Page 8 of Pucking the Enemy

I wasn’t… was I?

Chapter 3

Phillip

My head was pounding. It had taken hours to drag Cormac away from the party. He was moderately tipsy and had been acting like an over-exuberant golden retriever. Every part of my body ached from practice, and I was ready to sleep. Roman had abandoned us hours ago, which wasn’t like him, and I had been texting him while trying to corral our more outgoing pack mate.

So, why was there a random omega who smelled like pure sex in our kitchen? She gazed at me, her eyes wide, a bottle of water halfway to her lips. Like a deer in the headlights. The only thing she wore was a T-shirt—one that Roman had been wearing earlier in the evening. Her dark hair was a mess, sticking up at all angles. It was like a small fairy had invaded our home; I doubted she was taller than my chest.

There was no denying her scent was delicious. Sweet, cherry cola. There was a musky edge to it—slick, and a lot of it. Her face was flushed, and her breathing was slightly ragged. That could only mean one thing.

She was going into heat, yet she was standing in our pack house, getting herself a late-night refreshment.

“Who are you?” I asked, desperately trying to ignore my rapidly stiffening cock—I was only human, after all, and a pre-heat omega was crack to an alpha. “And why are you in heat?”

She needed to be with people she knew well if she was planning to ride out her heat and not suppress it. Why wasn’t she hunkering down in her nest?

The possibility that she’d planned this entered my brain. Women tended to throw themselves at Roman. I wouldn’t put it past one of the puck bunnies who had been chasing him to convince him to have a one-night stand, then “accidentally” go into heat.

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing several times as she tried to find her words. “I, uh, no. I’m not.” She shook her head vehemently as she placed her bottle back on the counter.

“My nose isn’t lying, sweetness.” Cormac beamed at her. The idiot was probably excited at the prospect of a random omega going into heat in our kitchen. “I’m Cormac, and you are?”

“H-Hazel,” she stammered. “I can’t be in heat. I’m on suppressants.”

“Are you having cramps?” My voice had a sarcastic edge, but she didn’t seem to pick up on that as her mouth gaped in surprise.

“I’m a woman, I’m used to having cramps! Surely, they’re normal after… y’know.” Her face blushed bright red. Did she mean after sex?

Oh, fuck. She was being genuine and naive.

I prayed to the gods above that Roman hadn’t found a virgin to defile. That could lead to a whole host of issues.

“They’re not normal,” I informed her.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” she cursed as she screwed the top back onto the water. “I need to go. I’ll call a cab. Shit! I’ve never—ow!” She bent over at the waist, clutching at her stomach.

There was no faking the shock on her face and the burnt, thick scent that clearly broadcast her fear.

Cormac stepped forward, his arms reached out to somehow help her, but she shrank back.

“Go get Roman,” I told him in a firm, no-nonsense voice. She knew Roman, judging by the strong smell of sex and him that clung to her, so he needed to be here.

“I need to go,” she repeated in a watery voice. Crap, she was going to cry, wasn’t she? I didn’t tend to do well with hysterical omegas.

“You can’t go right now. It’s not safe. You’re very clearly in heat.” I kept my voice low and soothing, like I was speaking to a wounded animal.

“I’ve never had a heat,” she admitted, her hands fluttering around, playing with her hair, pulling the T-shirt down, doing anything to distract herself.

“Suppressants aren’t foolproof. They can fail.”

“I’m on expensive, industrial-strength ones,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair as tears continued to gather in her eyes. “What do I do? I need to lock myself in a room, so no one can go near me, and ride this out.” She nodded to herself.

Oh, fuck.

It was her first heat. That was going to be agony.

She wouldn’t be able to do it solo.

---