"Open the damn door!" Riven gasped, slamming his fist against it. His other hand clawed at his chest, gripping fabric like he could tear the fire out of himself.
He was burning alive.
Breath tore from his throat in ragged bursts. Saliva pooled thick and bitter on his tongue; he forced it down, jaw locked. Every nerve screamed. His skin stretched too tight, muscles wired, braced for a command his mind refused to give. The air was saturated—Omega pheromones clung like smoke, sweet and suffocating, curling inside his lungs until he was drowning.
He pressed his forehead to the door. Cold wood against fevered skin. For half a heartbeat, he could almost pretend it was enough to anchor him. Then the scent flooded back in, merciless.
He turned—then froze.
They were coming. Omegas. Dozens.
Eyes glazed, lips parted, flushed and trembling. They moved with intent, shameless and sure. They knew what they wanted. And Riven knew what it meant.
Omegas in heat weren't here to talk. They wanted contact. They wanted to be claimed.
And Alphas—especially an S-Class Alpha—were built for that. His body knew it. His instincts knew it. They screamed: Take. Dominate. Mark.
A low, animal rumble clawed up his throat. He bit down hard, jaw aching, forcing it back. Nails dug crescents into his palms, grounding himself in pain.
I'm not like them. I won't be like her.
The thought seared through him, his mother's shadow pressing close, every mocking word his family had ever thrown cutting deeper. To them, loving an Omega was weakness. To him, claiming wasn't power—it was surrender. And he would never surrender.
But the scent was everywhere. Crawling through his veins. Wrapping his spine. Pulling at the edges of his control. Heat surged low in his belly, climbing fast, relentless.
His vision blurred. His pulse thundered like a war drum. His body wanted to move toward them, to bare teeth, to claim.
No. He slammed his forehead against the door, desperate for something solid. The sting cleared his head for a breath, no more.
He dragged in air, shallow and quick, trying to steady the quake in his chest. He forced his mind to count—one, two, three—anything to drown the scream of instinct: more, now.
His knees buckled. He staggered, yanking at the handle, shoving his shoulder against the wood until his bones rattled. Nothing.
Locked in. Trapped by his own blood. His brothers. His cousins. They had left him here on purpose.
The Omegas were closer now, scent heavier, bodies trembling, slick with need.
And his own body was starting to answer.
If I ever claim someone, it'll be because I love them. Not because I'm drowning in lust. If I even have a heart left to love with.
But right now—he wasn't sure how much longer he could fight the beast clawing inside him.
"Stop," he hissed, fists cutting into his palms. His nails bit skin, sharp enough to draw blood. "I'm not an animal."
But the room wanted him to be. Every inhale dragged him deeper, tearing down the walls he'd built. His breath came ragged, jaw clenched until it ached. The scent was in his blood now, searing, pulling.
Then—silence. For a moment, all he heard was his own heartbeat hammering in his skull, the scrape of his breath against his teeth. That silence broke like glass when he saw them swaying closer—Omegas with glazed eyes and parted lips, offering themselves.
Riven shook, every muscle trembling. Instinct screamed, a savage chorus he could barely drown out. His chest burned, his throat caught, and the words broke from him—snarl and plea tangled together:
"Get away from me!"
But even as he said it, his body betrayed him—leaning forward, lungs aching for more of the scent he despised.
His hands twitched. His mouth watered.
"Don't—" His voice cracked, breaking between warning and plea.
The Omegas didn't stop. Couldn't. Their heat called to him. His blood answered.
Shame roared louder than reason. His mother's shadow. Their whispers. Filthy. Shameless. Weak.
And still his body burned to take. To bite. To mark.
Riven slammed his head back against the wall, desperate for clarity. Pain flared, then vanished beneath the pheromone storm. His knees buckled. A growl tore loose, ragged, unbidden.
He was losing it. Losing himself.
"Stay back!" he shouted, but his voice broke into something feral, trembling with need.
Another step forward. Another wave of scent.
One more breath, one more heartbeat—and he wouldn't be able to stop.
He staggered back against the door, fingernails clawing into plaster, carving shallow lines. Blood slicked his palms. Even pain couldn't ground him now.
Then—
The door burst open.
Riven gasped, stumbling forward. A figure stood in the doorway—tall, calm, unfamiliar.
His legs gave out. He reached blindly, grabbing the stranger's arm, fingers digging in.
"Help me," he whispered, voice cracked and desperate.
The stranger caught him before he hit the floor. Arms steady. Gaze sharp.
"He's burning up," he said, eyes flicking over Riven's flushed face. "He's in rut."
Then his gaze shifted past Riven—into the ballroom.
And froze.
The Omegas were still there. Still moving. Still releasing pheromones like silk spun into a snare.
And Riven? Riven was barely holding on.
"I don't need to ask what happened," the man muttered, scanning the hall like it was a battlefield.
"Help me—" Riven's voice cracked, breaking into a rasp. He clung tighter, trembling, grip desperate like letting go meant shattering.
The man turned to him slowly. Their eyes locked. His voice dropped, soft but certain.
"You're right. I don't need to ask. I've finally found you."
He reached out, brushing fingers across Riven's cheek. Gentle. Reverent. Like he was trying to memorize the heat burning beneath his skin. Riven wasn't the untouchable Alpha they all feared—just a boy unraveling.
"Let's get you out of here."
He scooped Riven up with effortless strength. Turned to the two suited men flanking the door, voice sharp now. Commanding.
"Seal the doors. Don't let a single Omega out until their heat breaks."
They nodded fast, slamming the doors shut with a heavy thud.
"Post guards. No one in or out. You know what'll happen if those Omegas run into anyone else."
"Yes, sir," they answered in unison.
The man glanced down at Riven—half-conscious now—and carried him toward the elevator. His stride is steady. His grip is protective.