Chapter 41 Vespera #2
The theater building appeared ahead like a sanctuary. My territory. The one place on campus where I was Vespera the actress, not Vespera the Omega. Where talent mattered more than designation.
Or at least, where it was supposed to.
I pushed through the doors, breathing in the familiar smell of old wood and stage makeup and decades of performances soaked into the walls. Home in a way the pack house was still learning to be.
The main theater doors were open, voices echoing from the stage. I was late—rehearsal had started fifteen minutes ago. Fuck.
I hurried down the aisle, my boots clicking against the floor. De Scarzis stood center stage mid-direction, but stopped when he saw me appear.
The entire cast turned to look.
"Ms. Levine," De Scarzis said, his Italian accent sharpening. Not angry. Assessing. "How nice of you to join us."
"I'm sorry," I said, moving toward the stage. "I was sick. I'm here now."
His dark eyes tracked over me. Over the marks I couldn't hide. Over the careful way I moved. Over the change in my scent that filled the theater the instant I entered.
He knew. Of course he knew. Everyone knew.
But all he said was, "Whatever happened during your illness, Ms. Levine, keep it."
I blinked. "What?"
"This." He gestured at me, encompassing everything. "This presence. This confidence. This is the Vespera I cast. The one who's been hiding under fear and suppressants. Welcome back."
The words hit like a physical blow. He could see it. See the difference between the Omega who'd left three days ago—terrified of heat, fighting biology, barely holding on—and the one standing here now.
I wasn't less after the heat. I was more.
"Thank you," I managed.
"Don't thank me yet. You've missed three days of blocking and we open in two weeks." He clapped his hands. "But before we start—everyone, gather. Important announcement."
The cast assembled, and I climbed the stage stairs to join them, finding my spot near Ben.
De Scarzis waited until we were all present. "I've received confirmation this morning. Vivian Strasberg from Sterling Theater Group will be attending our Fall Showcase."
Murmurs rippled through the cast. Vivian Strasberg. One of the most respected casting directors in New York. Known for discovering talent at college showcases and launching careers.
"Ms. Strasberg specifically requested to see this production after hearing about our casting." De Scarzis's eyes found mine. "She's interested in seeing fresh talent. New voices. Performers who bring something unique to the stage."
My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear the rest.
"This is the opportunity many of you have been working toward. Broadway scouts don't attend college showcases often. When they do, they're looking for something exceptional. Something that makes them take notice." He paused. "You've all earned this chance. Now prove you deserve it."
The cast broke into excited chatter. Ben grabbed my arm, grinning.
"Did you hear that? Vivian Strasberg! She launched Celeste Kaufman's career. And Iris Beaumont. If she likes what she sees—"
"I know," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I know what it means."
But did I? Vivian Strasberg watching me perform in two weeks. A casting director who could open doors I'd only dreamed about. Who could offer roles that would mean...
What would it mean? Leaving Northwood? Moving to New York? Making choices about my future that affected the pack?
"Places for Scene Eight," De Scarzis called. "Let's see if Ms. Levine can remember her blocking or if we're starting from scratch."
The cast scattered. I found my mark, settling into Hedda's skin like putting on armor. Ben appeared beside me, my scene partner, looking concerned.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine."
"Vespera—"
"Really. I'm fine, Ben." I softened my tone. "Just glad to be back."
He didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Okay. But if you need anything—"
"I know. Thank you."
The scene began. And the instant I opened my mouth, the instant Hedda's words left my lips, something clicked into place.
Power. Real power. Not the kind Alphas tried to claim over me. Not the kind biology had forced on me. But the power that came from choosing. From surviving. From standing on a stage and commanding attention because I fucking earned it.
My voice filled the theater. Every line was perfect. Every movement precise. I commanded the space, and my scene partners responded, raising their own performances to match mine.
This was mine. My talent. My stage. My future.
And Vivian Strasberg would be watching in two weeks.
When the scene ended, De Scarzis was smiling. Actually smiling.
"Yes," he said simply. "That. More of that. Take five, everyone."
The cast broke, moving to the wings for water. I stayed on stage, letting the victory settle in my bones. I'd done it. Came back after heat and proved I was still the same performer. Still worthy of this role. Still—
"You were incredible."
