18. First Heat Approaching #2
Dr. Sylvie rolls her stool around to face me directly, eyes blazing behind those designer frames.
"There is nothing defective about you. Nothing shameful about your biology.
You have a variation in scent reception that affects approximately three percent of Omegas.
It's uncommon, not abnormal. Different, not broken. "
Tears burn my eyes at the fierce certainty in her voice. No medical professional has ever defended my biology before. They've always treated it like a problem to solve, a malfunction to manage.
"The blockers you've been on," she continues, returning to examination mode but keeping her voice gentle, "contain synthetic hormones that are frankly barbaric.
Designed in the sixties by Alpha researchers who thought Omega arousal was a medical condition to be suppressed.
I'm prescribing you natural blockers—plant-based, designed to work with your body instead of against it. "
"Will they work with my... variation?" I can't quite bring myself to say 'defect' again under her sharp gaze.
"Better than the synthetic ones, actually.
Your condition means you process scent pheromones differently, which is why the standard blockers are failing—they're targeting the wrong receptors.
" She types rapidly on her tablet. "The natural ones work systemically, supporting your whole endocrine system instead of just suppressing symptoms."
"What about side effects?"
"Some wooziness as your body adjusts. Possible hot flashes—what some of my patients call 'heat stroke'—as your natural hormones reassert themselves.
You'll need to avoid sexual arousal for the first forty-eight hours while the medications stabilize.
" She pauses, glancing up with a knowing look.
"That means limiting physical contact with your men. "
"They're not—" I start automatically, then flush hot. "They're not my men. Or my pack. We haven't signed anything, there's no formal arrangement?—"
Wendolyn's laughter cuts through my protests like sunshine through fog.
"Oh honey, no. Doc's got it right. They're absolutely your men.
I saw how they looked at you yesterday, how they orbited around you like planets around the sun.
And if you try to say they're available, I'll have to fight you, because I've had my eye on that sweet Austin for months. "
"I'm their boss," I insist weakly. "They work for me. That's all."
"Uh-huh." Wendolyn's grin is pure mischief. "And I'm a natural blonde. Come on, Willa. Even Luna knows better, and she's barely crawling."
Dr. Sylvie clears her throat, bringing us back to medical matters, but there's amusement in her eyes.
"Regardless of formal arrangements, you'll need to inform any.
.. interested parties about the restrictions.
I'm including instructions for them as well.
No scent marking, no prolonged physical contact, and definitely no sexual activity until your system stabilizes. "
She hands me several prescriptions, each carefully labeled.
"This one's for the natural blockers. This is a mild sedative if the adjustment symptoms become uncomfortable.
And this—" she pauses, studying me carefully "—is information about nesting supplies.
You'll likely experience increased nesting urges as your natural hormones return. "
I stare at the paper blankly. "Nesting?"
The silence that follows is deafening. Dr. Sylvie and Wendolyn exchange looks of pure shock, like I've just announced I don't know what water is.
"You don't know what nesting is?" Wendolyn's voice rises to a pitch that could shatter glass. "How do you not—what kind of backwards—those absolute bastards!"
"Willa," Dr. Sylvie says carefully, like she's approaching a wounded animal. "Did your previous pack prevent you from nesting?"
"I don't—" Shame floods through me, hot and choking. "They never mentioned it. Said I didn't need any special Omega behaviors, that I was evolved past all that primitive stuff. I thought nesting was just... like, a myth? Something from old stories?"
The noise Wendolyn makes is inhuman, pure rage condensed into sound. Dr. Sylvie's professional mask slips, revealing fury that could melt steel.
"Nesting is a fundamental Omega behavior," she says, each word precise as a scalpel.
"It's how you create safe spaces, how you process stress, how you prepare for heats and major life changes.
Denying an Omega the ability to nest is—" She stops, visibly collecting herself.
"It's abuse. Medical abuse, psychological abuse, cultural abuse.
Those bastards deliberately prevented you from accessing a core part of your identity. "
My hands shake as I process this. Another thing stolen, another piece of myself I didn't even know was missing. How many other "primitive" behaviors did they convince me I was too evolved for? How much of myself did I let them erase?
