Page 52 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)
thirty-six
Dorian
The first hints of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains of my master suite when I finally stirred from the deep, satisfied sleep that followed multiple rounds of claiming.
My knot had locked inside Vespera three more times throughout the night as her heat peaked and ebbed, each coupling more intense than the last as the pack bond strengthened and solidified.
She was curled against my chest now, blonde hair spread across the Egyptian cotton pillows of her nest, her breathing deep and even in exhausted slumber.
The nest itself was a work of art: built from the finest materials the mansion could provide.
Silk sheets in deep burgundy, cashmere throws, down pillows arranged with instinctive precision.
Oakley was pressed against her back, his arm draped protectively over her waist, while Corvus had fallen asleep in the leather wingback chair positioned strategically near the bed, ever the analytical sentinel even in rest.
My pack. My Omega. Mine.
The master suite's climate control maintained perfect temperature, the soundproofed walls ensuring complete privacy from the household staff I'd dismissed for the duration.
Crystal decanters caught the morning light from the tall windows that overlooked the estate's private grounds, casting prismatic rainbows across the mahogany furniture.
Dark satisfaction curled through me, warm and heavy as I breathed in the scent of our combined claiming: my sandalwood dominant over her jasmine, with undertones of Oakley's cedar and Corvus's dark chocolate.
The evidence of our ownership marked every inch of her skin, every breath she took.
After months of planning, of systematic breaking, of careful application of pressure, she was finally, irrevocably ours.
Here, in my territory, surrounded by luxury that spoke of generations of Ashworth power and wealth.
The game was over. We'd won completely.
Part of me was already calculating the next moves: how to dispose of her now that the conquest was complete, how to return her to her pathetic scholarship existence with the thorough understanding of her place in the natural order.
The claiming had served its purpose. The psychological breaking was total.
She would never challenge Alpha authority again.
But first, I should savor the victory properly.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake her as I pressed my nose against her throat where my claiming bite still stood out vividly against her pale skin.
Time to assess the damage, to catalog the thoroughness of our conquest. The scent would be richest there, the marker of our ownership strongest at the place where I'd marked her as mine.
One deep breath, and my entire world exploded.
The dark satisfaction vanished like smoke, replaced by something so profound it left me gasping.
Beneath the obvious scents of sex and claiming, beneath the jasmine that had drawn me from the beginning, there was something else.
Something that made every Alpha instinct in my body roar to sudden, violent attention—not with dominance, but with desperate, consuming protectiveness.
Perfect compatibility. Genetic alignment. Fated match.
No. No, no, NO.
I jerked back, the movement sharp enough to make Vespera stir with a soft sound of distress against the silk pillows. My heart was suddenly hammering against my ribs, my hands shaking as I stared down at the sleeping girl I'd just spent months systematically tormenting.
No. It can't be.
Fated mates were rare. Legendary. The kind of miracle that happened once in a generation, if that. Perfect genetic matches that transcended the ordinary Alpha-Omega bonding process, creating connections so deep and profound they were considered unbreakable by biology or law.
I'd always dismissed the stories as romantic nonsense. Fairy tales for Omegas desperate to believe that something more than hierarchy determined their fates.
But the scent didn't lie. Couldn't lie. Beneath all the other markers—the claiming, the heat, the pack bond—was the unmistakable signature of perfect compatibility. Of a match so rare and precious that even thinking about it made my chest ache with primitive possessiveness.
My fated mate. My one perfect match.
And I'd spent months breaking her.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and making my vision blur at the edges. Every cruel word, every boundary violation, every carefully orchestrated humiliation—I'd inflicted them all on the one person biology had designed specifically for me.
What have I done?
Beside me, Oakley stirred, his cedar scent shifting as he sensed my distress. His eyes opened, immediately alert despite the exhaustion of the night's activities.
"Dorian?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't find words, couldn't process the magnitude of what I'd discovered. Instead, I gestured mutely to Vespera's throat, to the claiming bite that had revealed the truth I'd never imagined possible.
