Chapter 11 #2
He felt his omega biology responding before his conscious mind could intervene.
His own scent shifted, sweetening with notes of trust and submission that would have mortified him in any other context.
His heart rate, already elevated from the fall, quickened further as Ryland leaned in to examine his wrist more closely.
The alpha's breath ghosted over Stephen's neck as he bent his head to the task. Stephen bit back a sound that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with how right it felt to have Ryland this close, his attention so completely focused on him.
"The swelling is minimal," Ryland murmured, his voice lower than usual, rough at the edges. "But we should immobilise it until we can get a proper medical assessment."
Stephen nodded, not trusting his voice. He was still shaky from the fall, adrenaline coursing through his system, making him hypersensitive to every point of contact between them. Ryland's fingers against his pulse point. Ryland's knee brushing against his thigh. Ryland's scent wrapping around him.
Ryland's hands stilled on Stephen's wrist. Their eyes met, and Stephen saw his own realisation mirrored there. Ryland's pupils had dilated, nearly swallowing the blue.
For one breathless moment, they remained frozen, poised on the edge between professionalism and something far more primal. Something that had been building since that first shared silence in the server room.
Heat pooled low in Stephen's abdomen. He registered with distant horror the telltale slickness beginning between his thighs.
His omega biology was betraying him, responding to Ryland's presence with all the subtlety of a neon sign in Piccadilly Circus.
Without conscious thought, he found himself leaning into Ryland, his head tilting slightly to expose the vulnerable curve of his neck.
His scent bloomed, sweet and unmistakable.
And Ryland... Ryland's nose tickled against the sensitive skin of his neck, his breath hot and uneven as he inhaled deeply, drawing Stephen's scent into his lungs like a drowning man finally breaking the surface.
* * *
Mick Pearson's Monday night had been gloriously, wonderfully boring until approximately ten minutes ago. He'd been peacefully playing Elden Ring in the IT office, feet up on his desk, packet of Hula Hoops balanced precariously on his stomach, when the server alert had pinged.
Server Bank 4, Cable Disconnect, Room 2103.
"Bollocks," he muttered, brushing crisp crumbs from his Dabney polo shirt, which had started the day a respectable navy blue and now featured an impressive collection of energy drink splatter patterns.
He glanced longingly at his character on screen, who would almost certainly be murdered by some eldritch horror in his absence.
"Why is it always Server Bank 4? Would it kill people to accidentally kick Server Bank 2 for a change? "
The corridors of Dabney after hours had a distinctly post-apocalyptic vibe, motion-sensing lights flickering on as he approached, dying behind him.
As he reached the server room, Mick pushed the door open, already launching into his standard "who's been messing with my servers" speech.
Oh.
His brain stuttered to a stop. He'd been expecting an overzealous cleaner who'd accidentally unplugged something vital while hoovering.
Instead: Dr. David bloody Ryland, Director of Research and notorious human calculator, wrapped around the fit male omega from Legal on the floor of the server room.
The omega was half-sprawled, Ryland's arm curled possessively around his shoulders.
Their faces close enough that they might as well have been exchanging dental records.
Ryland's head snapped up, and the noise that emerged from his throat wasn't remotely human. It was pure alpha. A rumbling growl that activated some primal part of Mick's hindbrain, the bit that remembered when humans were just clever monkeys trying not to be eaten by larger, angrier fanged things.
The message was crystal clear: Mine. Back off.
Mick froze, one hand still on the door handle. His body had apparently invented a third option beyond fight or flight: turn into a human statue and hope the predator's vision was based on movement.
For one terrifying moment, Ryland's usually clinical blue eyes were dark with something ancient and territorial. He pulled the omega closer, his body curving around the smaller man.
And the really interesting bit? The omega didn't pull away. He melted into it, his head tilting to expose his neck in a gesture that was about as subtle as a neon sign flashing "TAKE ME NOW" in fifty-foot letters.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the alpha display vanished. Ryland blinked rapidly, awareness returning to his expression. He straightened, though his hand remained firmly on the omega's shoulder.
"Mick," he said, voice carefully modulated back to its usual precise cadence. "There appears to have been an accident with one of the server cables."
"I can see that," Mick replied, his own voice about an octave higher than usual. He cleared his throat. "Got the alert. Cable disconnect. Though usually when I get those alerts, I don't find quite so much... connecting going on."
The omega, who'd been staring at Mick with mortified horror, found his voice. "I tripped," he said, holding up his wrist. "Fell. Ryland was just... checking for injury."