Chapter 1
Zira
Six Weeks Later
Trembling, I climb out of the bath filled with melting ice, teeth chattering while my body aches fiercely. There’s an emptiness in my stomach, a hollow pit in my chest, and despite the numerous self-provided orgasms I’ve given myself over the past five days, it’s done nothing to elevate the agony going through a heat alone has inflicted upon my body.
Being a packless omega sure is the pits on days like the past five I’ve suffered.
Wrapping myself in a threadbare towel that does nothing to battle the chill that has burrowed deep beneath my skin, I pad my sorry self to my bare nest and instantly regret it. Sweat and unsatisfying sex permeates the air, thick and cloying with remnants of my sickeningly sweet scent that clings to what little I have in this room, reminding me of the five days I’ve survived without alphas to help me through another heat that almost feels like it broke something inside me.
Holding my breath, I go in search of clean clothes, finding my burnt-orange shirt that I love, a pair of black slacks, and my black pumps that add four inches to my height. I grab random underwear and bundle everything in my arms before I rush out of the room, heading straight back for the bathroom where I can shower my misery, self-pity, and annoyance from my flesh.
Just as the towel drops and I’m stepping into the steaming shower, the promise of the water’s relaxing touch beckoning me forward, my wretched phone rings from where I left it in the living room.
Fighting back a groan, I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a towel once more, heading for my cell, in case it’s Mom calling from the care home she lives in now. Gritting my teeth against the new wave of frustration and annoyance that comes with the reminder that she no longer lives with me and the why’s of the situation, I reach my cell and roll my eyes, declining Barne’s billionth call and adding it to the other notifications that also belong to him.
Realistically, I know I can’t avoid him indefinitely. A shame, really, even though he’s sex on a stick and smells like the familiar bergamot and incense I’ve grown pretty fond of. Or, I had, until he decided to invade my life and turn everything upside down and topsy-turvy. Now, the smell sends pangs of longing and irritation through me, and it sends me deeper into a spiral of anger whenever it hits me. But alas, avoiding the professor isn’t an option since we work together, and he’s made it a habit to come visit me during his free period lessons. I’ve only managed to avoid him for the time being because I booked a week from work for my heat, knowing it would hit soon, because I’m anal about tracking my cycle.
Since it’s Friday today, the last day of the school week, I’m sure he’s vexed that I haven’t been there all week to ignore him in person. Thus, the never-ending barrage of calls, with a couple from Lazarus, just to really jazz up my notifications.
When my cell rings again, I decide to actually answer, now that I’m not on the verge of begging him to ease the ache I’m always plagued by while in heat.
Swiping the screen, I answer the call just as he’s speaking, “...won’t answer me, so the next step is to go over there and knock on her damned door.”
“Leave me and my door alone,” I grumble, too tired to find the appropriate ire in which I’ve resorted to talking to him.
Silence greets me for a long moment before Barnes finally sighs and asks, “Where have you been, Freckles?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your concern. You’ve already invaded my life enough without me having to report my whereabouts,” I mutter, feeling petulant after almost a week of pure hell that are my heats. If I had a pack, if I had alphas, then I wouldn’t need to suffer so badly. Alas, my aversion to men renders me packless. Or it did, until Barnes and his pack niggled their way into my life, invading every aspect so thoroughly that I can’t cut them out. Being in debt would do that, I suppose.
Barnes grumbles down the line, and I diligently ignore the flurry of butterflies that always appear at a single note of his voice, as smooth as butter and just as intense as the man himself. “How much longer are you going to be angry with us, Zira? It’s been weeks of you avoiding me, ignoring me at work, and dodging my calls.”
I shrug, despite him being unable to see it, and mutter, “Until I’m no longer in debt to you and your pack and Mom is back home where she belongs.”
Only one of those is more likely to happen than the other, and it’ll be a million years until I pay them back. I have a better chance of doing that than getting Mom home, since she’s just about as stubborn as I am.
