Page 94 of Stream Heat
This time I was locking the door and riding it out solo. No more begging, no more weakness on display.
The bathroom wasn’t far, but every step felt like a challenge. I cranked the shower to its coldest and let it pummel me, shattering the heat for a minute or two before the fire burned through the relief. Nothing external touched what was happening inside. I stared at my reflection, face flushed, pupils wide, the hunger in my eyes impossible to miss. I was alien to myself like this.
“You don’t need them,” I told my reflection, voice wrecked and low, but we both knew it was a lie. I could feel the pack bonds thrumming, every inch of me tuned to them. Reid’s undeniable command, Theo’s ridiculous energy, Jace’s watchfulness, Ash’s silent steadiness, Malik’s cool calm. All of them, right here, just beyond the walls.
Each one could make this stop.
Except every single one of them had promised not to touch me unless I asked, and unless I was clear-headed when I asked.
I wrapped up in a towel, a sorry defense against the next wave tearing through me. Stronger this time, and I had to bite back the sound that tried to escape.
Just get back to the room. Lock the door. Run out the clock.
I reached for the bathroom door but didn’t get the chance to open it. It swung in toward me, too sudden, and there was Reid, messy hair, sweatpants hanging low. The shock of his scent, clean, stormy, anchoring and heavy as brick. I nearly dropped to the floor.
“Kara,” he said, name a gentle question and a command all at once. His eyes flickered, pupils going wide when he caught my scent, but the man was a steel trap; he didn’t move toward me, didn’t crowd me. “I felt something through the bond. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, yanking the towel tighter. Could barely keep the words together and had to lock my knees to prevent myself from falling to the floor. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”
He didn’t bother hiding his skepticism. “Your heat’s back. Early.”
It wasn’t even a question. He could see it on me, feel it radiating through the air.
“I’ve got it,” I insisted, fighting to step past him. “I’ll handle it. Like last time.”
He didn’t flinch, but his voice cut lower, sharp enough to leave a mark. “You mean, when you isolated yourself for days. When you refused water and ended up nearly needing medical attention. When you suffered so much you wouldn’t let anyone in because you thought being strong meant being alone?”
Ouch.
I shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “I made it, didn’t I?”
“Surviving is the lowest bar, Kara.” He moved aside, letting me pass, and the simple gesture nearly undid me. “At least let me get you set up. Water, electrolytes, proper nest. Then I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”
It was almost impossible to be mad at that kind of logic. My anger felt stupid and brittle. I nodded, head down, and walkedpast him all the way to my room. His scent stuck to me, an invisible hand on every inch of exposed skin.
Inside, another wave gutted me. I grabbed the desk for balance, couldn’t bite back the sound this time. A whine of need and my scent exploding around me now that Reid was close.
“Kara,” Reid called from the doorway, still not coming in. “Tell me what you need.”
What I needed was so obvious it physically hurt. I needed him. All of them, if I was being honest, which I hated. The emptiness inside me was wild and biting. Every cell desperate for what only they could give.
But I wasn’t going to say that. Not ever. “Just water,” I said. “And privacy.”
He nodded, left for a second, came back with water and electrolytes. Set them quietly next to my bed, but didn’t leave, didn’t walk away. I could feel his need to help fighting with his promise not to cross lines.
“The pack bonds make this worse, you know,” he said, voice low. “Your system expects relief because of our proximity.”
“I know,” I snapped, another wave making my hands spasm on the desk. “Can’t change it.”
“There are options.” He kept it even. “Non-sexual comfort. Scenting. Physical touch, if you want it.”
“I remember from last time. Didn’t want it then, don’t want it now,” I shot back, voice like a whip. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it, but that I knew I’d want too much. Just scenting and physical touch wouldn’t cut it, not really.
He just looked at me, calm as stone. “Your pride isn’t worth your pain, Kara.”
That line cracked me open. Every coping mechanism I’d ever built was made of pride, protecting me from the world and from them. But in that moment, alone with someone who wasn’ttrying to strip it away, it felt like armor that was starting to suffocate me.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, almost not recognizing the sound of my own voice.