Oakley frowned, then leaned closer, inhaling deeply at the spot I'd indicated. I watched his expression transform from confusion to shock to something like awe.
"Holy shit," he breathed, eyes wide as they met mine. "Is that—"
"Fated match," I confirmed, my voice barely recognizable in the spacious luxury of my suite. "She's my fated mate."
The words hung in the air between us, impossibly heavy with implication. Around us, the trappings of wealth—imported marble, crystal, mahogany—seemed to fade into insignificance beside this revelation.
Oakley's scent shifted again, carrying notes of confusion and something that might have been guilt. "But we..." he started, then stopped, seemingly unable to voice the obvious.
But we spent months tormenting her. Breaking her. Forcing her into submission.
"I know." The words scraped my throat raw.
Across the room, Corvus was awake now, those calculating dark eyes taking in the scene with analytical precision from his position in the leather chair. "What's happened?" he asked, his voice perfectly controlled despite the obvious tension.
"Scent her," I instructed, gesturing to the sleeping Omega between us. "Beneath the claiming markers. Beneath the heat."
Corvus approached the massive bed with characteristic caution, his movements precise as he leaned down to breathe deeply at Vespera's throat. When he straightened, his expression was unreadable, but his scent had gone sharp with surprise.
"Fated match," he said quietly, confirming what I already knew. "One in a million genetic compatibility. But not just you, Dorian." His dark eyes met mine with something approaching wonder. "All of us. The entire pack. Your bond is primary, dominant, but Oakley and I are secondarily compatible."
I stared at them, trying to process this new revelation. Not just my fated mate, but our pack's perfect Omega match. The rarity of such a thing was beyond calculation: a statistical impossibility that had somehow manifested in the very girl we'd selected for systematic destruction.
"We need to adjust our strategy," I said, the Alpha in me already shifting to protective mode now that the truth was known. "Everything is different when she wakes."
Corvus's analytical mind was already working, I could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes. "Or perhaps this simply confirms what we already knew on some instinctive level. Why else would we have been so drawn to her, so fixated on claiming her specifically?"
"We tortured her for months," Oakley said, giving voice to the guilt that was clawing at my insides. "Psychologically broke her. Forced her into heat through sustained stress. Our fated mate."
The words made my stomach twist with something unfamiliar: regret, perhaps. Or shame. Emotions I'd rarely encountered and never with this intensity.
"She'll hate us when she wakes," I realized, the thought making my chest tight with unexpected pain. "When the heat recedes and she remembers everything we've done."
"Perhaps," Corvus acknowledged. "Or perhaps the fated bond will mitigate some of that resentment. Biology is powerful, particularly at this level of compatibility."
I looked down at Vespera's sleeping face, peaceful now in the aftermath of heat and claiming.
The flush had receded from her skin, leaving her pale and fragile-looking despite the vivid marks we'd left on her body.
She looked so small in my massive bed, surrounded by luxury that emphasized the gap between her scholarship-student background and our inherited wealth.
My fated mate. The one person in the world designed specifically to complement me, to challenge me, to complete me.
And I'd claimed her through manipulation and force rather than honest courtship.
"No more breaking," I said firmly. "No more psychological warfare. She's not just an Omega we're putting in her place anymore. She's..." I struggled to find words for what she had become. "She's ours to protect now. To care for. To... treasure."
The word felt strange on my tongue, unfamiliar after months of planning her subjugation. But it was true. A fated mate was beyond price, beyond calculation. The rarest gift an Alpha could receive.
"She won't trust that," Oakley pointed out, his cedar scent carrying notes of genuine concern. "After everything we've done, she'll see it as another manipulation."
"Then we'll have to prove it," I said, determination hardening my voice. "However long it takes."
Corvus was quiet for a moment, his analytical mind processing the implications. "The fated bond will help," he said finally. "Once the connection is established, fighting it becomes... difficult. For both sides."
I knew he was right. The fated mate bond was the strongest imperative known, transcending even heat and rut in its power to influence behavior. Already I could feel it working inside me, transforming possessiveness into protectiveness, dominance into devotion.