The two weeks passed in a blur of forced suit fittings and suffocating dread. Because of their mutual pride and hatred, both Soren and Mika refused the traditional pre-wedding dinner.
Soren didn't want to see the "gold-digging" Omega who was selling himself for a shipping company. Mika didn't want to see the "tyrant" who used his pheromones to bully the world into submission.
The Wedding Day
The Vane Estate was a fortress of black marble and white roses. Armed guards in tailored suits stood every ten feet. This wasn't a wedding; it was a merger of two powerful bloodlines under the threat of violence.
Soren stood at the altar, looking like death's favorite son in a bespoke charcoal suit. He radiated a terrifying aura of dominance that forced every other Alpha in the room to lower their gaze. He didn't turn around when the music started.
Just a transaction, Soren reminded himself, his hand resting near the concealed holster at his waist. Get the heir. Secure the line. Ignore the boy.
Then, the heavy oak doors swung open.
Mika walked in, veiled in layers of sheer, expensive silk. He looked like a ghost walking toward his execution. As he drew closer to the altar, he could smell the Alpha. It was the scent of bourbon and spice—a scent so rich it felt like velvet against his skin. For some reason, it made Mika's inner Omega tingle with a strange, unwanted heat.
No, Mika thought, digging his nails into his palms until they bled. It's just his S-Class power trying to overwhelm me. Resist him.
Mika stepped onto the dais. They stood side-by-side, but neither looked at the other. The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken hostility.
"Do you, Soren Vane, take this Omega to be your bound partner, to provide and protect, until the line is secure?" the priest asked.
"I do," Soren said. His voice was a deep, vibrating bass that seemed to rattle Mika's very bones.
"And do you, Mika Kim, take this Alpha to be your husband and protector, to honor and bear his legacy?"
"I... do," Mika spat the words out like they were poison, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"The bond must now be witnessed," the priest announced. "Seal the contract with the kiss of recognition."
Soren turned then, intending to give a quick, cold brush of lips against the Omega's cheek. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gripping Mika's chin to tilt his head up.
Mika's veil was flicked back.
Their eyes met for the first time. Soren's dark, predatory gaze crashed into Mika's defiant, tear-streaked eyes.
And then, the world stopped.
It felt like a lightning strike to the heart. A physical jolt of electricity surged through their skin where they touched. The air in the room suddenly became saturated with their combined scents—the bourbon and ginger swirling together into an intoxicating, addictive perfume that shouldn't have been possible.
The Fated Bond—the rare, mythical connection they had both given up on—snapped into place with the force of a tidal wave.
Soren's pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black, the gold of his S-Class status glowing at the edges. His Alpha screamed one word, over and over: MATE.
Mika's breath hitched, his knees buckling. His soul recognized the man he hated. His body began to ache with a sudden, violent need to be claimed.
Soren didn't just kiss him. He growled, his hand sliding from Mika's chin to the back of his neck, pulling him in with possessive violence. His lips crashed against Mika's in a kiss that wasn't a ceremony—it was a conquest. He tasted like smoke, hunger, and ancient promises.
Mika tried to push him away, his mind screaming No! Not him!, but his body betrayed him. He moaned into the kiss, his fingers tangling in Soren's hair, pulling the Alpha closer even as he hated himself for it.
Soren pulled back just an inch, his voice a ragged, dangerous whisper against Mika's swollen lips.
"You're mine," Soren hissed, his scent turning dark and heavy with a lust so potent it was almost tangible. "I don't care how much I paid for you. You are my fated mate, and I am going to ruin you tonight."
Mika's eyes flashed with fire, his face flushed with a mix of arousal and pure, unadulterated rage. "I might be your mate, Vane, but I will never be your toy. You want an heir? You'll have to fight me for it."
In the back of the room, Julian Thorne—the rival Alpha—watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. He saw the spark. He saw the beauty of the Omega. And he felt a dark, jealous hunger clawing at his throat.
Beside him, Celine, Soren's cousin, shattered her champagne glass in her hand, the shards drawing blood. The bond was real. Her plan to take the Vane throne was slipping away.
The war had just begun.