Page 7 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

four

Dorian

Mahogany, leather, and power. The study smelled like old money—as it should.

My fingers traced the rim of my brandy snifter, the aged single malt burning pleasantly as I reviewed the intel Corvus had compiled on our newest target.

He sat across from me with that typical rigid posture, tablet balanced on his knee, organizing surveillance notes with typical precision.

"Your fixation is showing," Corvus said without looking up. "More than usual."

No point denying it. After a decade, he could read my moods with irritating precision. "She's different."

That earned a raised eyebrow. "The great Dorian Ashworth, intrigued by a scholarship case? Should I alert the theater department newsletter?"

"Your sarcasm is noted and unwelcome." There was no heat in my rebuke—pack dynamics allowed for this. His strategic mind had proven itself too valuable to waste energy posturing. "But she is different. More aware. More resistant."

Oakley chose that moment to join us, dropping into his favorite leather chair with his usual ease.

Fresh from the gym, his cedar scent mixed with sweat hit my nostrils, familiar and right.

His fitted t-shirt clung to broad shoulders still damp from the shower, a sight that stirred a different kind of heat than my anger: the instinctive recognition of pack bonds that ran deeper than friendship.

"The scholarship Omega?" he asked, helping himself to my brandy. "I was just thinking about Cruz's class."

My jaw tightened. "What about it?"

"The way she responded to your scent," Oakley said, his expression more curious than predatory. "There was a genuine connection there, beneath the resistance. Her body recognized something her mind isn't ready to accept yet."

Something dark and possessive surged through my veins. A visceral urge to remind Oakley exactly who had first rights to that particular reaction. I forced it down, kept my expression neutral while my blood burned.

"Focus," I commanded, injecting enough Alpha tone to make both packmates straighten reflexively. "This isn't about immediate gratification. Strategy first."

I moved to the desk where Corvus had arranged his materials. Photos taken with telephoto lenses, class schedules mapped against location patterns, financial records obtained through carefully cultivated administrative sources. The precise documentation of a life about to be thoroughly disrupted.

"Tell me," I ordered, feeling a familiar tightening in my groin as I studied her captured in unguarded moments. The thought of her completely unaware of being watched triggered a primal satisfaction I couldn't deny.

Corvus shifted into analytical mode. "Vespera Levine, eighteen, full scholarship from Franklin, Ohio. Father works at community theater. Steady income but barely middle class. Mother has been absent since she was ten."

He swiped to financial data. "Current account balance: $127. Work-study income: $240 monthly. Budgeting down to pennies. Dining hall shifts around class times, using campus laundry during off-peak hours to save money."

"Excellent." Financial pressure—always a useful lever. My mind was already calculating exactly how to apply it for maximum effect. "Support network?"

"Complicated." Frustration edged into Corvus's clinical tone. "Roommate, Stephanie Shaw. Significant family wealth. Father in private equity, mother owns a gallery. They live in Havenhill Estates. Eight figures, minimum."

Oakley frowned. "Problem. Rich Betas don't intimidate easily."

"Worse," Corvus continued. "Robert Gao, male Omega she's befriended. The family owns Gao Pharmaceutical. Patents on half the suppressants and fertility medications on the market. Net worth in the hundreds of millions."

I inhaled slowly, scenting the complication. Our usual tactics—financial pressure, social isolation, institutional manipulation—worked because scholarship students typically had no resources to resist. But if Vespera had allies with serious money and family connections...

"She's protected," I concluded, the challenge only heightening my interest.

"Partially," Corvus agreed. "Vulnerabilities remain. Scholarship requires a 3.8 GPA minimum. Any grade below B+ in major courses triggers review. Work-study creates scheduling pressures we can exploit."

I nodded, calculating possibilities while my body hummed with anticipation. "Academic sabotage, then. Make her doubt her abilities. But subtler than usual."

"I've accessed her schedules," Corvus continued. "Cruz for Voice and Movement, De Scarzis for Acting Technique, Williamson for Theater History, Bray for Physical Theater. All rely heavily on partner work and peer evaluations."

"Perfect." Oakley's smile turned thoughtful. "I can make sure the other students understand she's a pack interest. They'll naturally keep their distance."

"Carefully," I warned, feeling another possessive surge. "Her wealthy friends complicate direct approaches. We need to isolate her from protection without making it obvious."

I moved to the windows overlooking the estate grounds. Crisp September air carried the scent of changing leaves and woodsmoke. Soon the semester would intensify with midterms, major projects, the social pressures that separated the committed from those who'd overestimated themselves.

"Timeline?" I asked, still watching the grounds, imagining her walking there. Under my control. My protection. My dominance.

"Six weeks," Corvus replied without hesitation. "Most scholarship Omegas break by October midterms. The combination of academic pressure, social isolation, and designation stress typically produces desired results."

"And if she doesn't break?" Oakley asked.

I turned back, a cold smile forming. "Then we escalate.

But I don't think it will come to that. She's strong, but completely alone in ways that matter.

Her friends can provide emotional support, even financial assistance, but they can't protect her from institutional pressure or biological responses. "

I refilled my glass, savoring the burn while calculating scenarios. "Her schedule. Daily patterns, vulnerabilities, opportunities for contact."

Corvus consulted his notes. "Breakfast at 7 AM, usually alone while the roommate sleeps in. Classes 9 to 3 most days, breaks spent in library or practice rooms. Work-study shifts Tuesday and Thursday evenings, 5 to 8 PM. Weekends reserved for homework and practice."

