Page 21 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter fourteen

Necessary Revelations

Dante

Dante was reviewing vaccine production reports when Leo’s message came through on the encrypted device:

Leo James

Need consultation ASAP. Stable for two days but showing renewed agitation this morning. Your expertise is required.

The timing was almost perfect. The vaccine scaling protocols Dante provided were running smoothly enough that SVI barely needed his input anymore—they’d only call when they hit roadblocks or were ready for the next phase of their exchange.

Which meant he had the afternoon free to deal with more pressing matters.

Like the data drive burning a hole in his jacket pocket and the impossible conversation he needed to have with Orion.

Twenty minutes later, he was standing in Leo’s apartment doorway, noting the stress lines that returned to the man’s face overnight. The standard-issue SVI housing unit felt even more oppressive today—the industrial beige walls closing in, the recycled air carrying traces of Leo’s anxiety.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Leo said, ushering him inside with nervous energy. “He was so manageable the last couple of days—helped with dishes, watched a movie, even turned down an advance gently instead of trying to claw my eyes out. I thought we made a breakthrough.”

“And this morning?”

“Back to refusing eye contact, one-word answers, that general hostility that makes me feel like I’m walking on broken glass.” Leo gestured helplessly toward the locked door. “Whatever progress we made seems to have evaporated.”

Dante nodded thoughtfully, though he suspected Orion’s renewed agitation had more to do with impending heat cycles than psychological regression. “These kinds of setbacks are normal during behavioral modification. The mind doesn’t give up established patterns easily.”

“Is there anything you can do? Another session like the ones that have been working?”

“Certainly. Though I’ll need the same conditions for an emergency session—some of the psychological mapping techniques I use are unfortunately classified under Gensyn’s proprietary methods.”

Leo’s face fell. “I was hoping to observe, maybe learn some of the approaches that seem so effective.”

“I understand the interest, but I’m only authorized to share the vaccine production protocols as part of our corporate exchange.

The behavioral assessment techniques fall under different clearance levels.

” Dante kept his tone apologetic but firm.

“I’m already pushing boundaries by using them at all without official authorization. ”

“Of course, I understand.” Leo’s disappointment was obvious, but his gratitude was stronger. “The fact that you’re willing to help at all, especially with methods your company usually keeps confidential... I can’t express how much I appreciate it.”

A picture of this man should be put in a Gensyn training manual next to the description for ‘ideal targets’.

“Professional courtesy,” Dante replied. “We’re all working toward the same goals.”

Leo gathered his materials for the research facility, eager to give Dante whatever time he needed. “Take as long as necessary. If these techniques can bring back the progress we saw earlier this week, it’s worth any amount of consultation time.”

After Leo left, Dante stood outside Orion’s door for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Inside that room was someone whose entire future hung in the balance, and Dante was about to ask him to trust the very type of corporate predator who created this situation in the first place.

No pressure at all.

The locks clicked open, and Dante could smell the difference.

The suppressants he gave Orion were no longer masking anything—if anything, they seemed to be making the situation worse, and it seemed like his own scent blockers ran away in defeat.

The air was thick with pheromones that spoke of biological chaos and distress.

Orion was sitting on the bed with his back to the door, shoulders rigid with tension. He didn’t turn around when Dante entered, didn’t acknowledge his presence beyond a slight stiffening of his posture. The distance between them—maybe eight feet—suddenly seemed both too far and dangerously close.

“Good morning,” Dante said.

“Leo’s not here.” Orion’s voice was clipped, dismissive. “You can drop the professional consultation act.”

“I wasn’t planning to maintain it.” Dante moved closer, noting the way Orion’s scent spiked with each step. The air was becoming almost unbearable—like being trapped in a perfume shop designed by someone with a sadistic sense of humor. “We need to talk.”

Orion’s shoulders tensed further, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress hard enough that his knuckles whitened. “About what? Your progress reports? How well your psychological conditioning is working?”

“I know more about what they’re planning to do to you.”

That got a reaction—a slight turn of Orion’s head, though he still didn’t look directly at Dante. His profile showed flushed skin and a tightly clenched jaw.

“I accessed some research files last night,” Dante continued, pulling the data drive from his pocket. “You’ve been designated as Test Subject Number One.”

Orion’s remained silent. Dante could see the visible effort it took to maintain even that limited control.

“They’re planning to use forced bonding technology on you.

” Dante kept his voice level, clinical, even as the air in the room grew thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Two-part injection that makes the test subject believe their compliance is a genuine choice. Permanent personality restructuring with full memory retention.”

Still nothing. No questions, no outrage, no fear. Just rigid silence and enough pheromones to make Dante’s head spin. Orion shifted on the bed, increasing the distance between them by a few inches—a barely perceptible movement that nonetheless communicated volumes.

“It’s worse than anything Gensyn does because the subjects think their feelings are real. They remember everything that happened to them, but they’re grateful for it. They love their captors and never understand that those emotions were chemically induced.”

“Thank you for the information,” Orion said, his voice flat. “You can leave now.”

Dante stared at the back of Orion’s head, taken aback by the dismissal. He expected questions, resistance, maybe even panic. Not this calm acceptance and immediate dismissal.

“Did you hear what I just told you? They’re going to chemically lobotomize you into grateful compliance.”

“I heard you.” The words came through clenched teeth.

“And that’s it? That’s your entire response?”

“What response did you want? Hysteria? Gratitude for the warning?” Orion’s voice carried bitter exhaustion. “You’ve told me. Now leave.”

The dismissal hit wrong, sparking irritation that Dante did not expect to feel.

He risked exposure to gather this intelligence, risked his cover to warn Orion, and this was the reaction he got?

Professional indifference would have been insulting enough, but this felt like being dismissed by someone who could barely form coherent sentences.

Which, given the pheromonal soup he was breathing, might be the case.

“Look at me,” he said, moving around the bed.

“No.” The single word was sharp, almost panicked. Orion shifted again, maintaining the maximum possible distance between them in the confined space.

“Look at me, Orion. ”

“I said no. Just... just go away.” Orion’s hand shot out in a warding gesture, fingers trembling in the harsh fluorescent light. “We’re done here.”

The words came out strained, almost desperate, and something about that raw edge cut through Dante’s frustration. This wasn’t indifference—it was self-preservation. Orion was trying to get rid of him, not because he didn’t care about the information, but because he couldn’t handle Dante’s presence.

Dante moved to where he could see Orion’s profile and felt his breath catch.

Christ. No wonder he wants me gone.

Orion was a complete disaster—sweating, pupils dilated, skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He was trembling with the effort of staying still, his breathing controlled in a way that suggested he was fighting his body’s responses with every ounce of willpower he possessed.

Dante felt something shift in his chest, but it was overshadowed by the realization that his rut suppressants were failing. The ones that kept him steady and controlled for years were dissolving under the assault of Orion’s scent.

“Is this your heat?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“No.” Orion’s laugh was bitter, strained. “Not yet.”

Not yet. Dante stared at him, processing what that meant. What on earth did his full heats look like?

This is the worst pre-heat I’ve ever seen , he thought, watching Orion tremble with the effort of staying still. But then again, I’ve never seen a twenty-six-year-old unclaimed virgin. It must be a pre-heat from hell.

And Christ help him, he kind of wanted to get burned.