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Look at you, nothing without me.

The Mark of the Lioness

The North American sun was unrelenting, but the heat radiating from Kylian Mbappé was far more dangerous. He stood in the VIP lounge of the team hotel, a glass of mineral water gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. His gaze was fixed on the terrace, where a post-match mixer was in full swing.

There, under the soft glow of fairy lights, was Achraf Hakimi.

But Achraf wasn't alone. He was leaned against a marble pillar, laughing—that same bright, melodic sound that usually made Kylian’s heart swell, but now made his blood boil. Standing far too close to him was a woman, a stunning Moroccan influencer and model who had been trailing the team as a 'cultural ambassador.' She was an Alpha—sleek, confident, and currently, her hand was resting firmly on Achraf’s forearm.

Kylian’s nostrils flared. His scent, usually a refined cedar, was turning into the acrid, choking smell of a forest fire. He could see it from across the room: the way Achraf was tilting his head, the way he was playing with the hem of his shirt, acting every bit the sweet, accommodating Omega. He was being *too* nice. He was being a people pleaser again, but this time, he was leaning into the woman’s space, whispering something that made her throw her head back and laugh.

"Kylian, you're staring," Ousmane Dembélé muttered, stepping up beside him. "You’re going to scare the staff if you keep leaking pheromones like that. You smell like you’re ready to commit a felony."

"She’s touching him," Kylian hissed, his voice a low, vibrating growl that sat deep in his chest. "She’s an Alpha. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She can smell my mark on him, and she’s ignoring it."

Ousmane glanced over, then winced. "To be fair, Ky, Achraf is acting up. Look at him. He’s practically preening. Maybe he’s tired of you being a possessive prick and wants to see if the grass is greener."

Kylian didn't respond. He didn't need to. The internal wiring of his brain was already beginning to short-circuit. In the Alpha-Omega hierarchy, Kylian had always been dominant, but there was a dark, obsessive streak in him that the World Cup pressure was magnifying. He didn't just want Achraf; he needed to own the very air Achraf breathed. The thought of another Alpha—even a woman—putting their hands on what was *his* triggered a primal, yandere-like shift in his psyche.

On the terrace, Achraf caught Kylian’s eye. Instead of pulling away from the woman, Achraf gave her a dazzling smile and took a sip of her drink. It was a provocation. A small, rebellious streak from the Omega who was tired of being tucked away in dark gyms and told who he belonged to.

Kylian set his glass down on a passing waiter’s tray with a clink that sounded like a death knell. He didn't walk toward the terrace; he stalked.

As he stepped into the humid night air, the conversation around the Moroccan model died down. The Alphas in the room instinctively felt the shift in the atmosphere—a heavy, suffocating pressure that signaled a predator was on the move.

"Achraf," Kylian said. It wasn't a greeting. it was an ultimatum.

Achraf turned, his expression a mask of innocent surprise. "Oh, Kylian! Have you met Sofia? She was just telling me about the charity gala in Marrakech. She wants me to be the guest of honor."

Sofia, the Alpha woman, didn't back down. She kept her hand on Achraf’s arm, her eyes scanning Kylian with a challenging glint. "It’s a pleasure, Mbappé. I’ve heard so much about your... friendship."

Kylian’s eyes dropped to her hand. His vision swam with a red tint. "The 'friendship' is none of your concern," he said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper. "But the fact that you’re touching something that doesn't belong to you is."

Achraf’s scent spiked with a mix of fear and a strange, submissive thrill. "Kylian, don't be rude. We’re just talking."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Kylian stepped into Sofia’s personal space, his height and sheer physical presence forcing her to finally pull her hand back. "He’s an Omega on a national team during the most important tournament of his life. He doesn't need 'charity' distractions. He needs to focus."

"I think Achraf can decide what he needs for himself," Sofia countered, though her voice wavered under the sheer weight of Kylian’s killing intent.

Kylian leaned in close to her ear, his voice so low only she could hear it. "If I see your hand on him again, I will make sure your credentials are revoked before the sun rises. And if you ever scent-mark him, I’ll forget there are cameras here. Do you understand?"

Sofia paled, the primal instinct to survive overriding her Alpha pride. She took a step back, muttered a quick excuse to Achraf, and vanished into the crowd.

Achraf turned on Kylian, his eyes flashing with a rare spark of anger. "What is wrong with you? You can't just drive people away like that! She’s important for my image, Kylian!"

Kylian didn't answer with words. He grabbed Achraf’s wrist, his grip like a vice, and began pulling him toward the elevators.

"Kylian! Stop! People are watching!" Achraf stumbled behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Kylian ignored him. He was beyond caring about optics. He was in a cold, shimmering rage that demanded total isolation with his prize. He dragged Achraf into an empty elevator and slammed his hand against the button for the top floor—his private suite.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Kylian pinned Achraf against the mirrored wall. The Omega let out a soft "oof" as the Alpha’s body slammed into his, heavy and solid.

"You liked it," Kylian growled, his face inches from Achraf’s. "You liked her touching you. You liked making me watch."

Achraf tried to push him back, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "You’re being crazy! You're acting like a lunatic! I’m allowed to have friends, Kylian. I’m allowed to talk to people!"

"Not Alphas," Kylian snapped, his hand moving up to grip Achraf’s throat—not to hurt, but to possess, his thumb pressing firmly against the pulse point. "Not when you carry my scent. Not when you have my marks on your skin. You were acting like a harlot out there, Achraf. Flirting, laughing... did you want her to take you home? Is that it?"