I turned. Dorian stood in the back of the theater, in the shadows near the last row. How long had he been there?
"I told you to stay in the car," I said.
"I know. I'm sorry." He moved down the aisle slowly. "I had to see you. See that you were okay."
"I'm fine. You can leave now."
"Vespera—" He stopped at the edge of the stage, looking up at me. "I've watched you perform a hundred times. On stage with you, in the audience, during every rehearsal I could sneak into. But I've never seen you like this."
"Like what?"
"Free." His voice was raw. Honest. "Before, even when you were brilliant, you were performing under threat. Under fear. But this—watching you now, when you've chosen to be here, chosen to stay with us—you're transcendent. This is who you really are when nothing's holding you back."
The words should have felt like too little too late. Like pretty apologies that couldn't fix what he'd done.
But they didn't. They felt genuine.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "Now leave. I have two more hours of rehearsal and you're distracting me."
"Okay." He smiled—small, careful, hopeful. "I'll be in the parking lot when you're done. Text me?"
"I will."
He left. And I stood there on my stage, in my theater, feeling the claiming marks on my throat and the residual soreness from heat and the power of knowing I'd survived all of it.
Vivian Strasberg would be watching in two weeks. A casting director who could change everything.
This was the test. Not whether the pack would work. Whether I could have both—the career I'd fought for and the life I was building.
Day one was looking promising.
Stephanie ambushed me the instant I stepped out of the theater three hours later.
"Explain. Now."
"Can I at least get coffee first?"
"We're getting coffee while you explain." She hooked her arm through mine, Beta determination overriding any protest. "You disappeared for three days, stopped answering texts, and came back wearing claiming marks. So talk."
We walked toward the campus café, my body protesting every step but my mind clearer than it had been in weeks. "Heat. It happened. The pack... they helped. And now I'm here."
"That's the worst summary I've ever heard."
"What do you want me to say, Steph? That it was terrible? That they forced me? They didn't. That it was great? It was complicated." I sighed. "It was good. Better than the first two times. They actually listened. Actually cared what I needed instead of taking."
Stephanie was quiet for a long stretch. Then: "Are you okay? Really?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I'm figuring it out."
"Did they hurt you?"
"No. Not this time." The distinction mattered. They'd hurt me before—months of psychological warfare that almost broke me. But during this heat? "They built me a nest. Let me set every boundary. Dorian said..." I trailed off.
"What did Dorian say?"
"That he loves me." The words felt strange in my mouth. "And I said it back. Because apparently I'm an idiot who falls in love with her bully."
"Oh, Vespera."
"I know. I know it's fucked up. I know I should run. But—" I met her eyes. "But I don't want to. And I don't know if that makes me brave or stupid."
"Maybe both." She squeezed my hand. "What do you need from me?"
"Just be my friend. Not my therapist. Not my protector. My friend who gets coffee with me and lets me pretend my life is normal for five minutes."
"I can do that." She pulled me toward the café. "But I'm still going to ask invasive questions about whether the sex was good."
Despite everything, I laughed. "The sex was excellent."
"Thank god. If you're going to make questionable life choices, at least get good dick out of it."
We got coffee and sat in our usual corner, and for twenty blissful minutes, we talked about nothing.
About her classes and mine. About the production and Vivian Strasberg coming to the showcase.
About normal things that had nothing to do with Alphas or bonds or the complicated mess my life had become.
It felt like breathing.
Robbie called that evening while I was back in my room at the pack house, supposedly doing homework but actually just staring at my theater notes.
"You've been avoiding me," he said the instant I answered.
"I've been in heat."
"I know. Stephanie texted me updates when you went radio silent." His voice was sharp. Worried. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Mostly."
"That's not convincing."
I set down my pen, pulling my knees to my chest. "It was good, Robbie.
The heat was actually good. They listened.
They cared. Dorian told me he loved me and I said it back and now I'm living in this weird reality where I'm in love with the Alpha who tormented me and I don't know if that makes me healing or trauma bonded or fucking stupid. "
"You're not stupid," Robbie said immediately. "You're surviving. And if he's actually changed—if they've actually changed—then maybe it's not trauma bonding. Maybe it's complicated love."
