Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Sierra
Standing in the hallway watching four alphas process the fact that they’re trapped here with me would be almost funny if my entire body wasn’t on fire.
I can feel another wave building. That deep, insistent ache that starts low in my belly and radiates outward.
The oversized t-shirt I’m wearing feels like sandpaper.
And underneath it all is this hollow, empty feeling that makes me want to curl up and whimper.
And my heat hasn’t even started properly yet.
Safe to say, I’m fucked.
But right now, I need to think.
Four alphas. Going into rut. Stuck in a house with me during my heat.
This is the setup to either some omega’s wet dream or a disaster preparedness nightmare. Possibly both.
I press my hand harder against the wall, using the cool surface to ground myself. Focus. They need you to be rational right now, even if every instinct you have is screaming at you to either run back to your nest or walk straight into their arms.
Neither of those options is acceptable.
“Okay,” I say, and I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds. “So, leaving isn’t an option. Which means we need to establish some ground rules for... this situation.”
Dax is staring at me as if I’ve just suggested we all go swimming in the storm surge. “Sierra, you should go back to your room. Rest. We can figure this out.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’m absolutely not fine. I’m approximately thirty seconds away from another heat wave that’s going to make me want to crawl out of my skin. But they don’t need to know that. “And this affects all of us, so we should all have input.”
“She’s right,” Malik says, though he’s maintaining a careful distance, standing behind the couch like it’s a shield. “We need clear boundaries. Clear expectations. Everyone on the same page.”
There’s something about the way he says it, so calm and rational, that helps. Like this is just another problem to solve.
I can work with that.
I gesture to the space they’ve been occupying. “We should sit down. Talk this through.”
“Are you sure you’re up for—” Jalen starts, concern written all over his face.
“I’m sure,” I say firmly, even though I’m not. Even though sitting in a room with them when their scents are already making my omega want to do extremely inadvisable things sounds like the worst idea I’ve had all week.
But what’s the alternative? Hiding in my room while they make decisions about how to handle this? No. Absolutely not. I’m not that person.
I push off from the wall and make myself walk toward the couch with as much confidence as I can muster. My legs are shaking slightly. Everything is shaking slightly. But I make it to the armchair and sink into it with what I hope looks like casual grace rather than desperate relief.
The alphas exchange glances.
Then, slowly, they follow.
Cole kicks his bag aside and claims one end of the couch, his hair still sticking up in every direction from running his hands through it. Jalen takes the other end, his bandaged hand resting carefully on his knee. Malik perches on the edge of the loveseat, and Dax...
Dax pulls over one of the stools from the kitchen and positions it between me and the others.
The protective gesture isn’t lost on me. He’s physically placing himself as a barrier, and I can’t tell if it’s to protect me from them or them from me.
Maybe both.
“Right,” Malik says, his phone lighting up. “Ground rules.”
“Are you seriously taking notes?” Cole asks, a hint of his usual humor creeping into his voice.
“I like to be prepared,” Malik replies. “This is a high-stakes situation.”
“A high-stakes situation?” Cole snorts. “What are you, a hostage negotiator?”
“Worse,” Malik deadpans. “I’m an alpha stuck with three idiots during an omega’s heat. If I don’t mediate, someone’s going to lose an eye.”
I can’t help it. Despite the heat, the tension, and the sheer absurdity of the situation, a laugh bubbles up, half hysterical but still a laugh.
All four of them look at me.
“Sorry,” I say, pressing my hand to my mouth. “You just sounded like you were about to defuse a bomb.”
“I am,” Malik says without missing a beat. Then he glances at me, his lips twitching. “You’re the bomb.”
Jalen groans. Cole chokes on a laugh. Even Dax huffs something that might be amusement, muttering, “Not with the bad jokes,” under his breath.
The tension in the room eases just a bit.
“Okay,” I say, getting myself under control. “Rules. Boundaries. What do we need?”
“Separation,” Dax says immediately. His voice is rough, strained, and I notice his hands are clenched on his knees. “Physical distance. You stay in your room; we stay in ours.”
“Agreed,” I say quickly, because yes, distance is good. Distance is necessary. Distance is the only thing standing between me and some very poor decision-making.
Another wave hits me, stronger this time, and I can’t completely hide it. Heat blooms across my skin, and I feel slick gathering between my thighs. My scent must spike because all four of them go rigid.
