Chapter 25 – PHOENIX
Chapter
Twenty-Five
PHOENIX
Bells’s scent is driving me insane.
Not in the way that tempts me to kick down the door and claim what every alpha instinct is screaming belongs to me. I'm an alpha, not a monster. But in the way that makes me hyperaware of every breath, every sound, every shift in the air that might indicate Bells needs something I could provide.
Rafael's pacing has worn a path in the hotel carpet. Back and forth, back and forth, his fingers drumming against his thigh in that nervous tic he gets when he's trying not to do something stupid.
Like burst through that door.
"We should check on him," Raf says for the fifth time in ten minutes.
"He said he needs to be alone," I counter, also for the fifth time.
"That was an hour ago."
"Still applies."
Raf shoots me a look that could strip paint. "Phoenix, he's in there suffering. You can smell it. I can definitely smell it. We're supposed to just sit here and—"
A thud from the other room cuts him off.
We're both at the door before conscious thought catches up. Rafael's hand hovers over the handle, but he doesn't turn it. Doesn't cross that line. Bells locked it anyway.
"Bells?" I call through the wood. "You okay?"
Silence.
Then, quieter than it should be: "Yeah. Just... dropped something."
His voice is wrecked. Rough and broken like he's been crying or screaming or both. The omega in distress triggers something primal in my chest, something that wants to break down every barrier between us and make it better.
"Do you need anything?" Rafael asks, and his knuckles are white where they're gripping the doorframe.
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Water," Bells finally says. "And... I don't know. Blankets? Pillows? Something soft."
Nesting supplies.
My heart does something complicated in my chest because that's—that's trust. Letting us provide for his heat even if he won't let us help directly. It's more than I expected, more than we probably deserve given the circumstances.
"Whatever you need," I say immediately. "Give us twenty minutes. Or do you want one of us to stay and keep watch?"
"No," Bells mutters. "I trust you more when you're together and can hold each other back. No offense."
"None taken," Raf says gruffly. "We'll be right back."
"Okay."
Rafael and I stare at each other for a beat, both processing what just happened. Then we're moving, grabbing our jackets and keys, heading for the door like the building's on fire.
The rain has picked up, drumming against the Impala's roof as Rafael navigates through Seattle's late-night streets. Neither of us speaks. We're both too busy trying to breathe through the phantom scent still clinging to our clothes, our skin, our goddamn souls.
"There," I point to a twenty-four-hour department store that looks like it caters to people having middle-of-the-night crises. Perfect.
Rafael parks and we sprint through the downpour into the fluorescent hell of late-night retail. A tired-looking beta employee glances up from her phone, takes one look at us—two soaking wet alphas with blown pupils and desperate energy—and immediately goes back to scrolling.
Smart woman.
"Blankets," Rafael mutters, already heading toward home goods. "Soft ones. What's soft? Fleece? Cotton? Fuck, I don't know what's soft."
I grab his arm before he can have a full breakdown in the bedding aisle. "Anything plush. Just grab whatever feels good."
We split up, each taking a cart. I head for pillows first because you can never have too many pillows when you're nesting.
The memory of that trunk in my room—the one I filled with supplies I never thought I'd use because Nash was an alpha and we couldn't have that kind of relationship—hits me square in the chest.
But Bells isn't Nash.
And this isn't that.
I grab every soft pillow I can find. Down, memory foam, those weird ones shaped like donuts.
Into the cart they go. Then blankets. A weighted one because pressure might help.
A fuzzy sherpa one that's so soft I almost want one for myself.
A silk one that costs as much as a vintage but fuck it, omegas deserve nice things.
Especially Bells.
Rafael appears with his own overflowing cart, looking mildly deranged.
"Did you buy the entire store?" I ask.
"Shut up."
We hit the snack aisle next because omegas in heat need to eat even if they don't want to. Protein bars, crackers, fruit cups, chocolate because that's non-negotiable. Water bottles. Sports drinks for electrolytes. I grab some of those fancy herbal teas that claim to help with cramps.
