5. Theo
Chapter 5
Theo
A wave of heat crashes through me, burning through my core. I double over, my nerve endings on fire. The pill bottle slips from my hands and shatters. Pills scatter across the floor.
“Shit,” I gasp, dropping to my knees to gather them. Each movement sends another pulse of fire through my veins. The suppressant I took six hours ago is failing—spectacularly, catastrophically failing. My skin prickles, my omega receptors overreacting after being suppressed for too long.
“I’ve got it.” Jinx materializes beside me, his cherry tobacco scent wrapping around me like a physical touch. The proximity of his alpha pheromones makes my pupils dilate rapidly. A whimper escapes before I can trap it, my body instinctively leaning toward his heat even as my mind fights to maintain distance. “Focus on Finn,” he says.
I nod, struggling to my feet. The world tilts dangerously, colors too bright. Sounds are too sharp, the drip of the IV fluid distracting. Everything amplified by biology I can no longer control.
My skin feels too tight, my clothes an unbearable prison of texture and weight. Slick gathers between my thighs, the sensation mortifying. My entrance pulses with emptiness, a biological imperative I can only suppress through sheer force of will.
But none of that matters. Because Finn is dying.
Finn lies on the makeshift medical bed, oxygen mask fogging with each labored breath. The virus has taken over, his mind lost to fever dreams about chess and equations—numbers and coordinates that tumble from his lips. His skin is pale, blue veins visible beneath.
“Respirations down to sixteen,” I report, forcing clinical precision into my voice. My tongue feels swollen in my mouth, words emerging with effort. “Oxygen at eighty-seven percent.”
Jinx finishes collecting the pills, his movements carefully controlled to avoid touching me directly. We both know what would happen if he did—my omega biology would respond to his alpha chemistry, accelerating the heat cycle I’m desperately trying to suppress. The scent of his arousal is unmistakable—a dark undercurrent to his usual cherry tobacco. My nostrils flare involuntarily, my body responding with another flood of slick.
We’d fuck. And we wouldn’t be able to stop. Not anymore. I’d surrender. He’d surrender. And no one would be around to watch Finn fade into silence.
“How much longer can he hold on?” Jinx asks, depositing the salvaged medication beside Finn’s monitoring equipment. His pupils have dilated to black pools rimmed with green-gold, his alpha biology responding to my heat pheromones despite his rigid control.
“I don’t—” Another heat wave crashes through me, stealing my words. The intensity doubles me over. I grip the edge of the bed, knuckles whitening as I ride out the intensity. “Hours. Maybe less.”
Jinx’s face hardens, all the manic edge stripped away, leaving something sharper. Meaner. He’s been stalking the cabin’s edges since Ryker left—pacing like a caged thing, fury simmering just under the surface. Every hour Cayenne’s gone, every ragged breath from Finn, it coils tighter. And when it snaps, it won’t be quiet.
“She’ll make it,” I tell him, though neither of us knows if it’s true.
While checking Finn’s IV, my hands move without thinking—reaching for Ryker’s t-shirt crumpled on the floor. It still smells like him—cedar, steel, and something uniquely Ryker. I inhale his concentrated scent. I add it to the corner, fingers arranging it with unconscious precision next to Finn’s sweater and one of Cayenne’s scarves.
It’s not just a pile. It’s a pattern. My omega instincts are making something sacred out of comfort—clothes, blankets, anything steeped in pack scent—layered and arranged carefully. A nest, yes. But something more. A map of everyone I love.
The mattresses form the foundation, the sheets create movement, and each pack-scented item adds to the comfort. It’s beautiful in its primal simplicity—a piece representing everything we are together. I tuck Jinx’s burgundy henley into the arrangement, something inside me settling when it’s positioned just right.
“Sorry,” I mutter when I catch Jinx watching me, embarrassed at the vulnerability of my creation. My cheeks flush with equal parts heat symptoms and self-consciousness.
“Don’t apologize for biology,” he says, an unexpected gentleness beneath his gruff tone. “We adapt. We survive. We keep going.”
For a second, I remember why I fell for him—how he hides depth beneath chaos.