"No!" Achraf cried out, his voice breaking. The "t" in his protest was replaced by a soft, breathless "h" as his biology began to betray him under Kylian’s overwhelming aura. "I just... I wanted you to see that I’m not just a trophy you can lock away. I’m a person."

"You’re *my* person," Kylian corrected, his eyes dark and swirling with an obsessive light. He leaned down, his nose dragging along Achraf’s jawline. "And if you ever try to use another Alpha to make me jealous again, I’ll make sure you can’t walk onto that pitch. I’ll keep you in this room, fed and watered and spent, until the World Cup is over. Do you think I’m joking?"

Achraf shivered, a sob escaping his lips. He looked up at Kylian and saw something he hadn't seen before—a total loss of restraint. This wasn't just a jealous boyfriend; this was an Alpha who had moved into yandere territory, someone who would burn the world down just to ensure he was the only thing in Achraf’s line of sight.

"You're scaring me," Achraf whispered, his hands trembling as they rested on Kylian’s shoulders.

"Good," Kylian muttered, his mouth moving to the mark he had left the night before. It was fading, a pale bruise against Achraf’s golden skin. "It means you’re finally realizing that I don't play games. You are mine, Achraf. Every smile, every look, every breath. If I see you give them to someone else again, I’ll take them away."

He bit down. Hard.

Achraf screamed into the quiet of the elevator, his legs giving out as Kylian’s teeth broke the skin, re-claiming the territory. The metallic taste of blood filled Kylian’s mouth, and for a moment, the world was perfect. The scent of orange blossom was being drowned out by the heavy, iron-rich scent of a fresh claim and Kylian’s own suffocating cedar.

The elevator doors opened on the top floor. Kylian didn't let go. He scooped Achraf up into his arms, carrying the sobbing, overwhelmed Omega toward his suite.

Once inside, the door was kicked shut and locked. Kylian threw Achraf onto the massive king-sized bed, standing over him like a conqueror. Achraf scrambled back against the headboard, his eyes wide, his chest heaving.

"Kylian, please... talk to me. Don't be like this."

Kylian began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. "I’m done talking. I spent all night watching you give yourself away to the world. Now, I’m going to remind you who you actually belong to. I’m going to make sure that when you go to sleep tonight, the only name you can remember is mine."

He crawled onto the bed, his shadow looming over Achraf. The Omega’s sweet, people-pleasing nature took over; even in his fear, he reached out for the Alpha, his body craving the very thing that was consuming him.

"Smuh," Achraf whimpered, the word a broken plea for affection amidst the intensity.

Kylian didn't give him affection. He gave him obsession. He stripped Achraf with a frantic, desperate energy, his hands roaming over every inch of skin as if searching for any lingering trace of the woman’s touch. He kissed every spot he thought she might have looked at, his mouth hot and demanding.

"Tell me," Kylian commanded, his fingers tangling in Achraf’s hair, pulling his head back so their eyes met. "Tell me who you are."

"I’m... I’m yours," Achraf choked out, his eyes brimming with tears. "I’m Kylian’s. Only Kylian’s."

"Say it again. Until you believe it. Until it’s the only truth in your head."

Kylian entered him without the slow build-up of the previous night. This was raw, territorial, and fueled by a dark need to mark Achraf from the inside out. He was relentless, his body a weapon of possession. Every thrust was a statement: *You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.*

Achraf’s cries echoed in the plush room, a mixture of agony and the kind of intense, soul-shattering pleasure that only an Omega could feel when being completely dominated by their Alpha. He felt like he was disappearing, melting into Kylian’s shadow, and a terrifying part of him loved it. He loved being the center of this dark, twisted universe.

As the hours passed, Kylian didn't tire. He moved from marking Achraf’s neck to his shoulders, his chest, his thighs. He wanted the Moroccan national team to see the bruises tomorrow. He wanted the world to see the evidence of his obsession.

"You’re so beautiful when you’re broken for me," Kylian whispered, his voice thick with a terrifying tenderness as he watched Achraf come for the fourth time, his body limp and shaking.

Kylian finally collapsed on top of him, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against Achraf’s back. He wrapped his arms around the Omega, pinning him to his chest in a crushing embrace.

"If you ever look at her again," Kylian murmured into the silence of the room, "I’ll break her legs. And then I’ll lock you in here and never let you see the sun. Do you understand, my rose?"

Achraf, exhausted and completely spent, could only let out a soft, broken sound. He was too tired to fight, too overwhelmed by the Alpha’s pheromones to care about his freedom. He turned in Kylian’s arms, burying his face in the Alpha’s neck, seeking the very scent that had just enslaved him.

"I understand, Ky," he whispered, his voice a mere ghost of itself. "I’m yours. Always."

Kylian smiled in the dark, a predatory, satisfied curve of his lips. He had won. The World Cup was still out there, the rivalry was still simmering, but in this room, there was only one victor. He pulled the silk sheets over them, holding his prize tight, already planning how he would watch Achraf from the sidelines tomorrow—marking him with his eyes, ensuring that no one, not even a queen, would dare to touch what belonged to the king.

The desert rose had been claimed by the fire, and in the ashes of Achraf’s resistance, a new, darker bond had been forged. Kylian would never let go. Not now, not in Paris, not ever. He was the biggest wolf, and he had finally brought his prey home.