"Disciplined," I observed, the thought sending unexpected heat through my core. "But predictable. Multiple opportunities for targeted encounters."

"What about the physical approach?" Oakley asked. "She responded to your scent in Cruz's class."

A surge of possessiveness hit me hard. The thought of Oakley's hands on her, his scent mixing with hers—my body rejected it instantly. My cock ached with the need to claim, to mark territory, to ensure she knew exactly who held the right to her submission.

"I'll handle that aspect personally," I said, voice carrying enough command to make both packmates look sharply at me. "Designation pressure requires finesse."

Corvus made another note, expression thoughtful. "Unusual level of personal investment. May I ask why?"

The question irritated me because I wasn't entirely sure of the answer myself.

Yes, Vespera had surprised me with talent and resistance.

Yes, her scent called to me in ways more intense than typical Alpha-Omega attraction.

"She believes she can withstand us," I replied, settling on the explanation I'd given myself. "The others feared us from the beginning, expecting to be driven out. She thinks she can endure whatever we do and still succeed."

I leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "I want her to understand how wrong she is. But more than that—I want her to submit. Not just leave, but acknowledge her place. Beg for acceptance."

The vision burned in my mind: Vespera submitting, acknowledging her place beneath us in the hierarchy. The thought sent a rush of satisfaction through me, my cock hardening at the image of her finally yielding to what we both knew was inevitable.

"Interesting approach," Corvus said carefully. "More complex than our usual methods."

"The approach must fit the individual," I replied. "Vespera requires a different kind of breaking. One that leaves her intact enough to be useful afterward."

Oakley's eyebrows rose. "You want to keep her?"

The question hung between us. Our previous targets had been driven away, eliminated as competition. But the idea of Vespera remaining at Northwood, thoroughly dominated and reshaped according to pack will, sent heat coursing through me.

"As an experiment," I said carefully. "I'm curious what happens when a scholarship Omega fully submits instead of fleeing."

"Could set an interesting precedent," Corvus agreed. "Other scholarship students would see the consequences of resistance versus acceptance."

"She'd be an interesting addition to our circle," Oakley suggested carefully. "Someone with her sensitivity and talent would bring balance to what we've built."

Another spike of possessiveness hit me, stronger than before. Pack dynamics meant shared access to willing partners—it had never bothered me. The fact that the idea of sharing Vespera did was a complication I refused to examine.

"First, she needs to be properly broken," I said firmly. "Academic pressure begins immediately. I want grades trending downward within two weeks. Social isolation should progress naturally once other students realize she's our target."

"And designation pressure?" Corvus asked.

"Daily scent exposure, calibrated physical contact, vocal modulation to trigger submissive responses," I outlined, my body responding to the planned hunt. "Nothing explicit enough to justify complaints, but consistent enough to wear down psychological defenses."

I drained my brandy, feeling the familiar satisfaction of a well-crafted strategy mixed with unusual personal anticipation. "We coordinate all efforts. No individual initiatives that might undermine the overall plan. By Thanksgiving, she should be malleable enough for the final phase."

Both nodded agreement, and I felt pack bonds solidify around our objective. Whatever complications her wealthy friends presented, whatever unexpected challenges she offered, the outcome was inevitable. No scholarship student had ever withstood our coordinated attention.

"She'll learn that survival at Northwood means belonging to us," I continued, voice dropping lower. "And once she accepts that truth, we'll remake her completely. Strip away everything she thinks she is and rebuild her as ours."

I moved toward the door. "Begin tomorrow. Academic pressure starts Monday. We'll meet next week to check progress." The meeting was over.

"Dorian?" Corvus called as they headed out.

I paused. "Yes?"

"Your personal investment in this target is notable. Ensure it doesn't compromise pack objectives."

The gentle warning carried no judgment, but its implications were clear. In a decade of friendship, I'd never shown this focused interest in breaking a specific student.

"My objectives align perfectly with pack interests," I replied, injecting enough Alpha authority to discourage further inquiry. "Vespera Levine will submit. The only question is how thoroughly."

After they left, I stayed in the study, watching the grounds darken through the windows.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the photos Corvus had taken.

Vespera walking to class, head high despite everything.

Vespera in the library, lost in her reading.

Vespera laughing with friends. The last image showed her crossing the quad after her dining hall shift.

Even exhausted, she walked like someone who refused to yield.

For a moment, I found myself wondering what it would be like to have that determination directed toward me, to be worthy of loyalty and strength rather than focused on destroying it.

The thought was so uncharacteristic I immediately dismissed it. Vespera Levine was a target, nothing more. An obstacle to pack dominance requiring systematic removal.

I couldn't shake the memory of her scent, or how my body had responded to her proximity in Cruz's class. Something about her called to instincts I'd never experienced with previous targets. Protective impulses contradicting my intentions, possessive urges beyond typical Alpha dominance.

By Thanksgiving, she would understand her place in Northwood's hierarchy. She would submit to pack authority and beg for the privilege of remaining.

And if the process required more personal involvement than usual, well, some targets simply demanded more thorough attention.

I turned off the lights and headed upstairs, passing Oakley's door and Corvus's meticulously organized workspace.

My body still thrummed with anticipation and mind flying thoughts of what was to come.

Planning tomorrow's opening moves in what promised to be the most interesting semester Northwood had seen in years.