Page 64 of Stream Heat
Somehow, they’d even thought about the details I wouldn’t have. How to be safe for me and them both. How to keep things clean. It was almost as if they… gave a shit? I couldn’t get my head around it.
“Thanks,” I said softly. “For not turning this into a freak show.”
Theo’s smile came back, this time a little more like himself. “Five Alphas and one Omega? Please. We were already living in the setup for a romance novel.”
I rolled my eyes. “Keep dreaming, chaos boy.”
“Every. Single. Night,” he fired back, and for a split second I let myself wonder if he meant it. Part of me almost hoped he did.
After that, it was back to game plans, schedules, logistics. On the surface, nothing had changed. But under everything, I knew they were watching, waiting, planning for the moment when I wasn’t myself anymore. I wished I could hate them for it. Instead, I was just… relieved.
Biology hadn’t ever asked permission. When the bottom fell out and my control shattered, the careful lines I’d drawn between teammate and friend or… more… were just going to be rubble. And I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to fight it as much as I should.
So, yeah. The heat was coming. I could feel it getting closer every hour. Five Alphas, one Omega, a house full of nerves and old trauma and more chemistry than was probably healthy for anyone. Maybe we’d survive it. Maybe we’d implode.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kara
I knew it was going to be bad the moment I woke up. I'd been sweating so much it felt like I’d taken a swim in my sheets, which were so damp that they clung to my skin like a shroud when I moved to the edge of the bed, every inch of skin burning like I’d been sunbathing on the surface of the fucking sun. My heart thudded wildly. The world was heat and pounding and the disgusting stickiness of the sheets twisted around my legs, a nasty reminder that my body couldn’t even keep itself in line for one goddamn night.
This wasn’t like last time. That first heat crash was a public disaster, everyone saw it, everything exploded, and my perfectly curated Beta persona went up in flames. That one had been a surprise, years of chemical suppression finally snapping back at me and humiliating me in front of everyone who mattered.
This, though, was worse in its own way.
Because this time, I saw it coming. This time, I knew every awful step, every escalation, and could feel my body betraying me with a kind of slow-motion clarity that made me want to scream. Legal suppressants were supposed to keep itmanageable. Instead, they were a punchline, a sugar pill joke. I’d be better off eating candy.
"Fuck," I groaned, hands pressed hard to my eyes, as another pulse of heat rolled through me. My back arched without permission, and I already knew I was in deep shit. "Not now. Not today."
Of course it had to be today, the day of the house stream. The day all six of us were supposed to get together, play through qualifiers on camera, and sell the story that we’d gone from rivals to packmates. The same stream sponsors had already been hyping up for weeks, the one that was supposed to prove that my brand wasn’t a total write-off after last time.
I grabbed for my phone. 8:17 AM, the screen informed me with that smugly indifferent glow. The stream was set for noon. There was a tiny sliver of hope, maybe I could wrestle this thing back down before then. Maybe the symptoms would plateau, or at least not get worse. Maybe I was kidding myself and everyone knew it.
I forced myself to get out of bed, one cringe-worthy inch at a time, peeled off my disgusting clothes, and stumbled under a cold shower. It did nothing except shock my skin and make the return of the heat feel even more miserable when I got out. I caught my own reflection in the mirror and nearly laughed at how fucked I looked, wide eyes, flushed cheeks, hair matted to my neck. Even my scent, that wild honey and cracked pepper, came at me so strong I had to grip the sink just to stay upright.
"Get it together," I said to the mirror, teeth gritted. "You’ve dealt with worse."
But I hadn’t, not really. My system was shot, just like Dr. Levine and Dr. Patel said it would be. Years of military-grade suppressants and then one catastrophic crash, and now my body had no clue how to handle a standard cycle. What should’ve beeneasy, something people lived with on a regular basis, was already spinning out of control, legal suppressants or not.
I took the morning meds, hands shaking, and even as I swallowed, I knew it wasn’t worth shit. Not today. Not with how bad it already was.
And then, like my luck wasn’t already garbage, someone knocked on my door.
"Quinn?" It was Malik’s voice, all careful calm and quiet concern. "Everything okay? Your scent is… noticeable."
Noticeable. Understatement of the century. If I could smell myself, the Alphas in the house were probably getting nuked with pheromones.
"I'm fine," I lied, though it sounded unconvincing even to me. "Just… the usual morning stuff."
A pause. Then: "May I come in? I made tea. Might help."
I hesitated, scanning my reflection, towel barely hanging on, hair dripping everywhere. "One sec."
I yanked on the loosest clothes I owned, oversized t-shirt and shorts. Even that felt like torture, every brush of fabric like sandpaper. When I cracked open the door, Malik was standing there, mug in hand, eyes full of professional-neutral worry.
"Thanks," I mumbled, taking the tea without looking at him.
He didn’t step inside, which I appreciated. "It's getting stronger," he said quietly. "The heat symptoms."