Dax’s hands clench tighter. Cole’s breath catches. Malik’s fingers freeze over his phone. Jalen shifts in his seat, jaw tight.
I shift in the chair, trying to get comfortable, and catch Dax’s eyes tracking the movement. His gaze drops to my thighs, then snaps away as if caught stealing, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
Right. Super obvious, Sierra. Very subtle.
“Food,” Malik says, his voice slightly strangled. He clears his throat and tries again. “We need a system for meals. We can’t just avoid eating for however long this lasts.”
That brings a question.
“How long does a rut usually last?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know.
There’s a pause. Cole shifts uncomfortably. Jalen looks away.
“Depends,” Dax says, his voice tight. “Could be a few days. Could be longer. Hard to say. Especially with all four of us syncing. We’re in uncharted territory.”
What he’s not saying is that ruts usually end when an alpha satisfies an omega. But since that’s not happening here, they have no idea how long they’ll be dealing with this.
Great. Just great.
“So, we’re looking at potentially days of this,” I summarize.
“At least,” Jalen confirms quietly.
Days trapped in this house with four alphas who smell so good it’s making my brain short-circuit, while my omega does her best to convince me that what I really need is to just open my legs and—
Just the thought alone makes such heat rise in me that I squirm in the seat.
“Meals outside doors,” I suggest, grabbing on to the practical problem like a lifeline. “We can take turns cooking—”
“You’re not cooking during your heat,” Dax interrupts, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it. There’s an edge of alpha command in it that makes my omega want to roll over and show my throat. “You need to rest.”
“I can’t expect you to—”
“Sierra.” The way he says my name makes something low in my belly clench.
There’s an edge to it, an alpha authority that my omega wants to respond to, wants to submit to.
His forest green eyes have gone dark, intense, and I can see the way his chest is rising and falling with controlled breaths.
“You’re in heat. You shouldn’t be cooking.
You shouldn’t be doing anything except letting us—” He stops short.
My eyes widen a fraction. He clears his throat.
“You shouldn’t be doing anything except taking care of yourself. ”
The protective possessiveness in his tone shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because he’s right, even if I don’t want to admit it. The thought of standing in the kitchen, dealing with heat and knives and hot surfaces while my body is doing this is a big no. Bad idea.
“Okay,” I concede, and I catch the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. “You handle meals. I’ll... stay hydrated and eat my baked stuff or something.”
“We’ll bring you proper food,” Malik says, typing another note. His voice is steady, but I can see the way his throat works when he swallows. “Nutritious meals. Leave them outside your door, knock, and retreat. You can grab them when you’re ready.”
“Same for us,” Jalen adds. “Rotate duties. No one has to handle it all during rut.”
Cole leans back against the couch, one arm stretched along the back, and I try not to notice the way his t-shirt pulls tight across his chest. “What about emergencies? Like, actual emergencies. What if someone gets hurt or needs help?”
That’s a good question. A scary question. Because what happens if one of them loses control? What happens if I lose control?
“Emergency whistle,” I say suddenly. The idea crystallizes as I say it. “I have one in my purse. It’s loud as hell. If anyone needs actual help, whistle.”
“That works,” Dax says, nodding slowly.
“I can grab a couple more whistles from the emergency kit right here,” Malik offers. “Make sure everyone has one.”
The wind howls outside, rattling the storm shutters. Rain drums against the roof in waves, sometimes soft, sometimes violent. We all glance toward the windows instinctively.
This storm shows no signs of stopping.
Neither does the heat.
I can feel it building again, that insistent pull. My skin feels flushed. There’s a slight tremor in my hands that I’m trying very hard to hide. And the scent of four alphas so close is making my omega practically purr with satisfaction, even as my rational brain screams danger.
“What about noise?” Jalen asks suddenly, and there’s something careful in the way he says it. His eyes meet mine for just a second before he looks away, and I catch the heat there.
Everyone goes very still.
“Noise?” I repeat, even though I have a sinking feeling I know exactly what he means.
He has the grace to look embarrassed, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances away. “Heat and rut are... not quiet experiences. For anyone. Sound carries in this house. We might want to consider some sort of solution for that.”
Oh God. Oh God, he’s right.