Finn convulses suddenly, his body arching off the bed. I move instantly, turning him onto his side as he struggles through the seizure. Jinx holds his legs, our movements synchronized through practice we never wanted.
The proximity to Jinx triggers another wave of heat. His scent makes my body react, fresh slick soaking through my underwear. My nipples harden against my shirt. I bite my lip, using the pain to focus through the biology screaming in my veins.
“Third one in two hours,” I report when Finn finally stills. I wipe sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. “They’re getting worse.”
“Ryker should have found her by now,” Jinx says, frustration bleeding through his control. My omega receptors respond to his alpha distress with calming pheromones, my body’s instinctive attempt to soothe. “The extraction point was only?—”
“She’s not at the extraction point,” I remind him, wiping sweat from Finn’s forehead with hands that won’t stop shaking. “Mona changed the plan. They separated.”
Jinx growls, the sound vibrating through the cabin. His pupils dilate, nostrils flaring. His whole body tenses.
“Jinx?” I ask, noticing the change. I reach for him instinctively, my fingers stopping before touching him. Contact now would be disastrous. “What is it?”
“She’s...” He tilts his head, focusing on something beyond the cabin walls. “Closer. The bond’s stronger.”
Hope surges through me, dangerous and bright. Since Jinx claimed Cayenne—the only one of us who managed to mark her before everything fell apart—their connection has become our lifeline.
I reach for my connection to her—not the strong bond that Jinx has, but something lighter. Through Jinx, I sense impressions of her—determination, protectiveness, defiance.
My connection to Ryker and Jinx pulses strong and true—alpha bonds forged through years of shared struggle. With Finn, the harmony is different—beta to omega, creating a counterpoint that balances and stabilizes. Each bond unique in its resonance.
“How close?” I ask, fighting another wave of heat symptoms. My internal temperature spikes again, skin flushing hot.
Jinx doesn’t answer, moving instead to the window with predatory grace. His body coils with tension, head tilting as he listens.
“Motorcycle,” he finally says. “Coming fast.”
I close my eyes and reach for the pack bonds. Ryker’s there—solid and grounding. Jinx buzzes just beneath the surface, his energy sharp, restless. Finn... Finn’s presence is thinner, slipping—but still fighting. And through Jinx, I feel it—Cayenne. That bright citrus bite, cutting through everything like she never left.
“She’s here,” I whisper, certainty cutting through the fever haze. My voice emerges husky, throat raw from suppressing the whimpers my body demands. “She’s with Ryker.”
Jinx moves to defensive positions automatically, weapon ready despite recognizing the approaching pack members.
I try to stand to greet them, but my legs give out as another heat wave hits. My skin feels like it’s on fire.
The motorcycle cuts off hard. Then—footsteps. Fast, heavy. The door slams open a heartbeat later.
And there she is.
Cayenne stands in the doorway, morning light on her hair. Blood streaks her clothes. A fresh bruise marks her cheek. She’s changed. Hurt. But here.
My omega senses pick up on her changes—her scent is different (citrus with something richer), her posture is stronger, and she moves with new confidence. She’s not the same beta who left us.
“Finn,” she gasps, already moving toward the bed. A small case clutched in her hands like salvation.
I move aside as she kneels beside him, her fingers trembling slightly as she opens the specialized container. Inside lies a single vial of clear liquid—Mona’s booster.
“How do I—?” she starts, looking to me for guidance.
Despite the fever burning through me, I shift into medical mode, finding clarity through purpose. “IV push. Slowly. I’ll walk you through it.”
Her hands steady as I guide her through the process—prepping the injection port, measuring the dosage, administering it with careful precision. The intense focus on her face reminds me of when she hacks—that same combination of technical skill and intuitive leaps.
When our fingers touch during the procedure, electricity shoots through me. I swallow a moan, keeping my hands steady.
“How long until we know if it works?” she asks as the last of the medication enters Finn’s system.
“Minutes. Maybe seconds.” I check his vitals, scanning for any change. “Mona thinks it hits the virus head-on. If she’s right, we’ll know fast.”
Ryker appears in the doorway in tactical gear. His eyes find mine, taking in my state—the flush on my skin, my dilated pupils, the tremors. His cedar scent hits me hard.
