Williamson with practiced charm.
Even from a distance, they exuded privilege and entitlement.
Designer overcoats, cashmere scarves, the casual confidence of those who had never questioned their right to occupy any space.
"Just stick with me and Robbie," Stephanie said, squeezing my arm. "Safety in numbers, right?"
But that was the problem. Robbie had texted an hour ago that he'd caught some kind of stomach bug and couldn't make it. He'd apologized profusely, but his absence left a gaping hole in our usual defensive strategy.
"About that," I said, biting my lip. "Robbie's sick. It's just us tonight."
Stephanie's face fell momentarily before she rallied. "Well, two is better than one. We'll buddy system this thing. No bathroom breaks alone, no separating for any reason."
I nodded, grateful for her determination even as anxiety coiled tighter in my stomach. Since the showcase last week, the pack had been suspiciously quiet. No direct confrontations, no classroom intimidation. Just watchful silence that somehow felt more threatening than their usual tactics.
Professor De Scarzis appeared at the theater entrance, clipboard in hand. "Students! Gather round for attendance and seating assignments."
We filed into the ornate lobby, its gilded moldings and crystal chandeliers a reminder of a more elegant theatrical era.
The space was already crowded with well-dressed patrons sipping pre-show drinks, their murmured conversations creating a genteel hum that set my already frayed nerves further on edge.
"When I call your name, approach to receive your ticket and program," De Scarzis announced, her Italian accent more pronounced in the echoing space. "Remember that this attendance is mandatory and counts toward your practical theater experience grade."
She began calling names alphabetically, which meant I'd be waiting a while. Stephanie was called in the first group, and she shot me a worried look as she moved forward.
"I'll wait right here," she promised, pointing to a spot near one of the massive columns that lined the lobby.
As the crowd of students thinned, I found myself increasingly exposed, standing alone while waiting for my name to be called. The weight of unwanted attention settled between my shoulder blades. That distinctive prickling awareness that I was being watched.
I didn't need to turn to know it was Dorian.
His sandalwood scent reached me even across the crowded lobby, wrapping around me like an unwanted caress.
Since my Lady Macbeth performance, something had shifted in his approach.
The overt hostility had transformed into something more insidious.
An almost proprietary interest that frightened me more than his previous tactics.
"Levine, Vespera," De Scarzis finally called.
I moved forward, relieved to have a reason to put distance between myself and Dorian's attention.
De Scarzis handed me a ticket and program with a small nod that might have been approval.
She'd been different toward me since the showcase, her usual brusque demeanor softened by what seemed like genuine respect.
"Balcony right, row C, seat 7," she said, making a notation on her clipboard.
I glanced at the ticket, then at Stephanie across the lobby, already examining her own. Her face fell as she held up her ticket, mouthing "Orchestra" with obvious dismay.
They'd separated us. Of course they had.
Scanning the lobby, I saw other students comparing tickets, discovering the same thing.
Friends and usual groupings split up, distributed throughout the theater's different sections.
On the surface, a logical educational choice, forcing us to experience the production from varying perspectives.
In reality, a perfect opportunity for isolation.
Stephanie pushed her way back through the crowd, her expression worried. "They've got us in completely different sections," she whispered. "What are the odds?"
"About the same as the pack showing up at a required theater outing that wasn't on the original semester schedule," I replied grimly. "This feels planned."
"Okay, new strategy," Stephanie said, her voice low. "Meet me in the lobby at intermission, center bar. If you don't show within five minutes, I'm coming to find you."
I nodded, trying to ignore the anxious churning in my stomach. "And after the show, we leave together. No exceptions."
The house lights flickered, signaling five minutes until curtain. Stephanie squeezed my arm one last time before we were swept into separate streams of theatergoers moving toward their designated sections.
The balcony right section was more sparsely populated than the orchestra, the seats narrower and more steeply raked.
I found my seat. An aisle position that would normally be preferable but now left me feeling exposed on one side.
The two seats beside me were still empty, though the rest of the row was filling quickly.
I busied myself with the program, trying to focus on the production notes rather than my growing sense of unease.
The Duchess of Malfi . Webster's Jacobean revenge tragedy about a widow who marries beneath her station and faces brutal consequences from her controlling brothers.
Not exactly cheerful fare for a rainy November evening, but a classic of the theatrical canon.
"What a pleasant surprise."
Corvus Barclay's voice sent ice through my veins. I looked up to find him standing in the aisle, elegant in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his dark eyes unreadable.
"Seat 8, I believe," he said, gesturing to the spot directly beside me. "May I?"
There was nothing I could do but nod stiffly as he settled into the adjacent seat, his expensive cologne mingling with his dark chocolate Alpha scent in a combination clearly designed to project sophisticated dominance.
"Enjoying the academic experience so far?" he asked, his voice pitched for my ears alone despite the conversational tone.
"It's certainly educational," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the program.
"Indeed." I could hear the smile in his voice without looking up. "Though I should warn you. The evening's most valuable lessons may come after the final curtain."
Before I could respond, another familiar figure appeared in the aisle. Oakley, dressed in a navy suit that made his cedar scent seem warmer, more approachable. His expression showed a flash of something like surprise when he saw me, quickly masked.
"Seat 9," he said, his voice notably less smug than Corvus's as he slid past us to take his place.
My heart rate accelerated as I realized what was happening. Two Alphas flanking me, cutting off escape routes, controlling my space. And if Corvus and Oakley were here...
"Where's Dorian?" I asked, the question escaping before I could stop myself.
Corvus chuckled, the sound devoid of genuine humor. "Concerned about his whereabouts? How touching. He's attending to some business, but don't worry. He'll catch up with us after the performance."
The house lights dimmed, cutting off further conversation as the curtain rose on the Duchess's palace.
Despite the masterful performances unfolding on stage, I couldn't focus, my mind racing with possible scenarios and escape plans.
My balcony position made it impossible to locate Stephanie in the orchestra below, and the knowledge that Dorian was somewhere in the theater, planning something for after the show, kept my pulse hammering in my throat.
The Duchess's tragic story unfolded before me.
A woman punished for exercising her autonomy, for loving against societal expectations, for daring to claim agency over her own body.
The parallels to designation dynamics were obvious, the centuries-old text still painfully relevant in an omegaverse context.
I was so preoccupied with my own situation that I almost missed Oakley's subtle reaction during the torture scenes.
A tightening of his jaw, a slight shift in his cedar scent that suggested genuine discomfort.
Corvus, in contrast, watched with clinical detachment, occasionally making notes in a small black notebook like he was cataloging effective methods of psychological torment.
When intermission finally arrived, I stood immediately. "Excuse me," I said, not waiting for a response as I pushed past Corvus into the aisle.
"Don't wander too far," he called after me, the warning clear in his tone. "The second act is even more... enlightening."
I made my way to the lobby as quickly as possible without running, scanning the crowded space for Stephanie's blue-streaked hair. The central bar was packed with patrons ordering intermission drinks, making it difficult to spot anyone in the crush.
After five tense minutes, there was still no sign of her. I pulled out my phone to text her, only to discover I had no service in the historic building's thick walls. Anxiety blossomed into genuine fear as I pushed deeper into the crowd, checking every corner of the lobby.
"Looking for someone?" Dorian's voice, directly behind me, sent a jolt of adrenaline through my system.