Jorak
The idea of leaving Asa feels awful. I can feel the heat of Asa’s skin through my shirt, the way his breath is finally slowing against the junction of my neck, but the office is too small, the air too thin, and the world outside the locked door is starting to wake up.
I pull back an inch, staring at him curled up against me in the nest. The slick, wet sound of our bodies separating makes my jaw ache. I want to growl at the loss of him, to reach back out and haul him back into the cage of my arms where the Black Current is currently humming a low, satisfied purr.
Asa’s eyes are hazy, my beautiful Omega looking wrecked and claimed. The scent of vanilla and pear is so heavy in the room it’s almost viscous, swirling with the dark, heavy musk of my knot. It’s the smell of a secret that’s about to get us both killed.
"I locked it, Asa." I reach out, my thumb catching a stray smear of slick on his hip.
He whines into my chest as I rock forward, my cock slipping between his thighs.
The whine heightens before cutting off, Asa patting softly against my chest. “What time is it?” Asa’s gaze darts around the space before landing on a small alarm clock on the table beside the nest. “Fuck, we have five minutes," he says, his fingers shaking as he tries to navigate away from me.
That just pushes his ass into my face, the urge to dip my nose to his slick hole almost unbearable.
"Maybe less. The department head passes through at ten past. If he hears...
if he smells..." He stops, his face flushing a deep, bruised crimson.
He looks at his shirt—the buttons are gone, ripped away in my haste to get to him.
"My shirt. Jorak, you destroyed my shirt. "
"Baby, I'll buy you ten more," I say, my voice sounding like gravel as I push to my feet, searching for my clothing as well. I discarded them the moment I brought Asa to the nest but the urgency and panic in his expression has me moving faster.
Footsteps in the hallway have me freezing as I catalog the sounds, two people stopping just outside the door.
My vision narrows. The Black Current lurches to its feet, ready to tear through the wood and the bone of whoever is standing out there. Halfway into my pants, I move between Asa and the door before the handle can even rattle, a low, vibrating growl tearing out of my chest.
"Jorak, stop!" Asa’s voice is a sharp whisper. He’s standing behind me, clutching the edges of his ruined shirt together. "It’s just faculty. You can't kill the Associate Dean of Mathematics because he’s looking for a stapler."
"They shouldn't be here," I mutter. I can see the shadows of their feet under the door. One of them lingers. I can smell the faint, chemical scent of ESA-grade suppressants. It’s not just faculty. I know that smell. It’s the smell of the leash I haven't quite managed to break yet.
"Get your clothes on," Asa commands, his voice regaining that stubborn, irritatingly brave edge he uses when he’s terrified. "And stop growling. You sound like a turbine about to explode. If you want to keep me safe, help me look like I haven't been spent like currency on my own office floor."
I force my hands to unclench, though the pressure behind my eyes is building.
I grab my tactical jacket from the chair, throwing it on to hide the sweat and the evidence of our friction.
I watch him as he uses a binder clip from his desk to hold the front of his shirt together, then pulling a heavy wool cardigan over it. Clever.
"Better?" he asks, adjusting his collar. He still smells like me. No amount of wool can hide the fact that an Enigma just knotted him three feet away from a chalkboard covered in design theory. He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, and for a second, the sarcasm fails him. "You have to be calm, Jorak. If we walk out there and you look like you’re ready to dismantle the building, they’ll know. "
"I’m calm," I lie. The thought of him walking out into that hallway, exposed and scented, makes me want to lock the door again and never open it. But he reaches out, his hand hovering near my arm, offering the anchor I need. The static in my head recedes just enough for me to breathe.
"Okay," he whispers. "On three. Look bored. Look like a student who’s failing calculus."
I don't tell him that I don't know how to look like anything other than what I am right now: his. I just nod and follow him as he turns the deadbolt. He steps out first, his shoulders back, the perfect picture of an overworked academic, and I fall in behind him, a shadow with teeth.
We’ve only made it ten paces before the air changes.
A man is waiting at the end of the corridor, leaning against the brickwork of the department entrance.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit that costs more than the car they lent me, and his eyes are the flat, dead gray of a stabilization tank.
I recognize him instantly. Miller. One of Mercer’s personal aides.
The kind of man who doesn't exist on paper but handles the things Mercer doesn't want to get on his hands.
My pulse jumps again as the Black Current surges, a dark, oily heat coiling in my gut. Miller isn't looking at the architecture. He’s looking at Asa with a clinical, predatory interest that makes my vision go red at the edges.
"Professor Renwick," Miller says, his voice smooth. He doesn't move from the wall, but his presence fills the hall, pushing back against the academic peace. "A word, if you have the time?"
Asa stiffens. I can feel the spike of fear from him, the sharp, metallic tang of it cutting through the pear and vanilla. He tries to hide it, pulling his professional mask tight. "I have a lecture in twenty minutes, Mr...?"
"Miller. ESA. I don’t think we’ve spoken before but you have one of mine in your class." Miller finally pushes off the wall, his gaze sliding past Asa to land on me. "And Thorn. I didn't expect to find you here with your professor. Your assignment was the Sector Four perimeter, wasn't it?"
