Page 95 of The Sterling Acquisition
Dante felt every muscle in his body lock with the effort of not crossing the room. The sight of strangers touching Orion—even to help him—triggered a flood of territorial aggression that threatened to overwhelm years of careful conditioning.
Breathe. Focus. Assess.The training mantras cycled through his mind automatically, even as his body temperature continued to climb and his vision narrowed further.
“Do you have suppressants?” Dante asked, his professional composure cracking as he watched Orion’s condition deteriorate. “Even over-the-counter ones would help with the worst of it.”
Tallulah laughed. “Son, why would we need suppressants? We’re Nulls.” But her expression softened as she took in Dante’s obvious distress. “Tell you what, though—I can get you set up with running water quick-like. Cool baths help with the hot flashes, and all the house’s got rooms that stay nice and temperature-controlled.”
Relief flooded through Dante with embarrassing intensity. “Thank you. Genuinely, thank you.”
He held out his hand for a handshake, the kind of gesture that sealed agreements in every corporate boardroom he’d ever worked. It was an automatic response, a piece of conditioning so deeply embedded that it emerged even as his biology was fighting to take control.
Tallulah looked at his extended hand, then at his face, and grinned with absolute delight. She spit into her palm, then grabbed his hand and shook it.
Dante’s corporate conditioning recoiled in horror, but somehow he managed not to flinch. Much. The handshake protocol violation was so extreme that his mind briefly went blank, unable to process the fundamental breach of corporate etiquette.
“Welcome to the Prairie Null Collective, corporate boy,” Tallulah said, still grinning. “Try not to die on us. The paperwork’s a real bitch.”
Chapter thirty-four
Surrender
Orion
Theicewaterhithis overheated skin like a jolt of electricity, stealing his breath and sending shock waves through every nerve ending. Orion didn’t care. He sank further into the makeshift tub with desperate relief, boots and all, letting the frigid water close over his chest as his body finally, mercifully, began to cool.
“Fuck!” he gasped, gripping the metal edges so hard his knuckles went white. The contrast between the ice and his burning skin was painful, but it was the first real relief he’d felt in hours.
“Granny Lu wants to talk again this evening,” Sage called from the doorway. “Y’all try to get some rest before then.”
The door clicked shut, leaving them alone in the leather-scented quiet of Lilac’s borrowed house.
Orion sank deeper into the water, letting it lap at his throat as the worst of the fever-heat began to recede. His body still ached with need—the pulsing emptiness low in his belly, thehypersensitive skin that made even the wet fabric of his clothes feel like torture—but at least he could think again.
Sort of.
Because Dante was kneeling beside the tub, close enough that Orion could see the worry etched into his features, and the way his eyes kept tracking the movement of water against Orion’s body. His soaked shirt clung to every line of his chest and abdomen, transparent in places where the fabric stretched thin.
Orion forced himself to focus on Dante’s face. He needed a distraction. Conversation. Something to keep his mind occupied while his body tried to tear itself apart with want.
“So,” he said, his voice only breathless, “what’s Gensyn t-territory like? Your day-to-day life before all this?”
Dante blinked, caught off guard by the question. His hand hovered near the edge of the tub like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how. “It’s... efficient. Everything runs on schedule. Optimal climate control, regulated nutrition, productivity-based housing assignments.”
“Sounds thrilling.” Orion shifted in the water, trying to find a position where his clothes weren’t torturing him. “What about family? Parents, siblings?”
“Not anymore. When I entered training at 12, I became a ward of Gensyn.” The answer came quickly, matter-of-fact. “Gensyn doesn’t encourage family structures for operatives. Divided loyalties compromise performance.”
The casual way Dante said it—like it was normal to be deliberately isolated from human connection—made him devastatingly sad. “So you j-just... lived alone? Worked alone?”
“Corporate housing provides everything necessary for optimal function.” Dante’s voice carried that clinical tone that meant he wasquoting training materials. “Social interaction occurs through professional channels and approved recreational activities.”
Orion thought his own life was constrained, but at least he’d had memories of his father, the knowledge that someone loved him once. “What about food? What do you miss from home?”
Dante’s expression softened. “There’s this... It’s ridiculous, but there’s a café near a Gensyn research complex that makes these honey cakes. Real honey, not synthetic. They’re inefficient from a nutritional standpoint—pure calories with minimal protein or essential vitamins—but they taste like...” He trailed off, looking almost embarrassed.
“Like what?”
“Like happiness,” Dante admitted. “If happiness had a flavor.”