“Zira,” Barnes sighs, not for the first time during these interactions. “How many times do I have to tell you you’re not in debt to my pack and me? We didn’t pay your mom’s bills to trap you into thinking you owed us something. We wanted to ensure she had the best care possible and made sure she got what she needed. Your mom needed care that would be provided around the clock at the center where she is. She wanted to go there. You were in the room when I asked after she woke up from surgery. We were just trying to help and ease a few burdens I knew would weigh heavily on your shoulders.”
“Without discussing it with me. Without any kind of warning. Without my approval. You can’t just show up into someone's life and start throwing around thousands upon thousands of dollars like it’s loose change, Barnes. And I won’t allow you and the pack I didn’t know you had until six weeks ago spend an abysmal amount of money on medical bills that aren’t yours to pay. I’m paying you back every single cent, but before then, I’m not obligated to inform you of where I am, where I’ve been, or where I’m going,” I repeat, my voice sounding tired and worn out, enough that I don’t receive the usual argument in return.
Instead of Barnes warnings to thwart any attempts of repayments, just as all six instalments have been thus far, he pauses before asking, “What’s wrong? You sound tired.”
Sighing deeply, I rub my forehead and trudge back to the bathroom, muttering, “I am, and your incessant need to blow up my phone isn’t helping the matter. Lazarus can stop, too, for that matter, though he’s a little less excessive than you.”
“Are you not sleeping? Is that why your presence has been missing from North Five all week? Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asks in quick succession, ignoring my barbs, and I shut my eyes as I fight the bubble of amusement that tries to break free of the surface of which I’ve buried all emotions other than annoyance and frustration toward the professor.
“Would you also like to know what I had for breakfast this morning?” I ask, irritation bubbling to the surface. Sadly, I can’t actually tell whether it’s irritation toward Barnes and his meddling ways, or if it’s because of the heat I just came out of and has zapped all of my energy.
Regardless, the answer was… it was nothing. I felt too sick to eat.
“Or what brand of shampoo I use for my hair?”
I don’t actually know, I just pick whatever is cheapest.
“How about how many pairs of socks I own?”
That would be six pairs and three singles that have lost their partners somewhere in this rundown apartment I now live in alone.
“Zira, please,” Barnes sighs once more, and I almost feel bad. Almost. It makes me pause, my steps stalling in the bathroom while my hand reaches for the basin while a wave of tired dizziness washes over me. Humming under my breath, I close my eyes and shake my head, leaning it against the cool surface of the mirror while I breathe through the dizzy spell. I’m pretty sure I can hear Barnes talking through the phone, but I can’t make out his words, my ears ringing strangely and his words are completely lost on me.
I’m sure he’s still talking when I breathe, “I have to go. I’m not feeling so good. Stop calling, Barnes.”
I end the call before he can utter another word and, slowly and painfully with my body full of aches, I slide to the floor and lie on my side, soaking in the cold from the floor despite already feeling chilled to the bone from my ice bath that finally broke my heat.
Shutting my eyes and hoping the dizzy spell dissipates enough for me to take a much-needed shower, I wait it out, breathing in and out calmly like Mom taught me.
Not even a minute later, my cell rings again, and I curse out whoever created the mobile device while I blindly reach for it on the sink. It clatters to the floor when I manage to knock it off the edge, and I swipe to answer without checking to see who’s calling first.
“Hello?” I answer, voice faint while I continue to take in deep lungful’s of air.
“Zee, honey? What’s wrong?” Mom asks, her sweet, age-roughened voice bleeding through the speaker.
I’m crying at the first sound of her voice, and I whimper against the cool, tile floors of my bathroom. “I’m not doing so great, Mom.”
“Oh, honey. Is it that time?” she asks, knowing me well enough to know why I’m unwell. In all of my twenty-five years, not once have I been sick from anything other than my killer heats that leave me wiped for days after.
