"You're tense," I observe, stopping a few feet behind her.
"I'm fine."
The lie is so obvious it's almost insulting. Her whole body is screaming tension—muscles coiled tight, breathing too shallow, every line of her frame speaking of barely controlled desperation.
"Liar." I move closer, close enough that my natural cold begins to radiate into her back. She shivers, a full-body tremor that has nothing to do with temperature. "Your body is screaming for something. But you keep fighting it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Another lie. The scent rolling off her tells me exactly how much she knows. Her pussy is getting wet just from my proximity, her body responding to alpha pheromones in ways she can't control. The omega in her recognizes what she needs even if her mind refuses to accept it.
I lean closer, my breath cold against the exposed skin of her neck. She's braided her hair up today, leaving that vulnerable curve of throat bare. An unconscious presentation, though she'd deny it if I pointed it out.
"Your scent says otherwise." My voice is barely above a whisper, but I know she hears every word. "You're getting wet just from me standing behind you."
She goes rigid, every muscle locking up. "That's not?—"
"It is." I let my voice drop to that tone that makes omegas shiver. "I can smell exactly how much you want me to touch you. How much you need it. Your pussy is aching for it."
The crude words make her flinch, but they also make her scent spike with arousal. She likes it when I talk to her like this—direct, explicit, reducing her to the most basic biological responses. It strips away the pretense, forces her to confront what she's becoming.
She spins around, water dripping from her hands, eyes blazing with fury and desperation. "I hate you."
"So you keep saying." I don't move back, keeping her trapped between my body and the counter. The space between us is charged with electricity, with the tension of predator and prey dancing around the inevitable. "But your hate doesn't smell like hate anymore, princess. It smells like hunger."
Her brown eyes are wild, pupils dilated with more than just anger. There's need there, raw and desperate. The kind of need that makes omegas do things they swore they'd never do.
"Stop."
"Stop what? Telling you the truth?" I reach up and brush a strand of auburn hair from her face, the one that always escapes her careful braids. She leans into the touch before catching herself, her body betraying her even as her mind fights. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still fighting."
The touch is electric. Simple skin contact, but it sends a shockwave through both of us. Her scent explodes with arousal, so strong it makes my fangs ache. Makes both my cocks throb against my trousers with the need to claim, to take, to make her mine in every way possible.
"I said stop." But her voice breaks on the words, revealing the lie beneath.
"Make me."
Something snaps in her eyes. The careful control she's been maintaining for days finally cracks, and pure rage pours out. Rage mixed with desperation, with need, with the kind of fury that comes from being forced to confront truths you're not ready to accept.
She launches herself at me with a snarl, fists flying toward my face with surprising speed and coordination. For a moment, I'm impressed—she's stronger than she looks, faster than her sheltered upbringing would suggest.
I catch her wrists easily, but she keeps fighting—kicking, twisting, trying to break free with desperate strength. Her wholebody is involved in the struggle, writhing against my grip with wild energy.
"Let me go!" she screams, her voice raw with emotion. "I hate you, I hate this place, I hate what you're doing to me!"
Perfect.
This is what I've been waiting for. The moment when her control finally breaks completely, when the facade falls away and I can see exactly what's underneath. Not the spoiled princess or the reluctantly obedient captive, but the desperate omega fighting her own nature.
I spin her around and press her against the wall, ice spreading across the stone behind her in intricate patterns. The magic responds to my will, but also to something else—to the energy crackling between us, to the omega pheromones flooding the air.
Her wrists are trapped above her head, her body pinned between unforgiving rock and my chest. The position forces her to arch her back, pressing her breasts against me, making her acutely aware of every point of contact.
The moment our bodies make full contact, something electric shoots through the air. Her scent spikes with pure arousal, so strong it makes both my cocks harden instantly against her hip. She gasps at the contact, her eyes going wide with shock and want.
She feels it too—the way her body goes soft and pliant against mine despite her mind's protests. The way every curve seems designed to fit against me, like we were made for this exact configuration.
The ice around us responds to her desire. Frost-flowers bloom across the walls in intricate patterns, delicate crystalline blossoms that unfurl in response to the omega nature she's been denying. The magic recognizes what she is even if she doesn't.
