Page 82 of Heat Clickbait
The internet had, predictably, lost its mind during our radio silence. Theories ranged from secret wedding to dramatic breakup to alien abduction, the speculation growing moreelaborate with each hour we remained offline. Michelle had fielded dozens of calls from sponsors, brand partners, and media outlets, her usual efficiency the only thing standing between us and complete chaos. The truth, that we'd spent three days in the most intense biological bonding experience possible, was somehow both more boring and more incredible than any fiction they'd created.
"We should probably stream something," I said, though moving seemed impossible. Maybe forever. My limbs felt like they were made of lead and silk simultaneously.
"Tomorrow," Nova decided, and his organizational energy was the only reason I believed tomorrow might actually exist. "I've already crafted statements for the major platforms. Something about taking time for pack bonding, which is technically accurate."
"I can't feel my legs," Crash announced cheerfully, his usual chaotic energy subdued but present. "Like, at all. Pretty sure I came so hard I disconnected from my lower body. Is that medically possible?"
"TMI," Blitz groaned, but he was smiling, his post-rut contentment radiating through our bonds like warm honey.
"Everything about the last three days was TMI," I pointed out, adjusting my position in the nest and immediately regretting it as every muscle protested. "We basically became a single organism temporarily. Normal boundaries are meaningless now."
Ghost typed something on his phone, showing me the screen.
We survived our first pack heat. Everything else will be easy.
I thought about the media circus waiting outside our bubble, the explanations we'd have to give, the inevitableinvasive questions about pack dynamics and omega biology. The sponsors who would want details they had no right to, the fans who would demand content that captured something inherently private. Then I looked around at my pack. I was exhausted, wrecked, but somehow we were closer than ever, their scents mingling in the air like a promise.
"Yeah," I agreed, curling deeper into our nest, into the silk pillowcases that had started this whole cascade. "We can handle anything now."
The bonds between us hummed with contentment, no longer overwhelming but simply present, like a favorite song playing just below the threshold of hearing. The complete circuit we'd created had fundamentally changed us, individually and collectively, rewiring something essential in ways I was only beginning to understand.
Pack heat was supposed to be dangerous, overwhelming, potentially destructive. And it had been all those things, pushing us to biological limits that should have been terrifying. But it had also been profound, connecting us in ways that went beyond anything I'd imagined possible, beyond anything the forums or research papers had prepared me for.
"Next one won't be for months," Dr. Yates had assured us, her clinical voice trying to impose order on something inherently chaotic.
Good. I needed at least that long to recover, to process what we'd experienced.
But also... I was already looking forward to it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Callie
When I came out of my first pack heat the last thing I expected was to have an interview request from the most popular morning show in the country. Now, less than a week later I sat in the green room of the same show I grew up watching waiting for our turn to be called out to talk to the hosts.
I couldn't keep my gaze off Nova as he paced with the controlled energy of someone calculating seventeen different variables simultaneously. His fingers drummed against his thigh in a pattern I'd learned meant he was running through contingency plans, probably labeled A through Z with sub-categories for each potential disaster.
"Stop catastrophizing," I said, adjusting the silk blouse Michelle had insisted on. It was conservative enough to scream 'respectable Omega' while the subtle cutouts whispered 'but make it fashion.' The five bite marks on my neck were deliberately visible, a statement louder than any words.
"I'm not catastrophizing," Nova said, his accent sharpening the way it did when stressed. "I'm preparing for realistic scenarios. The host has a history of asking invasive questionsdisguised as concern. Her interview with that bonded triad last year included asking about their sexual positions."
"She asked what?" Blitz stopped mid-pushup, because of course he was exercising minutes before national television.
"If they maintained 'traditional Alpha hierarchy' in intimate settings." Nova's jaw clenched. "Phrased delicately, but the implication was clear."
Ghost typed rapidly on his phone, probably pulling up the interview in question. His eyes narrowed as he read, a sure sign he was cataloguing every micro-aggression for future reference.
"We knew this would happen," I said, standing to smooth my skirt. Another Michelle selection, long enough to be modest, short enough to show I had nothing to hide. "Going mainstream means dealing with mainstream ignorance."
"Your mother will be watching," Milo said quietly from his corner, where he'd been stress-eating the green room's fruit plate. "She texted asking if we're sure about this."
My mother. The woman whose public heat disaster had become a cautionary tale, who'd abandoned me to save me from this exact scenario, discussing pack dynamics on morning television where millions could judge and dissect every word.
"Let her watch," I said, meaning it without malice. "Maybe she'll finally understand the difference between her story and mine. I know she's getting there, but maybe this will help move her along."
A production assistant appeared, headset making her look official and frazzled simultaneously. "Five minutes to air. We'll bring you out after the cooking segment."
Crash bounced on his toes, energy crackling. "After cooking? So we follow food? That's either insulting or genius."