“Mhm,” I answer helplessly, hating that she’s not here for me to crawl into bed with and listen to talk while I fall asleep, feeling her fingers run through my hair as she comforts me like my mother does so well.
Logically, I know why she isn’t here. After her valve replacement, something that almost took her from me, Mom needed more care than I could provide, as much as I was sick to admit. Between my job as a librarian at school through the weekdays and my weekend job at the local gym where I teach little ladies the basics of gymnastics, I’m away from the apartment more than I’m in it in order to pay for the stupid thing. Mom didn’t want to burden me further, so when Barnes and his pack offered to pay for a beautiful and high-demand care facility, Mom took it without an ounce of hesitation. She was a week post-op when she moved, and I miss her something fierce despite seeing her every moment I have spare. Moreso now, when I need her just like I’ve always needed her, and she isn’t here to look after me as she used to.
It makes me feel selfish, like I’m a horrible daughter for wanting my mom to look after me when it should be my turn to look after her now, but a daughter never stops needing her mom, no matter her age.
“Alright, honey. I’m going to call someone to help, okay? Sit tight,” she rushes to say, and I try to assure her I’m alright, but my words leave me in a babble of nonsense that likely worries her more than my silence would.
I’m too tired and in pain to offer much more than that, so I shut my mouth and groan, rolling my forehead on the cold tile as I quietly pray for this hell to end already. A long shower and an even longer nap is what I need, yet I can’t seem to drag my sorry self up off the floor in order to do that.
A few minutes later, Mom comes back to the call and says, “Help is on the way, hon. Sit tight, okay? Is your door unlocked?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, my body gradually relaxing as the cold seeps deeper into my bones, the towel hanging loosely around my body.
“Alright. I’m going to hang up now, but you’ll be in the safest hands,” she promises, a weird lilt to her voice that I don’t particularly care for but don’t have it in me to question. “Love you, honey.”
“Love you, Mom,” I mumble, having no clue if the call disconnects or not. I don’t have it in me to care.
Instead, I close my eyes and decide that showering is for stronger people. I’ll simply rest my eyes right here, on the bathroom floor, until I no longer feel like I’m knocking on death’s door. That might not come until tomorrow, but it is what it is. If I’m to remain sprawled on the cold tiles until I’m well enough to move again, then that’s simply the cards fate has dealt me.
I must actually doze off, falling asleep in my bathroom, because I’m still completely out of it when I’m plucked from the floor and delicately hauled into a pair of strong arms. “Found her.”
I don’t recognize that voice, and a brief spark of panic flares to life within my body, only doused when I smell a strange concoction of scents that has my entire body fully relaxing into the stranger currently carrying me bridal style like I weigh no more than a feather.
“Fucking hell,” a voice I most certainly do recognize, as well as his scent. Bergamot and incense, strong and intense as the man currently in my home.
Blinking my bleary eyes open, still weak and hanging on to a damn thread that keeps me conscious, I find Barnes Champion standing in the doorway of my bathroom, a look of deep concern etched into his handsome face.
“Why are you here?” I try to ask, though I’m sure my words leave in a strange jumble of vowels and consonants that don’t actually make up the words I’m aiming for.
Barnes sighs, and the arms holding me bounce as the stranger chuckles deeply, reminding me that I’ve been air lifted by what seems like a giant. Pretty sure the floor shouldn’t be so far away from my body, but what do I know? I’m bordering on delirious, my body rebelling against everything, my mind no better.
“Your mother called,” Barnes informs, and I make an exhausted note to spike that woman’s coffee with salt the next time I see her. “She was worried and, since she actually takes my calls and talks to me like I haven’t ruined her life, we’ve grown rather close. I was the only one she could think of to call for help. What the hell happened?”
