Page 7 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter five

The Oven

Orion

Orion woke to the familiar burn of pre-heat crawling under his skin like a repo man’s warning, and his first coherent thought was fuck, not now.

His cycles had become a weapon over the past year—unpredictable, irregular, sometimes lasting only a day, sometimes stretching for two miserable weeks.

Stress and poor nutrition made them impossible to track, which meant Leo could never plan his “claiming attempts” for the optimal window.

The Alpha learned to watch for the signs, but Orion had gotten good at hiding them until it was too late.

But this time felt different. Stronger. And he had a sinking suspicion he knew why.

That corporate Alpha. Dante. His scent has been triggering me since he arrived.

His second thought was cut off by the sound of the locks disengaging. All five of them. At 7:30 in the morning.

That was wrong. Leo never came back this early. He left for his morning routine two hours ago, muttering about “innovative approaches” and “promising developments.” The only reason he’d be back now was—

The door burst open, and Leo stood there swaying slightly, still in yesterday’s clothes, reeking of alcohol and desperation. His eyes were wild, unfocused, and when he saw Orion sitting up in bed, his nostrils flared.

“I can smell it,” Leo said, his voice slurred but gaining intensity. “Pre-heat. Finally. After eleven months of missing every fucking window.”

Cold fear shot through him. The condition must have been stronger than he realized if Leo could detect it through his alcohol-soaked senses. “Leo, don’t—”

“Don’t what? Don’t take what’s mine?” Leo stumbled into the room, and Orion could see the desperate edge in his expression. “You think I don’t know what’s happening? You think I can’t smell your heat starting? This is it, Orion. This is my chance.”

“You’re drunk.” Orion scrambled backward on the bed, but there was nowhere to go with his back already against the wall. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Leave?” Leo laughed, high and desperate.

“I’ve missed every window for eleven months.

Eleven! Every time I catch your heat, you’re already too far gone to claim properly, too violent, too dangerous.

” He gestured with his maimed hand. “You remember how I lost these fingers? Trying to claim you during a full heat. And the scars on my chest? Another failed attempt.”

Leo lurched forward, and Orion could see the wild calculation in his bloodshot eyes. “But pre-heat... that’s when you’re still rational enough to choose. When your biology is starting to want what I’m offering. I’ve been waiting for this moment for almost a year.”

Leo lunged forward, and Orion rolled away, but his condition made him slower than usual. The Alpha’s hand caught his ankle, yanking him back across the bed with brutal force.

“Let go!” Orion twisted, kicking out with his free leg, connecting with Leo’s ribs hard enough to make him grunt.

“You’re going to submit,” Leo panted, hauling himself up Orion’s body with grim determination. “Today. Right now. Before you go into full heat and try to bite my face off again. Before the others start making formal inquiries about claiming rights.”

The mention of other Alphas sent a spike of fear through Orion.

He’d heard the whispers, seen the way some of Leo’s colleagues looked at him during the rare times he was paraded around the facility.

Martinez from Security with his dead eyes and collection of antique restraints.

Richardson from R it was already recalibrating to the stronger Alpha’s presence.

This was the kind of thinking that got Omegas claimed by predators who knew how to time their rescues perfectly.

“Why did you help me?” Orion asked.

Dante was quiet for a moment, studying Orion’s face with those calculating gray eyes.

“Because,” he said, “optimization requires the asset to remain functional.”

It should have been insulting. It should have reminded Orion that this was just another corporate Alpha who saw him as property.

Instead, something about the way Dante said it—like he was lying to both of them—made heat curl low in Orion’s belly that had nothing to do with his approaching he cycle.

Dante moved closer, reaching for the bruises forming on Orion’s throat. His touch was clinical but gentle as he assessed the damage. “These need to be treated.” His fingers were cool against the overheated skin, and Orion leaned into the touch before he could stop himself.

Dangerous. This is dangerous.