“Suppressants failed,” he states rather than asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Another wave builds, threatening to overwhelm me now that the immediate crisis of administering Finn’s medication has passed. My internal temperature spikes again, sweat beading at my hairline and following the curve of my spine.
“But you held it off,” Cayenne says, her expression softening as she really looks at me, really sees the state I’m in. “You fought biology to take care of him.”
“Had to,” I manage, my voice rough-edged. My throat works visibly as I swallow back the omega keens building in my chest. “Pack needs him.”
“Pack needs you too,” she counters, rising from Finn’s bedside to approach me. Her pupils dilate as she draws nearer, nostrils flaring slightly as she inhales my heat scent. Her reaction is more intense than a beta’s should be.
A sudden change in Finn’s breathing pattern catches my attention—the harsh, labored gasps smoothing into something deeper, more regular. His oxygen monitor beeps once, the numbers climbing from 87 to 89, then 91. The fever flush recedes from his cheeks. His eyelids flutter, though they don’t open, and his fingers—which had been locked in rigid claws—slowly relax against the sheets.
“It’s working,” I whisper, watching the booster perform its miracle in real time. “Look—his color’s coming back.”
A collective exhale moves through the room. Finn’s lips move beneath the oxygen mask, no longer forming numbers and equations but something simpler. A name. Her name.
The room shrinks around us, air thickening with pheromones I can no longer control—dark vanilla and midnight jasmine reaching toward each pack member. Jinx makes a small sound near the door—half warning, half need. Ryker’s pupils dilate visibly, his scent intensifying in response to mine.
“Cayenne,” I warn, backing up until I hit the wall. My temperature spikes higher. My underwear is soaked, each movement sending pleasure through me. “My heat—it’s too close. If you touch me?—”
“I know.” She keeps walking, every step full of purpose. Her eyes track me with predatory focus that seems more alpha than beta, a designation shift visible in the planes of her face and the dominant set of her shoulders. “I brought what Finn needs. And I’m staying. For all of it.”
“You don’t understand,” I try again, back hitting the wall. The contact sends splinters of pleasure-pain racing across my nerve endings. My entrance clenches with painful emptiness. “The suppressant’s rebound effect—it’s going to be intense. Dangerous. I can’t?—”
“You don’t have to hold back anymore,” she says, stopping close to me. Her citrus scent mixes with my vanilla, creating something new and right. “You’ve been waiting for me. Now I’m here.”
Her hand finds mine. Heat explodes through my system. My knees buckle as pheromones fill the cabin.
Sensation overtakes me completely, perception narrowing to the single point where our skin connects. Every nerve ending beneath her touch fires simultaneously, pleasure radiating outward. A sound between whimper and moan escapes me, omega need impossible to contain any longer.
She catches me, her arms surprisingly strong as she guides me toward the nest I’ve been unconsciously building. The contrast between her cooler body and my fever-hot skin creates delicious friction, each point of contact sending new waves of pleasure cascading through me.
“I don’t regret waiting,” I gasp, fighting for clarity even as biology claims me. “Wanted you here. All of you.”
“I’m here,” she confirms, her voice steady despite the pheromones affecting her too—her pupils dilating, a flush spreading across her cheeks, her own scent intensifying in response to mine. “For all of it.”
Through the haze closing in, I catch the shift in Finn’s breathing—slower now. Steadier. The angry red flush of fever completely faded from his skin. His hands, which had been restlessly plucking at the sheets, now lie still. The oxygen monitor shows 94% and climbing—almost normal range. The booster is doing more than working; it’s reversing damage we thought might be permanent.
We’re together again. And for the first time in what feels like forever, safety wraps around us—quiet and warm.
The last clear thought I have before biology takes over is this: Roman Sterling got it all wrong. It was never about designations. Never about strength or skills. It’s this—us. The way we choose each other. The way we bleed and fight and still come back. Vulnerable. Fierce. Whole. We’re not dangerous because we were built to be. We’re dangerous because we became. Together.
As the haze claims me fully, I feel something I never expected in the midst of biological imperative.
Peace.
Because we’re together now. All of us. And whatever comes next, we’ll face it as what we truly are.
Pack.