Arion didn't answer, didn't smile, and didn't even slow down.
The distance between the door and the window vanished in a fraction of a second. Before Andrea could fully register the movement, before his arrogant smirk could even decide whether to remain on his face, Arion's hand locked around his throat.
Arion lifted him.
Andrea gasped, a wet, choked sound, his hands flying up to claw instinctively at Arion's wrist. His expensive leather shoes kicked uselessly as they left the carpet. The pale gray fabric of his collar crumpled under the crushing, unbreakable force of Arion's grip.
The room instantly flooded with the suffocating weight of Arion's pheromones, cold, sharp, and entirely merciless. It was a predator's aura, powerful enough to knock a weaker omega to the ground and violent enough to instill stark, primal terror in Andrea's wide eyes.
There he was.
Not the beautiful creature trained for court, nor the rare dominant omega polished by generations of family ambition.
