Page 24 of Heat Hesitation

I keep circling, and though it's only been a few days, I'm feeling less angry and hurt and more… confused. If I forgive them for someone else's wrongs, and they aren't, so far, forcing me to mate, to bond, like I thought they would… I'm finding space to imagine what my life would be like if I gave into this, to them.

It's frustrating. Fortunately, I don't have much time tonight to overthink the drama that is my life.

Tonight, I've got drops to make and omegas to help.

Asher's the one who walks me home after work, and I can't help but notice how we both linger like teenagers, every small brush so innocent yet so monumental. His fingertips barely skim my arm as he gently squeezes it to say goodnight, and I shiver beneath his touch, but just as I have the past several days, I ignore the reaction, and so does he. Kind of. His nostrils flare, and even though I'm wearing blockers and slick-wick panties, he's keyed into me.

Once I regain some semblance of brain activity, I practically shove him out the door, take another scent-blocking pill, shower, and get dressed in my baggiest, darkest clothes. Shuffling through my pill drawer, I count out my stash, noting that I need to stock up on everything.

Though it's late and dark out, and the broken street lamp by my stoop is unlit, I still peek out my living room window, pulling the makeshift sheets-turned-curtains back. When I don't see any signs of the alphas lingering, I flip my hood up, zip up my backpack, and sneak out of my apartment.

The clinic is a twenty-minute walk from my place, right on the edge of South Loop at the southern tip of downtown. It's an underfunded heat clinic, but I trust my contact. She works hard to ensure the omegas that end up in their care aren't taken advantage of like at other clinics.

Vetted alphas can assist with an omega's heat if they don't want to ride it out alone and aren't on heat suppressants. The clinic and the omega should have a list of preapproved alphas in strict confidence.

But there are cracks in the system, and I know more than one omega who relied on the safety of a heat clinic only to find out later or have vague memories of an alpha they never agreed to let in, taking them during their heat.

Some people—alpha's, mostly—assume an omega begging for a knot in every hole wants it any way she can have it. It's just not true, and after our heat passes, if we find out an alpha we never wanted, and in some cases have already said no to, has taken our bodies when we were too lost in lust and need to say no or didn't have the clarity to give consent, it's just as violating as if we'd said 'no' while lucid.

The South Loop heat clinic isn't like that, thanks to Red and his brothers, and though I've only had one heat due to a gap in my suppressant supply and never had to use the clinic myself, I'm so grateful to them for watching out and policing our neighborhoods. No one fucks with an omega in South Loop that doesn't have to answer to the Dante Pack.

I hurry down the sidewalk, not caring that I look like I'm trying to hide something. Everyone on the streets this time of night is trying to hide something. I ignore the prickling sensation of being watched and hurry on, clutching my backpack higher on my shoulders.

I toss a few dollars into old man Waylon's upside-down hat, where he sleeps on the corner of C-Street and Fifth, quickly darting past traffic and continuing on. It's a quiet night, and apart from the few random footsteps of others out doing whatever nefarious thing they're up to, it's warm, and I feel good.

The clinic is wisely unmarked—an innocuous, run-down, red brick building hidden between a laundry mat and a cell phone repair store, although everyone around here knows it's an omega clinic. I bang on the big green metal door at the back of the darkened alley, the sound echoing down the empty street.

Janey cracks the door a few minutes later, the familiar buzz unlocking for me after she sees me through the security camera. It's cool inside, and though the entire building is doused in de-scenting air filters, the faint aroma of an omega in the heat carries in the air.

It's never bothered me before; just another small way I know finding the Constantines has fucked with my head. A flash, an image of me in heat in the throes of passion with all four men, makes me stumble. I shake off the image and follow Janey down the hall.

"You good?" She calls out.

"Yeah, sorry," I reply, my voice cracking.

"Good news. We accidentally got a surplus, and I was the first to unload the shipment, so I've got an extra two months' supply in here." She hands me a large box, heavier than usual.

"Holy shit, this is amazing. I'll probably stash this at Queenie's to be safe, though."

Janey, an older beta nurse, is aware of my and Dante Pack's distribution setup. They provide a safe space for omegas under the legitimate guise of a strip club, and Janey and I supply the pills.

We stuff everything in my backpack, though it's much more full than usual, making it obvious I'm smuggling something. Nervous, which is inevitable, given my nightly activities, I text Cass, who's managing the club tonight, letting him know I'm on my way. Not all my clients work at or come through Queenie's, but most do, and if I can unload at least half this at the start of my night, the better.

Half an hour later, I'm banging on another back door in a rowdier part of South Loop. The sound of a beer bottle smashing on the ground at a bar next door sets my teeth on edge. Fortunately, the door swings open a minute later.

One of the beta bouncers opens the door, nodding at me. I duck beneath his big bicep and slip down the long, narrow hallway toward the office. Sultry, bass-heavy music shakes the walls, and I pass the dressing room with half or fully-naked women stalking around in eight-inch heels, lively this time of night. I'm jealous of girls' ability to balance. Red's right; I'd never make a dime in tips next to these girls if I tried to dance on stage. I'm more of a holey flat-sneaker kinda gal.

Even though I work at Queenie's, on nights when I'm doing deliveries, I feel like a crusader, not a clumsy server, and for some reason, it fills a small space in my soul.

I knock twice before letting myself into the office.

Caspian sits behind the massive desk he shares with his packmates, fingers threading through his long dirty blond hair, staring at the mountain of paperwork in front of him like it called his grandmother a slut.

"You okay, boss man?"

He grunts. Cass always had a little crush on me, but being firmly planted in the sister category by Red and Iggy, we both ignore the light in his eyes when he looks me over before responding. "That was quick."

"Got a large shipment, figured I'd come here first."

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