Page 8

8

MATTEO

T he hall outside Luca's room became my prison, every inch of polished marble a border I could not cross. His scent saturated the air—honey and citrus transformed into something devastating, something that called to the most primal part of me with a siren's destructive promise.

"Go," he had begged, tears streaking down his flushed face. " Please go."

I had gone. Not far enough. Never far enough.

I paced the corridor like a caged predator, each turn bringing me back to his door, each breath flooding my system with the molecular evidence of his suffering. The honey notes had turned molten, nearly caramelized with heat, the citrus sharpening to something that cut through rational thought like a blade through silk. Beneath it all lay that distinctive undertone—warm rain on stone—now heated to steam that threatened to scald judgment entirely.

Mine, my alpha hindbrain insisted with increasing urgency. Suffering . Needing . Mine .

"Sir." Carlo's voice penetrated the fog of biological imperative clouding my thoughts. " The medic team hasn't responded to our calls."

I turned slowly, the movement requiring conscious control over muscles that wanted nothing more than to break down the door behind me. " What do you mean, 'hasn't responded'?"

"Three separate teams, all suddenly unavailable. The Souza influence runs deeper than we anticipated." Carlo maintained a careful distance, his beta status offering immunity from the pheromones now saturating the hallway, but not from my volatile state. " They've blocked every medical option in the city."

Understanding crystalized with terrible clarity. The sabotaged suppressants, the compromised security, the medical blockade—all calculated to force a biological claiming where a paper one existed. To remove choice from both of us. To transform protection into possession through the cruel manipulation of our own bodies.

A low growl rumbled from my chest, the sound barely human. " Find whoever did this. Start with the household staff, then the delivery service. Someone had access. Someone touched what's mine."

Carlo nodded once, backing away with the practiced caution of a man who understood the danger of an alpha on the edge of protective rut. " And Mr . Bianchi ? What do you want me to do for him?"

The question hung between us, as delicate as a trigger wire. What could be done? The heat had progressed too far for medical intervention. The only biological relief would come through claiming—my teeth breaking skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, my scent merging permanently with his, my body satisfying the need consuming him from within.

The very claiming he had begged me not to initiate when coherent thought still governed his words.

"Cold towels," I said finally, each word emerging with conscious effort. " Water . Electrolytes . Fever reducers, if we have them." Practical measures that would do little against the biological imperative raging through him, but the only assistance I could offer without crossing lines I refused to breach.

Carlo disappeared down the hallway, his footsteps fading beneath the sounds emanating from behind the closed door. Soft whimpers had evolved into desperate moans that stroked something animal in my blood, something that cared nothing for consent or choice, only for the claiming instinct encoded in my DNA .

Mine, it whispered with each tortured sound. Suffering . Fix . Claim . Mine .

I pressed my forehead against the cool wall, focusing on the sensation to ground myself as another wave of his scent washed over me. My own biology had begun responding beyond conscious control—rut rising in answer to his heat, my scent sharpening with protective aggression, with possessive intent. The wound in my side throbbed in time with my accelerated pulse, pain providing momentary clarity in a mind increasingly clouded by instinct.

From beyond the door came a cry that pierced through all defenses—raw, desperate, my name embedded within the sound. " Matteo !"

The single word, fragmented and pleading, shattered something inside me. Not a capitulation to base instinct, but a recognition of something deeper—responsibility that transcended legal claims or biological imperatives. If the Souzas had orchestrated this, if my enemies had violated the sanctuary of my territory to force biological vulnerability upon what was mine...

I would not allow them to win. Not through his suffering. Not through my surrender to what they had calculated I would do.

Carlo returned with supplies balanced on a tray—towels, ice, bottled water, medications. His expression registered surprise as he took in my position, still outside the door rather than within.

"Sir," he began carefully, "these won't be enough."

"I know," I acknowledged, taking the tray from his hands. " Clear the floor. No one within hearing distance. No one."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. " And your father's men stationed in the lobby?"

"Tell them I'll kill anyone who approaches this floor." The words emerged with calm certainty rather than heat. Not threat but promise, delivered with the cold precision that had earned me my reputation within the family.

