Chapter 2 Dorian
two
Dorian
The mirror is a mistake.
I realize this approximately three seconds before my fist connects with it, the impact sending spiderwebs of cracks across the surface and blood dripping from my knuckles. The pain is sharp, immediate, and utterly insufficient to drown out the howling in my chest.
She's gone.
Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours since Vespera Levine walked out of the claiming suite, leaving nothing but her scent and my marks on her skin and a rejection so complete it's killing me.
Literally killing me.
I stare at what's left of my reflection in the shattered mirror—sunken eyes with dark circles, cheekbones too prominent, skin too pale. I've lost twenty pounds. Maybe more. Can't eat. Can't sleep. Can't think about anything but her.
The rejection sickness is eating me alive from the inside out.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Oakley, probably. Or Corvus. They've been taking shifts checking on me, making sure I haven't completely lost my mind. Too late for that. Lost it somewhere around day seven when I woke up rutting against her stolen panties like a fucking animal.
I ignore the phone.
My bedroom—my sanctuary in the pack house—looks like a war zone. Shredded bedding. Broken furniture. Clothes I tore off my body during the worst of the rut scattered across the floor. And in the center of it all, arranged on my desk like a shrine: items I stole from her over the months.
A hair tie. A pen she chewed on during rehearsal. The script from The Duchess of Malfi with her notes in the margins. A sweater she left in the theater that still smells like lilac and rain, though the scent is fading. Fading. Everything fading except the howling that won't let me rest.
The door opens. I don't turn around. Know it's Corvus by the calculated way he enters—testing the waters, assessing the danger level.
"You have to eat something," he says.
"Fuck off."
"Dorian."
"I said fuck off." My voice comes out as a snarl, my Alpha instincts gone completely feral. "Unless you brought her back, I don't want to hear it."
Silence. Then: "She enrolled in a summer program."
That gets my attention. I turn, ignoring the way the movement makes my vision swim. "What?"
Corvus holds up his phone, showing me a hacked email. Because of course he hacked her email. We're well past the point of pretending we have boundaries.
"Columbus Summer Theater Intensive. Six weeks. Starts in two weeks." His dark eyes are calculating. "She's running."
"She can't run." The words taste like copper and desperation. "The bonds—"
"The bonds are making her sick too." He scrolls through more emails. "Medical appointment requests. Prescription refills for suppressants even though she's not due for heat. She's suffering, Dorian. Just like you."
Good. The thought is vicious, wrong, but I can't stop it. If I'm dying, she should be dying too. We're bonded. Claimed. Mine.
"Where in Columbus?" My voice sounds like I've been gargling glass.
"Theater district. I have the address." Corvus pockets his phone. "The question is what you plan to do with that information."
What do I plan to do? I plan to fix this. To make her understand that rejection isn't an option, that what happened in that claiming suite was inevitable. That we're meant to be together, biology and fate and everything that matters.
"I'm bringing her back." The words come out flat, final. "If she won't come willingly, I'll make her."
"Kidnapping." Corvus says it clinically, like he's discussing the weather. "That's what you're proposing."
"I'm proposing finishing what we started." I move toward him, ignoring how my legs shake with the effort. "She rejected the bonds. That's not how this works. You can't just walk away from an Alpha's claim."
"Legally, she can. Morally—"
"Fuck morality." The snarl is back. "She's mine, Corvus. Mine. And I will burn down this entire city to get her back."
He studies me for a long moment. Then: "The lake house would work. Isolated. No neighbors. Plenty of space to... convince her."
My heart stutters. "You're helping?"
"I'm not letting you die." His tone is matter-of-fact. "If that means facilitating a legally questionable retrieval operation, so be it. Better than watching you waste away."
The shrine on my desk catches my eye. All those stolen pieces of her. Not enough. Never enough. I crave the real thing—her skin, her scent, her submission.
Two weeks. I can survive two weeks. I have to.
I'm in the middle of rutting against her stolen panties—again, because apparently I have no fucking dignity left—when my phone rings.
Mother.
Of course it's Mother. Calling at the exact worst possible moment because the universe hates me.
I consider ignoring it. Consider throwing the phone against the wall to join the shattered mirror. But three missed calls from Eleanor Ashworth means she'll just show up in person, and the last thing I can handle is her seeing the disaster I've become.
I answer, my voice still rough from exertion. "Mother."
"Dorian." Her tone is ice wrapped in silk. "You've been avoiding my calls."
"I've been busy."
"Too busy for family? How disappointing." A pause, calculated for maximum impact. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given recent events."
