Darrien's Perspective ( tw - mature content, r**e attempt )

Darrien sat at the bar, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he studied the writhing bodies on the dance floor. Pheromones saturated the air, heavy and cloying, turning the club into a breeding ground of primal hunger. Alphas and omegas tangled together, grinding against each other like animals in heat, their glazed eyes and flushed skin betraying just how far gone they were. The scene was nothing short of obscene.

Disgust crawled beneath Darrien's skin. It wasn't that he was above such displays—far from it—but the raw desperation in the air made his stomach twist unpleasantly. He and Kaylen had never been the type to engage in such public vulgarity. Their status alone demanded a certain restraint, and the sheer lack of dignity on display tonight made his lip curl.

If he wanted to, Darrien knew he could have any alpha in this club with nothing more than a smile and a well-timed release of his pheromones. But the very idea bored him to death. It was always the same—lustful stares, eager hands, submissive postures. Pathetic. None of them could measure up to Kaylen—not in looks, not in status, and certainly not in pheromones. Darrien had been trained to crave perfection in all forms, and perfection was a rare commodity. Kaylen was the only one who even came close.

Darrien lifted the glass to his lips, the burn of the liquor doing little to cut through the hollow emptiness beneath his chest. He was a shallow, greedy bastard, and he knew it. It hadn't been his choice to become this way. His mother had hammered those instincts into him from the cradle—status, power, beauty. If it wasn't the best, it wasn't worth having.

Finishing his drink in one smooth gulp, Darrien slid off the barstool and headed toward the bathroom. The only reason he was even at this club was because he owned half of it.

His presence alone was a marketing tool, drawing in wealthy clientele who wanted to breathe the same air as him and maybe, if they were lucky, catch a whiff of his pheromones.

His parents had no idea, of course. The thought of their precious son investing in a nightclub—how positively disgraceful. The Valmoor name belonged to royalty, to political influence, not to the gutter.

Frankly, Darrien didn't give a damn about the Valmoor name. He hated that house. Hated the people living in it. Hated Asahin for making his life even harder than it already was. Yet, deep down, he supposed he was grateful that his half-brother existed. Asahin absorbed most of their mother's insanity, which meant Darrien was left with just enough breathing room to avoid completely losing his mind.

It felt like there was always a noose around his neck, getting tighter each time he failed to meet expectations. Power-hungry. Money-hungry. Status-hungry. He was always hungry for something more. That's what they had shaped him into, and it was hard to imagine being anything else.

The second he stepped into the bathroom, a crushing wave of pheromones hit him like a blow to the chest. Roses tangled with a sharp citrus bite. Someone was getting it on in one of the stalls. From the intensity, it was probably a third-class alpha and a second-class omega. Darrien ignored them, washing his hands at the sink. He had no intention of going home tonight. The hotel attached to the club—also half his—offered far better comfort than Valmoor estate.

But as he stepped out of the bathroom, a sudden wave of dizziness struck him like a hammer. His vision blurred; his legs weakened beneath him. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall as heat pooled under his skin.

What the hell is this?

Panic sharpened his thoughts, his heart pounding. His body was burning up, and the dizziness was getting worse. A second later, he realized what had happened.

Someone spiked my drink.

Audacious little shits. Who would dare drug someone of his status? His vision cleared just enough to make out the shapes moving toward him—four alphas, their grins slick with predatory hunger.

"Hello, doll," one of them sneered, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward.

Pain flared up his arm. Darrien hissed. "It was you fuckers, wasn't it?" His voice was sharp despite the drug fogging his system. "What did you put in my drink?"

"Something to make you obedient," one of them said, smiling darkly.

"Really?" Darrien's lips curled.

Idiots. Complete amateurs. Having Tayra Valmoor as a mother came with certain… advantages. He'd spent his entire childhood being poisoned and drugged under "training" conditions. Building immunity had been a survival requirement.

The drug was already breaking down in his system. The heat was fading, his thoughts sharpening.

Pathetic.

They really thought they could take him down with something this weak? How insulting.

Darrien let his body go slack, his head lolling to the side. Two of the alphas caught him, gripping his arms as they dragged him toward the hotel. How convenient. Did they think they were being subtle? The moment they dragged him past the front desk, they would be done for.

Darrien's mind remained sharp despite the haze lingering in his bloodstream. The alphas dragging him across the floor had no idea they were walking straight into a trap since Darrien also owned half of the hotel. The moment the front desk caught sight of them hauling him inside, security would be called without hesitation.

His staff was well-trained and knew exactly how to handle a situation like this. They knew the stakes of offending a Valmoor.

This wasn't the first time someone had tried to drug him and take advantage of his status. It came with the territory of being a first-class omega from a powerful bloodline.

But this? This was different. This was stupidity of the highest order. To try something like this in plain sight, within the walls of a club he owned, surrounded by staff loyal to him—it was laughable. These idiots clearly had no idea who they were dealing with.

The House of Valmoor had no shortage of enemies. Power, money, and influence bred jealousy like rot beneath polished marble floors. There were other first-class omegas within the kingdom—ambitious, desperate, and ruthless—who dreamed of unseating him, of taking his place as Kaylen's bonded mate.

Darrien had always known his position made him a target. He'd long since accepted that the moment he bonded with Kaylen, he'd gained as many enemies as he had admirers.

