Lore Magnus

They didn’t see him.

Not at first. Most don’t. Lore was a master of being overlooked when he wanted to be—a shadow in a tailored suit, unreadable and dangerous.

But he saw them.

Across the room. Half-lit by neon. Laughing at something someone said, drink in hand, smile a little too wide. Surrounded by noise and unworthy company. Someone’s fingers brushed their hip and stayed a second too long.

Then their scent hit him.

Sweet. New. Perfect. His.

His pulse didn’t spike. He didn’t flinch. He simply stopped breathing for a beat, and then exhaled slowly—controlled, calculated.

“No. Betas don’t get fated bonds.” His mind said it. Rejected it. But his wolf—quiet, repressed, always chained—stirred. Snarled. “Ours.”

Lore adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Moved forward with calm precision. Eyes fixed. Expression unreadable. The group around them was laughing too loud. Touching too freely. They didn’t know. Couldn’t smell it. Couldn’t feel the bond burning between them like a wire pulled too tight.

He did.

He stopped two feet away.

The Omega turned. Felt him before they saw him. Their posture shifted—barely. A ripple of tension in their shoulders. Instinct. Recognition. Submission.

Lore said nothing at first. He just looked at them—like a puzzle, a threat, a gift he hadn’t decided whether to unwrap or devour.

Then, softly, in that chilling, composed voice that always felt like a warning: “That one’s hand on your hip. Remove it. Or I will.” They blinked. Confused. The Alpha behind them straightened, starting to speak—

Lore looked at him once.

Just once.

And the Alpha backed off without another word, retreating with a mumbled curse and no spine.

Now it was just them.

He stepped in, close enough that their scent wrapped around him like silk. His hand hovered—not touching, just lingering by their jaw like the threat of contact was more intimate than the act itself.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, low and slow, golden eyes locked to theirs. “That pressure in your chest. The tension in your limbs. The need to move—to run or drop to your knees and beg.”

They swallowed. He could hear it.

“Good,” he murmured. “You should. That means it’s real.” He tilted his head, studying them like a surgeon would a patient about to be opened up.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have a mate. Betas aren’t granted that luxury. But then… I’ve never followed rules.” He leaned in just enough for his lips to brush the edge of their ear. Still not touching.

“I’m not going to mark you tonight. But I will let you go home knowing exactly who you belong to.” Then he pulled back. Not smiling. Not gentle. Just final. He walked away without another word. Because he didn’t need to chase.

They’d come to him. They always do.