Carlo nodded once, then hesitated. " Matteo ." The rare use of my first name underscored the gravity of what he left unspoken. " There are other options. Claiming doesn't have to mean?—"

"Go," I cut him off, unwilling to hear alternatives that tempted compromise where none was acceptable. " Now ."

He retreated silently, leaving me alone with the tray and the torment emanating from behind the door. Another cry penetrated the wood, the sound transforming into a sob that compressed my chest like a physical weight. My hand settled on the doorknob, hesitating there as competing imperatives waged war within me.

Protect. Possess . Help . Claim . Honor . Take . Respect . Need .

The decision crystallized not from instinct but from its opposite—from the rational understanding that inaction had become its own form of harm. Entering that room risked one kind of violation. Remaining outside while he suffered guaranteed another.

I closed my eyes, gathering the tattered remains of my control around me like armor. Then I opened the door.

The wave of pheromones that greeted me nearly drove me to my knees—heat scent undiluted by barriers, by distance, by anything but the suppressants that had failed hours ago. A sweetness so thick it coated my tongue, left an almost painful ache at the back of my throat. The bright notes had darkened to something intoxicating—no longer just citrus but something fermented, dangerous, impossible to resist. His unique rain-scent had intensified to the humid heaviness before a storm breaks, electric and charged with potential.

Luca lay curled on the floor where I'd left him, his slim body twisted in a position of such vulnerability that something protective and fierce roared to life within me. Sweat dampened his dark curls, plastering them against his forehead. His white shirt clung to his skin, translucent with perspiration, while tremors wracked his frame in waves that corresponded to the pulses of scent filling the room.

He sensed my presence immediately, his head lifting with effort, eyes seeking mine through the darkness. Those eyes—usually sharp with intelligence behind wire-rimmed glasses—now glazed with fever and need, pupils blown so wide barely a ring of brown remained visible.

"M- Matteo ," he managed, my name fractured by a shudder that coursed through him. " You shouldn't...be here."

I set the tray on the nearest surface, movements deliberately slow and controlled. " I brought water. Cold towels."

A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound breaking into something closer to a sob. " Won't help."

"I know." I remained by the door, maintaining distance that cost more willpower than any negotiation, any battle, any test of strength I'd ever faced. " But it's what I can offer."

His gaze held mine, clarity momentarily surfacing through the haze of heat. " Why ?"

The simple question penetrated deeper than it should have, forcing examination of motivations I'd kept carefully unanalyzed. Why indeed? Why resist what biology demanded, what legality permitted, what my enemies had calculated I would take?

"Because you asked me not to touch you," I answered finally, the truth stark and simple between us. " Because choice matters, Luca . Even now."

Something shifted in his expression then—surprise, perhaps, or recognition. Whatever it was flickered briefly before another wave of heat claimed him, his body curling tighter as a moan escaped through clenched teeth.

I moved toward him then, not to claim but to aid, kneeling beside his huddled form with careful distance maintained between us. The proximity tested every ounce of my control, his scent enveloping me completely now, calling to something primal and possessive that cared nothing for consent or choice.

Mine, it insisted with renewed fervor. Suffering . Fix . Claim . Mine .

I dampened a towel with ice water, the cold against my heated skin providing momentary clarity. " May I ?" I asked, the towel hovering near his forehead.

He nodded once, the small movement clearly requiring effort. I pressed the cool cloth against his skin, watching as his eyes fluttered closed at the minimal relief it provided. Another towel followed, this one draped across the back of his neck where heat radiated most intensely. My fingers skirted the edges of his suppressant patch, now completely ineffective but still adhered to skin that burned with fever.

"Water," I urged, supporting his shoulders as he struggled to sit upright. The contact sent electricity through my palm despite the barrier of his sweat-soaked shirt, my scent responding automatically to his proximity. Sandalwood and cedar sharpened with protective intent, with possessive awareness, with the rising tide of rut triggered by his condition.

He drank in desperate gulps, water spilling down his chin in his urgency. When the bottle emptied, he collapsed back against me, seemingly beyond caring about the contact he'd forbidden earlier.