But none of those wolves circling the Valmoor name had been foolish enough to make a move so openly… until now.

These alphas must have thought they were clever, drugging him and planning to humiliate him, maybe even blackmail him afterward. Perhaps they imagined they'd make him vulnerable—ruin him in the eyes of the court, Kaylen, and the kingdom. Or maybe they just wanted to savor the power of bringing down a Valmoor, of making him crawl and beg. 

Fools.

The alphas had stripped down to nothing but their arrogance. Their clothes lay discarded across the floor, and the soft mechanical hum of the cameras they'd so carefully positioned filled the stale air.

Their movements were sharp and purposeful, prowling toward him like wolves circling a wounded deer. Darrien could see the gleam of anticipation in their eyes—hungry, vicious, and entitled.

They were close now, so close he could feel the heat radiating off their bare skin. One of them reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt—

—and that was as far as they got.

A wave of dread exploded through the room like a shockwave. Invisible and suffocating, it crashed into them with the brutal force of a battering ram.

Their bodies reacted before their minds could even comprehend what was happening. They staggered back as if struck, then crumpled to the floor, clutching at their heads, their breath hitching and eyes wide with primal fear.

Panic flared in their expressions, the instinctual kind that came from standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing too late that you were falling.

Darrien sat up on the bed with the lazy grace of a predator rousing from sleep. His blue eyes were cold as ice, glittering beneath the dim lighting. Golden hair clung damply to his forehead, strands curling from sweat. His expression sharpened into a smile—mocking and dangerous.

"What's wrong, boys?" His voice was low and taunting, every syllable dripping with contempt. "Why are you writhing on the floor like that?"

One of the alphas tried to lift his head, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as if he couldn't quite form words. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, his body instinctively folding in on itself.

Another let out a strangled whimper, curling into the fetal position.

Darrien leaned back against the headboard, stretching out his legs like he had all the time in the world. A delicate yawn escaped his lips. Then he focused on them again.

Another wave of pheromones slammed into their bodies. This time it was concentrated, precise—a sharpened blade of pure terror. The alphas convulsed violently as if invisible hands were twisting their bones out of place. Their faces contorted in agony, mouths stretched in silent screams.

"You look like you're in pain," Darrien said softly, tilting his head. His smile deepened, cold and unforgiving. "Good."

"P-pp…pppllleeease… ssstop!" one of them stammered, his voice thin and broken, barely more than a wheeze. Tears streaked down his flushed face as he writhed on the floor, body spasming under the crushing weight of Darrien's pheromones. His pupils were blown wide with terror, his limbs shaking violently as he tried and failed to crawl away from the source of his agony.

Darrien's expression sharpened, ice threading through his veins as he slowly slid off the bed. His bare feet touched the cold floor with a soft sound, and his movements were smooth and deliberate as he stalked toward them.

The alphas' naked bodies lay twisted and vulnerable at his feet, nothing but trembling prey beneath the shadow he cast.

"You want me to stop?" His voice was low, almost gentle, as he crouched beside the closest one. He reached out, the tips of his fingers tracing the line of the alpha's sweat-slicked jaw. The alpha flinched at the contact, eyes rolling back as another shuddering wave of terror rippled through his muscles.

"Would you have stopped," Darrien murmured, his lips inches from the alpha's ear, "if I had asked?"

"Yes…" the alpha managed to choke out the word, his voice thin and ragged. He was curled on his side, arms wrapped around himself as if he could physically shield himself from the suffocating force pressing down on him. "Y-yes… we would have s-stopped… I swear…"

Darrien's smile sharpened, a dangerous glint flashing in his sapphire eyes. "Don't lie."

He grabbed the alpha's chin between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You wouldn't have stopped. No matter how much I begged or screamed… no matter how broken I became beneath your hands."

His grip tightened until the alpha whimpered in pain. "I could feel it in your pheromones. That hunger. That sick anticipation. And pheromones…" Darrien's smile widened cruelly. "They never lie."

The alpha whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, but there was no escape from Darrien's voice. 

Darrien's gaze slid toward the nearest camera. He straightened, standing to his full height with the elegance beffiting a first-class omega, the faint sheen of sweat on his jade-like skin only making him more luminous. His lips curled into a wicked smile as he stared directly into the lens.

"Take a good, hard look at the consequences of messing with Darrien Valmoor." His voice was sharp as cut glass, ringing through the room with dark promise.

Then he closed his eyes.

Pheromones rippled from him in a toxic wave, but this time they weren't laced with fear. Lust. Raw, unfiltered lust poured into the air like smoke—thick and inescapable. His scent invaded their lungs, slipped beneath their skin, ignited their blood.

The alphas' tortured expressions twisted into something else—something mindless. Their eyes glazed over as the pheromones hijacked their nervous systems, flooding their brains with unbearable need.

A strangled moan escaped one of them as his hand slid over his own chest. Another turned toward the closest body, crawling toward him with shaking hands.

Like puppets on broken strings, they collapsed into each other. Lips crashing together. Hands clawing at skin. Kissing, biting, licking—desperation consuming them whole. They writhed on the floor, gasping and moaning, reduced to nothing but vessels of twisted desire.

Darrien's gaze darkened as he watched them lose themselves to the haze, wicked delight flickering in his sapphire eyes. He perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed lazily as the display unfolded beneath him.

And the best part?

It was all being recorded. Every obscene and humiliating second.