"Is there any other kind?"
"Not in your life, apparently." He paused. "I'm still coming for your showcase, you know. Two weeks. Front row. And if any of them treat you badly, I'm going to key their cars."
I smiled. "That's very criminal of you."
"I have hidden depths." Another pause. "So you're happy? Or getting there?"
"I'm... trying. They're trying. It's tentative and messy and I'm still angry about a lot of things. But yeah. I think we might actually figure it out."
"Good. Because you deserve to be happy, Vesper. Even if it's complicated."
"Thanks, Rob."
"Love you, Drama Queen."
"Love you too."
After we hung up, I sat there in the quiet of my room, processing.
Dorian was downstairs cooking dinner—he'd taken over that responsibility this week, learning my favorite foods, trying to take care of me in ways that felt like partnership instead of control.
Oakley was at the gym. Corvus was in his office working late.
This was my pack. Messy. Complicated. Built on a foundation of trauma that we were slowly, carefully trying to transform into something real.
I didn't know if it would work. Didn't know if we'd make it past the showcase, past the opportunity Vivian Strasberg might offer, past the instant when real life intruded on this fragile peace we'd constructed.
But for the first time since Dorian had cornered me in that hallway months ago, I wanted to try.
I wanted to believe we could be more than our worst instants.
I wanted to build something worthy of the queen he kept calling me.
Dorian knocked on my doorframe an hour later.
"Dinner's ready," he said. "If you're hungry."
"Starving." I closed my textbook. "What did you make?"
"That pasta thing you like. The one with the garlic and tomatoes."
He'd remembered. Of course, he'd remembered everything about me since the day we met, first as ammunition and now as love language.
I followed him downstairs, and we ate together at the kitchen table—the two of us, since Oakley was still at the gym and Corvus had ordered in to his office. Quiet. Domestic. Strange.
"Thank you," I said after a while. "For staying in the car today. For respecting that boundary."
"I didn't, though." He looked guilty. "I came inside. Watched you rehearse."
"I know. I saw you." I set down my fork. "But you left when I asked. That's what matters."
"Is it enough?" His ice-blue eyes searched mine. "Me trying? Is it enough?"
Loaded question. Was it enough that he was trying to change? That he respected boundaries most of the time? That he said he loved me and seemed to mean it?
"I don't know yet," I said honestly. "But it's a start."
He nodded slowly. "I'll take a start."
We finished dinner in comfortable silence. He did the dishes while I made tea. We moved around each other in the kitchen with the ease of practice, learning each other's rhythms.
When we finally went upstairs, he paused at my bedroom door.
"Can I stay tonight?" he asked. "Or do you need space?"
Another test. Another boundary to set. Another instant where he proved he could handle my answer, whatever it was.
"Stay," I said. "But no sex. I'm too sore."
"Just sleeping. Promise." He followed me in, and we got ready for bed together. Changed into sleep clothes. Brushed teeth. The mundane intimacy of a couple who'd been together far longer than we actually had.
In bed, he pulled me against his chest carefully. Holding me like I was precious. Breakable.
"I love you," he whispered into my hair.
"I know."
"Do you still... feel the same?"
I thought about it. About whether the "I love you" I'd said during heat still held true now that biology wasn't controlling me. Whether I'd meant it or if it was the bond talking.
"Yes," I said finally. "I still love you. Even though you're an idiot. Even though I'm still angry. Even though you made me feel like shit for three days."
"I'm sorry. I'll never—"
"I know. You promised." I turned to face him. "Keep proving it. Keep trying. That's all I'm asking."
"I will." He kissed my forehead. "Every day. I promise."
We lay there in the dark, wrapped together, the bond humming contentedly between us. The others in the house—Oakley coming home, heading to his room. Corvus finally leaving his office, walking past our door.
This was pack. This was home.
Tentative. Healing. Still testing whether it would hold.
But mine.
Finally, fucking mine.
And in two weeks, Vivian Strasberg would be watching. A casting director who could offer me everything I'd ever wanted.
The question was: could I have both?