Chapter 12 #2
“Obviously not,” Cole says, but his voice is strained. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not torture. Do you know how hard it was to sit next to her earlier, smelling her heat coming, and not just... offer?”
“We all felt it,” Malik says quietly. “Every one of us felt it and wanted to help.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. Malik is usually the most controlled among us, but right now he looks like he’s barely hanging on. His hands haven’t left the couch cushions, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he lets go.
I’ve always been good at reading people, but Malik is particularly easy for me to understand.
We’re similar in a lot of ways. Both of us prefer to observe before acting, to think things through, to maintain control.
It’s why we work well together in business.
He handles the creative vision, I handle the logistics, and we both appreciate the other’s approach.
But right now, I can see that control cracking. And if Malik is struggling this much, the rest of us are in serious trouble.
“What kind of toys do you think she has?” Cole asks suddenly, and everyone turns to stare at him. He shrugs, unapologetic. “What? We’re all thinking it. Might as well say it out loud.”
“We really shouldn’t—” I start.
“Definitely something with a knot,” Dax interrupts, and I can hear the strain in his voice. “Has to be. Regular vibrators don’t work during heat. Omegas need the stretch, the fullness...”
“The lock,” Malik adds, voice gone rough. “They need to feel knotted, or the heat doesn’t ease properly.”
The image that creates in my mind is absolutely devastating to my self-control.
Sierra, legs spread, working a knotted toy inside herself, gasping as it catches and stretches and finally locks.
“Fuuck,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “We need to stop talking about this.”
This is exactly why I usually stay quiet. When I do speak, I try to make it count, to say something meaningful or helpful. Right now, telling everyone to stop fantasizing about Sierra’s sex toys is neither meaningful nor helpful, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Agreed,” Cole says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Except... do you think a toy will be enough? For a whole week?”
My throat goes tight. Because I know the answer. I’ve researched this extensively; helped omega friends through their heats. Toys won’t be enough. Not for a full week. Not when she can probably smell us.
But if I say that out loud, if I give voice to what we’re all thinking, then we’ll have to confront what comes next. And I’m not ready for that. Not ready to offer help when it means exposing everything I’ve been hiding.
“It has to be,” I say, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.
“She’s strong,” Malik says quietly. “She’ll make it through. With the toys, the nest, the supplies she brought... she’ll be okay.”
But he doesn’t sound entirely convinced either.
Because we all know the truth: omega heats are brutal. They’re designed to make omegas seek out alphas to ensure breeding happens. Toys can help, but they’re not the same as a real knot from a real alpha.
I learned this in ROTC, actually. I did a lot of reading when I started helping omega friends through their cycles. I wanted to understand what they were going through, what they needed, and how to actually be helpful instead of just another alpha making things worse.
I learned that heats vary wildly from person to person. Some omegas can manage with toys and a good nest. Others need alpha presence, even if it’s just sitting outside the nest room and letting their scent provide comfort. And some need the full experience. Knotting, claiming, the works.
I have no idea which category Sierra falls into. I’ve never asked, never had reason to. But based on the desperation I could smell through her door, I’m guessing she’s not in the “easily managed with toys” category.
“What if...” Cole starts, then stops.
“What if what?” Dax prompts.
Cole looks at each of us in turn, then shakes his head. “Never mind. Bad idea.”
“Say it,” Malik orders, using that commanding tone that makes everyone listen.
Cole takes a breath. “What if the toys aren’t enough? What if by day three or four, she’s desperate and hurting and the heat isn’t easing? What then?”
The silence is suffocating.
My heart is racing because this is it. This is the conversation I’ve been dreading since the moment I smelled her heat come on.
“Cole—”
“I’m just saying,” he continues, speaking faster now, “we’re pack.
We trust each other. And despite everything, Sierra trusted us enough not to back out when she realized we’d be here.
If it came down to it, if she was really suffering and needed help.
.. would it be the worst thing if one of us offered? ”
The question lands like a bomb.
Yes, I want to say. Yes, it would be the worst thing. Because I can’t help her without exposing myself. Without showing her everything I feel. And when she inevitably rejects me, because why would she want me, want us, who’ve been competing professionally with her, it will destroy me.
