Page 7 of Stream Heat
“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped, or tried to, but the words came out choked as another tsunami of need nearly doubled me over. I barely swallowed down the moan.
“Clearly not,” Reid shot back, all steel and no patience. “We’re coming over. Whether you want us to or not.”
“Don’t you fucking dare– ” but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t even finish. That next wave was so bad my vision whited out and I clawed at the arm of my chair, nails digging in. Every nerve stripped raw, skin hot, and the emptiness between my legs was actually blinding. I’d have screamed if I could get my breath.
“Kara.” Reid’s voice, softer again, but with that Alpha-command woven through it. Impossible to ignore. “We’re not showing up to take advantage. We’re showing up to help. You need a doctor. You need help.”
What I needed was, well… No, that wasn’t something I was about to admit. I bit my tongue, literally, but my body…? My body didn’t give a shit.
All that time I spent pretending, forcing my scent down, acting Beta for the cameras, for the fans, for everyone? Gone. Eight years of suppression, boiling out of my pores, turning my skin slick and my mind into a punch-drunk riot. The scent was everywhere. Wild honey and cracked pepper, so thick I could taste it, and I was pretty sure anyone in a three-block radius could smell it too.
“Please, Reid.” I hated myself for it, but the word just slipped out. “Please hurry.”
My vision closed in, black at the edges, and I knew I was going to pass out. Knew I’d just detonated my entire life on camera, live for thousands of people to see.
Kara Quinn, Beta queen, professional shit-talker, one of the only “Betas” who could actually keep up with the Alpha pros. Turns out I’d been a lie. I’d just heat-crashed. Not only that but everyone saw it.
And now the five Alphas I’d spent months dragging on livestream were racing to my rescue.
If I were in any shape to laugh, I probably would have.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kara
Bathroom. I didn't even make it three feet in before my stomach pulled rank and emptied itself into the nearest receptacle, which, thankfully, was a trash can, no warning or apology. I stumbled the rest of the way to the bathroom, landing on the floor in a heap by the toilet.
The tile was cool enough to worship, and for a second, I basically did, curled up on the floor with my arms wrapped around myself, sweat making my skin feel like it didn't fit right. I couldn't breathe. Heat was crashing all through me, setting everything inside me on fire while my brain scrambled for a way to make it stop. My apartment reeked of Omega heat scent. My perfume. Wild honey and cracked pepper. It was so thick in the air it was almost visible.
This couldn't be real. Not after eight years of walking the tightrope. Not after every careful, surgical move, every calculated risk, every compromise. Not after fighting my way to the top in an industry that would have thrown me into the trash heap as 'just another Omega streamer,' only good for selling my own humiliation. I wasn't going out that way. I wouldn’t let them do that to me. But right now, the only thing I wanted was tocarve this heat out of my body and salt the earth where it used to be.
The phone was still buzzing, a relentless insect howl from the other room. I forced myself up, hands shaking, vision blurring at the edges, and fumbled around the desk for my suppressants. The bottle felt empty before I even picked it up, but I checked anyway. Shook it like it owed me something. The single pill that I’d put back in during the stream rolled out into my hand but other than that it was just dust.
"No. No, no, no," I whispered, my voice the only thing left holding me together before I choked the pill I had down, my mouth too hot and dry to really produce any saliva. The clock glared at me: 2:17 AM. Marcus wouldn't answer until daylight, if I could even reach him. I could make it.
I tried to think about PR moves, maybe start damage control online, but my body had other ideas, all of them ugly and none of them negotiable. I turned off the phone in a half-panic, refusing to read what I already knew was out there. Didn’t matter. It would still be waiting when I came up for air.
Sleep was a joke, but it found me anyway, or I found it in snatches, a handful of ugly dreams about Alpha voices, unknown hands, and my own body betraying me in public.
Morning hit like a truck I didn't see coming. I looked in the mirror and almost laughed. My eyes were bloodshot eyes, and I had wild hair with blotchy skin. The worst of the heat had backed off, just enough that I could string more than two thoughts together, but it wasn’t gone. Not even close.
Phone. The second I turned it back on, it lit up like a bomb. Three hundred-plus notifications, missed calls, a to-do list of disasters. My management had called seventeen times. I didn't care. What I needed came first. I dialed Marcus.
"The number you have reached is no longer in service."
I tried again, a different number, but got the same result. It didn’t matter how many times I called; he wasn’t picking up. By the third try, my hands were actually shaking.
So I called in a favor. Ally, I had no idea if that was her real name, was the only other person I knew who’d used Marcus for pills.
"Haven't you heard?" Her voice was low, like she thought someone might be listening. "Marcus got taken down three weeks ago. Full raid. They found, like, military-grade stuff. Not the usual pharmacy knockoff. We’re all scrambling."
My stomach dropped into my shoes. "You didn’t think to maybe text me?"
"I figured you knew! It's all anyone’s talking about. Kara, the stuff he sold us, it was dangerous. Stronger than what doctors give out."
Like I hadn’t known that from day one. Victoria had spelled it out for me the first time she handed me a bottle: Take these if you want to go pro. They'll guarantee no one ever thinks you’re anything but Beta.
"I need more," I gritted out. "Anyone else selling?"
