4. Landon

I give Tyler a few days to breathe. Let him settle in, get comfortable—make him think he’s in the clear. That way, when I finally move in, it hits him harder. See, people like Tyler need to learn their place, and I don’t mind teaching the lesson. He’s resistant, sure. That’s why I’ll enjoy breaking him.

Every time I spot him around the academy—usually with Jacob—he’s got that same focused expression, his head always in a book, those glasses slipping down his nose. It’s almost laughable. 

He doesn’t even notice the stares, doesn’t seem to care that Alphas watch him with interest, or that they’re all waiting for the moment he slips up and someone claims him.

But no one touches him. They know better. They’ve seen me watching him, and they know that I’ve staked my claim, even if Tyler doesn’t realise it yet.

I’ve been patient. But now it’s time to push.

When I catch him later, alone, near one of the quieter parts of campus—near the back courtyard, where no one goes after class—I know it’s time to make my move.

Tyler’s leaning against a wall, flipping through a book with his stupid glasses perched on his nose. I don’t know why, but the sight of those glasses annoys the hell out of me. Like he’s trying to put another barrier between him and the world. Between him and me.

I don’t say anything at first, just watch him from a few feet away, taking in the way his shoulders are tense, like he knows I’m here before I even make a sound.

“Omega.”

The word rolls off my tongue, low and commanding, and I see the way his spine stiffens instantly. He doesn’t look up, but I can tell he’s already bracing himself for what’s coming.

“Landon.” His voice is flat, uninterested, but I can hear the underlying tension.

I step closer, my shadow falling over him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. But I know he feels it. He’s pretending he doesn’t care, but his body is betraying him. I can see it in the way his fingers tighten around the book and the way his shoulders shift.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say casually, leaning against the wall beside him.

He finally glances up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

I chuckle. “That’s not how this works, Tyler.”

“I’m not like the other Omegas in this academy, Landon,” he mutters, returning to his book. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” I push off the wall, stepping in front of him now, boxing him in. “Let’s test that.”

He looks up again, this time meeting my eyes, and I can see the flicker of uncertainty there. It’s quick, but it’s enough. Enough for me to know I’ve got him where I want him. I lean in closer, just enough so he can feel my breath on his skin.

“Tell me, Tyler,” I whisper, my voice dripping with authority. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”

He swallows hard, and I see the way his throat moves, the tension tightening in his neck. “Keep what up?”

“Pretending you’re not affected by me,” I say, letting my pheromones slip into the air between us. The shift is immediate, subtle at first. I can feel his body reacting, even if he doesn’t want it to.

Tyler flinches, just barely, but I notice. His scent hits me then, sharp and unexpected—apple pies. Fuck, It’s rich and sweet. My chest tightens with an overwhelming need to claim him, to make that scent mine.

“You—” he starts to say, but his voice catches. I see his pupils dilate, his lips parting as he tries to push back against what’s happening.

I let the red flash in my eyes, just for a second, enough to show him who’s in control here. It’s not about scaring him—it’s about reminding him of the natural order of things. The way this has always been meant to go.

“Submit,” I growl.

He whines. It’s quiet, barely audible, but I hear it. His body betrays him for just a second, his knees wobbling as his head lowers, shoulders hunching in instinctual submission. His eyes flick away, and I can see it—the brief moment where his will cracks.

And gods, it’s intoxicating.

That split second of submission is all I need to know that he’s mine. He might fight it, but his body knows. His scent tells me everything I need to know. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks completely, before he’s begging for it.

But then, just as quickly as he gave in, he snaps out of it, shaking his head and stumbling back, pushing me away.

“Get away from me,” he spits, his voice hoarse.

I smirk. “What’s the matter? I thought you weren’t like the other Omegas.”

He glares at me, his breathing ragged, and I can see the panic in his eyes as he fights to regain control. “I’m not,” he snaps, but his voice wavers.

“Sure about that?” I ask, cocking my head, still closing the distance between us. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not,” he says through gritted teeth, but he’s already retreating, backing away from me like he can’t help it.

I don’t stop him. Not yet. Instead, I just watch as he stumbles, his eyes flicking around like he’s looking for an escape.

“Tyler,” I say softly, the edge of amusement still in my voice. “You can’t run from this.”

“Watch me,” he growls, and then he turns, bolting.

I let him go, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the empty courtyard as he runs off. My heart’s still pounding, the rush of adrenaline mixing with the desire that’s burning through me. The scent of him lingers in the air, sweet and maddening. I knew he’d be different, but now? Now I’m certain.

Tyler doesn’t know it yet, but he’s mine.

I stand there for a moment, replaying what just happened in my head. That fucking whine. The way his body folded for just a second, instinct taking over before he could stop himself. It was the most satisfying thing I’ve felt in a long time.

I smirk to myself, already knowing what comes next. I’m going to break him. Slowly, carefully. I’ll give him time to think he’s still got the upper hand, let him believe he can fight me off, but in the end, it won’t matter. He’s an Omega, and I’m the Alpha he’s meant to be with. His scent… fuck, that scent.

He belongs to me.

I start walking back toward the main part of the campus, my mind racing with plans and my cock hard as fuck. Tyler might think he can run, but he’ll be back. Omegas always come back to their Alphas, whether they want to or not. He just needs a little more time to realise it.

I’ll give him that. I’ll give him all the time he needs.

But when I’m done, there won’t be a single part of him that isn’t mine.

***

The next day, I see him in the dining hall, sitting with Jacob again. He’s keeping his head down, trying to stay under the radar, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes dart around the room like he’s expecting me to show up at any second.

I don’t. Not yet. I give him space, let him breathe, but I don’t stop watching. Every time he glances up, I make sure he sees me, make sure he knows I’m still there. That little moment yesterday is stuck in his head, and I can tell it’s messing with him.

Good.

I sit with Kyle and a few of the other Alphas, listening to them talk, but my attention is always on Tyler. I keep it subtle, just enough to remind him that he hasn’t gotten away, but not enough to provoke him.

He’s fidgeting, not like last time. I can see him twisting his hands together under the table, shifting in his seat, trying to focus on his food. Jacob’s talking to him, probably trying to distract him, but Tyler’s not really listening. He’s too busy trying to pretend like I’m not watching him.

And that’s the thing about Omegas—they can act tough all they want, but at the end of the day, their bodies give them away. Tyler’s posture is all wrong. He’s too stiff, too tense, like he’s on edge, waiting for me to make my move.

I don’t. Not yet. Omegas like Tyler don’t break easily, but they all break eventually. It’s just a matter of finding the right pressure point.

And I’ve found his.

As I leave the dining hall, I catch one last look at him, and for a split second, his eyes meet mine. He looks away quickly, pretending not to notice, but I see it—the flash of uncertainty, the way his hands tighten into fists under the table.

He’s cracking, and it's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.