My Defiant Mate (Westbridge Mates #2)

Chapter 2 Toby

Toby

Ten-thirty p.m. All quiet on the second floor of Westbridge Hall.

Except for the bass vibrating through my teeth.

I frown before I can stop myself, the tip of my pen pressing a small, angry indent into the page of my Poli-Sci textbook. I'm trying to read about bicameral legislature, but the relentless thump-thump-thump from upstairs makes it impossible to concentrate.

Room 3B. Again.

Third noise violation this week. Same room. Same guy. Same total disregard for the rules that makes my job a nightmare. Jionni Alarie. The name itself sounds like chaos.

I close my textbook, the soft thud lost under the assault of a screeching guitar riff.

I stand and walk across my room—2A, the RA suite.

My bed is made with perfect hospital corners.

My desk is organized by subject, each folder labeled in my neatest print.

There are no photos of friends on the wall, no silly souvenirs from late-night adventures.

Just textbooks, schedules, and the quiet tick of my alarm clock counting down to tomorrow's responsibilities.

My room is a sanctuary of order, and I can feel the vibrations from 3B trying to shake the walls down.

I feel that familiar tightness in my chest. This job, this scholarship, is the only reason I'm here.

I can still picture my parents at the kitchen table, poring over the university's financial aid forms, the lines of worry etched around their eyes.

I can still hear my father's quiet pride when I told them I got the RA position.

"That's my boy," he'd said. "Always responsible. "

The weight of that responsibility is a constant pressure.

I can't afford to fail. Not when I still remember Head Resident Henderson's cold smile when he hired me, how he tapped my file with one bony finger.

"Don't disappoint me, Song-Gi," he'd said, his voice thin and dry as old paper. "Your scholarship depends on it."

My shoulders tense at the memory. He wasn't kidding. He fired Melissa from the fourth floor last month for missing bed checks twice. Her parents had to take out a second mortgage.

I can't let that happen.

The bass from 3B seems to mock me, a constant reminder that I'm failing to keep order. Written warnings haven't worked. The first one I found crumpled in the trash. The second was folded into an origami middle finger and left on my door.

Enough. I'm done with notes. I'm handling this face-to-face.

I smooth down my polo shirt and clip my official RA badge to the front. It's a small thing, but symbols matter. Time to be Mr. Student Handbook, noise violation section.

I walk out of my room, closing the door with a soft, controlled click. The hallway stretches ahead under the energy-efficient lights I pushed for last semester. A flyer on the bulletin board is crooked. I stop to straighten it, lining it up perfectly with the others. Better.

My shoes tap against the linoleum as I walk. Even that small sound feels right—ordered, predictable. The bass gets stronger with each step. The one spot of chaos on my otherwise perfect floor.

"Community standards exist for a reason," I murmur, rehearsing. "Your right to listen to music ends where it infringes on others' right to study and sleep." Firm but fair. Professional.

The music is a physical force by the time I reach his door, pounding against my chest. I raise my hand and knock—three sharp, authoritative raps.

The music cuts off instantly. The sudden silence is so absolute it's almost as jarring as the noise was. I hear a shuffling sound, then footsteps.

I straighten my spine, clipboard held at the ready. I am the RA. I am in control.

The door swings open.

And my world fractures.

Jionni Alarie. Shirtless. A living canvas of black ink and lean muscle.

A raven in flight stretches across his left pectoral, its wings extending toward a powerful shoulder.

Geometric patterns and musical notes wind down his right arm.

His dark curls are a chaotic mess, and a silver hoop glints in one ear.

But it's not his body that makes my knees give out.

It's his scent.

It hits me like a punch, bypassing my brain and going straight to some primal part of me I never knew was there.

It smells like the air right before a storm breaks, like the dark coffee I drink during all-night study sessions, like warm skin and something I can't name but my body recognizes instantly.

Alpha.

My clipboard slips from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

I feel a heavy, liquid heat in my stomach that spreads until I'm burning from the inside out.

My skin tingles everywhere, like static electricity.

My mouth goes dry. The room behind him, the entire hallway, seems to shrink until there's nothing but him.

"What the—" Jionni starts, his voice a low baritone. Then he stops.

His expression changes in a heartbeat. The lazy smirk he'd worn vanishes, replaced by a look of raw, predatory focus. His eyes, a stormy gray, darken to slate, pupils blowing wide until they nearly swallow the color.

I can't move. I can't breathe. My heart pounds so hard I think it might break my ribs.

My scent blockers, the ones I apply with religious precision every morning, have failed.

They must have. Because I can smell my own scent rising to meet his—clean linen, fresh paper, and a deeper, sweeter note I've spent my whole life trying to suppress. Omega.

Mate.

The word explodes in my mind, a terrifying, undeniable truth.

