Page 88 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

Rushing downstairs, I almost collide with Malachi. His scent envelops me, nearly drawing a whimper of need from my traitorous body, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m ready. Not until I’m sure.

“Aria?” His voice is rough with concern, his eyes dark with something that makes my insides clench. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow hard, finding my voice. “I need to go to my apartment. My heat is coming faster than I thought. I need my things.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed quickly by a flash of what might be panic. It’s oddly comforting to see that he’s as thrown by this as I am. Without a word, he grabs his keys. “I’ll drive you.”

The car ride is silent, tension thick in the air like a heavy fog. I feel Malachi’s gaze on me, concern and something else radiating off him in waves, but he doesn’t push. He just drives, giving me space to gather myself. It’s one of the things I love about him—his ability to be there without smothering me.

We pull up to my apartment building, and I’m out of the car before it fully stops. “I’ll be back,” I call over my shoulder, not waiting for a response. I can feel Malachi’s eyes on me as I rush inside, his protective instincts probably going haywire, but this is something I need to do alone.

My apartment feels like a sanctuary as I burst through the door. Familiar scents—my soaps, laundry detergent, me—wash over me, calming my frazzled nerves. For a moment, I’m tempted to barricade myself in here and ride out my heat alone like I’ve always done. It would be easier and safer.

As I start grabbing blankets, pillows, and anything soft I can find, I realize I don’t want easy or safe anymore. I want my pack. The thought terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out while stuffing a pillow into a bag. It’s Cayenne. “Hey, girl. We’re on our way with the heat supplies. You okay?”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Maybe I can do this after all. “Yeah, just… It’s coming faster than I thought. I’m at my apartment, grabbing stuff for my nest.”

“We’ll be there in ten. Hang tight.”

I continue my frantic packing, throwing clothes and toiletries into bags. My mind races, a jumble of thoughts, fears, and needs. What if I’m not ready? What if the pack isn’t ready? What if I lose myself in them?

A knock interrupts my spiral. I open the door to find Cayenne, Ginger, and Willow, their arms laden with bags. The sight of my best friends nearly brings me to tears.

“Cavalry’s here!” Cayenne announces, marching in with her usual flair. “Let’s get you sorted, honey.”

They sweep in like a whirlwind, efficiently organizing my chaos. Ginger packs food and drinks, her movements quick and sure. “You’re going to need your strength.” She winks, tossing a protein bar my way.

Willow sorts through the heat supplies, explaining each item as she goes. Her calm voice is soothing, grounding me in the midst of my panic. “Remember, Aria, you’re in control. These are tools, not rules.”

Cayenne hugs me, letting me breathe in her familiar scent. “It’s okay to be scared,” she whispers. “But you’ve got this, and you’ve got us.”

I nod against her shoulder, drawing strength from her presence. When we pull apart, I feel steadier and more in control. These women are my rock. My pack is my heart, but these friends are my backbone.

As we finish packing, I look around my apartment. It feels strange to be leaving it, knowing I’m heading into something so life-changing, but I’m not alone. I have my friends, my pack, and most importantly, I have myself.

“Ready?” Willow asks, holding the last bag.

I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As we head out, bags in tow, I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are brightwith a mix of fear and excitement, but there’s something else there too—determination and strength. I may be an omega, but I’m not weak. I’m Aria, and I’m about to show my alphas exactly what that means.

Malachi’s waiting in the car, his posture as tense as a bowstring. When he sees us emerge from the building, loaded down with bags, his eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t comment, just helps us load everything into the car. His hand brushes mine as he takes a bag, and the contact sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with my approaching heat.

We pile into Malachi’s SUV, a tangle of limbs and laughter. I’m sandwiched between Ginger and Willow in the back seat, with Cayenne riding shotgun. The air is thick with our mingled scents—spicy cinnamon, fresh ginger, soothing lavender, and my own orange creamsicle, tinged with the first hints of an approaching heat.

Malachi starts the car, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I sense his tension and see the way his jaw clenches as he catches whiffs of my preheat scent, but he remains focused on the road ahead. Always the steady alpha, my Malachi.

The drive back to the pack house blurs into chatter and laughter. My friends keep up a steady stream of conversation, sharing stories of their own heat experiences and offering last-minute advice.

“Remember,” Willow says, her voice soft but firm, “it’s okay to ask for what you need. Your alphas want to take care of you, but they can’t read your mind.”

Ginger nods enthusiastically. “And don’t forget to hydrate! Trust me, you do not want to deal with heat cramps on top of everything else.”

“Oh! And make sure to have a safe word,” Cayenne chimes in from the front seat. “Something easy to remember, even when you’re… you know, in the throes of it.”

I feel my cheeks heat up at her words, but I nod gratefully. These are all things I need to hear, even if they make me blush. It’s a stark reminder that this heat isn’t just about pleasure, but it’s also about vulnerability, trust, and communication.

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