The bridal suite of the Vane mansion didn't feel like a sanctuary; it felt like a gilded cage. Mika stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his slender fingers trembling as he clutched the edges of his sheer silk shirt. Behind him, the room was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and something darker—the primal pheromones of an apex predator.
"I gave you five minutes of silence, Mika," Soren's voice dropped like a heavy anchor in the quiet room. "The clock has run out."
Mika didn't move. "I told you at the altar. You can own my debt, but you don't own me."
The sound of leather shoes on the hardwood was slow and deliberate. Before Mika could draw another breath, a massive, tattooed hand clamped onto his shoulder, spinning him around with terrifying strength. Mika was slammed back against the glass, the cold pane a sharp contrast to the furnace of Soren's body pressing into him.
"You're mistaken," Soren growled, his golden eyes flashing with a predatory light. He leaned in, his face inches from Mika's. "In this house, in this bed, I am the only law. And you? You're the Omega I bought to carry my legacy. You don't get to say no to your King."
"Let. Me. Go," Mika hissed, bringing his hands up to push at Soren's broad chest.
Soren didn't budge. Instead, he grabbed both of Mika's wrists in a single hand, pinning them high above his silver head against the window. The power move was humiliatingly easy for him. With his other hand, Soren gripped Mika's jaw, forcing him to look up.
"Look at me," Soren commanded.
It wasn't just words. It was an Alpha Command. Mika's pupils dilated instantly, his body arching toward the heat he was supposed to hate. His inner Omega let out a desperate, shameful whine.
"Your mouth says no, but your scent..." Soren trailed off, burying his face in the crook of Mika's neck, inhaling the terrified yet sweet aroma of white ginger. "Your scent is screaming for me to ruin you."
Without warning, Soren's teeth grazed the sensitive skin of Mika's throat, right over his scent gland. Mika let out a choked gasp, his knees buckling. If Soren wasn't holding him up, he would have collapsed.
"Please..." Mika whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was pleading for Soren to stop or to finish it.
"Please what, Mika? Please stop? Or please claim what's mine?" Soren's voice was a rough vibration against his skin.
He didn't wait for an answer. Soren hoisted Mika up, the Omega's legs instinctively wrapping around the Alpha's thick waist. Soren carried him to the massive, black-sheeted bed and tossed him onto the pillows. Before Mika could scramble away, Soren was over him, a heavy weight that crushed the breath out of his lungs.
The sheer silk shirt Mika wore was shredded in seconds, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room. Soren's large, scarred hands mapped every rib on Mika's skinny frame, his touch bruising and possessive. There was no gentleness here—only the raw, violent need of a Mafia King and the fated mate he had hunted.
Mika fought it at first, his hands scratching at the tattoos on Soren's back, but the Fated Bond was a cruel master. Every time Soren's skin touched his, a wave of liquid fire crashed through Mika's veins.
"Cry for me," Soren murmured, his lips traveling down Mika's chest, leaving a trail of fire. "Show me how much you hate that you want this."
When Soren finally claimed him, it was a total invasion. Mika's back arched, his fingers digging into the black silk sheets as he let out a broken cry that was half-sob, half-ecstasy. Soren moved with a brutal, relentless rhythm, his golden eyes never leaving Mika's face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure.
"You're mine," Soren groaned, his voice primal as the bourbon scent became suffocatingly sweet. "Say it, Mika. Tell me who owns you."
Mika's mind was a blur of heat and shadows. He looked up at the man who had bought him—the man who was currently destroying him and making him whole all at once.
"You..." Mika gasped, his voice breaking as the peak hit them both like a tidal wave. "Soren... you do."
The Alpha let out a low, victorious growl, his grip on Mika's hips tight enough to leave marks that would last for days. As they lay there in the aftermath, the air heavy with the scent of their union, Soren didn't move. He kept Mika pinned beneath him, a dark shadow draped over a broken piece of silk.
The blood-stained vow was no longer just words. It was written in the marks on Mika's skin.