But the words won’t come.
Because another part of me, the same part that’s been noticing her smiles and memorizing the way she gestures when she’s passionate about something and memorizing every tiny detail about her for longer than I want to admit, that part is screaming yes, help her, be what she needs, give her everything.
“It would complicate things,” Malik says carefully, and I can tell he’s actually considering it. “But Cole has a point. We’re already complicated. We’re a pack stuck in a house with our professional rival. And if she’s in genuine distress...”
“The toys will work,” I say, but even as I say it, a treacherous part of me adds: And if they don’t? If she needs more? Would I really let her suffer just to protect my own feelings?
The answer, I realize with sinking certainty, is no.
If Sierra needs help, truly needs it, I’ll give it to her. Even if it means she’ll know. Even if it means risking everything.
Even if that means she’ll throw me away after. What that says for my self-esteem is something I’ll have to look at after this storm has passed.
Dax has stopped pacing. He’s staring at the floor, jaw working like he’s chewing on something difficult.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He looks up, and his eyes are pure alpha. Dark, and intense, and barely human. “I can smell her from here,” he says roughly. “Her heat, her slick, everything. And my rut is telling me to go down that hall and fix it.”
“We all feel it,” Malik says.
“Yeah, but...” Dax shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“But what?” Cole presses.
Another long silence. When Dax finally speaks, his voice is so quiet I almost miss it.
“But what if she wants help? What if she’s in there suffering alone because she thinks she has to be, not because she actually wants to be?”
The question rewrites everything.
Because he’s right. We’ve all been assuming Sierra wants to handle this alone, that she’s chosen isolation. But what if she’s just being... Sierra? Trying to maintain some semblance of the professional rivalry we’ve had, even though we’re all stuck in this absurd situation together.
What if she’s waiting for one of us to offer, but would never ask herself?
“We can’t know that,” I say, but my conviction is wavering. “We can’t just assume—”
“So we ask,” Cole says simply. “We check on her, make sure she has what she needs, and if she wants help... we offer it.”
“And if she says yes?” Malik asks. “Then what? Which one of us helps? All of us?”
The room goes very quiet.
The image of all four of us helping Sierra through her heat is so vivid, so appealing, that I have to actually shake my head to clear it.
But another thought follows immediately after: What if she only wants one of us? What if she chooses someone else?
The jealousy that spikes through me is irrational and possessive and everything I’ve tried not to feel about her. But it’s there anyway.
“This is getting…” I trail off. “We’re talking about having sex with our business rival.”
“Don’t make it sound crude,” Dax snaps. “If we did this—if—it would be about taking care of someone who needs help, not... not that.”
Someone who needs help.
The words send another thrill through me.
“She’s not ours to take care of,” I say, but the words sound hollow even to me. “She’s her own person.”
“I know that,” Dax says, but his scent has gone complicated. Burned caramel mixed with something possessive and territorial. “I just meant... if she needs help and asks for it, we should be willing to provide it. Pack takes care of…”
Pack.
It keeps coming back to that word.
We are pack. And she’s an omega. Adding a physical component wouldn’t really change the nature of our relationship.
Except it absolutely would.
Especially for me. Because I can’t knot Sierra without her knowing how I feel. I’m observant and careful, but I’m not that good of an actor.
She’d know. They’d all know.
And maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.
Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.
“Let’s just... take this one step at a time,” I suggest, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Focus on getting through tonight. Make sure she has what she needs. We can worry about the rest if and when it becomes relevant.”
Everyone nods, but I can see the same thoughts running through their heads that are running through mine.
What does she look like right now? Is she using a toy? How big is it? Does it have a proper knot? Is she thinking about us while she uses it?
Does she wish it was one of our knots instead of silicone?
Does she notice me the way I notice her?
“I need air,” Cole announces suddenly, heading for the back door. “Just... five minutes of not smelling her heat. I can’t think straight.”
He’s outside before anyone can respond, standing on the covered porch and staring out at the storm.
The rest of us exchange looks.