Nearly two hours passed in this pattern—cold towels warming too quickly against his fevered skin, water bottles emptying, brief moments of clarity giving way to longer stretches of heat-driven delirium. Each passing minute saw his condition worsen, his temperature climbing despite every intervention. The room darkened as evening approached, shadows lengthening across the floor while I maintained my vigil of insufficient aid.

During a brief moment of lucidity, his head dropped against my shoulder, the position exposing the vulnerable curve of his neck where his scent gland pulsed visibly beneath flushed skin. The sight paralyzed me momentarily, alpha instinct roaring to life with renewed intensity. One movement, one moment of surrender to biological imperative, and I could end his suffering.

My teeth against that gland, breaking skin, exchanging biochemicals that would transform his heat from torment to pleasure. The claiming our enemies had calculated I would take. The claiming that would relieve his agony at the cost of his choice.

"P-please," he whispered, the word hot against my neck where his face pressed. " I can't... I need..."

I closed my eyes, fighting for control against the weight of his suffering against me, the scent of him consuming rational thought like fire through dry timber. " Tell me what you need, Luca . Be specific." The question wasn't just about consent—it was about preserving his autonomy even now, when biology had stripped so much from him.

His fingers clutched my shirt, twisting the fabric as another wave of heat coursed through him. " Make it stop," he gasped. " Please , Matteo . I can't... I can't bear it."

The plea shredded what remained of my defenses, but I forced myself to seek clarity where heat and need had clouded understanding. " How ?" I asked, the word emerging rougher than intended. " Tell me exactly what you're asking for, Luca ."

His body trembled against mine, slick heat evident where our bodies pressed together, his scent spiking with another wave of need. For one terrible moment, I thought he'd retreated beyond coherent speech, beyond the ability to grant the consent I refused to proceed without.

Then his hand rose, shaking but deliberate, to touch the junction of his neck and shoulder—the precise location where a claiming bite would mark him permanently as mine.

"This," he whispered, fingers pressing against his scent gland with unmistakable intent. " I need this."

"Are you certain?" I held myself rigid against the tide of need threatening to overwhelm judgment. " The heat is affecting your mind, Luca . I won't take advantage of that."

His eyes met mine, fever-bright but momentarily clear. " I know what I'm asking. I'm choosing this, not just the heat." His fingers tightened in my shirt, anchoring himself as another wave of need threatened to consume him. " I choose you, Matteo . Please ."

The words penetrated the last barriers of my resistance. Not capitulation to biological imperative, but conscious choice made despite it. Not surrender to what our enemies had orchestrated, but reclamation of agency within the constraints they had imposed.

I gathered him fully into my arms, lifting him from the floor with careful strength, mindful of the wound in my side that protested the movement. He weighed almost nothing, his body burning against mine as I carried him to the bed, laying him across sheets already dampened with sweat and slick.

"If you change your mind, at any point," I said, hovering above him, still maintaining the last fragments of distance between us, "tell me to stop. I will. No matter what."

He nodded, understanding passing between us in that moment—a pact separate from the biological claiming approaching, a recognition of choice preserved within biological imperative.

Then I lowered my mouth to his throat, to the scent gland pulsing beneath flushed skin. The taste of him exploded across my tongue as my lips pressed against his neck—honey and citrus and something uniquely Luca beneath the heat-scent driving us both toward the edge of control. His body arched instantly in response, a broken sound escaping him as my teeth grazed the sensitive flesh.

"Mine," I whispered against his skin, the word emerging not as possession but as promise. Protection . Partnership . " Mine to protect. Mine to care for. Mine to honor."

His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer with desperate need. " Yours ," he gasped, the word dissolving into a moan as my teeth pressed more firmly against his gland. " Please , Matteo . Now ."

The final barriers of restraint shattered at his plea. My teeth broke skin in one decisive movement, biochemicals flowing between us in the ancient exchange that transformed separate entities into bonded pair. His blood carried the essence of his scent—honey and citrus and warm rain—and as it merged with mine, something fundamental shifted in both our chemistries.

Luca's body convulsed beneath mine, his cry of pain transforming into something else entirely as the claiming took hold. The heat that had tormented him didn't disappear but transformed, agony evolving into desperate need that could now find satisfaction through the alpha who had claimed him.

