Page 93 of The Sterling Acquisition
Dante met Orion’s eyes. “You ready for this?”
Orion managed a nod. “Let’s go meet the neighbors.”
As they climbed out of the van into the morning light, Orion caught the woman studying him with particular intensity. Her gazelingered on his sweat-dampened shirt, his unsteady movements, the way he had to grip the van’s door for support.
When her eyes met his, they were sharp with understanding.
“Well,” she said quietly, loud enough for him to hear but not for the megaphone to pick up. “This just got a whole lot more complicated.”
Chapter thirty-three
Prairie Hospitality
Dante
IfsomeonetoldDante a week ago that he’d be standing in a circle of armed civilians while contemplating the structural impossibility of a building held together by what appeared to be aggressive flowering vines, he’d have recommended immediate psychological evaluation. Yet here he was, watching Tallulah LaFontaine—”Granny Lu“ according to the whispered conversations around them—wheel herself with her ancient rifle in hand toward a structure that should have collapsed decades ago.
The building looked like someone had taken a traditional farmhouse, hit it with a sledgehammer, and then asked a botanist to serve as architectural consultant. Thick green vines wove through gaps in the foundation where concrete had cracked away, their stems somehow providing the load-bearing support that physics suggested shouldn’t work. Flowering branches grew through windows, creating natural curtains of purple and gold blooms, and what might once have beena front porch was now a living gazebo of intertwined wood and plant matter.
Gensyn’s Engineering Division would have a collective aneurysm,Dante thought as they approached the front door—if the opening framed by cascading jasmine could be called a door.
His hand shook unprofessionally, every sense heightened to an almost painful degree. He could hear the quiet exchange of whispers between the guards, smell the gun oil on their weapons, and taste the sour edge of his own adrenaline. And beneath it all, permeating everything like a current through water, was Orion’s scent—sharp and sweet and intoxicating in a way that made his hands itch to touch, to claim, to possess.
A bead of sweat traced its way down Dante’s spine despite the mild morning temperature. In Gensyn territory, he’d be flagged for medical evaluation with these symptoms. Rut suppression was mandatory for all field operatives, and any hint of biological instability would merit a full psychological workup and possible recalibration.
“Inside,” Tallulah commanded, and Dante noted with professional appreciation that she positioned herself so the armed teenagers flanking them would have clear shots if anyone decided to make an untoward move. Her weathered face looked like she never met a sunscreen she liked, and the lines around her mouth suggested a long relationship with tobacco. When she spoke, her voice carried the kind of slow Southern drawl that made everything sound either like a threat or an invitation to Sunday dinner.
What Dante found most jarring, however, was that he couldn’t scent-read her at all. She existed in a biological blind spot—neither Alpha, Beta, nor Omega registered on his instincts. The teenagers guarding them were the same—their postures and facial expressionstold him they were wary and curious, but his most basic instinctual analysis tools were useless.
The designation gap in the system.Gensyn’s briefings covered this, but experiencing it was entirely different. Like trying to navigate with one sensory system disabled.
The interior was even more disconcerting. What should have been a cramped rural living room had been expanded through creative demolition and botanical engineering. Support beams were actual tree branches, growing through the floor and extending through the ceiling in organic columns that pulsed with life. Fruit hung from indoor vines—edible fruit, not decorative nonsense—and the air smelled like a greenhouse crossed with a bakery.
This violates approximately seventeen building codes and three laws of physics,Dante observed, watching a young woman with sun-hardened features and moss colored hair adjust her rifle strap.Also, why do they all look like they could bench press a corporate executive?
He was used to physical fitness being monitored and documented. Executives received personalized workout protocols and nutritional guidance from corporate wellness teams. These people looked like they earned their muscles through actual labor—hauling water, building structures, defending their community.
“Sage,” Tallulah called to the green-haired woman, “take the Omega and get him cleaned up. Boy’s got blood on him, and we run a civilized operation here.”
The words “take” and “Omega” hit Dante’s nervous system like a live wire. Before he could engage his professional filter, he was stepping between Sage and Orion, moving on pure territorial instinct. His vision tunneled, peripheral awareness narrowing to the perceived threat while his heart rate spiked.
“He stays with me,” Dante snapped. The words came out gruff, and he caught himself baring teeth in what his corporate trainers would have classified as “excessive biological response.”
Orion moved closer to his shoulder—not hiding, but also not interested in being separated either. “I’m f-fine,” he said through a tremor in his voice.
Tallulah’s pale eyes flicked between them, taking in the protective positioning and mutual tension with the kind of calculation that said she’d been reading people long before Dante learned to manipulate corporate stakeholders. Her expression shifted minutely—surprise, then recognition, then something like academic fascination.
“Well now,” she drawled, “that’s interesting. How about this—Sage sets you boys up in the back room together, and we have ourselves a little chat while she gets your friend some clean clothes?” Her tone made it clear this wasn’t really a suggestion.
The back room turned out to be another architectural impossibility—a space that felt larger than the building’s exterior could accommodate, with living walls that breathed with photosynthesis and furniture that looked like it had been grown rather than built. Sage directed Orion to a chair on one side of the room while Dante took a position near the opposite wall, close enough to intervene but far enough to satisfy Tallulah’s requirements.
Dante ran through a tactical assessment automatically. Two exits—the door they’d entered through and what appeared to be a bathroom. Windows covered by trailing vines—potential escape routes with enough force. Furniture, mostly wooden, could be repurposed as weapons if needed. Distance to Orion: 12 feet, approximately 1.8 seconds at full sprint. Tallulah’s wheelchair could be disabled by—
He caught himself mid-analysis. This wasn’t a hostile extraction scenario. These people were offering shelter. And yet his instinctsrefused to stand down, every fiber of his being humming with the need to get closer to Orion, to create a defensible position, to eliminate potential threats.
“So,” Tallulah said, wheeling her chair to a position that gave her clear sightlines to both men, “you want to tell me what a pretty corporate boy like you is doing in my territory with an Omega in heat and a story about running from SVI?”
The wave of Orion’s scent hit Dante as soon as she said the words, stronger than it had been even an hour ago. His shirt felt constricting, the collar too tight against his throat. He could feel his pulse hammering at his temples, at his wrists, at the glands in his neck that were swollen and tender in a way they hadn’t been in years. His jaw clenched, and he had to focus on breathing through his mouth to maintain any semblance of composure.
