Page 29 of Cause Of Death

“Hey, ease off on the gas! I’ve only just walked away from one car accident, I don’t want to barrel straight into another!” I bark out, and the car’s speed evens out somewhat.

“Sorry about that, man. I didn’t think,” comes a deep rumble from the driver’s seat. I sigh, prepared to accept his apologywhen the scents of my two unknown companions reach my nose over the muddled fragrances of lemongrass, rosemary, mint, smoked vanilla, honey, and the unmistakable mulled wine and spices of my omega that saturate the car.

The mysterious passenger smells of decadence and luxury—black cherry, dark chocolate, and aged cognac. The driver, though—Steve—hesmells familiar. Clean linen, freshly cut grass, and the unique aroma of ripe hops ready for harvest.

“YOU!” I bark once more and lunge forward, and Steve swerves as he flinches at the sudden movement and noise.

“Jesus FUCKING Christ! Sit the fuck back and shut the fuck up,” the passenger snarls at me, whipping around to glare me into submission. “Youjustbitched Steve out about driving carefully because you’ve recently been in an accident, and now you’re behaving like you want him to send you head-first into another one! Neither of you seem to have any sense or consideration for those around you. You have the situational awareness of a fucking potato, and youbothneed to pull your heads out of your asses. Knight, understand that you are not evenremotelyin charge here, and do as you’re fucking told. Steve, you’re better than this. I know you’re antsy because of Wisp and Kieran, but you won’t do them, or us, any favors by crashing the fucking car.”

“Sorry, Leslie,” Steve apologizes softly, a blush running up the back of the man’s neck, and I’m filled with shame.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have startled you like that, especially not while you’re driving. My only excuse is that I’m worried about Kier. But even so, it’s no reason to take it out on either of you. You both seem to know who I am, would it be alright for me to ask your full names?” I offer apologetically, and I relax as the passenger sighs and gestures to themself first and then the driver.

“I’m Leslie Silver, and this is Steve Hunt. Just so you’re aware, I go by they/them pronouns.” With Leslie’s confirmation of their preferences, their outward appearance—rumpled as it is—aligns with my initial impression of them.

“Steve here is all he/him, and he spent a lovely day at the Royal Tower complex a week or so ago. I believe you played a game of hide-and-seek with each other. Well, he hid while you sought.”

I’m a little confused about Leslie’s statement, but in a way they’re correct. Ihadspent most of that day chasing after Steve and the woman he’d been with to no avail.

We sit in silence for a little while, the sound of traffic and road noise the only break in the monotony, until Steve pokes a finger over at Leslie, jabbing them in their arm.

“You know, your insults need work, Les. That one about potatoes isn’t really as harsh as you think it is.”

“What the fuck, Steve? That insult wasimpeccable,” Leslie parries back, but Steve only chuckles.

“Nope, it wasn’t. Because when it comes to seeking out dirt, potatoes haveamazingsituational awareness.”

Leslie’s pained groan is drowned out by mine and Steve’s laughter and watching them banter back and forth has my shoulders feeling lighter than they have in months.

Henley’s military efficiency and organizational skills come in handy once Kieran and I have spoken with Edgar and Adam. Steve and Leslie are out the door and on their way to Discovery Park in Sacramento the moment Edgar tells us that Adam will be joining us, and it’s up to Kieran and me to provide the details to the two men.

It’s not hard to emphasize the need for secrecy, and while we don’t tell Edgar or Adam our suspicions regarding Darla Prince or Taylor Pinter, Kieran urges them to remain silent toeveryoneregarding his disappearance and well-being. Knowing that there is someone within the upper ranks of the Royal empire who is attempting to harm his son is enough to guarantee Edgar’s compliance.

Steve, Leslie, and Adam likely won’t be back until late afternoon, perhaps even later depending on how long it takes for Adam to pack his shit and get to Sacramento. Kimmy closets herself away upstairs in the converted office space, and Henleyleaves to go and collect all the items on the list that Kieran and I made earlier. His stern, “Disa, lock the door and set the security system behind me when I leave. Donotopen the door foranyone,” sends lustful shivers up my spine. He doesn’t help the fact with his next barked order, either.

“In fact, you’re both banished to the master suite, so go and make sure that it’s set up to your liking. I don’t care if there’s one nest or two, just as long as you’re both happy with it. When you’re done setting it up, go have a bath and watch a movie or something to relax. Kimmy will be around if you need help. Once everyone is back this evening, we’ll have a discussion on boundaries, safe words, hard limits, and who you feel comfortable having inside your nest.”

I amsogone on this man’s steely authority. My body responds likewise, a heavy ache spreading from my lower belly down past my hips and between my thighs. I can’t stop myself from perfuming, yet another indication that my heat is well and truly on its way.

“For fuck’s sake, Hen. Get gone already before I restrain you and toss your ass into the master suite. Les has been teaching me various knot techniques, so I can have you hogtied and at my mercy before you can open your mouth to bark.”

The infuriating, smug, intoxicating bastard just laughs his way out the door. I glare at it, then over at a chortling Kieran.

“Oh, shut up!” I snap at the other omega, then nearly jump out of my skin as Henley growls at me through the door.

“Little Wisp, don’t make me come back in there and spank your bratty ass. Lock the door and set the alarm, there’s a good girl.”

I.

Fucking.

GUSH.

Embarrassed over my lack of control, I do as my alpha orders, and then flee to the master suite. I not only need to change my panties and leggings, but Idesperatelyneed a cold shower.

Fuckity fuck fuck,shit, fuck, shit, and dammit all to hell!

It’s been a long time since I’ve gone through a proper heat, and that means that I’ve forgottenjusthow much slick I produce in the lead up to it all. Since I don’t enjoy walking around with sodden panties, my choices are currently to either a) pull on a pair of “heat panties,” with built-in padding to help absorb the copious amounts of fluid; b) use pads and panty liners specifically designed for an omega’s heat and extra slick production; c) line my panties with toilet paper, paper towel or anything I can find that will do the job; or d) become a hormonal, blubbering mess in the bottom of the shower and abandon all hope because I don’t have options a or b on hand, option c isn’t working, and I don’t want to resemble a snail if I dare step foot outside.

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