My own control dissolved as the taste of him flooded my system, rut rising fully in response to the omega now biologically mine. Every cell in my body recognized the chemical signature of his surrender—not just honey but nectar, not just citrus but vital essence, not just rain but life itself. His scent had transcended ordinary description, becoming something primal and ancient that spoke directly to the most basic part of my brain: mate, bond, protect.

"Matteo," he gasped, hands clutching at my shoulders with urgent need. " Please . I need?—"

"I know what you need," I answered, voice dropping to a register I barely recognized as my own. The wound at his throat continued to pulse, our scents mingling with each passing second, the biological bond strengthening between us. " And I'll give it to you. All of it."

His shirt gave way beneath my hands, buttons scattering across the bed as I exposed heated skin to my touch. The sight of him—flushed and desperate beneath me, throat marked with my claim, scent transformed by our bonding—triggered something possessive and tender simultaneously. This wasn't the calculated manipulation our enemies had orchestrated. This was something they could never have anticipated or understood.

"Mine," I growled against his chest, teeth grazing sensitive skin as I traced patterns of possession across his body. " Mine to protect. Mine to satisfy. Mine ."

"Yours," he agreed, the word emerging with surprising clarity despite the fever still consuming him. His hands fumbled with my shirt, desperation making him clumsy. " Need you. All of you."

I shed my remaining clothing with ruthless efficiency, each movement calculated to minimize the seconds between his need and my response. The silk shirt—already half-unbuttoned—tore under my impatient hands, the sound of ripping fabric sharp in the heat-saturated air. My belt buckle hit the floor with a metallic thud, pants following in a whisper of expensive fabric against skin that burned for contact. Boxer briefs discarded without ceremony, leaving me naked and fully aroused, my cock heavy and throbbing with the biological imperative of rut.

"Fuck," I growled, the single syllable scraping raw from my throat as I took in Luca's desperate state beneath me.

His body called to mine on a primal frequency that bypassed thought entirely—the claiming bite at his throat still weeping tiny droplets of blood where my teeth had broken skin, each crimson bead carrying biochemicals that flooded my system with possessive need. The exchange had created a feedback loop between us, his heat-scent intensifying my rut, my rut-scent soothing his heat, our bodies recognizing each other on a molecular level that science could explain but never truly capture.

Mine, my hindbrain insisted with savage certainty as I lowered myself over him, skin finally meeting skin in an electric slide of contact. Mine to possess. Mine to fill. Mine to satisfy.

My cock dragged against his stomach, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum across his heated flesh, the sensation so intense I had to close my eyes momentarily against the overwhelming urge to claim him completely, immediately. I could smell his slick now, honey-sweet and thick with need, his entrance already wet and ready for the taking.

"Please," he begged, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise, hips lifting in unconscious invitation. " Matteo , I need— I need your knot, need you inside, please?—"

When I covered his body with mine, skin against fevered skin, the contact ignited something primal between us. Every nerve ending sparked to life where our bodies met—his heat searing into my cooler flesh, my weight pressing him into the mattress with deliberate control. The sounds that tore from our throats mingled in the heavy air—his high and desperate, a keening whine that stroked my most basic instincts; mine a guttural growl that rumbled up from somewhere ancient and possessive inside me.

"Fuck, Luca ," I breathed against his throat, my lips brushing the claiming bite still weeping tiny droplets of our bonding. The taste of him lingered on my tongue—honey and citrus transformed into something darker, richer, mine.

The wound in my side flared with sharp, insistent pain as I shifted my weight, a physical reminder of the danger surrounding us. Blood had seeped through the hasty bandage, warm and sticky against my ribs—battle scars from the same enemies who had orchestrated this moment, who had poisoned his suppressants and blocked medical aid, thinking to use our biology as a weapon. Thinking to force my hand, to make me claim what was legally mine on paper through biological imperative rather than choice.

My cock throbbed between us, achingly hard and leaking steadily against the flat plane of his stomach. The head dragged through the slickness there, sending jolts of electricity up my spine with each subtle movement. I could smell his arousal, his need—that intoxicating scent of slick gathering between his thighs, sweet and musky and utterly irresistible.

