Page 42 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter thirty

Feral Heat

Orion

They made it three steps toward the alley before Orion realized they weren’t going to make it.

A third Berserker stepped out from behind a vendor stall, blocking their escape route with deliberate calm. He was massive—easily six-foot-seven—with a strangely kind pale, freckled complexion that made him look like a lost farm boy with his curly red hair.

“Easy there,” he said, holding up his hands. “Nobody needs to run. We just want to talk.”

The other two closed in from behind, trapping them in the open area. People began backing away as vendors started closing stalls.

Everyone’s afraid of them, Orion realized. Even when they’re being polite.

The scent of Orion’s heat was affecting all three men. Orion could see it in the way their pupils dilated, the slight tremor in their hands, the way they kept breathing deeper than necessary .

“Look, we know what you’re thinking,” the gentle-voiced Berserker continued, his eyes flicking between Dante and Orion. “But we’re not animals. We can take care of him. Better than some corporate thug who’s just going to drug him senseless and make him sit around looking decorative.”

One of the others shifted restlessly, his control clearly not as strong. “Riot, we don’t have time for this. His scent is—“

“I know what his scent is doing,” Riot said, though Orion caught the way his jaw tightened with effort. “But we’re going to do this right. No one gets hurt if everyone’s reasonable.”

Dante moved to put himself between Orion and the approaching men, his hand reaching for something under his jacket. “He’s not interested in your protection.”

“How do you know?” Riot asked, his tone still conversational despite the obvious strain. “You even ask him what he wants? Or are you just assuming corporate ownership trumps everything else?”

The question hit close to home, and Orion saw Dante’s expression flicker with uncertainty.

“I can speak for myself,” Orion interjected. Sweat prickled down his spine, and his head was pounding with each heartbeat, but he wasn’t going to be discussed like he wasn’t there.

Riot’s attention focused on him with uncomfortable intensity.

“Then speak. Do you want to keep traveling with someone who sees you as a mission objective, or do you want to be with people who understand what you’re going through?

We know what it’s like to have biology that makes other people uncomfortable. We don’t judge.”

The other two Berserkers were struggling more with Orion’s proximity. One had his hands clenched into fists, and the other was breathing hard enough that Orion could hear it from several feet away .

“Riot,” the struggling one said, his voice tight with strain. “We need to decide this now. I can’t—the scent is too—“

“I said we’re doing this right,” Riot snapped, though his own control was clearly fraying around the edges.

“But we can’t wait much longer. Your friend there is smart—he knows what’s going to happen to you in the Static Zone without proper protection.

Berserkers out there aren’t like us. They won’t try talking first.”

Orion’s entire abdomen craped up at once and he whimpered as he curled in on himself. The reaction from all three Berserkers was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, a visible tension that suggested they were all fighting the same biological imperative.

That’s when Riot’s diplomatic approach fell apart.

“Fuck it,” the most unstable one said, lunging forward. “I can’t—he smells too good—“

Massive hands grabbed Orion’s arms, yanking him away from Dante with casual strength. “There we go, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. You’ll just make it—“

Something snapped in Orion’s brain.

The heat, the fear, the months of being grabbed and controlled and treated like property all crystallized into pure, feral rage. He wasn’t Leo’s captive anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s victim. And this Alpha was touching him without permission.

Orion twisted in the Berserker’s grip and sank his teeth into the man’s wrist, biting down with every ounce of strength he had. Blood flooded his mouth—hot, metallic, satisfying—and the Berserker’s triumphant laugh turned into a scream of pain.

“Fucking little—“

Orion didn’t let go. Instead, he bit harder, feeling tendons tear under his teeth, and used the Berserker’s moment of shock to drive his knee up into the man’s groin with all the force he could muster. When the he doubled over, Orion grabbed his head and brought it down to meet his knee.

The sound of cartilage breaking was audible even over the Berserker’s howling.