"We're fixing this," Wendolyn declares with the certainty of someone who moves mountains for fun. "Shopping trip this weekend. We're getting you every soft thing in Montana until you figure out what your nest needs."
Dr. Sylvie nods approvingly. "I'll include some basic nesting guides with your prescriptions. And Willa? There's nothing primitive about taking care of yourself. Nothing shameful about being exactly what you are—a powerful Omega who deserves to experience every aspect of her identity."
They come out of nowhere—well, not nowhere, because I suppose this is exactly where two years of self-loathing, misplaced obedience, and covert hope stack up like kindling—but I don't expect them to hit so hard, or so fast. My vision blurs.
It takes all of three seconds after Dr. Sylvie finishes speaking for my throat to tighten and water to spill down my cheeks, slow at first, then in fat, humiliating drops.
I don't even try to wipe them away. I just let them track down my jaw, pooling at the edge of my chin and darkening the collar of the absurdly soft paper gown they gave me.
It's not a sobbing, ugly cry—more like my body is wringing out some toxin I've been stewing in unawares.
I don't make a sound, but my chest shudders and my hands start to shake so hard I have to clasp them between my knees to keep from rattling apart entirely.
Wendolyn doesn't smother me with a hug, which I'm grateful for because touch is lava right now, but she scoots her chair closer and gently sets the back of her hand against my shoulder, grounding me just enough.
She doesn't say "there, there" or "it's okay"—she just hums a low, soothing note that makes my skin goosebump all over.
Dr. Sylvie hands me a box of tissues, the good kind with lotion, and sits back on her stool with a patient, nonjudgmental air, like this is just another step in the physical exam. The most natural thing in the world.
I cry until my vision clears and I can breathe slow again.
When I look up, neither of them are watching me with pity.
If anything, there's a kind of pride in Dr. Sylvie's posture, and a knowing, gentle smugness in the quirk of Wendolyn's smile.
For the first time in my life, something inside me slides back into place.
Not all the way, but enough to make me feel like I could build on it, like maybe I'm not irreparably broken after all.
By the time I can speak, the only thing I manage is a hoarse, "Thank you," but it feels like more than enough.
"You know what we need?" Wendolyn announces as we gather our things, her ability to pivot from rage to enthusiasm whiplash-inducing but somehow perfect.
"A girls' night. Proper one, with wine and terrible movies and someone teaching Willa about nesting who isn't a medical professional—no offense, Doc. "
Dr. Sylvie pauses in washing her hands, looking genuinely surprised. "Are you... inviting me?"
"Hell yes I am!" Wendolyn bounces on her toes like an excited puppy. "When's the last time you did something that wasn't work? We don't exactly have a massive female friend group around here. It's basically me, Willa, and whoever we can kidnap from town."
The doctor's professional mask softens into something almost vulnerable. "I... don't really do social things. Most people find me too..."
"Badass? Intimidating? Likely to destroy any Alpha who looks at us wrong?" Wendolyn grins. "Sounds like exactly what our friend group needs. Plus, you need to meet Luna—she's Cactus Rose's baby mascot. Eight months of pure sunshine who's already got four wrapped-around-her-finger daddies."
"The Luna from the Bishop-Cross-Stone-Montgomery household?" Dr. Sylvie's eyes sharpen with interest. "I've been curious about that arrangement. Four-Alpha households are rare enough, but successfully raising an infant..."
"Oh, they're magnificent at it," I find myself saying, warmth spreading through my chest. "Luna's the most loved baby I've ever seen. And she's got them all trained—one cry and they're tripping over each other to help."
"Then I definitely need to meet her." Dr. Sylvie pulls out her phone, fingers hesitating over the screen. "I don't usually give out my personal number..."
"But you're going to because we're going to be best friends," Wendolyn declares with the confidence of someone who's never met a social boundary she couldn't cheerfully bulldoze.
"Plus, we could invite Chief Martinez! She probably needs something fun and girly after dealing with entitled Alphas all day. "
The image of Sweetwater Falls' formidable police chief at a girls' night makes me snort. "Something tells me her idea of fun might involve target practice."
"Even better!" Wendolyn's enthusiasm could power small cities. "Wine and weapons—what could go wrong?"