Page 40 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter twenty-eight

Medical Tourism

Dante

The Chimera Syndicate symbol hadn’t made Dante feel any better about their odds of getting in and out without incident.

He’d been to Neutral Zones across the continent—each with its own unique economies and social hierarchies, its own ways of surviving in the spaces between corporate control and the chaos of the Static Zones.

But they all had one thing in common: they were dangerous as hell, especially for anyone carrying something valuable.

And Orion was valuable.

The pharmacy’s waiting room was a study in controlled chaos. Dante took note of the occupants with the automatic efficiency of someone who learned that survival often depended on knowing who could kill you before they decided to try.

Two strange Berserkers sat in the corner, both brooding and smelling of cordite—typical for Alphas who could not regulate their pheromones. Neither was currently in rut, but that could change quickly if they caught too much of Orion’s scent.

A Beta woman with what looked like Gensyn neural implants was reading a tablet, her augmented eyes occasionally flicking up to scan the room.

Three people who were Chimeras—their pheromones shifting subtly every few minutes as they tested different scent profiles.

Wonderful. The waiting room from hell.

At the front desk, a young Omega typed into a terminal. Mid-twenties, lean build suggesting SVI origins, but something was off—claiming brands on his wrists and throat had been cut through with deep scars.

“We need to see Dr. Troiana,” Dante said, settling into his most professional corporate voice. “It’s urgent.”

The Omega looked up from his screen as his nostrils flared, he caught Dante’s scent. His pupils dilated slightly, and his breathing became more shallow—a telltale response, even from someone who’d gone to great lengths to reject the traditional Alpha-Omega dynamic.

“Dr. Troiana died three months ago,” the receptionist said.

“She was old as shit, and her heart finally gave out. A lot of locals still refer to this place as Troiana’s Pharmacy out of habit.

But we’ve got Dr. Langdon who can see you—” His words cut off as Orion let out a small whimper beside Dante, his skin beginning to flush more deeply again.

Ozone and marshmallow scents lingered in the air.

God dammit, Orion.

The reaction was immediate. One of the Berserkers stood up, his head turning toward them like a predator scenting prey. The Beta woman’s augmented eyes locked onto Orion with mechanical precision. The Chimeras went very still .

“Now,” Dante said, pulling Orion closer to him in a gesture that was both protective and territorial. “We need to see the doctor now.”

The receptionist was already reaching for his phone. “Dr. Langdon? Yeah, we need you out here immediately. Emergency consultation.” He hung up and looked back at Dante. “She’ll be right out. You might want to... I don’t know, stand over there. Away from everyone else.”

Excellent. Nothing like being the center of attention in a room full of people who traffic in violence and controlled substances.

Dr. Langdon appeared within thirty seconds—a woman in her mid-forties with graying hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and the kind of steady hands that suggested extensive surgical training.

She took one look at the waiting room’s heightened tension and jerked her head toward a door marked “Private Consultation.”

“This way. Quickly.”

Dante guided Orion into the consultation room, automatically noting the exit points and potential weapons before focusing on the doctor.

Her movements were precise, economical—definitely medical training, and from somewhere with high standards.

The way she handled the equipment resembled a Gensyn background, but her presence here meant she’d either been exiled or chosen to leave.

“Older Omega in heat,” she observed clinically, though she made no move toward any medical supplies yet. “How long has he been cycling? Are you his Alpha?”

“I can speak for myself,” Orion interjected, his voice sharp. “And I don’t keep track of cycles, but they’re irregular. And I don’t have an Alpha. I’m fine on my own.”

“The fastest fix is the most obvious one—” she began.

“No,” Orion said firmly. “Absolutely not. Never.”

Dr. Langdon’s eyebrows rose slightly, and Dante caught the way her assessment shifted. “So you’re looking for suppressants for travel. Corporate extraction?”

The question was casual, but Dante caught the way her eyes sharpened. Testing to see how much I’ll reveal. Smart.

“Private transport,” he said instead. “Need something effective but not debilitating.”

“I’m not getting on any transport that makes me unconscious,” Orion said flatly, crossing his arms despite the way the movement made him sway. “I’ve had enough of people making decisions about my body without consulting me.”

Dr. Langdon’s lips quirked into what might have been approval. “Standard suppressants won’t be enough for this kind of heat, then. You’ll need military-grade intervention. The kind that requires specialized sourcing.”

Translation: expensive and probably not legal.

“What kind of specialized?” Dante asked.

