Page 38 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

"Sympathetic rut is extremely rare," Corvus said thoughtfully. "It typically only occurs when there's unusual biological compatibility. Though the research on it is limited."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication but not quite crossing into territory none of us were ready to explore. Unusual compatibility. Not mate bonding—that was something that happened to other Alphas, something rare and life-altering that couldn't possibly apply to this situation.

"That's not what this is," I said quickly, but even as I spoke, questions were surfacing. Why had my reaction been so intense? Why couldn't I focus on anything else? Why had other Omegas lost all appeal?

"Isn't it something though?" Oakley asked quietly. "Because what I saw—what we both saw—wasn't normal harassment fixation, Dorian. This was different."

I moved back to the window, staring out at the falling snow while my mind tried to make sense of biological responses I didn't understand.

The three days of her heat had felt like torture.

I'd attributed that to wounded Alpha pride, but what if it was something deeper? Some biological pull I couldn't name?

"She used military-grade suppressants," I said, fury rising at the memory. "That level of preparation suggests she knew exactly what effect she'd have on me."

"Or she was simply being cautious," Corvus countered. "Any targeted Omega would seek privacy during heat."

The explanation fell flat. The industrial-grade blockers, the complete scent elimination—that was overkill for normal privacy concerns.

"Perhaps," Oakley ventured, "she's afraid of something between you two. Omegas can develop aversion to specific Alphas when biological compatibility exists but trust doesn't."

The implication hung in the air. Compatibility. Not mate bonding—that couldn't possibly apply here.

"What if she's as confused by these responses as you are?" Corvus asked quietly.

The question hit something I hadn't considered. Maybe her extreme measures weren't about denying me specifically, but avoiding complications she didn't understand. Maybe she was fighting impulses as inexplicable to her as mine were to me.

I shook the thought away. "She's confused by progressive ideology that tells her to fight natural instincts. Once she experiences proper Alpha attention, biology will reassert itself."

"Proper Alpha attention," Oakley repeated, his voice flat. "And what exactly does that entail?"

I turned to face them both, letting my dominance fill the room. "It means no more hiding behind chemical barriers. No more denial of biological reality."

"And how do you plan to enforce that?" Corvus asked, his analytical mind already calculating possibilities.

"Her next heat cycle," I said, the plan crystallizing as I spoke. "Suppressants are temporary, and stress makes them less effective. With sufficient academic and social pressure, her biology will overcome whatever artificial barriers she tries to maintain."

"You want to trigger another heat," Oakley said, horror evident in his scent.

"I want her to respond naturally," I corrected. "To face whatever this is between us."

The silence that followed was charged. Both packmates understood what I was suggesting—a systematic campaign to break down Vespera's defenses until she acknowledged whatever existed between us.

"Whose biology is compromised here?" Corvus asked quietly. "Because this obsession with one specific Omega suggests your instincts are already affected."

I stood abruptly, Alpha dominance flaring. "My biology is perfectly normal. She's simply a challenge requiring appropriate force."

"Is she?" Oakley's cedar scent spiked with distress. "When have you ever spent this much time on breaking any other Omega? Usually it's a few weeks of pressure before we move on."

He was right. Previous targets had been simple exercises in maintaining hierarchy. But Vespera made me want things I couldn't articulate—scenarios that felt dangerously close to permanent claim-bonding.

"This is different because she made it different," I said finally. "She fought back. Drew blood. No one does that without facing consequences."

"No one?" Corvus's voice sharpened. "Or no Omega?"

The distinction hit harder than it should have. Alphas had challenged me before—pack disputes, territorial conflicts. But an Omega fighting back, rejecting my authority, drawing my blood? That was unprecedented. Unthinkable.

Intoxicating.

"She needs to learn basic biological reality," I said harshly. "Omegas don't choose which Alphas they acknowledge."

"And after you break her?" Oakley asked. "Real claiming creates bonds that can't be easily severed. Are you prepared for permanent entanglement with a scholarship student who challenges everything you've established?"

"That's a problem for later," I dismissed. "Right now, the only issue is bringing her to heel."

"And how exactly do you plan to accomplish that?" Corvus asked. "The subtle approach has failed, and anything more overt risks administrative attention we can't afford."

