Making History

few minutes later, Seth found himself inside a suite room but with another Alpha.

The air in the suite was no longer oxygen; it was a volatile mix of Seth’s desperate, blooming lilies and Caesar’s crushing, thunder-on-the-horizon musk. The thermal transition was violent. Seth felt the cool air of the room vanish, replaced by the radiating heat of the man kneeling before him.

Caesar didn’t just look at Seth; he dismantled him with a gaze. The "Scholar-Prince" was unravelling—his pristine shirt damp with sweat, his silver-rimmed glasses askew, and his pulse visible in the frantic throb of his carotid artery.

"Your family calls this perfection," Caesar murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle directly into Seth's marrow. He reached out, his large hand wrapping almost entirely around Seth’s throat—not to choke, but to anchor. "I call it a cage. You’re vibrating with the need to be ruined, Professor."

Seth’s fingers clawed at Caesar’s forearms, his nails digging into the expensive fabric of the Alpha’s sleeves. "If you... touch me... my father will burn your empire to the ground."

"Let him try," Caesar countered, his thumb dragging across Seth’s lower lip, forcing it down to reveal the small, sharp teeth of an Omega in distress. "By the time he finds you, you’ll be wearing my mark. The Li Vicus legacy doesn't survive a Yale claim. You’d be a pariah to them. But to me?"

Caesar leaned in, his nose brushing against the scent gland behind Seth’s ear. Seth let out a broken, high-pitched keen that made Caesar’s pupils blow out until his eyes were solid black.

"To me, you’d finally be something other than a trophy."

The first firework of the New Year exploded outside the window, a burst of crimson that bathed the room in a bloody light. The sound masked Seth’s gasp as Caesar’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his shoulder.

Seth’s mind was a battlefield. His intellect—the pride of the Li Vicus line—was screaming for him to flee, to fight, to preserve the "Pure-Blood" sanctity. But his body was a traitor. Every cell was screaming for the Alpha’s weight to crush the heat out of him.

"Please," Seth whispered. It was unclear if he was begging Caesar to stop or to finish what he started.

"Please what, Seth?" Caesar’s hand slid from his throat to his waist, pulling him flush against a chest that felt like heated granite. "Tell me exactly what the Yale technology missed that your 'history' didn't. Tell me what you want."

"I want..." Seth’s head fell back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat. His pride snapped like a dry twig. "I want you to stop talking."

Caesar didn't need a second invitation. He surged forward, his mouth crashing against Seth’s in a kiss that tasted of bourbon and desperation. It wasn't the polite, calculated courtship of the elite; it was a reclamation.

Seth’s hands migrated from Caesar’s arms to his hair, pulling him closer, begging for the friction. The "Flash Heat" had stripped away the professor, the archaeologist, and the heir, leaving only the raw, fundamental truth of the man underneath.

As the clock struck midnight and the sky erupted in gold, Caesar pulled back just enough to look Seth in the eye—to ensure the Li Vicus heir knew exactly who was breaking him.

"Happy New Year, Seth," Caesar growled, his hand moving to the buckle of Seth’s belt. "Let’s see how much history we can make in one night."

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