I nod slowly. “I asked him a few days ago. He said probably not this time. But yeah, eventually, they’ll likely sync.”
Oli clicks his tongue, dragging a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Two omegas in heat. That might kill us.”
I smirk. “There are worse ways to go.”
Then it hits.
A scream.
High-pitched. Guttural. Raw.
Followed immediately by a burst of perfume—sweet and sharp, citrusy and overwhelming. Lemon and sunshine andslick. I smell it through the fuckingwalls.
Oli and I lock eyes. No words. Shared instinct.
She needs us.
The Cabin
Autry
I feellike I’m dying.
My heat has never come on like this before—vicious and raw, like someone’s pulling my guts out through my goddamn vagina. Every nerve feels overexposed. Every heartbeat sends a new wave of pain crashing through me.
And I’m scared.
I’m scared that my pack will hate me for forcing them to run. That they’ll regret bringing me or that they’ll all reject me for being a murderer. Deep down, I know these thoughts are stupid, but they won’t let up. They keep forcing their way back into my head.
So instead, I try to focus on the omega rushing around the room.
Charlie looks panicked, grabbing every blanket, every hoodie, every soft thing we’ve managed to bring with us, and tossing it all onto the king-sized bed like he can fix this. Like a pile of clothes will make it better.
But he’s frantic. Too frantic. And the nest is wrong.
“Stop,” I hiss, voice trembling with growing rage and desperation.
He freezes mid-motion, holding one of Rhett’s shirts up like it might protect him.
My instincts snap and I fling myself onto the bed, snatching the blankets and pillows. I begin rearranging everything myself. Shoving. Folding. Nesting. My body knows what it needs even if my brain is drowning in heat-fog.
Charlie drops the shirt, then steps back, holding his hands up. Myrick comes to the doorway, concern etched on his face, but Charlie holds out an arm to stop him.
“She’s not ready for us,” Charlie says quietly, like he’s talking about a wild animal.
And maybe I am.
I know what I must look like—sweat-slicked, eyes glassy, crawling across the bed in nothing but my underwear and a thin undershirt. I can feel how tangled my hair is as my breath comes in short, pained gasps. But I don’t care.
My heat is a living thing inside me now—clawing, burning, demanding. But I can’t find a second of peace until this nest is right. Until every fold, every soft corner feels safe.
My hands tremble as I tuck and pat, adjust and shape. It’s not right.It’s not right.
Nothing is right.
But I keep going anyway, because it’s all Icando.
I don’t hear the door open, or smell them over the burn of my own fever. But Ifeelthem—like gravity shifting, pulling at the raw center within me.Rhett and Oli are here.
