Page 72 of Knot on the Market

I can do this. I can be what she needs, guidance, structure, someone thinking clearly enough to keep all of us safe.

Even if every cell in my body is screaming to do otherwise.

"Dean," I manage, my voice rougher than I've ever heard it. "Call your captain. Tell him you need three days for a family emergency. Don't give details."

Dean's eyes are dark with want, but he nods with the quick understanding of someone used to following orders in crisis situations. "Three days?"

"Heat cycles," I explain tersely, watching Lila writhe against Callum's chest. "They don't end quickly."

Understanding flashes across his face, followed immediately by something that looks like panic. "Julian, I've never—I don't know how to?—"

"I know." I force myself to step fully into the room, every movement careful and deliberate. "That's why I'm going to guide you both. But right now, I need you to make that call and get supplies. Water, towels, food that doesn't require cooking. Energy bars, fruit, anything easy."

"On it," Dean says, backing toward the door despite the obvious effort it takes to leave.

"And Dean?" I catch his attention before he disappears. "Call Maeve. Tell her what's happening—just that Lila's in heat and we're taking care of her. She'll understand. Ask her to arrange food deliveries for the next few days. Groceries, prepared meals, whatever she thinks we'll need."

Relief flashes across his face at having concrete tasks to focus on. "Got it."

As his footsteps retreat down the stairs, I turn my full attention to the scene in front of me. Lila is grinding desperately against Callum's lap, her movements becoming more frantic with each passing second. Callum himself looks like he's balanced on a knife's edge, hands trembling where they grip her hips, jaw clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack.

"Callum," I say quietly, and his hazel eyes snap to mine with desperate relief. "How are you holding up?"

"Barely," he admits through gritted teeth. "Julian, I've never... I don't know what to do. What if I hurt her? What if I can't control myself?"

The vulnerability in his admission cuts through my own arousal-fogged brain. Of course he's terrified, Dean and Callum have never done this before. My own experience may have ended badly, but I understand omega biology, know what she needs.

She's asking for structure, I remind myself, watching her desperate, unfocused movements. She needs what you can give her, even if your last pack thought it was too much. Even if she decides later that you're too intense.

But I can't let that fear stop me from giving her what she needs right now. If she pushes me away later, when her head is clear, I'll understand. I'll step back. But I won't let her suffer because I'm afraid of being myself.

"You won't hurt her," I tell him with quiet certainty, settling on the edge of the nest. "Your instincts know what to do. Trust them, and trust me to guide you both."

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders at that, the relief of having someone else take responsibility in unfamiliar territory. Callum's used to being the expert, the one with answers, but this is outside his wheelhouse. Right now, having someone who understands omega biology take the lead is exactly what we need.

"Lila," I say softly, reaching out to cup her flushed cheek. "Look at me, love."

Her eyes find mine, pupils blown wide with heat but trying to focus. When our gazes meet, something settles in her expression, not calm, exactly, but the relief of having someone else in control.

"There you are," I murmur, stroking my thumb across her cheekbone. "I need you to listen carefully. Can you do that for me?"

She nods frantically, her movements against Callum never stopping but her attention fixed on me with desperate intensity.

"Good girl." The praise makes her melt, a soft whimper escaping her lips. "We're going to take care of you. All of us. But you need to trust us to know what's best, what you need. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she gasps, turning her face into my palm. "Yes, Julian, please, I need?—"

"I know what you need," I interrupt gently but firmly. "And you're going to get it. But we're going to do this slowly, carefully. Make sure you're ready for each step."

The analytical part of my brain—the part that's somehow still functioning despite the overwhelming scent of omega heat—catalogs every detail of her condition. The flush across her chest, the way her breathing has gone shallow and quick, the steadydrip of slick that means her body is preparing itself for exactly what mine wants to give her.

She's close to peak heat. Needs to be knotted soon or the emptiness will become genuinely painful rather than just uncomfortable.

But she also needs to be prepared properly. Needs care and attention and the kind of thorough loving that will make this good for her instead of just functional.

"Callum," I say without taking my eyes off Lila's face. "I want you to touch her. Gentle at first—hands, mouth, whatever feels right. Help her stay relaxed."

"I don't know—" he starts.

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