"Should we get him clothes?" Rafael asks, eyeing the sleepwear section. "Something comfortable?"
I pause. "Actually, yeah. Grab a few of those oversized hoodies. The kind that swallow you whole."
Rafael does, adding them to his cart along with a giant, floppy plush white rabbit.
"What?" he says defensively when he catches me looking. "It matches his hoodie."
Twenty minutes later, we're back at the hotel with enough supplies to nest a small army. The employee who checked us out definitely thought we were insane, but she didn't comment on the two giant alphas buying out the comfort section at three in the morning.
Professionalism. I can respect that.
I knock softly on the adjoining door. "Bells? We're back. Can we bring stuff in?"
Shuffling sounds. Then the lock clicks and the door cracks open just enough for me to see one honey-colored eye peering out.
"Just... put everything by the door," Bells says, his voice still wrecked. "I'll grab it."
"You sure? We can help you arrange things—"
"No." The word is sharp, final. "Just leave it. Please."
So we do. We pile everything just inside the threshold—blankets, pillows, snacks, water, the ridiculous plush rabbit that Rafael insists on placing on top like a cherry on a very soft sundae.
The door closes before we're even done. We hear Bells moving around, dragging things further into the room, making small sounds that bypass my brain and go straight to every protective instinct I possess.
Rafael and I retreat to our room. The door between us stays unlocked on our side, just in case.
Hours pass. The sky outside starts to lighten from black to deep gray, false dawn promising a morning neither of us will actually sleep through. The scent has only gotten stronger, more concentrated, more impossible to ignore.
Rafael's given up pacing and just sprawls on the bed—there's only one, because of course there is—staring at the ceiling. I'm doing the same on the other one. Both of us are still fully clothed because stripping down feels too vulnerable right now, too close to admitting what we want.
"When was the last time you felt like this?" Rafael asks suddenly.
"Like what?"
"Like if you don't do something, you're going to crawl out of your skin."
I think about Nash. About those nights when he'd slip into my room, when his scent would wrap around me and I'd know exactly what he needed without words. How different that was from this—familiar versus unknown, alpha versus omega, chosen versus destined.
"Nash," I say quietly. "But it wasn't the same. We weren't... compatible. Not like this."
"You loved him though. Always knew you did."
"Yeah." My throat tightens. "I did."
Rafael's quiet for a long moment. Then he mutters, "I've never felt this way about anyone. Male, female, doesn't matter. This is—fuck, Phoenix, what are we supposed to do with this?"
"I don't know. He's in heat because some psycho stalker drugged him. Not exactly the foundation for a healthy relationship."
"No," Rafael agrees. "But the scent match is real. You can't fake that."
Another sound from the other room. Not quite a whimper, but close. Both of us go rigid, every muscle tensed like we're about to spring into action.
The adjoining door opens.
Bells stands there, and he looks absolutely wrecked. His white hair is a charming disaster, sticking up at all angles. Everything about him screams omega in heat. Flushed skin, dilated pupils, the kind of desperation that makes my chest twist up in a fucking pretzel.
"I need..." Bells starts, then stops. Swallows.
Tries again. "I decided not to take an emergency suppressant.
They can be dangerous mixed with… whatever the fuck was in the drinks.
I need to let this shit run its course and purge the drugs out of my system.
In a normal heat, I'd be in my right mind, but this one?
I have no idea what's going to happen here.
" He braces a hand against the doorframe, taking a deep breath.
"So I need to set boundaries now, while I can still think straight. "
Rafael sits up slowly. "Okay. That's... a good idea. How can we help?"
"You can't." But Bells doesn't move from the doorway. Just stands there, swaying slightly, arms wrapped around himself. "I just wanted you to know. So you understand why it's going to get worse before it gets better."
"How much worse?" I ask carefully.
