Chapter 13
CLAIRE
My body is staging a mutiny, and I don’t know why.
I woke up aching. Not sore muscles or slept-funny pain, but the deep, bone-level throb I remember from the weeks after Louis left.
That hollow, gnawing pull in the center of my gut that made me curl into the fetal position at two a.m., clutch my pillow, and hate myself for missing a man who didn’t deserve me.
Except I don’t miss that asshole. So why is my body acting as if I’ve just recently separated from an Alpha?
I lie on the couch in an oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, glasses on, chai tea steaming on the side table.
And I keep catching faint traces of scents that aren’t in my house.
Hickory wood. Spearmint. Coconut. It’s as if the three men next door left residue on my nervous system after our kiss last night, and my body can’t stop longing for more.
I hate that my biology makes me so wired for Alpha proximity that it turns me into a trembling, needy wreck. The presence of an Alpha always settles an Omega, and without it, everything feels like it’s flowing in the wrong direction. Is that why I’m feeling so off today?
I grab my phone, take a sip of chai, and do what any self-respecting, anxious Omega does when her body is doing inexplicable things.
I Google it.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve abandoned Google and landed in the forums for The Heat Line, an Omega radio show that also offers an open community forum where Omegas share experiences, and there’s an entire thread titled “Withdrawal Symptoms After Alpha Contact: Real or Am I Losing My Mind?”
The title alone makes me feel seen.
I scroll.
OmegaJade92: After my breakup, I was fine for months.
Then I went to a party, danced with an Alpha, and the next day, I swore I’d caught the flu.
Aching, sweating, couldn’t eat. My doctor said prolonged absence from Alpha contact can make an Omega hypersensitive when re-exposed.
Our biology basically goes dormant and then wakes up swinging.
Well, that’s comforting.
HeatSeekerAnon: This happened to me after I spent a very close weekend with a guy I was seeing.
We didn’t bond, but we slept together. When I went home, my body crashed.
The cravings were insane, and my therapist called it a “scent hangover.” Basically, my Omega receptors light up around compatible Alphas, and then when they’re gone, my system demands more.
Maybe I’m experiencing a scent hangover from three Alphas I kissed last night and spent time with at the wedding.
LunaPackless: Has anyone experienced this with multiple Alphas? I’m talking about being around a pack and then coming home alone and feeling like your bones are dissolving?
Yes, Luna. Yes, I have.
Raven: I was told by a doctor that the body interprets the absence as a loss and begins producing hormones to draw the Alphas back. This can also occur when an unbonded Omega is approaching a natural heat cycle.
I set the phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling, pondering.
I haven’t had a heat since Louis left months ago.
My cycle went dormant after the breakup, which my doctor said was normal under stress, and I’d been grateful for it.
One less thing to manage while my life was disintegrating.
But if the proximity to three compatible Alphas has kick-started what’s been lying dormant…
“Nope,” I say aloud to my empty living room. “We’re not doing this. That is a future Claire problem, and present Claire is going to drink her chai and not think about it.”
I scroll further.
ScentSickSally: The ache gets worse the more compatible the Alpha is. My scent match showed up at my workplace, and I couldn’t function for three days afterward. My body was basically screaming “FIND HIM” every waking second. I turned into a stalker!
I giggle because it’s so insane what our bodies do. “That’s not me,” I mutter, taking another sip. “I’m perfectly fine.”
The ache in my abdomen pulses, and I shift on the couch, then press my thighs together. The heat flares. I set the chai down because my hands are shaking.
I’m clearly not fine.
My phone rings, and I nearly launch off the couch. Katie. Thank God. Someone to drag me out of the hormone spiral.
“Morning!” Her voice is vibrating with energy. “What’s the tea from last night? Tell me everything.”
“Well, it was interesting. That’s for sure. My parents were there and—”
“Oh my God, Claire, I can’t wait another second. Have you been online?”
“I’ve been on an Omega forum, if that counts.”
