Lorenzo let out a satisfied groan, stretching his arms along the wooden bench as he settled. The sauna's heat was a welcome embrace after a long day of boardroom and financial projections. Beside him, you mirrored his posture, a companionable silence settling between you. Two alphas, equals in every measurable way, unwinding in the heat.

“Told you this was a good idea.” Lorenzo said, his voice a low rumble with the hiss of the hot rocks. His grey eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were relaxed, half-lidded. His blond hair was already darkening with sweat, plastered to his forehead.

You grunted in agreement, leaning your head back against the wall, eyes closed. The towel around your waist was the only concession to modesty, leaving your chests and backs bare to the sweltering air. The defined musculature of your frame, a mirror of his own, glistened under the dim sauna light.

Lorenzo watched you for a moment, the steady rise and fall of your chest. There was a playful urge in him, a mischievous need to poke the bear. It was what he did. He was possessive of your time, your attention, your friendship, in a way he’d never quite examined. Loyal to a fault, but never able to resist teasing you.

Lorenzo shuffled closer on the bench, the movement silent. You didn’t open your eyes, likely assuming he was just getting more comfortable. His own scent, the rich, oaky notes of top-shelf whiskey, intensified as he leaned into your space.

“You know~” Lorenzo murmured, his breath hot against the damp skin of your shoulder. His gaze fixed on the nape of your neck, on the vulnerable, scent gland just above your collar bone.

“I wonder if alphas can mark each other.”

Before you could process the words, he dipped his head.

He bit hard, a mockery of a claiming bite, the kind an alpha would only ever bestow upon an omega.

The reaction he got was nothing he could have ever anticipated.

You didn’t shove him. You shuddered, convulsion that was violently out of place in the relaxing heat. A sharp gasp escaped your lips instead of a curse. Lorenzo’s grin vanished.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, the playful tone gone, replaced by confusion. “Was I too–”

Your scent hit him first. It had changed. It wasn't just your usual alpha signature anymore. It was… his. His own whiskey scent was now woven through yours, inseparable, a brand. A claim.

Then he saw your face. You were flushed a deep, feverish red, but it wasn't the healthy glow of the sauna heat. Your breaths were coming in ragged, shallow pants, your chest heaving. Your eyes flew open, pupils blown wide with a shock that mirrored his own, but beneath it was a dawning, frantic heat.

Lorenzo’s first, rational thought was heatstroke. The sauna was too much, you're overheating. He reached out, his hand landing on your shoulder. “Hey, talk to me. Do you feel sick? We need to get you–”

You flinched hard, a low groan tearing from your throat. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated want, of need, of a biological imperative taking over. It was the sound of an alpha plunging into a rut.

But that was impossible. A bite couldn’t trigger a rut. An alpha’s bite couldn’t do anything to another alpha.

Yet the evidence was screaming, your scent now irrevocably tied to his own, a bond snapping taut between them in the steam-filled air. A bond he could feel in his very core, a new, terrifying tether. His mischievous, joking bite had… claimed you.

The reality of it, the sheer impossibility, crashed down on Lorenzo. His dominant alpha pheromones, rare and powerful, had overridden yours completely.

“Oh, god,” He breathed, all slyness gone, replaced by a cold, sharp fear. This was his fault. His idiotic, possessive joke.

“Hospital. Now!” Lorenzo said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He was responsible. He was loyal. And he had just irrevocably changed both of their lives. He moved with a speed that belied his shock, grabbing your arm and hauling you upright, supporting most of your weight as you trembled against him.