Page 6 of Heat Clickbait
"No," I whispered, but my body wasn't listening to my protests anymore. Heat crawled up my neck like living fingers, flushed across my cheeks in waves I couldn't hide. Not embarrassment, this was deeper than that, more fundamental. Biological imperative. My skin grew hypersensitive, every brush of fabric against flesh sending sparks through my nervous system, every breath feeling like too much and not enough simultaneously. My thighs pressed together unconsciously, seeking pressure, seeking relief from the building ache that was rapidly becoming unbearable.
Nova's grip on my hand tightened until I could feel each of his fingerprints pressed into my skin. His other hand pressed flat against the table's surface, and I watched the wood grain bend and his skin bleach white under his palm from the pressure. He was holding himself back by millimeters, by will alone, every muscle in his body coiled with the effort of not doing something that would probably destroy both our careers.
"You need to leave," he said through gritted teeth, but his body said the opposite. He'd leaned forward too, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could see the pulse hammering in his throat. "Now. Before this gets any worse, before someone decides to make this viral in ways neither of us can control."
"Can't." The admission escaped before I could stop it, honest and raw and terrifying. My legs wouldn't work properly, every attempt to engage my muscles resulting in trembling weakness. Every cell in my body had reorganized itself around staying close to him, to them, the biological pull so strong it bypassed conscious thought entirely. "I literally cannot make my body move away from you right now."
Ghost moved then, fluid and silent as his streaming handle suggested, positioning himself between our table and the growing crowd of gawkers with phones and cameras. His presence created a barrier, a wall of barely controlled Alpha pheromones that made other creators stumble backward, suddenly remembering they had other places to be. But his protection made everything worse. Another Alpha scent layering over Nova's, creating a cocktail that made my head spin and my vision blur at the edges.
"Medical," Blitz said, his voice sharp with urgency as he finally stood fully, his impressive frame casting shadows across our table. "We need to get medical involved here. This is beyond what any of us should be handling alone."
"No." The word tore out of me with enough force to surprise everyone, including myself. It carried more authority than I'd managed all day, despite my compromised state. "No medical. I'm not, this isn't, I don't need some convention medic poking at me and asking questions and filing reports."
But it was happening, whether I wanted to admit it or not. My body temperature spiked another degree, sweat beadingalong my hairline despite the aggressive air conditioning. The pink strands of my carefully styled hair stuck to my neck, and I couldn't stop myself from tilting my head, exposing the vulnerable line of my throat. The gesture was pure instinct, almost presenting to an Alpha I'd known for less than sixty seconds, offering submission to someone whose last name I'd had to read off his badge.
Nova made a sound I'd never heard from a human throat, something between a growl and a whine that spoke directly to parts of my brain that existed before language, before civilization, before I'd learned to build walls around my biology. His hand released mine only to grip the edge of the table, and I heard wood splinter under the pressure.
"Pack," Milo said, his voice cutting through the fog of pheromones with artificial calm, though I could see the strain around his eyes. "We need to move. Now. Before this becomes the kind of viral moment that ruins careers and lives."
But moving meant standing, and standing meant not touching Nova, and my body violently rejected that possibility with a vehemence that surprised me. My hand shot out without conscious direction, fingers wrapping around his wrist with strength I didn't know I possessed, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to earth.
"Please." I didn't know what I was begging for. For them to leave so I could salvage what remained of my professional reputation. For them to stay so this feeling wouldn't end. For the floor to open up and swallow me before this became the public spectacle that would destroy everything I'd spent years building. "I can’t, I don't know how to?—"
Crash had stopped recording, finally, his purple and neon green hair wild around his face as he fought his own biological response to my increasingly potent scent. His usual manic energy had been replaced by something focused and predatorythat should have scared me but didn't. "Boss," he said to Nova, voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Whatever we're doing, we need to do it now. Her scent's getting stronger by the minute, and there are about fifty people with cameras pretending they're not filming this."
He was right. Each breath brought more of my true scent into the air, pheromones I hadn't released in over a year flooding the space around us like an invisible tsunami. Other Alphas at nearby tables were responding, heads turning, nostrils flaring, conversations trailing off mid-sentence as they caught whiffs of what I was putting out. But their interest felt wrong, invasive, like nails on glass or fingers scraping against chalkboard.
Only Nova's attention felt right. Only his pack's presence felt safe.
The thought terrified me enough to release his wrist, the loss of contact sending a spike of anxiety through my system that was almost physically painful. But my body immediately protested the separation, and a whimper escaped. It was small. Involuntary. Humiliating. And all five Alphas responded like I'd screamed. They moved closer in unison, tightening their protective circle around me and the table, their combined scents creating a barrier that made other Alphas back away.
"Three minutes!" the coordinator's voice chirped over the intercom, absurdly cheerful and completely oblivious to the biological chaos unfolding at table eleven. "Time to rotate to your next table and meet more amazing creators!"
Neither of us moved. Neither of us could. The simple act of standing and walking away felt as impossible as flight or breathing underwater.
"I built my entire brand on not needing this," I whispered, the words tumbling out unfiltered, my usual careful media training completely abandoned. "On being independent. On not being like my mother, who couldn't function without an Alphatelling her what to do, who lost herself completely the moment she found her mate."
Nova's expression softened for just a moment, something beyond biological imperative flickering in those dark eyes. Understanding, maybe. Recognition of a fellow person trying to fight against their own nature. "And I swore I'd never let biology dictate business decisions. Never let instinct override logic and careful planning."
"Seems we're both spectacular failures, then."
"The most spectacular ones in this entire convention center," he agreed, and his thumb brushed against my wrist where my pulse hammered against the skin like a trapped bird.
That second touch undid me completely. My body's response was immediate and overwhelming, nipples tightening visibly through my carefully chosen professional blouse, breath coming in small gasps that I couldn't hide, wetness gathering between my thighs despite every rational thought screaming at me to maintain control. Every sign of arousal, displayed in front of dozens of cameras in the middle of what was supposed to be a professional networking event.
"Time's up!" Jenny materialized beside our table like a cheerful demon, her coordinator smile faltering as she registered the scene before her. Her eyes went wide, taking in our death grip on each other, the visible signs of my arousal, the way five Alphas had formed a protective barrier around an Omega they'd just met like we were all starring in some biological drama none of us had auditioned for. "Oh. Oh my. Should I, should I call medical? Or security? Or, uh, someone?"
"We've got her," Nova said, and the possessive pronoun sent another wave of heat through me, making my vision blur around the edges.
"We absolutely do not," I protested weakly, even as my body swayed toward him like a plant seeking sunlight.
Milo laughed, nervous and slightly hysterical, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair. "We absolutely do."
The other creators had given up any pretense of their own speed dating sessions, every eye in the room focused on our table like we were the main event at some bizarre biological circus. I heard whispers, speculation, someone definitely saying "livestreaming this shit right now" with the kind of glee that meant my professional reputation was about to become internet entertainment. My carefully crafted independence, my brand built on omega empowerment, dissolving in real-time because my body had decided these five strangers smelled like home.
"Can you stand?" Nova asked, his voice gentle despite the obvious strain in every muscle of his body.
I considered the question seriously, taking inventory of my limbs. My legs felt like they were made of warm honey, and the thought of putting weight on them seemed laughably optimistic. "Probably not."
