Page 13 of The Sterling Acquisition

“Back for round two?” Orion asked, but there was a new quality in his voice. Less raw hostility, more... anticipation.

“Round two,” Dante agreed, closing the door behind him. He remained near the entrance, assessing the room and Orion’s position before making his next move. “Though I prefer to think of it as continuing education.”

“What am I supposed to be learning?”

Dante smiled, and there was nothing professional about it. “That depends on you.”

Interestingly, Orion did not attempt to fill he silence like most people. He let it linger while he glared at Dante, letting the air charge with possibility and threat in equal measure. Orion’s scent hit him—stronger than yesterday, more complex. Stress and defiance, yes, but underneath that was curiosity.

Or horniness.

The room felt even smaller with both of them in it, the air thick with competing pheromones. Dante could taste Orion’s scent on his tongue, wild and electric.

This time, Dante didn’t pretend his interest was purely professional. Mostly because he was fairly certain Orion would call him on it, and he’d had enough of being intellectually outmaneuvered by someone who was supposed to be the subject of his “assessment.”

“Tell me about your father,” he said, but instead of staying by the door, he moved into the space. Not approaching Orion directly, but claiming territory in measured steps, making his presence felt in the confined area. He positioned himself between Orion and the door—not blocking escape, but making it clear that any movement in that direction would require navigating through his space.

He then settled into the room’s single chair with the fluid confidence of someone who belonged there.

Orion’s eyes narrowed, tracking every subtle shift in positioning. “Why?”

“Because yesterday you answered a direct question honestly, which suggests you’re not as closed off as you pretend to be. And because I’m curious about the man who taught you to be so resourceful.”

“Resourceful.” Orion’s laugh was sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“What would you call it?”

“Survival.”

“Fair enough.” Dante leaned back in the chair, projecting casual interest rather than interrogation. “But survival skills have to come from somewhere.”

For a moment, Orion looked like he might not answer. His hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, and Dante could see the internal war playing out across his features. The Omega was fighting not just the question, but his own body’s response to having a competent Alpha in his space.

Then his expression shifted—calculation giving way to memory.

“Before the Adjustment, before the corporations took over, my grandfather ran a security consulting business. Taught people how to protect themselves, their property, and their families. He taught my dad, and my dad taught me.” Orion’s voice became quieter, but Dante noticed how his breathing became shallower.

Dante leaned forward in his chair, ostensibly showing interest in the story, but really closing the distance between them. The movement brought his scent closer to Orion, and he watched with satisfaction as the Omega’s pupils dilated.

“He taught you to fight the system.”

“He taught me to survive it.” Orion put his back more firmly against the wall as if seeking anchor points. His fingers dug into the thin mattress, knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain composure.

Dante nodded slowly. “And when he died?”

“When SVI got him killed,” Orion corrected, his voice going flat. “For asking too many questions about their new ‘workplace safety protocols.’”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Orion glared at him. “Or is that just what you people say when you’re gathering intelligence?”

“I’m sorry a man died for threatening powerful people’s profits,” Dante said simply. “And I’m sorry his son got caught in the aftermath.”

The honesty seemed to surprise Orion. His posture relaxed slightly, though his eyes remained wary. Dante took advantage of the moment to rise from his chair, moving closer under the pretense of examining the scratches on the wall that Orion mentioned the day before. Each step was calculated to minimize the appearance of threat while getting closer.

“So what’s this about?” Orion asked, a breathless quality in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “This isn’t consultation. This isn’t helping Leo figure out how to break me. What do you actually want?”

Dante was close enough now that he could see the rapid pulse at Orion’s throat, could smell the complex layers of his scent—the storm and ozone, yes, but underneath that was warmth and sweetness. The scent of an Omega responding to an Alpha even when every conscious thought might tell him not to.