"Full heat. The kind that..." Bells trails off, looking away. "The kind that usually requires a partner. But I can handle it. I've done it before."
The thought of Bells suffering through a full heat alone makes something violent clench in my gut. But I keep my voice calm, gentle. "You don't have to handle it alone if you don't want to. If you need—"
"You can't give me what I need." Bells laughs, but there's no humor in it.
"Which is what?" Rafael asks, and I could kill him for pushing.
But Bells meets his eyes steadily. "You two going in the other room and jerking each other off or whatever the fuck else alphas do to take the edge off when an omega is in heat in the next room," he says flatly, stunning me into total silence.
His hand goes to his neck, fingers pressing against the leather collar he never removes.
"The thing is... This isn't a normal heat.
I don't know if I'll want it because I actually want you, or because my body is begging for any alpha to make the pain stop.
And part of me—the part that's terrified of how bad this is going to hurt without a knot—that part wants you to say yes if I beg for it. "
I swallow the growing lump in my throat at the desperation and fear in Bells's eyes, but I wait for him to continue.
Bells takes a deep breath. "The part of me that's still me needs to know you won't. Not until I'm clear-headed enough to know what I want versus what the heat wants. Not until this shit is out of my system."
"We wouldn't," I say immediately. "I promise."
"What if I wanted to?" Bells challenges. "What if the pain gets bad enough that I'm begging for it? Sobbing? Climbing you like trees? Would you still say no?"
"Yes," Rafael and I say simultaneously.
"When you're ready—if you're ready," I say, "it'll be your choice. Not the drugs'. Yours."
"Good," Bells mutters. "That's... good. Because I'm going to be really fucking pathetic in about six hours."
Then he sways again, and I'm up and across the room before conscious thought catches up. My hands hover near his elbows, not touching but ready to catch him if he falls.
"You need to lie down," I say softly. "Let us help you back to bed."
"I made a nest." The admission is quiet, almost shy. "It's... it's pretty good, actually. Used all the stuff you brought."
"Can we see?" Rafael asks, and there's genuine curiosity in his voice rather than anything predatory.
Bells hesitates, then steps back, allowing us into his space.
The room has been transformed. Every blanket we bought is incorporated into an elaborate nest on the bed. Pillows are arranged with clear intent, creating pockets and supports. The stuffed rabbit sits in the center like a guardian.
It's beautiful. Carefully constructed, obviously providing comfort. And it smells so strongly of omega in heat that my knees actually weaken.
My omega in heat, according to the bonds singing like a string quartet in every cell of my fucking body. But that knowledge is the last damn thing he needs right now.
"This is amazing," Rafael says, his voice hoarse. "You did this all yourself?"
"Nesting is instinctive." Bells moves toward the nest but doesn't get in, like he's showing off his work but not ready to be vulnerable in it yet. He blows a puff of air through his nose. "It's one of the few omega things I actually like."
The confession is loaded with complicated feelings I don't have the tools to unpack right now.
"You should eat something," I suggest, gesturing to the snacks we left. "Keep your strength up."
Bells wrinkles his nose like we're trying to feed him bugs. "I'm not hungry."
Rafael starts unpacking the food just in case, arranging it on the desk so it's accessible. He tosses Bells a water bottle. "At least hydrate."
Bells catches the bottle and uncaps it without arguing.
I watch his throat work with each swallow.
Then another wave hits and Bells's knees buckle, his breath hitching, scent spiking with renewed intensity.
He makes it to the nest, curling into the center, wrapped around the plush rabbit like its warmth will soothe the pain in his stomach.
"Out," Bells gasps. "Please. I can't—you need to go."
We do. We retreat to our room, closing the door most of the way but not all the way. Leaving it open enough to hear if he calls.
Rafael collapses onto the bed. "This is the worst kind of torture."
"Yeah." I scrub my hands over my face, sinking onto the mattress next to him. "Yeah, it really is."
This is going to be a long fucking night.