Page 1 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

Prologue

CHASE

“Sit still,” Chase’s mom ordered with a sharp tap to his bouncing knee.

Chase locked his leg in place. He knew he should have better control over his body—he was fourteen, not some unruly kid—but he was shaking all over and couldn’t stop.

He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, hands tucked under his thighs so he wouldn’t pick at himself. Every deep breath got stuck halfway, lungs too constricted to accept any air, making him choke.

He’d been scared out of his mind for the past few days, and even though his first heat—or whatever the fuck that’d been—was over, it was as if something had shifted permanently inside him, or broken, or maybe something new had grown, some ugly, mishappen thing that was pressing into his organs and not letting him breathe.

Chase jumped as the doctor stepped into the room. He tucked himself away from the look his mom shot him, the one that was all crunched up, eyes thinned into slits, mouth just a bitter line. The doctor didn’t seem to notice. He sat on the only remaining chair in the exam room, face round and dark, glasses perched on his nose.

“Thank you for waiting,” he said, and Chase felt like ripping his skin off even though the doctor didn’t smell like anything, thank God.

That had been what had existed these past few days—scents. Every drop of pheromone that hit his nose had his stomach churning, bile coming up, head filling with a wild static that made him feel as if he were being hunted. He’d been surrounded, and his body had given in on him—the pain had been excruciating, like someone was carving out whatever was floating just north of his pelvis.

People had recoiled when he’d walked in, and he’d been ushered into the exam room quickly instead of waiting for his turn with the rest of the patients.

“So, Chase. This was your first heat, correct?” the doctor asked in a low, soothing voice.

Chase’s mom jumped in before he could respond. “So that was definitely a heat? You’re sure?”

“Yes. Not a usual heat, but I can confirm Chase is an Omega.”

Chase’s mom’s scent soured. It scraped against his throat, his gut, his bones. He shivered hard, pushing down the bile that threatened to rise.

“Here,” the doctor offered, taking something out of his pocket and handing it to Chase. “Put just a little bit under your nose. It’ll help.”

Chase glanced between his mom and the doctor, opening the tub slowly and scooping a little of the jelly out. It smelt strongly of menthol, covering up the sting of his mom’s scent instantly.

His shoulders loosened slightly. His muscles ached from how tightly he’d been wound for days now, a deep-tissue bruising he could feel to his core.

He was so fucking tired. He blinked at the doctor as he started to talk.

There were a lot of words. Something about an endocrine system, and the nervous system, and his pheromones, and how scenting and scent production were linked in the brain. He explained how Chase had developed all wrong—he was producing so many pheromones that it would overwhelm those around him, and he’d be overwhelmed by other people’s scents, too.

“Disorder,” the doctor said, and the word carved Chase open.

“What about hockey?” Chase blurted out. “Can I still play hockey?”

“Oh. Well—yes. But do understand this is bigger than that—the treatment you will undergo will neutralise your ability to produce pheromones or to scent others. We’ll do this slowly, allowing you to have heats as scheduled, but you won’t have a true scent.”

He stared at Chase intently, as if trying to communicate how severe this was, but Chase didn’t get it. “So I can play hockey?”

The doctor’s eyebrows bunched. “Yes, but…”

“So it’s fine, right?”

There was a little pause. “Well, I guess that’s the right attitude. Now, it says here you’re not on any medication.”

“No. Well, the Aletadone, I guess. But nothing apart from that.”

The doctor’s head snapped up, eyes going to Chase’s mom and then back to him. “Say that again? What are you taking?”

“Uhm…Aletadone?” He peeked at his mom. Her white face was still and calm, brown eyes uncaring, but Chase could see beneath that—the tightness at the corners of her mouth, the tic in her jaw.

Chase had said the wrong thing.