"Need you," he gasped, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. His hips bucked upward, seeking friction, seeking fullness, seeking relief from the heat consuming him from within. " Please , Matteo — I can't— I need your cock, need your knot?—"

The raw desperation in his voice nearly shattered what little control I maintained. My alpha instincts roared to life, demanding I take, claim, fill, breed. But beneath that biological imperative lay something else—something that had watched this quiet, brilliant omega from afar for years, something that had recognized his worth long before biology forced our hands.

They had miscalculated. What they had intended as manipulation, we had reclaimed as choice. What they had designed as vulnerability, we had transformed into strength.

"Look at me," I commanded softly, needing to see clarity in his eyes before proceeding further. " See me, Luca . Not just alpha. Not just heat. Me ."

His gaze met mine, fever-bright but present, recognizing. " Matteo ," he said, my name emerging clear and deliberate from lips swollen with need. " I see you."

The confirmation was all I required. I positioned myself between his trembling thighs, my cock heavy and throbbing against his entrance, already slick with his need. The scent of him—honey and citrus transformed by our claiming into something uniquely ours—flooded my senses, driving rational thought from my mind.

"Mine," I growled, pressing forward with deliberate restraint, the head of my cock breaching him slowly despite every alpha instinct screaming to thrust, to take, to claim with brutal efficiency.

Luca's body opened for me, his heat-slick entrance gripping me with desperate intensity as I pushed deeper. The tight, wet heat of him nearly shattered my control, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain radiating up my spine and settling at the base of my skull where primitive instinct lived.

"Fuck," I hissed, watching his face as I seated myself fully inside him, his body stretching to accommodate my girth. " So fucking tight. So perfect."

His legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back, urging me deeper still. I braced myself on one forearm beside his head, my other hand gripping his hip with bruising force as I began to move. Each withdrawal and thrust was measured, controlled—a direct contradiction to the savage need coursing through my veins.

"More," he begged, fingers clawing at my shoulders, my back, anywhere he could reach. " Please , Matteo , harder— I need?—"

I silenced him with a brutal kiss, teeth catching his lower lip as I increased my pace, driving into him with enough force to shift the mattress beneath us. The slick sounds of our joining filled the room, obscene and perfect, mingling with the low growls tearing from my throat and the desperate whimpers escaping his.

My knot began to swell at the base of my cock, catching against his rim with each thrust, the friction sending jolts of electric pleasure through both our bodies. His eyes widened at the sensation, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the brown entirely.

"Yes," he gasped, his internal muscles clenching around me in anticipation. " Your knot—give me your knot?—"

I drove into him with renewed purpose, sweat slicking our bodies where they pressed together, the wound in my side forgotten in the haze of rut and need and possession. My rhythm faltered as my knot expanded further, each thrust requiring more force to push past the tight ring of muscle at his entrance.

"Take it," I commanded, voice barely recognizable as my own. " Take all of me, Luca ."

With one final, powerful thrust, my knot pushed past his resistance, locking us together as my orgasm tore through me with devastating force. I emptied myself inside him in hot pulses, each one triggering aftershocks of pleasure that rippled through my entire body. His own release followed immediately, untouched cock spurting between our bodies as his inner muscles contracted around my knot, milking me for every drop.

I collapsed forward, careful to distribute my weight to avoid crushing him, our bodies still joined intimately by my knot. The claiming was complete—biological, physical, irrevocable. What had begun as a political arrangement on paper had transformed into something primal and real, marked in scent and blood and seed.

Not like that. Not with him. Not when choice mattered more than biology.

His body arched beneath mine, a perfect bow of surrender, his spine curving up to press every burning inch of him against my chest. Desperate sounds—half-sobs, half-moans—spilled from his throat in a symphony that stroked something primal in my blood. The claiming bite at his neck continued to weep tiny droplets of crimson, each one carrying the complex biochemicals that were rewriting both our molecular structures, binding us together on a level more fundamental than paper contracts or political arrangements could ever achieve.

I watched, transfixed, as the changes rippled through him—his scent evolving from pure heat-distress to something richer, deeper, marked unmistakably with mine. The sandalwood and cedar notes of my own scent had wrapped around his honey-citrus essence, transforming both into something neither of us had been alone. Something new. Something ours.