“What are the side effects?” Orion demanded at the same time. “And don’t give me corporate euphemisms. I want to know what you’re putting in my system.”

“Intramuscular injection of a hormone blocker to bring down the immediate cycle, followed by sustained-release tablets for ongoing suppression. Side effects include nausea, dizziness, potential mood changes, and temporary scent suppression. Total treatment package runs fifteen hundred iscs.”

Dante didn’t blink at the price—fifteen hundred was a rounding error on his operational budget—but Orion’s reaction was immediate.

“Fifteen hundred? That’s insane. That’s more than most people in SVI territory make in a month. ”

“Welcome to Neutral Zone economics,” Dr. Langdon said dryly. “Supply and demand. How badly do you want to not attract every Berserker between here and wherever you’re going?”

Orion’s jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly.

“Fine. How long until the injection takes effect?”

“Twenty minutes for initial suppression, forty-eight hours for full cycle management.” Dr. Langdon was already moving toward a locked cabinet.

“But I don’t administer controlled substances in-office.

Too many questions if the wrong people come asking.

I’ll give you the supplies and instructions—you handle the application somewhere private. ”

Even more careful than I thought. She’s been burned before.

She handed Dante a small medical kit containing a pre-loaded injector and a bottle of pills.

“Instructions are in the kit. The injection goes intramuscular, preferably upper arm or thigh. Don’t let him drink alcohol, don’t let him miss doses, and get him somewhere safe before the initial spike wears off. ”

“Initial spike?” Orion asked.

“The medication triggers a temporary intensification before suppression kicks in. The heat will spike for about ten minutes before the blockers take hold.” She fixed them both with a look like she knew exactly what kind of trouble that could cause.

“You’ll want to be somewhere very private when that happens. ”

“How intense?” Orion pressed. “Because if you’re talking about making my heat worse before it gets better—”

“Intense enough that every Alpha in a three-block radius will smell you,” Dr. Langdon said bluntly. “But brief. The alternative is traveling eighty-five miles through Static Zone territory broadcasting this level of chaos to every Berserker pack between here and wherever you’re going. ”

Orion’s expression darkened, but he nodded grimly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Dante handed over the money—fifteen hundred iscs that Dr. Langdon counted before nodding toward the back door.

“Storage room, left, right, straight to the alley. And gentleman?” She looked at Dante. “Whatever extraction you’re running, you’ve got maybe an hour before word spreads about what just walked through my waiting room. Move fast.”

They made it out of the building without incident, but the moment they stepped into the alley, Dante could tell something was wrong. Orion’s scent wasn’t gradually building like he thought it would—if anything, it was getting stronger, and his coordination was definitely compromised.

“The injection,” Dante said, reaching for the medical kit. “We need to—”

Orion stumbled, his scent spiking so sharply that Dante’s rut-primed nervous system reacted instantly. The Omega grabbed his arm for support, and the whispered “Dante” that escaped his lips was so needy, so perfectly desperate, that every possessive instinct Dante roared to life.

Without conscious thought, Dante pulled Orion against him, pressing him back against the alley wall. “Easy,” he murmured, though whether he was talking to Orion or himself was unclear. “I’ve got you.”

Tactical decision time. They could try to make it back to the van—it was the fastest route to safety, but carrying a dizzy, vulnerable Omega through Neutral Zone streets was basically painting a target on both their backs.

Alternatively, they could find somewhere to lay low, administer the medication, and wait for him to stabilize, giving potential threats time to lose interest but also extending their exposure .

Dante scanned the immediate area, noting a small cafe that looked like it catered to the kind of people who minded their own business, and what appeared to be a clothing vendor who specialized in non-corporate fashion.

“Food first,” he decided aloud. “Then the injection. Then we reassess based on how you’re handling the suppressants.”

Orion nodded, though whether in agreement or because he was too dizzy to argue was unclear.

One crisis at a time, Dante told himself, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings as they made their way toward the cafe.

And try not to think about how the sight of him stumbling makes every protective instinct you have scream for action. That way lies tactical errors and emotional compromise.

Though as Orion leaned briefly against his arm for support, Dante was beginning to suspect that that ship had already sailed.

They walked slowly toward the cafe, Dante’s arm around Orion’s waist, providing both support and the unmistakable message that this Omega was his.

The Neutral Zone foot traffic parted around them, some with knowing glances, others with the kind of careful distance that suggested they recognized a potentially volatile situation brewing.