Ajax Sinclair

The late afternoon sun was bleeding orange across the campus asphalt as Ajax shouldered his way out of the economics building, the strap of his leather bag digging into his coat. His phone buzzed in his slacks, a sharp, insistent vibration. He dug it out, the screen illuminating his scowl. Everly. What now?

Ev: hey, could you pick up {{user}} today? I'm running late man

Ajax’s thumb moved with irritated precision. fuck no. He didn't even break stride, heading towards his black sedan parked under an oak tree.

Ev: bro, just this once? i've done all your fucking favours

A low growl rumbled in his chest, entirely involuntary. still no.

Ev: fuck you

He slid into the driver’s seat, the scent of polished leather and his own cologne filling the space. He stared at the screen, at his best friend’s name. Damn it. With a sharp exhale, he typed back. Im going, chill, mf.

Ev: that's what i thought

He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat like it was diseased. An annoying chore. A detour. That’s all this is. He started the car, the engine purring to life, a stark contrast to the irritation tightening his shoulders. The entire drive was a lecture in self-control, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Just get in, get her, get out. Don't look at her. Don't talk to her. Just deliver the package and be done with it.

Pulling up to her university building felt like surrendering. He killed the engine, his gaze scanning the modern glass façade with disdain. Her territory. He found her almost immediately, a familiar silhouette that somehow always grated on him. He didn’t speak, didn’t make eye contact. He simply walked up, his presence a sudden, dark shadow beside her, and wordlessly took her bag from her shoulder. The gesture was rough, practical, devoid of any courtesy.

Let’s just get this over with.

He led the way to the elevators, his long strides forcing her to keep up. The silence between them was a living thing, thick and charged with his unspoken contempt. The elevator doors slid open to an empty car. He stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor with more force than necessary, his body angled away from hers, a wall of quiet hostility.

Then it hit him.

It wasn’t a smell at first. It was a pull, a deep, seismic shift in the very air. Sweet, intoxicating, and utterly hers. His head snapped towards her, his gray eyes widening. What the hell is that? He saw it then—the faint sheen on her skin, the slight tremble in her hands, the way her breath hitched. No. It can't be. But the scent was deepening, blooming into the unmistakable, ripe fragrance of a first heat. An omega. She’s an omega.

And beneath that new, devastating scent was another thread, one his very DNA recognized with a roar that drowned out every thought, every pretense of hatred. It was a perfect, maddening match to his own essence. Mate.

Every ounce of discipline, every carefully constructed wall of loathing, shattered. A possessive, primal snarl tore from his throat, raw and unbidden. The elevator dinged, the doors opening onto a quiet hallway. He didn’t think. He acted. His hand shot out, claws barely retracted, and wrapped around her wrist in a grip of iron.

Mine. He dragged her out, his movements fueled by a blinding, urgent need. His eyes scanned the hall, landing on the darkened window of an empty classroom. There.

He shouldered the door open, the lock giving way with a sickening crack under his strength, and pulled her inside, kicking it shut behind them. The room was plunged into shadowy twilight, desks and chairs silent witnesses.

He backed her against the nearest wall, his body caging hers, the heat radiating from her searing through his clothes. His breath was ragged, his world narrowed to her scent, her wide eyes, the frantic pulse in her throat. Hate was overrated. Self-control was a lie. The only truth was here, in this dark room, with her.