Page 34 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

“Then we f-fight our way out. But with uniforms and b-better weapons than we have now.”

“It’s risky. If they have chemical resistance training, if they’re prepared for pheromone attacks—” Dante began.

“They’re not,” Orion interrupted. “Trust m-me. They’re good at violence, t-terrible at adaptation.”

And I know these streets. I know these people. I know how to disappear.

“Your heat will get worse,” Dante pointed out. “You’re struggling to speak even right now.”

“I know.” Orion met his eyes. “I can handle it. The question is w-whether you can handle being around me when it gets worse.”

Dante beamed. “I think I can manage.”

We’ll see about that.

The checkpoint was two blocks away, positioned at the intersection where the residential district met the factory zone. Orion could see the guards from a distance—two men in SVI tactical gear, both armed with stun weapons and pistols, the standard SVI sidearm that everyone and their mother carried.

“Remember,” Orion said as they approached, “let me do the t-talking. When they start to react, that’s when you move.”

The guards noticed them when they were fifty yards away—two figures walking toward the checkpoint instead of trying to avoid it. Orion could see their confusion, their hands moving toward their weapons.

“Hey!” one of them called out. “Stop where you are!”

Orion raised his hands, adopting the posture of someone who was surrendering. “P-please,” he called back, letting his voice carry the desperate edge that came naturally with his condition. “I n-need help. I’m in heat and I can’t find m-my Alpha.”

The lie was perfect—exactly the kind of thing SVI security would expect to hear during a territorial lockdown. Lost assets, separated from their owners, seeking help from authority figures. He’d used variations of it before, during the worst heats when hiding wasn’t enough.

Come closer. Let me show you what years of escalating heats really smell like.

The guards exchanged glances, clearly debating protocol. Then the older one started walking toward them, his weapon lowered but ready.

“Identification,” he said when he was twenty feet away.

“I d-don’t have any,” Orion replied, taking a step closer. “My Alpha has it. He sent m-me to get supplies and then the sirens started and I g-got lost and—”

He watched the guard’s expression change as his scent hit in full force. The man’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid .

There it is. Chemical overload.

“Jesus,” the guard whispered, swaying on his feet. “What the hell—”

The second guard was already moving, recognizing that something was wrong. But he was too late—Dante was already rushing up behind him, one arm around his throat, the other hand relieving him of his weapons.

The first guard tried to raise his stun weapon, but Orion was already inside his reach, grabbing the front of his tactical vest and yanking him down while he was off balance. The guard went down hard, his head striking the pavement with a sound like breaking pottery.

Two down. No shots fired. No alarms triggered.

“Uniforms,” Dante said, already stripping the unconscious guards of their tactical gear. “Identification, weapons, communication devices.”

Orion nodded, fighting back another wave of heat-induced dizziness. His skin felt like it was on fire, his body producing slick at an alarming rate.

Control it. You’re not done yet.

The SVI uniform was too large on him, but it would pass casual inspection. The identification cards would get them through most checkpoints, and the weapons were better than what they started with.

“How long before they’re missed?” Dante asked, securing the last of the equipment.

“Twenty minutes, maybe thirty,” Orion said. “Long enough to reach the extraction point if we move fast.”

If you can move fast. If the heat doesn’t get worse.

Dante’s expression suggested he wasn’t convinced, but he nodded. “Stay close. If you need to stop—”

“I won’t need to stop.”

They moved through the industrial district with the purposeful stride of security personnel conducting routine patrols.

The uniforms were working—other guards nodded as they passed, civilians stepped aside respectfully, and the general atmosphere of emergency made their presence seem natural rather than suspicious.

The factory district hummed with mechanical life around them—conveyor systems moving raw materials between buildings, pneumatic pistons driving massive presses that shaped metal with precise, deafening force.

Steam vents released periodic clouds that provided momentary cover, while the scent of industrial lubricant and molten metal competed with Orion’s powerful pheromones.

Four more blocks. You’ve done this before. You can do it again.

That’s when he heard the sound that made him hesitate—the distinctive whine of SVI security vehicles moving in coordinated formation, coming from the direction of the checkpoint they’d just left.

“They found the guards,” Dante observed.

“Or they missed a scheduled check-in.” Orion pressed against the wall of a loading dock, trying to control his breathing. “Either way, we’re about to have company.”

The vehicles were getting closer, their engine sounds overlapping as they moved through the industrial district. Orion could hear voices over radio communication, coordinates being called out, search patterns being established.

They’re boxing us in.

“This way,” he said, pulling Dante into a narrow service alley between two factory buildings. “I know a place.”

The alley was barely wide enough for a single person, lined with pipes and electrical conduits that had been installed without regard for pedestrian access.

But it connected to a maintenance tunnel that ran under the industrial district—part of the pre-Adjustment infrastructure that SVI had never bothered to map.

Your territory. Your rules.

They were halfway through the alley when the next temperature spike shot through him. Orion stumbled, his coordination failing, his vision going blurry at the edges.

“Orion,” Dante’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Stay with me.”

Can’t. Too much. Too fast.

He was dimly aware of Dante catching him as he fell, of being pulled into the deeper shadows of the alley. The scent of black tea and cherries was everywhere, overwhelming his already compromised senses, making the heat-driven desperation to be touched even worse.

Control it. You’re not helpless .

“The t-tunnel,” he managed. “End of the alley. Access hatch.”

Dante’s hands were on him again, steadying him, guiding him toward the tunnel entrance. But the contact was overwhelming, exactly what his heat-addled body wanted more of.

Focus. Extraction point. Neutral Zone. Safety.

Four more blocks to freedom.

If he could make it that far.