Page 29 of Stream Heat
I nodded. “I remember. I’m not an invalid, Maddox.”
His lips twitched, but not like he thought anything was funny. “Never said you were.” His gaze flicked over my face, landing on the dark shadows under my eyes the concealer couldn’t cover up, on the flush across my cheeks, because lately my body temperature had a mind of its own. “Just want to make sure you remember the boundaries.”
Boundaries. Yeah, those hit differently now that I was living in his house, boxed in by Pack Wrecked’s alpha pheromones and trying to convince the entire internet we were suddenly thick as thieves. Nothing about these boundaries was as simple as a line on the floor.
“Crystal clear,” I muttered, spinning back to my setup and checking that the camera angle was good enough to make it look effortless. “Don’t you have your own stream to get ready for?”
He didn’t take the bait. “Already done. We’re going dual-stream, your channel and the Pack Wrecked main. It’ll get you maximum exposure.”
I snorted. “What, didn’t want to miss raking in all the extra engagement from my public meltdown?”
His jaw flexed, but at least he tried to hold it together. “It’s not about using you, Quinn,” he said, like he was trying not to tiptoe over some invisible line. “It’s about owning the story before someone else does.”
“Yeah, by pretending we’re suddenly besties.” I nudged my pop filter, fingers a little shaky. “No one’s going to buy that.”
“Not friends,” he corrected, voice low. “Packmates. Not the same thing.”
He said it like it mattered. There was a pause, and I blinked up at him. A hint of cedar and thunderstorm cut through the tech-sterile air. It made something animal and unfamiliar in my chest go tense, on high alert.
“We’re not packmates,” I said, firmer than before, like just saying it could keep it all buttoned up. “It’s a business arrangement. That’s all it is.”
He didn’t argue. “Right. Business.”
His tone was clipped, and I hated how I could practically taste the way his mood shifted. Silence hummed between us, broken only by the whirring fans of my PC.
“Five minutes,” he said, finally checking his watch. “I’ll be next door if you need anything.”
As soon as he left, I took a deep, steadying breath, which was a mistake given that his scent still hung heavily in the air. I couldn’t tell if it was the withdrawal aftereffects or just the way alpha scent was crowded in every corner of this house, but it felt like I was a live wire, overreacting to everything. My skin was hypersensitive, and every sound, every emotion, felt dialed up higher than I could handle.
I clicked open my streaming program and nearly choked on the numbers. Over fifty thousand people queued up already. I’d never had this kind of traffic, even at the peak of my career. Nothing like a spectacular trainwreck to get people’s attention.
The door cracked open again. This time it was Theo, bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating. He looked like he’d chugged three energy drinks in the last half hour.
“Showtime?” he grinned, bouncing through the doorway like he’d just scored a game-winning kill. “Chat’s on fire already. The Pack Wrecked announcement is blowing up, over a million hits and counting.”
“Great,” I deadpanned. “My medical crisis, now in full HD.”
He hesitated, his grin faltering. “That’s not what we’re doing, Quinn.”
“Isn’t it?” I waved at my carefully curated background, the little details that would tell everyone exactly where I was without spelling it out. “It’s all theater, Theo. Let’s not pretend it isn’t.”
He watched me, that usual hyperactive energy fading down into something more measured. “Funny. For someone who spent her whole life playing a persona online, you’re weirdly uptight about this performance.”
It stung in a way I didn’t want to admit. But before I could come up with a comeback, he checked his phone and said, “Reid’s waiting for your signal. Two minutes to go-live.” He smiled, but it was a little less bright than before. “Break a leg, Quinn.”
When he left, I paused and stared straight into the camera lens. I tried to find that piece of myself, the sharp, witty Quinn who had made a whole brand out of her near-invincibility, the Beta who could hang with the Alphas without breaking a sweat. But she was gone. I wasn’t sure she’d ever really existed.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Reid.Ready when you are.
I squared my shoulders, took one last deep breath, and hit the “Go Live” button. No backing out now.
The intro jingle played. Instantly, chat flooded the screen, scrolling so fast I could barely register the words, just the rush of color and excitement.
QUINN IS BACK
IS SHE AT PACK WRECKED??
QUEEN LIVES
