Page 1 of Heat Clinic

ChapterOne

EMILY

How amI going to get through this heat cycle, and why does my body have the worst timing ever? The double digit number of my bank account balance and the sheer number of days left on the calendar until payday mock me as another clenching spasm hits me low in my pelvis. Too many days left ‘til next Thursday. Not enough money.

To be fair, there’s never enough.

But my heat doesn’t care about my financial situation. It always sneaks up on me. Some omegas have a regular cycle with a few days of symptoms to warn them it’s coming. Hot flashes, a sore back, moodiness, a rise in their libido. Me? My body goes fromit’s TuesdaytoI need to get dicked down and knottedin less than a day.

“Did they forget and put mustard on it again?” Lindsay asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I glance from my mobile banking app to my untouched cheeseburger and paper basket of fries. It’s all cold. The cheese has congealed and the fries are limp. But it’s not like I’m hungry anyway. Omegas don’t eat during their heat. Well… not food.

“I’m not feeling well. Actually, I think I’m going to leave early and use some of my PTO,” I say.

“Oh, that sucks. I hope you don’t have the stomach bug that’s going around. Half of my department is out right now.”

“No, it’s…” I look around the break room, but it’s almost empty at this hour. Most people took their lunch earlier, but we got stuck in that stupid meeting that could have been an email, so it’s already two in the afternoon.

I drop my voice low. “It’s my cycle.”

Thank goodness it’s a holiday weekend and I won’t have to use up too many of my hours.

Lindsay’s eyes brighten as she smiles. “Ooh. Wanna go out with me tonight? My roommate’s dating the bouncer at the new rut bar that opened on Cherry Street and I’m dying to see it. I hear they have champagne rooms.”

I grimace at the thought of it, at the idea of wading into a noisy bar packed with horny alphas, all of their scents mingling into a nauseating potpourri as they try to pretend they’re not rubbing up on me on purpose while they walk by and attempt to out-purr one another.

“Uh… no, but maybe next weekend?” I throw my napkin over the top of my uneaten meal, my stomach queasy at the sight of it. “I’m going to go check in at the free clinic. When I get home, I’ll text you.”

“The free-useclinic?” Her eyes bug out, her voice rising with each squeaked-out word.

I look around the not-quite empty break room and squirm in my seat. “Yeah. But maybe don’t shout it so the entire office can hear?” Heats are a completely normal part of an omega’s life. They’re nothing to be ashamed of, but that doesn’t mean I need the entire office in my business, either.

She presses three fingertips to her mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. I thought they had apps and, like, nice omega centers for that.”

“Our insurance is shitty and they don’t cover that. And the last alpha I hooked up with from Heat Buddy ate everything in my fridge and left me with a mountain of laundry to do when I came around. That was also the worst UTI of my fucking life.”

He didn’t bathe me even once during my three-day heat, and I’d woken up sticky, crusty, and reeking of sex and pheromones. The free clinic might not be glamorous, but the beta attendants make sure none of the alphas get too rough and that I won’t forget to drink water or take a shower. Plus I won’t have to worry about coming out of a heat with a mating bite I never consented to. It’s not all that common of a problem anymore, but it happens.

“Okay, umm… be safe and have fun? Do you want me to swing by your apartment and water your plants?” she asks.

I stand and push my chair in, then toss out my untouched lunch. Another cramp hits me and I stagger a little. “That would be great, thanks. I’ll leave a key under the mat and text you when I’m coming home. It’ll be a few days.”

My boss is less enthused for me to take the rest of the day off right before a holiday weekend, but a quick promise that I should be back when the office reopens on Tuesday lessens the sting. Traffic isn’t bad at this time of day as I swing by my apartment and pack a bag with a few things. Comfy pajamas, enough underwear to last me a month, the travel-size toiletries I keep on hand for heat emergencies, an extra long phone charger, and the soft throw blanket from my couch.

The duffel bag is near to bursting and heavy as I lug it down the stairs and throw it into the backseat of my car, stopping twice to breathe through cramps. I clench the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white as I drive downtown and park in the free clinic’s omega lot.

Most of the people I walk by on the street are oblivious betas, but an alpha in a suit looks up from his coffee as I pass him, his nostrils flaring as he scents me. Inside the free clinic’s lobby, a half a dozen people sit, staring at their phones, while a bored receptionist taps away at her computer. I shoulder my bag higher and wait for her to make eye contact.

“How can I help you?” she asks.

“Yeah, umm, I’d like to use your omega services?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

I frown and drag the slipping duffel bag strap up again. “No. I didn’t know I needed one.” How does someone make an appointment for a heat?

“Fill this out.”

---