Page 85 of Heat Clickbait
Outside, #PackGoals continued trending. Inside our car, six people who'd chosen each other despite everything just existed, together, real and messy and completely ourselves.
My mother's nightmare had become my victory.
And we'd done it live on national television.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Callie
The same convention center hallway, the same fluorescent lights, the same industrial carpet with its corporate blue geometric pattern. But this time, I walked through the main entrance with my head high, flanked by my pack, our guest of honor badges catching the light like medals of honor.
"Full circle," Nova murmured, his hand warm on my lower back as we navigated the crowd that parted for us like we were celebrities. Which, technically, we were. Our faces adorned at least three different promotional banners, and our panel on "Authentic Pack Dynamics in Content Creation" had sold out in under a minute.
"Except this time we're not hiding," I said, breathing in the familiar cocktail of convention smells, overpriced coffee, excitement, and barely controlled chaos. No scent blockers, no suppressants, no strawberry vape to mask my nerves. Just me, confidently omega, completely myself.
A year changes everything and nothing. The creator speed dating event was still happening in the same conference room, still organized by the impossibly cheerful Jenny who'd somehow gotten even more enthusiastic about manufactured chemistry.We could see it through the glass doors as we passed, those same twenty tables, those same pink and blue LED strips that refused to acknowledge non-binary existence.
"Should we?" Crash asked, bouncing on his toes with barely contained glee. "Just for nostalgia?"
"We have twenty minutes before the panel," Ghost typed on his phone, showing me the screen with what might have been amusement in his dark eyes.
So we stopped, six successful creators worth a collective fifteen million subscribers, pressing our faces to the glass like kids at a candy store. Inside, nervous Alphas and Omegas rotated through their three-minute interactions, hope and desperation radiating from every awkward handshake.
"Table eleven," Milo said softly, pointing to where a young Alpha sat alone, adjusting his nameplate with shaking hands. "That's where?—"
"Where everything changed," I finished, remembering that moment of contact, the world tilting off its axis, five Alphas suddenly becoming my entire universe.
We watched another rotation, saw the mechanical smiles and calculated chemistry, creators trying so hard to find their match, their collaboration, their something. It felt like watching our own origin story from the outside, understanding finally how impossible our connection had been. How statistically improbable, how absolutely perfect.
"Oh shit," Blitz breathed suddenly, his whole body going rigid. "Look. Table seven."
We all turned in unison, pack instincts making us move as one unit, and saw it happening in real-time. An Omega with purple braids had just sat down across from a small pack, three Alphas who'd been looking bored until that moment. The shift was instant, visceral, visible even through glass. The Omega's eyes went wide, her hands trembling as she reached across thetable. The lead Alpha's pupils dilated so fast it looked like time-lapse photography.
"Scent match," Nova said unnecessarily. We could all see it, feel it in our bones, that recognition of biological impossibility becoming inevitable reality.
The Omega stood abruptly, knocking over her water bottle, the contents spreading across the table as she stumbled backward. One of the Alphas reached for her instinctively, and the moment they made contact, her knees buckled. The other creators were starting to notice, phones appearing, that familiar hungry energy of viral content being born.
"We have to—" I started, already moving toward the door.
"Already on it," Nova said, his phone in hand as he called someone. "Yes, it's Nova. We have a situation in the speed dating room. No, not bad, but, yes, that kind of situation."
We pushed through the doors as a unit, and our presence immediately changed the room's energy. Creators who'd been pulling out phones suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be. The authority of an established pack, especially one as publicly known as ours, created a barrier without us saying a word.
"Hey," I said softly, approaching the purple-haired Omega who was now being supported by all three Alphas, their scents mixing in a combination that made even my mated senses recognize compatibility. "I'm Callie. This is my pack. We know exactly what you're going through."
She looked up at me with tears streaming down her face, mascara creating abstract art on her cheeks. "I can't, this wasn't supposed to, I have a brand, I have sponsors, I can't just?—"
"You can do whatever you choose," I said firmly, crouching down to her level while my pack formed a protective barrier around us, blocking the cameras and curious eyes. "Biology isn't destiny, it's just biology. You get to decide what happens next."
"But everyone saw," she whispered, her scent spiking with distress, lavender and lightning, sharp and sweet simultaneously. "It's probably already online, and my audience thinks I'm aromantic, I built everything on not wanting this?—"
I laughed, not unkindly. "Bestie, I built my brand on being the Alpha-proof Omega. Now I'm mated to five of them and have two million subscribers who've watched the whole journey. Your truth is allowed to evolve."
The lead Alpha of her matched pack, a tall woman with undercut dark hair and kind eyes, spoke carefully. "We don't even know your name. We can just, I mean, if you need us to leave?—"
“Tara," the Omega whispered. "My name is Tara. And no, don't, please don't leave. I just... I need a minute. Or a year. I don't know."
Ghost pulled out his phone, typing rapidly before showing the screen to Nova, who nodded. Within seconds, they'd coordinated something, because Jenny appeared with security, efficiently clearing the room of everyone except us and the newly matched pack.
