The beta jolts upright, hair sticking up, eyes wide and wild with sleep. “What?” he blurts, voice rushed. “What happened?” He blinks like he’s struggling to focus.
“Wake up,” Knox snaps, already kneeling to lower me into my nest. But when he tries to release me, I cling to him, fingers trembling as they grab hold of his arm. I can’t let go—I need him close, his scent, his voice, anything that keeps the pain from swallowing me whole.
“Sky,” he mutters, low and rough, trying to peel me off him. I shake my head, desperate, my fists twisting in the fabric of his shirt.
“No!” I scream when he pries my hands off of him.
“I’m just trying to take your clothes off,” he says, voice steady even as I shake. His hands move fast, tugging my shirt over my head. “Fuck, you’re burning up.”
I try to protest, but my words dissolve into a chokedsound. Every inch of skin that’s freed feels fever-hot, my pulse stuttering.
“What’s happening?” Dakota’s soft voice cuts through my delirium.
“She’s okay,” Knox says to the beta. Then his voice drops to something firm and commanding. “Call Tadeo. Skyla’s in heat.”
Covered in Slick
Skyla
This can’t bemy heat.
There was no warning. No slow buildup, no dull ache, no hint of what was coming. Just sudden, bone-deep agony that claws through my gut, like it’s trying to tear me apart from the inside out.
Dakota shifts off the bed, fumbling for his phone on the dresser. The movement feels too loud, too clumsy—each sound a jagged spike through my already frayed nerves.
He mutters something under his breath, probably to Knox, but I can’t focus. Every sense feels raw, turned up too high. The faint scrape of fabric, the shift of air, the uneven pattern of the pillows—wrong, wrong, wrong.
When Dakota moves to climb back into the nest, one of the pillows tilts out of place, and it hits me like a slap.
“Don’t!” The word rips out before I can stop it. My body moves on instinct. I shove Knox away hard, desperation driving me as I reach for the scattered bedding. “Don’t touch it!”
My nest is supposed to feel safe, perfect, balanced—but it’s not. The shape is wrong, the layers uneven. My hands shake as I tear into it, yanking blankets, fluffing pillows, rearranging until my vision blurs.
Somewhere behind me, Knox says my name—soft but edged with worry. I can’t stop. I can’t breathe until it’s fixed. Until it feelsright.
Then Alex’s voice cuts through the sound of my frantic breathing, sharp and raw. “What the hell is she doing?” But it’s not anger that makes him sound hard. It’s need. A low, strained growl under his words that makes the air itself seem to vibrate. My head jerks up, and for a split second, everything stills.
They’re all standing at the edge of the nest. Dakota’s the only one who looks like himself—soft eyes, mouth drawn tight with worry—but Knox and Alex…
Their scents hit me like an avalanche, thick and heady, rolling through the room like a freight train. Their pupils are blown wide, muscles tense, every breath pulled through clenched teeth. They lookhungry. Feral. Their alpha urges right there beneath their skin, too close to the surface.
“Strip,” Knox orders Alex as he tugs his shirt over his head. My mouth waters as I watch them peel out of their clothes, showing me every yummy dip and curve of their bodies.
Broad shoulders, muscular thighs, and cocks heavy and leaking already.
The sight of all that coiled muscle and the thick weight of their scents tangling in the air, pulls a soft, desperate mewl from me.
I hum as I push the last pillow in place, patting it sweetly before I turn my full attention to my mates. Everynerve in my body aches for their big, strong bodies to press me down and make this pain stop.
But it’s not quite right.
Because one of my alphas isn’t here.
“Tadeo,” I whisper, his name slipping out like a plea. I clutch the nearest blanket, twisting the fabric between trembling fingers. I need him, too. His steadiness. His control. The way his scent smooths out all the rough edges inside me.
Without him, everything feels off-kilter—too sharp, too hot. It’s like my body’s begging for something it can’t survive without.
“It’s okay, Sky,” Dakota whispers, his voice soft but cautious as he crouches near the edge of my nest. His hands hover there—too close.