I step forward, closing the gap until I’m hovering just behind Asa’s shoulder. "My assignment is wherever the corruption is highest, Miller. Right now, it’s standing right in front of me."
Miller’s eyes flicker. He knows what I am.
He knows that if I lose my grip, I could turn this entire wing into a graveyard before he could reach for his sedative.
But he also knows Mercer holds the remote to my cage.
"Interesting. Your biometrics show a level of stability that shouldn't be possible without a B-Class guide or higher.
And yet, here you are, following an F-Class academic around like a guard dog. "
"He’s my professor," I say, the words low and dangerous. "Get out of his way."
"We’re just conducting a routine investigation, Professor," Miller continues, ignoring me entirely as he focuses back on Asa. "You see, Jorak here is an asset to the ESA and certain liabilities can prove to be an issue if they aren’t taken care of. About a week ago, he escaped to Vesper House and we’ve been following up on some leads. ”
Asa’s scent sours as he backs into me before straightening his posture. I resist the urge to hold my Omega, to tell him that it’ll be alright, and then to drag him back into the safety of the office. That would only prove exactly who was in that room with me at Vesper.
“There were some... inconsistencies in the Vesper House filing,” Miller continues, a wily grin spreading across his face.
“It took us a while to find out who Jorak had spent the night with but we were surprised to find out that it was you. A match of your type, with an Enigma of Thorn’s volatility...
it’s a statistical impossibility. Unless, of course, the initial classification was wrong.
We’d like you to come in for some voluntary testing. Just to clear the air."
The word 'voluntary' is a lie that tastes like ash. I can feel Asa’s heart hammering. He’s trying to think, his brilliant mind spinning through equations and design theory, looking for an exit that doesn't exist. He opens his mouth to speak, to offer some witty, sarcastic deflection, but Miller moves closer, invading his personal space.
My control snaps as the Black Current roars out, a physical weight that slams into the hallway.
The lights overhead flicker and die, shattered by the entropic pressure.
I move before I can think, my hand fisting in Miller’s expensive lapel, slamming him back against the wall with enough force to crack the mortar.
I bare my teeth, my pupils blown wide, the world reduced to the man threatening what is mine.
"Don't touch him," I growl, the sound vibrating through Miller’s chest. "Don't even look at him. If you say his name again, I will tear the tongue out of your head."
"Jorak!" Asa’s voice is a whip-crack. "Jorak, let him go. Now."
I don't want to. I want to end this. I want to erase Miller and Mercer and the ESA until there’s nothing left but me and Asa in the quiet.
But then I feel a hand on my arm. It’s light, barely a ghost of a touch through my jacket, but it’s the only thing in the universe that can reach me.
Asa’s fingers are firm, his thumb pressing into the pulse point of my wrist.
"Not here," he whispers, his voice trembling but steady. "Not like this. You’re proving them right. Please. Look at me."
I turn my head slowly. Asa is standing there, his face pale, but his eyes are fixed on mine with a terrifying, beautiful clarity.
He isn't afraid of me. He’s afraid for us.
The realization hits me harder than any suppression drug Mercer ever used.
I’m hurting him. Not with my hands, but with my nature.
I release Miller and the man slumps against the wall, gasping for air, his face finally showing a flicker of the terror he should have felt from the start.
He adjusts his tie with shaking hands, his clinical mask shattered.
He looks at us, at the way I’m still vibrating with power, and at the way Asa hasn't moved his hand from my arm.
"I'll tell Mercer you’re being... uncooperative," Miller wheezes, backing away toward the exit. "He won't be pleased, Thorn. And you, Professor... you should be careful who you let touch you. Some things are too heavy to hold."
He turns and flees, his footsteps echoing down the hall. I stand there, my chest heaving, the darkness still crawling under my skin. The lights are still dead. The silence that follows is heavy, tasting of ozone and the whiskey-scent of my own rage.
"He’s going to tell them," Asa says, his hand finally dropping away from my arm. He looks at the darkened hallway, then back at me. He looks smaller somehow, the reality of the system closing in on us. "Your boss, that Mercer guy, is going to come for me."
I reach out, grabbing his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. The protectiveness is still there, but the feral edge has been blunted by the look in his eyes.
"Let him come," I say, and for the first time, I mean it as a promise, not a threat. "If he wants to get to you, he has to go through me. And I’m done being his weapon, Asa. I’m yours."
Asa doesn't say anything. He just leans his forehead against my chest for a single, brief second, a moment of surrender that hurts more than the fighting.
Then he pulls away, straightening his cardigan, hiding the binder clip and the ruined shirt and the scent of our union.
He looks like a professor again. But as he turns toward his lecture hall, I see the way his hand lingers on the doorframe, seeking the patterns in the wood.
The vibration of my phone drags me out of the moment. I’m not even surprised when I answer it to find Mercer screaming at me.
“That’s why you were so willing to sit in classes again, wasn’t it?
Miller just mentioned he found that Omega you spent the night with.
” I open my mouth to say something but Mercer isn’t done.
“Get back here, now. And if you try anything funny, your outside privileges will be completely revoked. Don’t fucking play with me, Jorak. ”