The hallway opened into a larger room—mismatched furniture, windows showing darkness outside, a worn couch against one wall. Cass had a brief impression of people turning toward him before his attention narrowed to a single point. Riot. Sitting there, his head in his hands, Lilac was beside him, leaning close, speaking in rapid Spanish. And there were two other men in the room—both massive, both radiating that samedangerous energy gold eyes, like Riot’s, but softer—a faint glow rather than the bright burn he’d come to associate with Riot.
He was halfway across the room when the cramp hit—the worst one yet, vicious and deep, ripping through his abdomen hard enough to tear a cry from his throat. His knees buckled. He grabbed the back of a chair to keep from falling, dimly aware of voices behind him, of Orion calling his name.
You’re fine. You’re—
He wasn’t fine. He was very obviously, publicly, humiliatingly not fine. His robes were soaked through and clinging. His face was wet with tears he didn’t remember crying. And everyone in this room could probably smell how sweaty he was.
But Riot was right there.
Riot’s eyes wereblazing—not the soft reflection of the others, but that bright, burning gold Cass had seen in the hotel stairwell. In the car. Every time Riot looked at him like he was something to be devoured.
“Riot.” The name came out broken. Desperate. Pleading.
He watched something shatter behind those golden eyes—watched the careful control crack and something raw surge up in its place. Riot’s hands were white-knuckled on his own thighs, every muscle locked, his whole body trembling with the effort of staying seated.
“Cass, you shouldn’t—you need to go back—”
But Cass was already moving, crossing the remaining distance on legs that threatened to collapse with every step, drawn forward by something stronger than pain or shame or the knowledge that he was making a scene in front of strangers.
He needed Riot.
Everything else could wait.
Chapter nineteen
Lab Rats Gone Wild
Riot
TheairinLilac’sliving room didn’t have enough Cass in it.
Riot was aware, on some level, that this was not a rational complaint. Air was air. It contained oxygen and nitrogen and whatever else made lungs work, and the presence or absence of one particular Omega’s scent should not fundamentally alter its breathability.
His hindbrain disagreed. His hindbrain had decided that air without Cass was defective air, and every cell in his bodywas staging a full revolt in response to this unacceptable atmospheric deficiency.
He’s thirty feet away. Behind a door. Being helped by people who know what they’re doing.
This was objectively good. Orion had experience with his own brutal cycles. He was qualified. He was competent. He was not currently fighting the urge to tear through drywall with his bare hands, which put him several critical qualifications ahead of Riot on the “appropriate caretaker” list.
Riot dug his nails into his palms, reopening the crescents he’d carved earlier.
His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat and the ache of it had settled into his bones, become background noise beneath the louder desperation. His whole body was wound so tight he felt like he might shatter if someone touched him wrong.
Or touched him right.
Don’t think about the car. Don’t think about how he felt in your lap, how wet he was, how your fingers were right there—
“You need to go home,” Lilac said.
Home. Right. The word had meant something once—a bedroom in a shared house with Prepper and Stave, a place to store his spare suppressants, a door he could close against the world. It worked perfectly well. Then he’d spent three days in a pocket universe where nothing existed except Cass, and the whole framework quietly collapsed like a building with its foundations removed. Real life was a distant concept, something that happened to other, less stupid people.
Now real life was pressing back in, and Riot wanted to shove it away with both hands.
“Can’t,” he managed, pacing the living room.
“You can and you will.” Lilac moved into his line of sight, positioning herself between him and the hallway. “Mira, you’rebarely holding it together. What happens when you lose control with an Omega in heat in the next room?”
What happens is I go to him. What happens is I put my hands on him and my mouth on him and I don’t stop.
