Page 52 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter thirty-six

Unsanctioned Disclosure

Orion

Getting dressed felt like performing a normal human activity for the first time in months.

Orion pulled on the clothes Lilac had left for them—simple, practical things that smelled like soap and sunshine instead of corporate sterility or fear. His body moved with an ease he’d almost forgotten was possible.

His heat was still there, a warm pulse beneath his skin, but it felt manageable. Like background music instead of a fire alarm screaming in his head, the burning emptiness transformed into something gentler that reminded him of Dante’s presence without demanding immediate attention.

He ran his fingers across his neck, half-expecting to find some physical evidence of change. Nothing visible, but something felt different—the glands at his throat seemed more sensitive, his pulse stronger under his fingertips. Every breath carried Dante’s scent to him with crystal clarity.

He should have been suspicious of the change, should have been analyzing what it meant, but honestly? He was just grateful to think clearly for once.

What he couldn’t stop thinking about was Dante.

Dante had changed, too. The precision was still there, the careful economy of movement, but there was something different in the way he carried himself—more fluid, less rigidly controlled.

The permanent furrow between his brows had smoothed out, and his scent had deepened, acquiring notes that reminded Orion of warm cedar and thunderstorms.

Most telling was the bite mark on Dante’s neck.

It had already begun to heal, the edges clean rather than inflamed, but the mark itself stood out starkly against his skin.

Orion couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

He’d left plenty of bite marks on Leo over the years—vicious, defensive things meant to hurt and repel.

But this was different. He’d bitten Dante in a moment of absolute pleasure, driven by some instinct he couldn’t name.

Even now, his mouth watered at the sight, an impulse to press his lips there again rising unbidden.

It was ridiculous. He should be putting distance between them, should be planning his next move, should be doing anything except wanting to walk over and just... touch. Not sexually—though that was definitely still there, humming in his blood—but something simpler. More fundamental.

He wanted to press his face against Dante’s neck and breathe him in. Wanted to curl up against his side and feel safe in a way he’d never allowed himself to feel with anyone.

The realization made his stomach twist with something uncomfortably close to shame.

He’d spent years defining himself by his refusal to submit, his determination to remain unclaimed.

His entire identity had been built around resistance.

What did it mean that he now craved the very connection he’d spent so long fighting against?

“You ready?” Dante asked, and Orion startled, realizing he’d been staring.

“Yeah.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “Let’s get this over with.”

Because that’s what this was going to be—Tallulah telling them to get the fuck out of her territory, probably with a stern lecture about bringing corporate heat down on her people.

Orion couldn’t blame her for it. They’d shown up covered in blood and desperate, asking for help they had no right to expect.

The fact that she helped at all was more than he’d dared hope for.

The walk to the community center was short, but Orion was hyperaware of Dante’s presence beside him.

Not in the way he’d learned to be aware of threats, but in some new way that made his skin prickle with the need for contact.

Every time their shoulders brushed, every time he caught a fresh hit of Dante’s scent on the breeze, something in his chest settled like a key finding its lock.

It was unsettling as hell.

Last night was... Orion cut that thought off before it could fully form.

He wasn’t ready to examine what last night had been.

Wasn’t ready to acknowledge how much he’d wanted it, how good it had felt to finally stop fighting and just..

. give in. How right it had felt to sink his teeth into Dante’s flesh at the moment of his release, like completing a circuit he hadn’t known was broken.

He’d spent years building walls against this kind of vulnerability, and Dante had been steadily chipping away at them with every weird, horny fight they’d had since the moment they met.

Every time Dante had refused to back down, every time he’d pushed back with that infuriating combination of dominance and genuine care, another brick had crumbled.

Last night hadn’t been a sudden demolition—it had been the final collapse of defenses that were already riddled with holes.

It should have felt like defeat. Should have felt like everything he’d sworn to never let happen.

Instead, it felt natural.

And that scared him more than any amount of corporate pursuit ever could.

The community center was alive with afternoon activity—children running through the main hall, adults gathered in small groups discussing what looked like community projects, the smell of fresh bread and stewing meat wafting from what must have been a communal kitchen.

Unlike SVI’s rigid corporate efficiency or Leo’s chaotic apartment, this place felt lived-in, a space designed for actual humans rather than corporate assets.

Tallulah was waiting for them in a small side room, her wheelchair positioned near a desk covered with maps and what looked like hand-written journals.

When they entered, she set aside the papers she’d been reading and studied them with the same sharp assessment she used during their first meeting, though her expression seemed less suspicious than before.

“Well now,” she said, a hint of warmth creeping into her usual gruffness. “You two look a sight better than you did this morning. Got some color back in your cheeks. ”

“Thanks to your hospitality,” Orion said. “I know we brought trouble to your door. I’m grateful you helped us anyway.”

Something flickered across her expression—surprise, maybe, or amusement. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the chairs across from her. “We need to talk.”

Orion settled into his chair, automatically cataloging exit routes and potential threats even though his body felt more relaxed than it had in months. Beside him, Dante did the same, their movements synchronized in a way that should have been concerning.

“Actually,” Tallulah said, her gaze shifting between them with newfound interest, “I think it might be better if I spoke with you separately. Orion first—”

“No.” The word came out sharper than Orion intended, startling even himself. The thought of being separated from Dante, even temporarily, sent something close to panic shooting through his chest. “We stay together.”

Tallulah’s eyebrows rose, but before she could respond, Lilac leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Whatever she said made the older woman’s expression shift from surprise to amusement, then to something that might have been concern.

“Never mind,” Tallulah said slowly, settling back in her chair. “You stay together. For everyone’s safety.”