My hand tightens on the phone. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't insult my intelligence, darling." The endearment drips with condescension. "The entire campus knows about your... incident with the scholarship Omega. Josephine Hartley was only too happy to provide details at the club last week."
Fuck. Of course she knows. The old money network operates on gossip and judgment.
"It's handled," I lie.
"Is it?" Her laugh is brittle. "Because from what I hear, the girl rejected you and fled. Left three Alpha claims and walked away like you meant nothing. That doesn't sound handled, Dorian. That sounds humiliating."
Every word is a knife, precisely placed. "I said it's handled."
"Your father and I are concerned." Translation: disappointed. "We had hoped you learned from your brother's mistakes. That you understood the importance of appropriate choices."
Julian. Of course she brings up Julian. The specter of my disowned brother haunts every conversation, every decision.
"Vespera is nothing like Julian's situation—"
"Isn't she?" Mother cuts in sharply. "A scholarship student. No connections. No breeding. Nothing but a pretty face and the designation to make you stupid. Julian at least had the excuse of being young and idealistic. You're supposed to know better."
"Julian chose an Omega Father didn't approve of." My jaw clenches. "I claimed my fated mate."
"Fated." She says it like a curse. "That biological nonsense has ruined more good families than scandal ever could. Biology doesn't care about legacy, Dorian. It doesn't care about maintaining our position. It just makes you weak."
The word lands like a slap. Weak. What she called Julian before they erased him from family portraits. Before they forbade his name at dinner. Before they made it clear that love was failure.
"I'm not weak," I force out.
"Then prove it. End this embarrassment before it becomes something worse." Her voice softens, which is somehow more terrifying. "You're our heir now. Since Julian chose... poorly. Everything we've built falls to you. Don't throw that away for some little Omega who doesn't even want you."
The words hit too close to the wound. Vespera doesn't want me. She rejected me. Left me dying slowly in a bedroom that smells like desperation and madness.
"Where are you right now?" Mother asks suddenly. "Not at home. I called the house."
"Pack house." The words come automatically.
"All summer? Dorian, that's..." A pause. "Concerning. Your father and I will be in Europe until September. The Connecticut house is empty if you want space. Or better yet, come to Prague. Distance might give you perspective."
"I'm fine here."
"Are you?" Her skepticism is palpable. "Josephine mentioned you looked unwell at the spring gala. Have you been eating? Sleeping?"
None of your business, I want to snap. But that would confirm her suspicions.
"I'm managing."
"Hmm." The sound conveys deep doubt. "Well, the lake house is also available if you prefer isolation. Though I'd think after what happened last summer, none of you would want to return there."
The lake house. Corvus just mentioned it. Isolated, private, perfect for...
"It's just," Mother continues, "we can't afford another scandal, Dorian. Not after Julian. The board is already questioning your father's judgment, having lost his heir to sentiment. If you follow the same path..." She lets the threat hang.
"I won't."
"I hope not. Because unlike your brother, you understand what's at stake.
You understand that feelings are temporary but family legacy is forever.
" Another pause. "End this situation, Dorian.
Cleanly. Find an appropriate Omega from an appropriate family.
Someone who understands their place. Someone who won't make you weak. "
Someone who isn't Vespera.
"I have to go," I say abruptly.
"Dorian—"
"I said I have to go." I'm standing now, pacing the destroyed room. "Thank you for the call, Mother. Give Father my regards."
I hang up before she can respond, hurling the phone onto the bed.
The lake house. She handed it to me without even knowing. Isolated. No neighbors for miles. No one to hear if...
No.
I'm not thinking about that. I'm thinking about convincing her. Making her understand. Showing her that what we have is too powerful to reject.
But if she won't listen...
I look at the shrine again. At all the pieces of her I've collected like a madman. Not enough. Never enough.
Two weeks, I remind myself. Two weeks until I can replace these remnants with the real thing. Two weeks until she's back where she belongs—in my bed, under my body, taking my knot like she was designed to do.
My mother's words echo in my mind: We can't afford another scandal. Don't make Julian's mistakes. Don't be weak.
But this isn't a weakness. This is biology. Destiny. Fated mates don't reject each other. And if Vespera has to be reminded of that—if she has to be convinced, coerced, claimed so thoroughly she can't run again—then that's what I'll do.
I delete my mother's missed follow-up calls without listening to the voicemails. There's nothing she could say that matters. Nothing anyone could say that would change what has to happen.
Vespera is mine. Everything else is just noise.
And if I have to burn down my entire world to get her back?
Then I'll light the match myself.