I'd been thinking about that question for days, weighing options and considering approaches. The truth was that standard harassment tactics weren't working—if anything, they seemed to be strengthening her resolve rather than breaking it down. Which meant escalation to more direct methods.

"She's had her heat," I said, the words tasting like satisfaction and hunger combined. "Recent enough that traces of the scent are still detectable. Which means she's vulnerable in ways she wasn't before."

Both my packmates went very still, their scents shifting to something sharper, more attentive.

"What are you suggesting?" Oakley asked carefully.

"I'm suggesting that Omegas who've recently finished heat cycles are more receptive to Alpha attention," I replied, moving back to the bar to pour another bourbon. "More biologically primed to accept claiming behavior. It's the natural progression."

"The natural progression," Corvus repeated slowly, "would be for her to seek out appropriate Alpha partners on her own. Not for you to force the issue."

"She's not thinking clearly," I said, dismissing his concern with a wave. "Too much pride, too much stubborn independence. Sometimes Omegas need guidance to make proper biological decisions."

"Guidance," Oakley said flatly. "That's what we're calling it?"

I turned to face him fully, letting my Alpha dominance fill the space between us. "Do you have a problem with pack strategy, Oakley?"

For a moment, I thought he might actually challenge me—his cedar scent spiked with something that could have been defiance, his posture straightening in a way that suggested confrontation. But pack hierarchy was too deeply ingrained, and after a tense pause, he looked away.

"No problem," he said quietly. "Just concerns about escalation."

"Your concerns are noted," I replied, satisfaction curling through me at his submission. "But the decision has been made. She's had enough time to come to terms with reality on her own. If she won't accept guidance willingly, she'll accept it through other means."

"Other means," Corvus echoed, his analytical mind clearly cataloging the implications. "And if those other means result in complications? Administrative attention, legal issues, family involvement?"

"They won't," I said with confidence that was only partially feigned. "She's too practical to risk her scholarship over pride. Too isolated to mount any meaningful resistance. And too biologically compromised to maintain her defiance once proper pressure is applied."

I hoped I was right. Because the alternative—that she might actually follow through on her stubborn resistance, might choose academic and social suicide over submission—was something I couldn't afford to consider.

The conversation continued for another hour, with Corvus raising logistical concerns and Oakley expressing increasingly uncomfortable doubts.

But my mind had already moved beyond their objections to focus on implementation details.

How to create the right opportunity. How to ensure privacy and minimize risk.

How to apply exactly the right amount of pressure to break her resistance without causing damage that might complicate future claiming.

By the time they left, I had the beginnings of a plan.

Standing alone at the window, watching snow continue to blanket the campus in pristine white, I allowed myself to imagine the moment when Vespera finally stopped fighting.

When she looked at me with acceptance rather than defiance, when her body welcomed my touch instead of tensing with rejection, when she understood that everything I'd done was for her own benefit.

The fantasy was intoxicating, more compelling than any drug. Soon, it would be reality.

My phone buzzed with a text from campus security—the contact I maintained through family donations.

Subject returned to residence hall 45 minutes ago. No further activity.

I typed back quickly: Monitor heat cycle indicators. Alert me to any scent changes or unusual patterns.

Understood. What about the scent blocker issue?

I stared at the question, fury rising fresh at the reminder of how thoroughly I'd been blocked from what should have been mine by biological right.

Find out where she got military-grade suppressants. Gao family pharmaceutical connections likely. I want to know what she's using and how to counter it.

Will investigate discreetly.

Setting the phone aside, I poured one final bourbon and settled into my chair to continue planning. Vespera thought she could hide behind chemical barriers forever, could deny biological imperatives indefinitely with the help of her wealthy allies.

She was wrong.

The next time her body entered heat, I would be ready.

No industrial suppressants, no scent blockers, no artificial barriers between her biology and mine.

She would experience what evolution intended—the desperate need for Alpha claiming that could only be satisfied by the mate her genetics had chosen.

And when that moment came, when her body was screaming for what only I could provide, she would finally understand that everything I'd done had been preparation for what we were always meant to become.

Mine.