“Forget the forums. You’re all over social media.
A photo of you and the three guys in the storeroom last night is everywhere.
You’re pinned against a wall with three Alphas devouring you, and it’s the hottest thing the internet has seen in months.
I mean, I love it for your rebrand. Talk about coming out of the socially awkward, hates-social-media closet.
You didn’t just come out; you kicked the door down with three—”
My stomach drops. “Back up. The photo was shared online?”
“Umm, yeah, and the internet is having a collective meltdown.”
“Oh God.” I’m sitting up now, scrambling to hold the phone with both hands. “Oh God, oh God. What if my parents see that?”
“Least of your worries. Listen, that’s not the main thing—”
“How is that not the main thing? I’m being groped by three men in a storage room, and it’s on the internet!”
“You looked incredible, first of all. But here’s what happened. Your delightful ex-fiancé decided to weigh in, in the comments section.”
My blood chills. “What did he say?”
“He basically called you out, saying the whole thing is staged, that you’re faking it for publicity because your book failed…” She pauses. “He was cruel, Claire.”
My fingers are already moving, opening the browser, searching.
The results load fast. The image is everywhere.
I find a repost, and there it is on my screen—me against the wall, flushed, glasses tilted, three men surrounding me—and it’s more intimate than I remembered.
More exposed. I mean, the dress really does wonders for my waist, but my strap is sliding off my shoulder.
Jakob’s hand is on my thigh through the slit.
Brody’s mouth is on me. And I’m staring at the camera with an expression of pure, unfiltered want.
“Oh God, I found the photo,” I whisper as I scroll down and find screenshots of Louis’s comment, which is all I need. The mean words leave me shaking… “The fucker.”
“He deleted it,” Katie says, reading my silence. “But you know the internet. Nothing dies. However”—her voice lifts, the glee barely contained—“your three knights in shining armor were responsible for that. Check out ManBaker’s page.”
I scroll further, and my breath catches as I read Corey’s response first, then Brody’s, then Jakob’s. And I’m tearing up. “They stood up for me?” I ask, my voice growing thick.
“Girl, they went to war for you. Brody’s followers are the most loyal fanbase on the internet, and when he stood up for you, they went absolutely feral on Louis.
Check the memes they made about him. Louis had to delete his page, as he was being bombarded that much!
” She laughs maniacally. “He’s such a fucker! ”
I spot one of a cartoon dog running away with its tail between its legs, Louis’s name photoshopped onto it. I’m laughing, and Katie is cackling on the other end.
“They’re destroying him online,” I wheeze.
“He deserves every second of it. Oh, and the publisher called me this morning.”
I stop laughing. “Oh? Should I be worried?”
“They saw the buzz and only asked how book two is progressing. They used an exclamation mark in the email, so they haven’t completely written you off.”
My head is spinning. “I don’t deserve this,” I say quietly.
“Oh, shut up. You absolutely do.” Katie’s voice softens. “You’ve been punishing yourself for months over one bad sentence on live TV. These guys see what I’ve always seen. What everyone who reads your book sees. You’re extraordinary and you’ve been hiding, but now the world is catching up.”
I press my fingers to my eyes behind my glasses and breathe.
“Okay,” Katie says, and the tone shifts. “I have a thought.”
“Oh no. Your thoughts are dangerous.”
“Listen. The publisher is paying attention. The internet is on your side. ManBaker’s audience is treating you as one of their own. You’ve gone from disgraced cookbook author to the woman dating the hottest pack online in less than twenty-four hours.”
“I’m not actually dating them.”
“Exactly. But nobody else knows that. So why stop?”
I grip the phone tighter. “No, don’t go there.”
“Yes. Continue the fake dating. A few more weeks, enough time to finish book two, make a few public appearances with the guys, show your face, let the audience see you. The publisher gets the marketing boost they need, your name gets rehabilitated, and you go from the girl who trashed food bloggers to the Omega who’s with the biggest food blogger on the internet. It writes itself.”
