Page 62 of Heat Clickbait
She sighed, finally setting down the tablet and rubbing her temples where I could see the beginning of tension lines forming. "It's nothing. Just... watching you all. How easy it is now. Even when Crash is crying over a video game, there's this... security. You know they've got him. You know you're all going to figure it out together."
"You want that." It wasn't a question. I'd seen the way she watched us during pack meetings, not with the calculated gaze of a manager tracking content opportunities, but something deeper. Lonelier. Like someone pressing their face against awindow, watching a warmth they'd convinced themselves they couldn't touch.
"I'm on suppressants," she said, like that explained everything, like it was a wall she'd built around herself that couldn't be climbed. "Have been for a while. It's fine. I chose career over... that. Over the complications."
"I was on suppressants too, remember? For years. So was Kara. It's not a life sentence, Michelle."
"It is when you're managing one of the most visible packs in the streaming world." Her laugh was sharp, brittle. "Can you imagine the headlines? 'Manager tries to steal spotlight from famous pack.' 'Beta reveals she's been lying to clients.' The industry would crucify me, and your reputation would take collateral damage."
She pulled up her phone, scrolling through something with the jerky movements of someone trying to distract themselves. "Besides, I have work. I have clients who depend on me, contracts worth millions, a reputation I've spent twelve years building. That's enough. It has to be enough."
Her phone screen caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows, and I glimpsed what she was actually watching. Not spreadsheets or contracts or competitor analysis, but a stream. Someone playing a cozy farming game, their voice low and soothing, barely audible because she had the volume so low, as they explained their garden layout to chat, the comments filled with sprout emojis and heart reactions.
"Is that Cozy Luke?"
Michelle yanked her phone back so fast she nearly fumbled it onto the floor. "I was checking competitor metrics. It's research."
"On a farming stream? Really?"
"Cozy content is huge right now, it's a growing market segment." But her cheeks had gone pink, and her scent, usuallysharp with beta maskers and professional-grade blockers, had shifted slightly. Just enough that my sensitive nose caught something sweeter underneath, something that reminded me of summer afternoons and the way gardens smelled after rain. "His audience overlaps with yours by twelve percent. That's significant crossover potential."
"You watch him a lot?"
"Professionally. He's a new client, I need to understand his content style and audience engagement patterns." The words came out too fast, too defensive. Her voice pitched just a little too high. "His metrics are impressive for the cozy gaming niche."
"Michelle."
"Occasionally, when I can't sleep I listen to him." The admission seemed to surprise her, and she looked horrified at herself for saying it out loud. "His voice is... it's good background noise. Helps with insomnia. This is ridiculous. I'm thirty-four years old, I've built a career on being the composed one, the one who has her shit together, and I'm not going to throw that away because some YouTuber has a soothing voice and grows virtual turnips."
"You could meet him," I suggested carefully, trying to keep my tone casual. "Creator events, collaborations, industry mixers?—"
"No." The word came out sharp enough to cut, her professional walls slamming back into place. "Absolutely not. I've seen what happens when people scent match in public, Callie. I was there, remember? Fielding your life while you basically went into heat in front of hundreds of cameras at StreamCon?"
"And look how that turned out," I said softly as I physically had to hold my own hand to stop myself from touching my new bite marks.
"You got lucky. You found five Alphas who respect you, who refused to mark you during heat, who are willing to build their entire streaming schedule around your cycle." She stopped, pressing her lips together like she'd said too much. "Not everyone gets that story, Callie. Not everyone gets the fairy tale ending where the pack worships the ground they walk on and the viewers ship it instead of slut shaming. Most omegas in this industry get chewed up and spat out the moment they show any vulnerability."
Her words stung, especially because she knew there was plenty of the latter as well, but before I could reply the door to Ghost's streaming room opened with a soft click. All five Alphas tumbled out in various states of distress and dishevelment.
Crash was still sniffling, his dramatic makeup smeared down his cheeks in colorful streaks, while Ghost looked vaguely traumatized by whatever psychological horror the game had put them through. Milo was making soft comforting sounds, and Blitz was bouncing on his toes with residual adrenaline or maybe because he hadn't lifted weights on camera in over twenty-four hours.
"Chat demands Callie," Nova announced, his business voice still crisp despite the obvious emotional toll of whatever they'd just experienced. Then he paused, reading the room with that sharp intelligence that made him so good at negotiations, taking in Michelle's tense posture and my carefully neutral expression. "Everything alright in here?"
"Fine," Michelle said, snapping back to her tablet with practiced efficiency. "Stream metrics look excellent. Maybe consider doing some pack comfort content next to balance the horror game trauma. The audience responds well to emotional recovery segments."
But Milo was already studying her with that careful attention he brought to everything, the same focus he used whendetermining if a soufflé would fall or if someone needed feeding. I saw him catalogue the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept refreshing the same screen over and over, the barely-there bags under her eyes that her concealer couldn't quite hide.
"When did you last eat something?" he asked, his voice carrying that gentle authority that made people confess their dietary sins.
"I had coffee. And a protein bar. This morning."
"That's not food, that's survival rations." He was already heading to the kitchen, his Alpha instincts clearly pinging at the sight of someone not properly cared for. "I'm making dinner. Real dinner. You're staying."
"I have three client calls tonight and a contract review that absolutely cannot wait?—"
"Stay," Nova said, using his Alpha voice without seeming to realize it, the command carrying enough authority to make even me straighten slightly. "We're having a family dinner. Non-negotiable."
Michelle looked ready to argue, her mouth opening to deliver what was probably a perfectly crafted refusal, then deflated like someone had pulled her plug. "Fine. But I'm reviewing contracts while you cook. Multitasking is still allowed, right?"
