Page 1 of My Defiant Mate
Toby
Ten-thirty p.m. All quiet on the second floor of Westbridge Hall.
Except for the bass vibrating through my teeth.
I frown before I can stop myself, the tip of my pen pressing a small, angry indent into the page of my Poli-Sci textbook. I'm trying to read about bicameral legislature, but the relentlessthump-thump-thumpfrom upstairs makes it impossible to concentrate.
Room 3B. Again.
Third noise violation this week. Same room. Same guy. Same total disregard for the rules that makes my job a nightmare. Jionni Alarie. The name itself sounds like chaos.
I close my textbook, the soft thud lost under the assault of a screeching guitar riff. I stand and walk across my room—2A, the RA suite. My bed is made with perfect hospital corners. My desk is organized by subject, each folder labeled in my neatest print. There are no photos of friends on the wall, no silly souvenirs from late-night adventures. Just textbooks, schedules, and the quiet tick of my alarm clock counting down to tomorrow'sresponsibilities. My room is a sanctuary of order, and I can feel the vibrations from 3B trying to shake the walls down.
I feel that familiar tightness in my chest. This job, this scholarship, is the only reason I'm here. I can still picture my parents at the kitchen table, poring over the university's financial aid forms, the lines of worry etched around their eyes. I can still hear my father's quiet pride when I told them I got the RA position. "That's my boy," he'd said. "Always responsible."
The weight of that responsibility is a constant pressure. I can't afford to fail. Not when I still remember Head Resident Henderson's cold smile when he hired me, how he tapped my file with one bony finger. "Don't disappoint me, Song-Gi," he'd said, his voice thin and dry as old paper. "Your scholarship depends on it."
My shoulders tense at the memory. He wasn't kidding. He fired Melissa from the fourth floor last month for missing bed checks twice. Her parents had to take out a second mortgage.
I can't let that happen.
The bass from 3B seems to mock me, a constant reminder that I'm failing to keep order. Written warnings haven't worked. The first one I found crumpled in the trash. The second was folded into an origami middle finger and left on my door.
Enough. I'm done with notes. I'm handling this face-to-face.
I smooth down my polo shirt and clip my official RA badge to the front. It's a small thing, but symbols matter. Time to be Mr. Student Handbook, noise violation section.
I walk out of my room, closing the door with a soft, controlled click. The hallway stretches ahead under the energy-efficient lights I pushed for last semester. A flyer on the bulletin board is crooked. I stop to straighten it, lining it up perfectly with the others. Better.
My shoes tap against the linoleum as I walk. Even that small sound feels right—ordered, predictable. The bass gets strongerwith each step. The one spot of chaos on my otherwise perfect floor.
"Community standards exist for a reason," I murmur, rehearsing. "Your right to listen to music ends where it infringes on others' right to study and sleep." Firm but fair. Professional.
The music is a physical force by the time I reach his door, pounding against my chest. I raise my hand and knock—three sharp, authoritative raps.
The music cuts off instantly. The sudden silence is so absolute it's almost as jarring as the noise was. I hear a shuffling sound, then footsteps.
I straighten my spine, clipboard held at the ready. I am the RA. I am in control.
The door swings open.
And my world fractures.
Jionni Alarie. Shirtless. A living canvas of black ink and lean muscle. A raven in flight stretches across his left pectoral, its wings extending toward a powerful shoulder. Geometric patterns and musical notes wind down his right arm. His dark curls are a chaotic mess, and a silver hoop glints in one ear.
But it's not his body that makes my knees give out.
It's his scent.
It hits me like a punch, bypassing my brain and going straight to some primal part of me I never knew was there. It smells like the air right before a storm breaks, like the dark coffee I drink during all-night study sessions, like warm skin and something I can't name but my body recognizes instantly.
Alpha.
My clipboard slips from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor. I feel a heavy, liquid heat in my stomach that spreads until I'm burning from the inside out. My skin tingles everywhere, like static electricity. My mouth goes dry. The room behind him, the entire hallway, seems to shrink until there's nothing but him.
"What the—" Jionni starts, his voice a low baritone. Then he stops.
His expression changes in a heartbeat. The lazy smirk he'd worn vanishes, replaced by a look of raw, predatory focus. His eyes, a stormy gray, darken to slate, pupils blowing wide until they nearly swallow the color.