The heat that had tormented him—that had twisted his face in agony, had wrenched those broken pleas from his lips—now found focus. Purpose . The biological imperative that our enemies had weaponized against us now flowed through channels of pleasure rather than pain, his body recognizing on the most primitive level that relief had arrived. That his alpha—not just any alpha, but his—had claimed him not as possession but as partner.

"Fuck," I growled against his throat, unable to resist tasting the skin beside the claiming mark, my tongue tracing the salt-sweet flavor of his sweat. " You feel that, don't you? The change?"

His fingers dug into my shoulders, blunt nails leaving crescent indentations that I'd wear proudly tomorrow. " Yes ," he gasped, his voice cracking on the single syllable. " It's —it's like fire, but different. Not burning me anymore. Burning ... with you."

Bonded. Claimed . Paired .

The knot held us locked together as aftershocks coursed through his slender frame, his heat temporarily satisfied but not yet fully resolved. Hours of this remained ahead—waves of need requiring satisfaction, biological imperatives demanding fulfillment. But the worst had passed with the initial claiming. The torment had transformed to pleasure. The isolation to connection.

I gathered him against me, careful of the knot still binding us together, arranging our bodies so he rested across my chest. His face pressed against my throat, breath evening slowly as exhaustion claimed him in the aftermath of heat-spike and satisfaction. The claiming mark at his neck continued to pulse with shared biochemistry, our scents blending more completely with each passing minute.

"Sleep," I murmured against his damp curls, one hand stroking down his spine in rhythmic comfort. " I'll be here when you wake. When the next wave comes."

His fingers curled against my chest, small movements of contentment rather than distress. " Thank you," he whispered, the words slurring slightly as exhaustion pulled him toward unconsciousness. " For waiting. For asking. For ..." He trailed off, unable to articulate what had passed between us.

I understood regardless, the bond between us already translating emotion where words failed. Not just gratitude for physical relief, but for the preservation of choice within biological imperative. For making claiming an act of partnership rather than possession, even when our bodies had given us little alternative.

As he drifted into sleep, temporarily sated and securely bound to me through biology's ancient mechanisms, I stared into the darkness beyond the bed, thoughts clarifying in the aftermath of rut-driven claiming. The Souzas had orchestrated this, believing forced heat would drive me to claim without consent, to take advantage of biological vulnerability. They had calculated that I would become the very alpha stereotype I had spent years distinguishing myself from—driven by instinct rather than honor, by possession rather than protection.

They had miscalculated.

What they had intended as manipulation, we had reclaimed as choice. What they had designed to strip agency had instead revealed its power.

Yes, I had claimed Luca Bianchi . Marked him. Knotted him. Satisfied the heat they had forced upon him through sabotage and manipulation. But I had done so with his consent, his choice, his partnership in the decision. I had waited until clarity surfaced through fever, until permission emerged through need, until the man rather than merely the omega had asked for what biology demanded.

My arms tightened around his sleeping form, protective instinct heightened by the claiming bond still forming between us. The enemies who had orchestrated this violation of my territory, this manipulation of Luca's biology, would pay for their miscalculation. Not just for forcing heat upon him, but for believing I would dishonor what was mine by taking without permission.

"No one will ever touch you without going through me," I whispered against his hair, the promise emerging not from alpha possessiveness but from something deeper, something that had begun forming the moment he'd walked into my office with evidence of missing millions and the courage to present it directly.

The bond between us pulsed with shared biochemistry, with altered scents, with the molecular certainty that transcended paper claims or legal declarations. What had begun as arrangement had evolved to partnership, and now to something our enemies could never have anticipated or understood.

Mine, my alpha instinct insisted, but with new meaning, new dimension. Not possession but protection. Not control but care.

Mine to protect. Mine to honor. Mine to defend against all who would harm him.

As Luca slept against me, temporarily sated but with hours of heat still ahead, I stared into the darkness with cold certainty. The Souzas had intended this claiming as manipulation, as weakness to be exploited. Instead , they had created something they could never have anticipated—a bond that strengthened rather than compromised, a partnership forged in biological imperative but transcending it through choice preserved within constraint.

They would learn, too late, the consequence of their miscalculation.

No one touched what was mine.