The phrasing was odd, but Orion was too relieved to question it. The panic that had spiked at the thought of separation was already fading, leaving him feeling embarrassed by the intensity of his reaction.

“Now then,” Tallulah continued, her tone taking on a gravity that made Orion’s attention sharpen. “What do you two know about the Adjustment? The real history, not the corporate sanitized version. ”

Orion frowned. “Syn-V-7, it was a virus disguised as a vaccine. Gensyn released it seventy years ago and created the designation system we have now. Why?”

“And what do you know about bonding? About how Alphas and Omegas pair?”

“Gensyn uses bio-marker synchronization,” Dante interjected, slipping into that annoying corporate cadence.

“Pharmaceutical interventions to align pheromone signatures and establish claiming bonds. SVI prefers public submission displays and physical branding to declare ownership. Both systems require documentation and corporate oversight.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Orion asked, feeling a little confused.

“Everything,” Tallulah said. “It has to do with everything. Because what the corporations don’t want you to know—what they’ve spent seventy years making sure nobody knows—is that they didn’t create the designation system. They perverted it.”

“Like with Project Tether?”

“Still thinking too much like them companies,” she shook her head.

Orion felt a chill run down his spine. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the Primal Triad,” Tallulah said, and something in her voice made the words feel like an incantation. “The real bonding process. The one that happens outside corporate control, outside their understanding. The one that makes everything they’ve built irrelevant.”

She maneuvered her wheelchair closer, studying them both with sharp eyes. “But before we get into all that academic nonsense, I need to see something. Dante, tilt your head. Let me see your neck.”

Orion felt Dante go still beside him. “What? ”

“Your neck,” Tallulah repeated patiently, like she was talking to a particularly slow child. “Lilac mentioned you had some interesting... markings. I want to see for myself.”

Dante’s hand moved to cover the bite mark, and Tallulah’s eyes lit up with delight.

“Oh, don’t be shy now, corporate boy. After everything you two have been through, you’re gonna get modest about a little love bite?”

Heat flooded Orion’s face as he realized what she was asking for. “That’s not—we don’t—”

“Humor an old woman,” Tallulah said, though it wasn’t really a request.

Dante glanced at Orion, something unreadable in his expression, then slowly moved his hand away and tilted his head to expose the mark Orion had left on his neck.

Tallulah leaned forward in her wheelchair, examining the bite with the focused attention of someone who knew exactly what she was looking for. After a moment, she sat back and let out a laugh that was equal parts amused and amazed.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, shaking her head. “Lilac was right. You two really did it.”

“Did what?” Orion demanded, embarrassment quickly giving way to irritation at being kept in the dark.

“Completed the Primal Triad,” Tallulah said simply. “Something that hasn’t happened in... oh, last I heard, probably forty years or so. Something the corporations have been trying to prevent since the day they figured out what the virus did to us.”

She maneuvered her wheelchair to a cabinet behind her desk, withdrawing what looked like an old journal, its pages yellowed with age.

“See, boys, what they don’t teach you in corporate school is that Syn-V-7 didn’t create the designation system.

It activated something that was already there.

Something old. Something that had its own rules about how Alphas and Omegas were supposed to bond. ”

Her finger traced over the yellowed pages as she settled the journal on her lap. “Rules that put the real power in the Omega’s hands, not the Alpha’s. Rules that made corporate ownership impossible because you can’t own someone who owns you right back.”

She looked up, meeting both their eyes with an expression that was equal parts sympathetic and determined. “You’ve completed the Primal Triad. And Orion? You’re not the claimed one in this equation. You’re the claimer.”

Orion stared at her, his brain struggling to process what she just said. The words seemed to hit him in waves, each realization more shocking than the last.

The Primal Triad. An ancient bonding process. Rules that put power in Omega hands.

You’re the claimer.

He felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath him, his entire understanding of the world inverted.

For years—his entire life—he’d been taught that Omegas were meant to be claimed, owned, controlled.

That his only value lay in his eventual submission to an Alpha.

That his designation made him inherently less powerful, less autonomous, less worthy of respect.

He’d fought against that narrative with everything he had, determined to never be owned even if it killed him. And now this woman was telling him it had all been a lie—not just a corporate half-truth, but a complete inversion of reality.

“That’s not—what does that even mean?” His voice sounded distant.

Tallulah’s smile was infuriatingly pleased, like she was watching her favorite entertainment. “It means what I said. ”

“But I don’t—” Orion looked at Dante, who appeared just as stunned as he felt, the Alpha’s usual composure shattered. “Alphas claim Omegas. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked.”

“According to who?” Tallulah asked mildly.

“According to everyone!” Orion’s voice cracked with frustration. “According to every corporation, every contract, every—”

“Every lie they’ve been telling the world for seventy years,” Tallulah finished, still looking too amused by their distress.

From the corner of his eye, Orion noticed Lilac shifting in her chair, her scarred face creased with something that looked like sympathy mixed with secondhand embarrassment.

“This is insane,” Orion said, his hands clenching into fists. “You’re telling me that everything—literally everything—about how bonds work is wrong?”

Tallulah tilted her head, considering. “Wrong’s not the right word. Incomplete, maybe. Deliberately obscured.”

She studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes seeming to read the chaos of emotions he couldn’t fully conceal. “You’re overwhelmed. That’s normal. Finding out your entire world is built on lies tends to have that effect on people.”

Dante found his voice. “What is the Primal Triad?”

His tone was controlled, but Orion could sense the tension radiating from him—could smell the subtle shift in his scent that indicated deep unease. Whatever was happening, it was affecting Dante just as profoundly.

“Now that,” Tallulah said, her grin widening, “is the right question.”