Good, Orion thought with savage satisfaction as he watched the man who grabbed him fall to his knees, blood streaming from his nose. That’s what you get for assuming I’m helpless.

Orion could see Dante engaging Riot with the kind of lethal technique that reminded him of what kind of operative he was dealing with. But the third was coming straight for Orion, and this one looked even less stable than the others.

“Freak bit Stave,” the Berserker snarled, pulling out what looked like a modified stun weapon. “Gonna teach you some manners, Omega.”

That’s when something unexpected happened.

The glitched Alpha shoe vendor appeared out of nowhere and started hitting the approaching Berserker with boot. Not slapping—actual, aggressive hitting, like she was trying to beat dust out of a rug.

“Bad!” she shouted, smacking him across the head with a sturdy-looking boot. “Bad Alpha! No!”

The absurdity of it was so complete that even the Berserker stopped advancing, staring in bewilderment at the small woman attacking him with footwear.

“What the hell—“ he started.

She hit him again, this time with what appeared to be a steel-toed work boot. “Prepper, I said no!”

The Berserker’s confusion turned to rage, and he shoved her backward hard enough that she stumbled and almost fell. “Get lost, you bitch! This ain’t your business! ”

The shoe vendor’s response wasn’t words. Instead, she reached into her jacket and produced what looked like a beer bottle filled with clear liquid. She threw it at the Berserker, and when it shattered against his chest, the liquid began to smoke.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the liquid ignited with a soft whoosh that quickly became a roar as flames spread across the Berserker’s clothes and onto the fabric awning of a nearby stall.

“Shit!” the burning Berserker screamed, dropping to the ground and rolling frantically. “Shit, shit, shit!”

The fire spread to the stall’s wooden frame, then to the building behind it. Within seconds, there was actual property damage occurring, and the remaining Berserkers’ expressions shifted from predatory to alarmed.

“ISNA’s gonna come for this,” Riot said, already backing away. “We need to go. Now.”

“What about Prepper?” the other asked, looking at his injured packmate who was still on the ground, bleeding.

“What about him? You want to explain to ISNA why we were here when their precious property started burning?”

They disappeared into the crowd with the same speed they appeared, leaving their wounded member behind. Prepper tried to follow, stumbling to his feet and limping after them while cursing creatively.

The shoe vendor appeared at Orion’s side, pressing a piece of paper into his hand. “You both need to go now,” she said urgently. “Before ISNA gets here and starts asking questions.”

Orion looked down at the paper—it appeared to be an address written in careful handwriting—then back at the woman who’d just saved them with footwear and improvised explosives.

“Thank you,” he said .

She nodded toward Dante. “Take care of each other. And be careful who you trust in the Static Zones. Follow the old infrastructure, lay low near barns, avoid grain elevators.”

The sound of sirens was getting closer, and Dante appeared at Orion’s side, his hand going to Orion’s lower back in a gesture that was becoming familiar.

“Van. Now,” he said.

They ran.

They wove through panicking crowds as ISNA security vehicles converged on the market district. The smoke provided perfect cover, and Orion’s legs felt like rubber, but adrenaline kept him moving.

It wasn’t until they were halfway back to their vehicle that Orion realized Dante was checking his pockets with increasing urgency, and his expression was getting darker by the second.

“What?” Orion asked, though he was afraid he already knew.

“The medical kit,” Dante said grimly. “It’s gone. Must have been destroyed or lost in the fight.”

Orion looked back toward the market district, where smoke was still rising from the fire and the sound of ISNA sirens was getting louder.

His body throbbed, a cruel reminder of what they lost. The medicine that was supposed to suppress his heat and get them safely through the Static Zone was either broken glass in an alley or evidence in an ISNA investigation.

They were going to have to cross eighty-five miles of Berserker territory with him broadcasting virgin heat to every dangerous Alpha between here and New St. Louis.

“Fuck it,” Orion said, touching the paper the shoe vendor had given him. “Let’s go.”