Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Callie
I sat across from Michelle in the living room, watching her scroll through her tablet with the kind of focused intensity that meant she was avoiding something important.
Her manicured fingers moved in sharp, precise swipes, each motion betraying the restless energy she tried so hard to keep contained.
The pack had gone live twenty minutes ago from Ghost's streaming room, their voices carrying faintly through the walls as they played some horror game that involved a lot of Crash screaming, Nova's dry commentary cutting through the chaos, and what sounded like Milo trying to offer emotional support to pixelated characters.
"Michelle." I waited until she finally met my eyes, those sharp green ones that missed nothing when it came to business but seemed determined to ignore everything else. "When's the last time you took a day off? A real one."
She went back to scrolling immediately, her citrus-mint scent sharpening with defensive spikes. "I reviewed contracts from home on Sunday, very relaxing. Had my feet up and everything."
"That's not a day off, and you know it."
"It is when you're managing six disaster magnets who accidentally became the latest face of modern pack dynamics.
" But there was fondness threading through her exasperation, the same tone she'd had since that first day at StreamCon when she'd literally pushed me toward the speed dating event that changed everything.
"Do you have any idea how many brand deals I've had to turn down because they wanted you to do couple's content with energy drink companies?
Energy drinks, Callie. They wanted one of my Omega clients chugging caffeine on camera. "
My phone buzzed with a notification from the stream, the familiar chime cutting through our conversation. Someone had donated $500 with a message that made me snort:
CALLIE COME SAVE CRASH HE'S CRYING AGAIN.
"Should I—"
"They're fine," Michelle said, but she was already pulling up the stream on her tablet with the speed of someone who'd been monitoring it peripherally all along.
She muted it but watched with that sharp, analytical gaze that catalogued everything from viewer sentiment to potential clip-worthy moments.
"Oh, he's actually crying. That's... concerning.
And probably great for engagement, which makes me a terrible person for thinking that. "
On screen, Crash was indeed sobbing while the others laughed, his purple and neon green hair sticking up at odd angles as he gesticulated wildly at the monitor.
The game had apparently involved choosing between saving different pack members in some horrible scenario, and he'd had a complete meltdown trying to decide, his ADHD brain spiraling into genuine distress over fictional consequences and characters he'd accidentally become emotionally attached to.
"That's actually sweet," I said, watching Nova's hand appear in frame to squeeze Crash's shoulder while Ghost silently passed him tissues. "Look at them taking care of him."
"Yeah," Michelle murmured, and when I glanced at her, her expression had gone soft, almost wistful. The sharp edges of her professional mask had slipped, revealing something vulnerable underneath. "It really is."
"You okay?"
"Fine." She minimized the stream with a decisive swipe, pulling up another spreadsheet with color-coded cells that probably contained my entire life mapped out in fifteen-minute increments.
"So tomorrow you have the podcast recording at ten, then the brand meeting at two, and I need you to review the script for Thursday's sponsored segment.
The skincare company wants three mentions minimum but nothing that sounds forced—"
"Michelle."
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 a window, 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, usually sharp 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."