“I thought you were smart, bro,” the man, I realize, notes with another chuckle that sets the hairs on my body on end. His voice is deep and rumbly, but oh so nice, a caress to the ear drums that beg for more. I don’t realize I’ve nuzzled into the stranger until his voice echoes deeper into my ear canal, offering mini eargasms that one could only dream of. “She’s been through a heat. Alone, if I’m scenting right. She’s probably suffering with extreme lethargy, dizziness, and nausea.”
“Ten points to Slytherin,” I murmur, only mildly confused why I’m completely at ease in the arms of a man I’ve never met, who smells like neroli blossom and basil, earthy and sweet with a mix of floral and earthy.
“Oh, Ginny. I’m a Gryffindor through and through,” the guy holding me declares proudly, and I roll my eyes beneath my lids at the Weasley reference, having no energy to reopen them.
“Very original,” I murmur, growing more and more tired as the man begins to walk me from the bathroom, the motion gentle enough that it almost feels like he’s rocking me to sleep.
“Where’s the nest, Champ? She’s seconds away from passing out and I don’t think she’ll be too pleased waking in my arms,” the guy snickers, making light of the embarrassing situation I’ve found myself in, his large hands keeping me secure enough that I don’t have it in me to fight. I’m convinced my cheeks are red enough to attract aliens from space, however, and that’s simply a problem for another day.
“Not the nest,” I mutter, exhaustion dragging me under a blanket that I wish to never crawl from. “Not good.”
“What does that mean?” Barnes wonders, voice gentle and warm, and doing absolutely nothing to stave off the impending ‘passing-out’ portion of my evening. Damn it, I didn’t even get my shower. “Why is she whining? Are you holding her too tight?”
“Nah, man. Pretty sure I heard her grumble about a shower or something. She’s fine,” the guy holding me assures, and I frown while I try and fail to fight against the pulls of sleep.
Barnes sighs, and I hear him curse before he asks, “Where do we put her then? That couch looks like it’s one wrong move from impaling someone with a rogue spring, and I’m not letting her sleep on the fucking floor.”
Silence answers him, and I convince myself that it’s the only option at this rate. Sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound so bad. Hell, I’d welcome it at this point, so long as I got at least twelve hours worth of shuteye. I’d sleep just about anywhere.
“There’s always our house?” the guy holding me suggests after a long, awkward silence which I almost fall asleep in. It was so close. So close, yet so far. “She’s growling now, so I think whatever we decide, we need to do it fast.”
“Alright, fuck. Fine. Take her to the car. I’ll grab some of her things,” Barnes declares, and when I’m more of sound mind and not on the brink of falling asleep wrapped in nothing but a towel and the arms of a man I don’t even know the name of but enjoy smelling, I’ll give him a piece of my mind for rifling through my things.
As it is, I’m being carted off to the unknown, my body lax and limp in the aforementioned man’s arms, and I’m too tired and drained to make an ounce of complaint. Hell, a serial killer could cart me off and I’d welcome the sweet relief of death if it meant I could actually fucking sleep.
Well, no, that’s a little dramatic, but I’m not me when I’m overtired, overstimulated, and fresh out of a heat that ruined me just as effectively as every other one I’ve suffered alone and at my own hands that seem to be growing less and less satisfying as the years pass.
“Alright, then, little lady. Let’s get you to a comfortable bed where you can sleep it all off,” the guy croons, cuddling me tighter as he walks. “You’ll be as fresh as a daisy when you wake up in a few hours. And, if you’re lucky, I might even wrangle Barnes into making some sweet cinnamon rolls for you for breakfast.”
You know what? That actually sounds really good. So, like the idiot in every horror movie ever, I take his word for it and put my safety in his hands, succumbing to my body’s needs and passing out in his arms with only a soft sigh and a faint smile.
I have no idea what happens next, only that I’ll deal with it when I wake with more energy and renewed sense of anger toward the alpha who has once again barged into my life like an intruding neanderthal that I’ve actually missed over the past few weeks.
Again, that’s a problem for another day.