Chapter 68: Dangerous Standoff

Whistling a low, careless tune as he strolled down the corridor toward the dormitory building, Otto kept his hands tucked casually into his pockets, his posture loose and unbothered. He had no classes until two in the afternoon, and after the thoroughly disappointing waste of time he had just endured, all he wanted was a good long nap.

If only he could find someone who was actually worth the effort. Maybe he should talk to Ambrose and Preston about arranging something for the weekend. It had been a long time since he’d had a real fuck, the kind that left him genuinely satisfied instead of irritated and looking for more the moment it was over. It was hard finding someone open-minded enough to agree to the kind of arrangement he actually enjoyed, but nothing provides a proper release quite like sharing a target with his friends.

Whenever they managed it, the experience always left him completely recharged. The thrill, the chaos, and the unspoken competition over who could thrust the hardest always left him far more satisfied than doing it alone.

Fuck, we really need to set something up soon.

Pulling out his key card, Otto unlocked the door to the room he shared with his friends and stepped inside, only to freeze dead in his tracks. The whistle died on his lips.

Beatrice was sitting in the center of the lounge area with complete authority, as though she owned the entire place. One leg was crossed elegantly over the other, her arms stretched comfortably across the backrest of the sofa.

Right in front of her, Ambrose and Preston were down on their knees, their heads bowed low like disgraced servants awaiting judgment.

The sight hit Otto like a punch to the gut, annoyance and irritation immediately flaring in his chest. His friends looked utterly humiliated, stripped of every ounce of their usual arrogance and confidence.

Slowly, he clicked the door shut behind him, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Beatrice.

"What the hell is this, Princess?" Otto demanded, glancing between Beatrice and his two friends. "Why are my friends kneeling?"

Beatrice slowly shifted her gaze toward him, a cold, dangerous smile spreading across her lips.

"Because, Otto," she said smoothly, drumming her fingers lazily against the backrest, "they are being punished on your behalf."

"What are you talking about?" Otto demanded, his voice dangerously low as he fought back the violent urge to cross the room and put Beatrice in her place. The sub-royal princess studied him for several long seconds, her expression unreadable. Slowly, she let out a quiet sigh and rose to her feet with calculated composure.

"I’ve come to realize something fantastic about you, Otto Guzman," she said, smoothing an invisible crease from her sleeve. "Trying to discipline you directly whenever you mess up is pointless. You never listen. You never learn."

She took a few deliberate steps toward him.

"But I’ve discovered that the quickest way to truly get through to someone like you is by hurting the people they hold closest."

Her gaze flicked briefly toward Ambrose and Preston. "Unfortunately for me, you don’t love anybody. You don’t respect anybody. You don’t even value anybody." The smile on her face sharpened. "Anybody except these two."

Otto’s expression darkened immediately.

"Are you sure you’re not making a massive mistake right now, Princess?" he asked, taking a deliberate step toward her. "Are you absolutely sure you won’t regret this?"

A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he closed some of the distance between them.

"Think very carefully about what you’re doing," he said, his tone dropping into a sharp threat. "You’re currently in the boys’ dormitory, standing inside a room filled with people loyal to me. Anything can happen, Princess Beatrice."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Beatrice’s face, though she quickly tried to mask it. "You wouldn’t dare."

​"Try me. Try me Beatrice. " Otto said, completely dropping any trace of respect or formal titles. "You really don’t want to find out what an Alpha in rut is capable of when a female wolf comes sniffing in his territory."

"You are going to be punished severely if you so much as lay a finger on me," Beatrice countered, trying to hold her ground.

Otto shrugged carelessly. "I’m in rut. Everyone knows a wolf in rut loses control. My actions would be justified, and I’d walk away with nothing more than a minor slap on the wrist."

"You’re not in rut!" Beatrice said sharply.

"Says who?" Otto smirked. "I’m in rut when I say I’m in rut. It’s my word against yours, and I happen to have witnesses right here."

At his words, Ambrose and Preston slowly rose from the floor, smirking like hungry hyenas as they eyed Beatrice, waiting for a single command from Otto to move.

Beatrice felt a knot form in her stomach as a rare pulse of genuine fear struck her. She often forgot just how unhinged Otto Guzman could be when pushed, his erratic temper making him entirely unpredictable regardless of who was standing before him. She had always convinced herself she had him under control, but moments like this reminded her just how wrong she was.

"Are you forgetting that I’m the one who helped you?" Beatrice asked, her voice tight as she forced herself to stand her ground. "The only reason your punishment was lifted before it was supposed to be is because of me."

"Which I’m always grateful for," Otto said smoothly, taking another step closer. "But the moment you involve my friends, that gratitude will disappear. If you want our little partnership to continue working smoothly, leave Ambrose and Preston out of your annoying games."

Beatrice swallowed, quickly composing herself and reclaiming her confidence.

"Then explain to me why Mikhail was seen carrying that filthy lottery girl out of the training hall. I sent you to get close to her and draw her away so Mikhail would lose interest. Instead, they seem to be growing closer."

Otto rolled his eyes. "It’s hardly my fault. The girl collapsed the second she stepped inside the training room. She’s so fragile that the mere sight of a combat training hall makes her faint."

"I don’t care," Beatrice snapped. "You were supposed to get close to her. If someone has to carry her out, it should be you and not my Mikhail!"

Otto let out a short laugh. "Does Prince Mikhail even know you’ve already laid claim to him?"

Beatrice shot him a venomous glare.

"Relax, I’m working on it," Otto said with an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I’m doing what I can. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to get closer to her. I’ll handle it, so just chill." His expression hardened abruptly. "But do not ever lay a hand on my friends again, or you won’t like the side of me you unleash."

Beatrice scowled. "Just get her away from my man. Do it quickly, or I will personally see to it that your punishment is reinstated and you’re shipped back to District Fifteen."

Otto’s jaw clenched, his body tensing before he slowly took a steady breath and forced himself to relax. "Fine, I’ll do whatever I have to do."

Beatrice offered a cold, triumphant grin.

"You’d better." Brushing past him, she yanked the door open and stepped out into the hallway, slamming it shut behind her.

Otto let out a heavy exhale, running a hand over his face. "Fuck. I hate that bitch. She’s going to get what’s coming to her one day." He turned toward Ambrose and Preston. "I’m sorry you had to deal with that humiliation because of me."

"Don’t worry about it," Ambrose said, shaking his head. "We know how she operates."

Preston nodded in agreement. "We’ve survived worse."

Otto dropped heavily onto the sofa Beatrice had just vacated, rubbing his temples. Outside in the corridor, Beatrice stomped angrily down the hallway, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. Suddenly, her phone chimed with an incoming text. She pulled it out and opened the messaging app, her brows furrowing instantly.

"What the fuck?" she muttered to herself.

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What do you think Beatrice saw on her phone?