The first sign comes around ten o'clock.
I'm on the dance floor with Luna when it starts. A flush that begins somewhere beneath my collarbone and rolls slowly upward.
I stop moving mid-step.
"You okay?" Luna asks, stepping back.
"Just... warm," I say, fanning my neck.
"Yeah, it's easily eighty degrees in here," Luna agrees, reaching up to pull her own hair off her damp neck.
"Right. That's probably it."
I don't think it's it.
In the bathroom, I run freezing cold water over my wrists. The heavy-duty suppressants I took this morning were supposed tohold through to tomorrow, but it is exactly 10:14 PM, and they are rapidly losing the argument with my biology. I can feel them doing less and less with each passing minute, like clay going soft in water.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. I am flushed bright pink from the jaw up. My pupils have gone wide enough that I notice, which means the alphas will definitely notice too. I splash cold water on my face and count to ten. The flush backs off a step, maybe two, and holds there, watching me.
Good enough.
By eleven, every single texture has turned up a notch. The heavy silk of my dress dragging against my thighs. My own hair brushing across my shoulder. And the alphas... I've been able to smell them for a few days—that's not new. What's new is that the volume of their scents has tripled, and my body is starting to stop listening to my brain. It's actively reaching for them on its own, zeroing in on three distinct points in the room that I can feel without even looking.
Mason is at the bar talking to Harper's uncle. I realize I've been staring at him for several minutes. Arthur is out on the dance floor with someone's grandmother, spinning her, while Knox is leaning against a pillar near the cake table, watching the room.
Our eyes meet, his chin lifts.You okay?
I give him the smallest nod. He doesn't look convinced.
A slow song starts, and suddenly Mason appears at my side, his hand already extended. His sleeves are rolled up to the forearm, and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show the hard line of his pecs.
I take his hand and the contact travels everywhere.
We settle into the slow rhythm, his large hand resting on my lower back, mine gripping his shoulder. The physical distancebetween us is perfectly appropriate for a wedding, and it is nowhere near enough.
"You're burning up," he says. Low. Only for me.
"I know."
"Your heat?"
"The suppressants are losing," I swallow hard. "A lot faster than I thought they would."
His hand presses flat against my spine. One degree firmer. I can physically feel him holding himself back, feel the white-knuckled restraint in his fingers, and god, I just want to press my face into his chest. I want to stay there and let the rest of the room go on without me.
The song ends. He reluctantly lets me go. The place where his hand was goes instantly cold.
A few minutes later, Harper throws her bouquet, and Maren catches it at arm's length before immediately passing it to the flower girl like she’s handing off a live grenade. The cake gets cut. Ben manages to smash a tiny bit of frosting on Harper's nose, and she immediately retaliates by shoving an entire forkful into his mouth. People are dancing, laughing, and getting drunk, while I stand near the exit doors, pressing a cold, wet cocktail napkin to the back of my neck, desperately trying to cool myself down.
Arthur finds me there, though I smell him before I see him. My body tightens involuntarily, a pull so deep I have to lock my knees to keep from swaying.
His pupils are completely blown, swallowing the green of his irises.
"You look like you're running a fever," he says, his voice thick and low.
"I'm managing."
"You smell absolutely incredible." He's trying for casual, but he doesn't quite get there.