No. No, this isn't happening. This can't be happening.

But the air between us feels thick, heavy with a chemistry so strong I swear I can almost see it.

Part of me wants to turn and run, to get as far away as possible.

The other part—the part I've always kept locked down—wants to step closer, to press my face against his neck and breathe him in until I drown.

"You're…" His voice is a rough, stunned whisper.

I try to speak, to salvage some piece of my reality, but my throat has closed up.

His nostrils flare. He takes a half-step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. "I know you," he says, and it's not a recognition of my role as his RA. It's something deeper. Fated.

"I—I'm here about the noise complaint," I finally force out. The words sound pathetic, ridiculous. A noise complaint, when I can't even feel the floor under my own feet anymore.

"Noise," he repeats, the word a foreign object in his mouth. Then his eyes clear with a different kind of recognition, and a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face, making the fire inside me burn hotter. "Right. You're the RA. The one who keeps leaving those little notes."

"Official warnings," I correct on instinct, and immediately want to die of embarrassment.

He lets out a low laugh that vibrates right through me. "Official warnings," he echoes, taking another step. He's so close now I have to tilt my head back to look at him. "What happens if I get too many of those, RA…?"

"Song-Gi," I supply, my voice thin. "Toby Song-Gi."

"Toby," he says, and my name on his tongue is an intimate caress, a brand. "So what happens, Toby?"

"Disciplinary action," I manage, the words embarrassingly breathless. "Potential… expulsion from university housing."

"Mmm." His gaze drops to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. "Sounds serious."

"It is serious," I insist, my authority a shredded flag in a hurricane. "This is the third violation this week, and—"

"What are you?" he interrupts. He takes a half-step closer. "You smell like… fuck. You smell like home."

I feel my face burning. This isn't him. This can't be him. I am Toby Song-Gi, the RA. I am order. I am rules. I do not have a primal, biological meltdown in the hallway over a resident. Especially not this resident.

"That's—that's not relevant," I stammer, even as my body screams that it's the only relevant thing in the universe.

He takes another step forward, closing the space between us until I'm forced to take a step back, my shoulders hitting the cool wall of the hallway. He cages me in, one hand slamming flat against the wall beside my head. The sound makes me jump.

"Feels pretty fucking relevant to me," he growls, his stormy eyes fixed on me. "And you know it, too."

I do. God help me, I do. Every cell in my body is screaming yes, mine, finally.

"This is inappropriate," I say, my voice a weak protest against the overwhelming certainty in his eyes. "I'm your RA. There are rules—"

"Rules?" His laugh is rough. "You think there are rules for this?" He leans in, his heat washing over me, his scent clouding my thoughts. "You know what this is. You feel it."

The lie dies before I can even form it. I give a small, helpless nod.

His other hand comes up, fingers hovering an inch from my cheek. The air crackles between his skin and mine. "Can I?" he asks, his voice suddenly soft, almost hesitant.

That one question breaks me. That sliver of control he's offering me in the middle of this biological tidal wave. I should say no. My future, my scholarship, my entire carefully planned life depends on me saying no.

"Yes," I breathe.

The moment his fingers touch my skin, electricity shoots through me. His thumb traces my cheekbone with a shocking gentleness that doesn't match the feral possession in his eyes.

"You're shaking," he says, his voice a low murmur.

"This isn't in the handbook," is the only thing I can think to say.

A real laugh escapes him, surprised and genuine.

"No," he says, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.

"I don't imagine it is. What does the handbook say about this, Toby?

" He tugs gently, tilting my head back, exposing my throat.

I feel my pulse racing in my neck, and his eyes track the spot with predatory focus.

"It says…" My voice catches as his thumb brushes over the frantic beat. "It says relationships between RAs and residents are strictly prohibited."

"Relationships," he repeats, leaning in so close I can feel his warm breath on my skin, smell the coffee on it. "Is that what this is?"

"I don't know what this is," I admit, the most honest words I've ever spoken.

His smile is slow, dangerous, and full of a certainty I've never felt in my life. "Yes, you do." He dips his head, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin just below my ear. He inhales deeply, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Mine."

The word isn't a suggestion. It's a fact. A declaration that burns my life's rulebook to ash.

I make one last, pathetic attempt to grab the controls of my life as it spirals into oblivion. "I should go. This is… I came here about a noise complaint."

"A noise complaint," he echoes, his smile widening. He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. "Right. Let's talk about that."

But there's no discussion in his eyes. Only hunger. Only the promise of a claim.

"Problem, RA?"

Before I can answer, before I can even think, his hand shoots out, grabbing the front of my crisp polo shirt in a tight fist. He yanks me forward, pulling me off the wall and over the threshold.

The door slams shut behind us, sealing us in. Sealing my fate.