“So… use them. That’s awful.”
“Is it using them if they’re clearly obsessed with you, and dare I say you are with them?
Claire, those men stood up for you in front of millions of people before you even woke up this morning.
They’re not being used. They’re volunteering.
So, see where it goes. Use the fake dating as an excuse to get to know them better. ”
“Oh…”
“It’s a win-win. Best-case scenario, you get a career and a pack. Worst-case, you get a career and some incredible memories. Plus, I’ve seen that photo. Whatever happened in that storage room wasn’t fake.”
My cheeks burn. She’s right, and the ache in my abdomen that’s been pulsing all morning is proof that my body already knows the truth. “God, you make me sound desperate.”
“Nothing wrong with that, babe.”
“I need quiet time, Katie. I’m an introvert. I recharge in the dark, alone, breathing into a paper bag.”
“I know, sweetie. And I’m not asking you to become a social media influencer.
Just spend time with three gorgeous men who clearly want to be with you, let the internet watch, and finish your book while your name is trending for the right reasons.
” She pauses. “Just think about it? But not for too long. While you’re popular, while people are on your side, show them you’ve moved past the interview. Let them see the real Claire.”
I exhale. “I mean, it’s possible, right? They kissed me voluntarily, so maybe they’d be open to continuing whatever this is.”
“They made content defending your honor this morning. I think they’re open.”
“But what if they think I’m using the fake dating as an excuse to stay close and they pull back, and then I’ve ruined the one good thing—”
“Stop. Breathe. You’re spiraling.”
“It’s the primary skill I’m good at.”
She laughs. “Okay, I’ve got to run. Think about it. Call me later. And, Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Better we don’t tempt the universe any further. I think it’s given you enough surprises for one week.”
She hangs up. I set the phone on my couch and stare at the wall.
Date them again? I mean, I could do that.
I could also combust from the proximity, because my body is already aching from one evening. So I get up and pace the living room, circle the couch twice. I pick up my chai, then put it back down.
God, I don’t know if I can do this. They wanted to kiss me, so maybe they’d be into it? But am I using them? Except, they would be agreeing, so it’s not as if I’m lying to them.
I pace down the hallway and into my bedroom, where I glance out the window and toward their house without meaning to. In the corner of a room at the back, there’s movement inside.
I stop.
All three of them are shirtless, barefoot, standing in what appears to be a gym space, jump ropes in their hands.
Music must be playing because they’re moving in sync, ropes cutting the air in identical rhythms, their bodies rolling with each jump.
They’re damp with sweat, and it’s got my attention.
They’re filming, must be.
My treacherous body pulses with an inferno between my thighs.
“How are these men my neighbors?” I whisper to no one.
Corey catches a rope crossover, and he’s flashing that gorgeous, crooked smile. Brody pushes his hair off his forehead between sets, chest rising hard with each breath, while Jakob drags his curls back from his face.
My body is trembling, but it isn’t only from the ache anymore. It’s a fiery arousal. A restless pull toward them. Last night keeps coming back in pieces. Brody’s mouth. Corey’s hands. Jakob’s quiet control. The way they stared at me as if I wasn’t too much or too awkward or too broken to crave.
And now they’re right there, making every sensible part of me dissolve.
I should walk away. Instead, I stay exactly where I am, pulse racing, thighs pressing together, every inch of me longing for them.
So I pick up my phone, open up my messages with Katie, and type.
I’m in. Let’s do it.
I never said when I’d do it, but I’ll work myself up to it.
Then I take my seat back on the couch and pull up the forum again, because if I’m about to voluntarily spend more time in the proximity of three Alphas who might be my scent matches, I’m going to need all the preparation I can get.
The ache in my abdomen pulses deep and insistent, and I press my hand to my stomach, unable to stop thinking that this is going to be a beautiful, terrifying, desire-soaked disaster.
And I’m walking straight into it.