Page 67 of Reckless: Corruption

He might just be worth everything.

Chapter 15

Theo

Mona’s knucklesrap at my door, yanking me from fever dreams where music and desire tangle into one sensation. My skin feels electrified, nerve endings broadcasting at frequencies only alphas can hear.

“Come in.” My voice scrapes raw from my throat, the first note of a symphony building toward an inevitable crescendo.

She enters with uncharacteristic precision, her usual chaotic energy temporarily contained as those analytical eyes scan me from threshold to bed. Her scientist’s gaze catalogs symptoms with cold efficiency.

“Your suppressants are failing.” No quirky speech pattern. No embellishment. Just clinical assessment.

“I know.” I push myself up, sheets abrading against hypersensitive skin like sandpaper on exposed nerve endings. “They weren’t designed for extended use.”

She approaches, silver case balanced in hands that never tremble despite the chemical chaos she creates. “I’ve been monitoring your symptoms. The fever pattern indicates accelerated heat progression despite chemical intervention.”

“I needed to delay it.” My body struggles against biological imperatives, the omega in me howling for release while myrational mind grasps at control. “For Cayenne. I didn’t want her first experience with our heat to be rushed or frightening.”

Something rare flashes across Mona’s features—empathy, brief as lightning before her scientist mask slams back into place. “Logical reasoning. Emotional foundation. Interesting combination.” She clicks open the case, revealing a precision injector filled with electric blue liquid that reminds me of Cayenne’s eyes when she’s hacking. “I’ve synthesized an alternative suppressant. More effective than standard formulations.”

I eye the device, wariness overriding discomfort. “Side effects?”

“Minimal.” She examines the injector against light like a violinist checking strings before performance. “Temporary temperature fluctuations. Possible heightened sensory response. Nothing dangerous.” Her head tilts, scientist’s candor winning briefly. “Probably.”

“Probably?” One eyebrow arches despite the fever heat crawling beneath my skin.

Her smile flickers, system error in her usual programming. “Science requires experimental verification. But my calculations are sound.” Her voice softens, manic energy dimming. “It will help, Theo. You need more time.”

Unspoken understanding hangs between us, molecular bonds invisible but undeniably strong. My heat isn’t just biology—it’s vulnerability. Connection. Surrender.

“Thank you.” I offer my arm, bare skin flushed with fever.

She administers the injection with surprising gentleness, chaotic movements becoming precise as code. The sensation hits liquid-cold, then spreads warmth as the compound enters my bloodstream. Almost immediately, the desperate edge of heat recedes like a tide pulling back from shore, creating breathable space between instinct and action.

“Better?” Her question carries scientific curiosity layered over genuine concern.

I nod, relief washing through me as desperate need dulls to manageable ache. “Much.”

“Good.” She packs her equipment with practiced efficiency, hands moving through familiar patterns. “The formulation should provide approximately two weeks of relief. After that...” She hesitates, uncertainty glitching her usual processing. “After that, even my chemistry can’t override biology.”

“Two weeks is enough.” The words sound more confident than I feel. “Thank you, Mona.”

She pauses at the door, something unreadable flickering across her features. “Trying to fight nature is dangerous. But sometimes necessary.” Her usual speech pattern reboots like system restarting. “Much scientific risk. Very biological complexity.”

The door clicks shut. I collapse back onto pillows damp with sweat, feeling her compound working through my system. The fever recedes, desperate need dulling to manageable hum, like turning down volume on a speaker that had been threatening to blow.

For the first time in days, I can breathe. Think. Function beyond the biological imperatives that had been building like orchestral crescendo.

Clarity brings realization of how much I’ve been sacrificing for this pack, for our safety. Not just delaying heat but risking my health, my stability. The knowledge settles like a minor chord—not unpleasant, just complex, carrying both resolution and dissonance.

I close my eyes, letting the medication work through my system. Two weeks. Two weeks to prepare for inevitable surrender. To help Cayenne and Finn recover. To plan what comes next.

It will have to be enough.

The explosion wrenchesme from heat-dreams of tangled limbs and satisfied moans.

One moment, floating in pleasure. The next, thrust into chaos.

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