Chapter 9 Jamie #2
It doesn't help. I can still smell them—all of them—alphas and betas and omegas layered over each other, sweat and cologne and perfume. Every inhale makes my head swim.
An alpha standing near me shifts his weight. His arm brushes mine.
The contact is accidental. He probably doesn't even notice.
I notice. My whole body notices. Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly, and I have to lock my knees to keep from swaying toward him.
Not him, my body says. Wrong. Wrong scent.
But it's responding anyway to the simple presence of an alpha in my space.
This is what they mean, I think, staring at the grimy floor of the subway car. This is exactly what they mean when they call me an obsessed omega.
The smear campaign might be propaganda, but propaganda works best when it contains a grain of truth.
And the truth is, I can barely control my own body right now. The truth is, I've been fucking Carter Crane for weeks and I can't stop. The truth is, I'm about to beg my enemy for help, and some part of me is glad.
The train pulls into my station. I push through the crowd and up the stairs and out into the cold evening air.
It hits my overheated skin and I gasp. Actually gasp, like I've been holding my breath for hours.
I walk home fast, head down, arms wrapped around my stomach.
The apartment is quiet when I let myself in.
I make it as far as the couch before my legs give out. I curl onto my side, arms wrapped around my middle, and stare at nothing. The cramps roll through me in waves. They’re not unbearable yet, but getting there and getting worse with every hour.
I don't know how long I lie there. Long enough for the light to change, the sunset glow through the windows fading to grey.
Footsteps. The creak of the floorboards.
"Jamie?"
Akari stops in the living room doorway. I hear her inhale. Hear the way her breath catches.
"Oh," she says quietly.
"Yeah."
She crosses to the couch and crouches down, putting herself at eye level. Her face is a blur. My vision's gone soft at the edges, heat-fog creeping in.
"When?"
"Soon. Tomorrow, maybe."
"Jesus." She rocks back on her heels. "That's fast."
I don't answer. We both know why it's fast.
“You need to call him.”
“I know,” I say but when she passes me my phone, I just put it down in front of me. I’m not ready yet.
Later, in my room, I lie on my bed and stare at the wall.
The cramps have settled into a steady rhythm. Not peaking, not fading. Just there, a constant reminder of what's coming.
I could handle this alone.
I've done it before. The heat I had two years ago, after my mom died, I rode that one out by myself, locked in this room for three days, biting my pillow to keep from screaming. It was miserable. It was agony. But I survived.
I could do that again. I could suffer through it and come out the other side with my dignity intact.
Except even as I think it, my body rebels against the idea. The ache in my belly sharpens, demanding something I refuse to name. Slick is gathering, slow and insistent, and I know that if I try to do this alone, it won't be like last time.
Last time, I wasn't scent-matched. Prime-matched.
Last time, I hadn't spent weeks being fucked by an alpha whose smell makes me lose my mind.
Last time, my body didn't know what it was missing.
Now it does.
If I try to ride this out alone, I won't just be miserable. I'll be destroyed.
Fine, I think. A service, then. Professional. Discreet.
There are agencies for omegas like me. Heat partners you can hire: clean and anonymous. They show up, they do their job, they leave. No strings. No complications.
The thought of a stranger’s hands makes bile rise in my throat. My body would reject them before they even touched me. I'd spend the entire time wishing it was Carter.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The pressure helps, a little.
The cramps hit harder. I curl in on myself, breath hissing through my teeth.
Fuck.
I don't know how long I lie there before I reach for my phone.
The screen glows in the darkness. I scroll to our message thread and stare at it.
Addresses. Times. Single-word confirmations. That's all there is. Two months of secret meetings, hours of fucking, and our entire digital record fits on one screen without scrolling.
We've never even said hello to each other. Not in text, not in person. We just show up, take what we need, and leave.
Every word the trolls say about me is true.
Obsessed omega. I am. I'm obsessed. I've been fucking Carter Crane for weeks and I respond to his texts within minutes and I've never once said no. Never even hesitated.
Desperate for attention. That too. Why else would I keep going back? Why else would I be lying here right now, phone in hand, already knowing what I'm going to do?
Can't control himself around alphas. I press my thighs together, feeling the slick that's gathered there, and want to scream.
They're right. The propaganda machine is right. The only lie is that I fabricated the exposé. That part is solid. But the rest?
The rest is exactly what they say it is.
I'm an omega who can't stay away from the alpha who's destroying him.
I type the message before I can talk myself out of it.
We need to talk. Actually talk.
My thumb hovers over the send button. One tap. That's all it takes.
I think about Carter's hands pinning me to a hotel wall. Carter's teeth on my neck. I tap send.
The message goes through. I watch the screen, barely breathing.
One minute passes. Two.
Then: About what?
He responded in under two minutes. I notice that. I hate that I notice that. I hate the way my heart rate spikes, the way my body interprets his quick response as interest.
I type: My heat is coming. Soon. I need
I can't finish the sentence. I don’t know what to say. I want you. I want sex. I want help.
I backspace and delete the I need, then press send.
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
I watch them pulse on the screen and imagine Carter wherever he is right now. Is he surprised? Does he care?
The dots keep moving. The cramps keep building.
Finally: When?
I tell him. Tomorrow. Maybe the day after. It's coming fast, faster than anything I've experienced before.
A longer pause this time. I stare at the screen until my eyes burn.
Then: I'll handle it. Sending details.
I set the phone down on my chest and wait. The details arrive thirty minutes later.
It’s an address outside the city. I don't recognize the road names. He’s given me detailed driving instructions: which highways to take, which exits to avoid, where to turn off onto the back roads.
Use cash for gas. Leave your work phone at home. Tell no one where you're going.
This is how Carter handles things, it seems. He’s efficient, competent and very discreet. He probably has a checklist somewhere. Secret assignation with enemy journalist: tick.
At 3 AM, I give up on sleep. I get up and pack. A few changes of clothes, basic toiletries. I send an email to work apologizing and saying I need to take emergency heat leave.
I'm dressed and ready when Akari finds me in the kitchen. She's still in her pajamas, coffee in hand, dark circles under her eyes.
"You've arranged something." It's not a question.
"Yes."
She sets down her mug. Takes a breath. "Jamie—"
"Don't." I cut her off. I can't handle the concern in her voice right now. I can't handle kindness, or reason, or any of the things that might make me reconsider.
She's quiet for a long moment. Then she crosses to me and wraps me in her arms, giving me a tight hug.
"Be careful," she says.
"I will."
She steps back. I grab my bag and walk to the door.
"Text me," she calls after me. "When you can. So I know you're okay."
"I will."
I don't look back. If I look back, I might cry. Twenty minutes later, the city is falling away behind me.
Highways give way to back roads, suburbs to farmland, noise to silence. I follow Carter's instructions exactly, taking back roads after the exit.
The sun rises as I drive, pale light spilling across empty fields. My hands are steady on the wheel. My body is burning.
The GPS says twenty more minutes. Then ten. Then five. The road narrows to a single lane, gravel crunching under my tires. Trees close in on either side, bare branches scratching at the winter sky.
And then I see it. A cabin. Small, wooden, set back from the road. There are no cars outside. I take a deep breath and get out of the car. I can do this.