Page 40 of Stream Heat
“No,” I snapped, then coughed. “Just… kill the stream. Say tech issues.”
He considered, then nodded. That was two seconds of trust, he knew how much my rep mattered.
He handled the computer like it was his own, clean and fast, typed up a short message to chat, and ended the broadcast. Couldn’t have done it better myself.
When he turned around, his professional mask was back on. “Now, let me help you.”
“I don’t need–” Another hit of pain cut me off.
He sat at the edge of the bed, close but not touching. “Your scent is spiking. Might be breakthrough heat, triggered by withdrawal.”
I flinched. “No. Suppressants–”
“They’re not military-grade,” he said quietly. “You’re still vulnerable.”
The idea of another heat, so soon and so brutal? That was worse than anything. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
“Please,” I managed, voice thinner than I wanted. “Isn’t there something else?”
He paused, weighing his words. “There’s a method. Alpha pheromones can sometimes stabilize an Omega in distress. Doesn’t require… anything drastic. Just proximity and scent.”
My body knew what he was offering before my brain did. The need slammed into me, fierce and ugly. But saying yes meant admitting I even wanted it, and that was not fucking happening.
“No,” I said, and meant it. Sort of. My body screamed anyway. "I'm not going to bethatOmega."
“What Omega is that, exactly?” His tone could cut glass, but he didn’t push.
“The kind that falls apart and expects an alpha to fix her,” I fired back, pure venom. “The kind everyone assumes I am.”
He didn’t answer right away. He just studied me, made me feel seen in a way I hated.
“Kara,” he said finally, low and earnest, “accepting help isn’t weakness. And fighting yourself isn’t strength.”
Those words stung, maybe because they were true. It didn’t matter. The pain returned, sharper, making my vision flicker.
Malik stood. “Water and protein bars. Doctor recommended, remember?”
He was out before I could argue. The door closed quietly behind him, as if he was afraid he’d startle me. Maybe he would.
Alone again, I curled up. My whole body felt at war, hot, cold, pain, need, all of it blending into something I could barely survive. Beneath it, always, was the worst ache, the need for touch, for comfort, for everything I’d spent my life denying.
For Malik. For his alpha presence. For his hands, his scent, the heavy heat of his body covering mine.
I forced myself to stop. This wasn’t that kind of problem. It was chemical, and it would break if I just waited it out.
Except it didn’t. If anything, it got worse. Slick pooled between my thighs, fever turning to outright burn. I buried my face in the pillow, mortified. I was not going to be that Omega. I refused.
I heard him coming back. I wiped my eyes, forced my breathing level, did my best impression of a person in control.
He carried water, protein bars, even a damp washcloth. “For your forehead,” he said, and it sounded almost… shy.
I tried to take it, but my hands wouldn’t work. He stepped in, pressed the cloth to my forehead himself, gentle, careful, not pushing closer than necessary.
The coolness eased the fever, but it was his scent that really cut through, settling my nerves enough that I could breathe for a second.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, barely daring to meet his eyes.
