Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
AVA
I packed too many blankets.
I knew I was packing too many blankets. I knew it was ridiculous, knew it was a sign of everything I was trying so desperately to deny, but I couldn't stop myself.
My hands moved on autopilot, folding the fuzzy throw from Target, the weighted blanket, the cashmere throw that I'd somehow become incapable of sleeping without.
You're going on a ski trip, the rational part of my brain argued. The cabin will have blankets. You don't need to bring your own.
My hands kept packing anyway. The cashmere throw went into the suitcase first, nestled at the bottom like a secret.
I paused, running my fingers over the impossibly soft fabric, the cream color that reminded me of something I couldn't quite name.
I'd bought it weeks ago at that little boutique near the hospital, the one I passed every day on my way to work.
It had been in the window display, and something about it had stopped me dead in my tracks.
I'd walked in like a woman possessed, handed over my credit card without even looking at the price tag, and hadn't been able to sleep without it since.
I lifted the throw to my face, pressing my nose into the fabric, and inhaled.
Honey. Faint but unmistakable. Honey and sunshine and something green, like fresh-cut grass.
My stomach lurched. That was impossible. I lived alone. I hadn't been near an Alpha in three years, not close enough for their scent to transfer onto my things. And I definitely hadn't been near—
Mason.
The name surfaced from the depths of my memory before I could stop it, bringing with it a flood of images I'd spent three years trying to forget.
Golden hair and warm eyes. A smile that made me feel safe even when it shouldn't.
Hands that were gentle when they touched me, that made me want things I wasn't supposed to want.
"There's our girl," whispered the memory of his voice. "Missed you, Red." I threw the cashmere throw across the room like it had burned me.
"Get a grip," I muttered, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "It's just a blanket. It doesn't smell like anything. You're losing your mind."
I retrieved it anyway. Packed it anyway.
Couldn't bring myself to leave it behind.
What the hell was wrong with me? Then the fuzzy blanket went in next, softer than anything I'd ever owned, the color of a winter sky just before snow.
Then two of my favorite pillows, the ones I'd arranged in a specific pattern around my head every night.
The week leading up to the trip passed in a blur of fever dreams and cold sweats.
My body was getting worse. Every morning I woke up drenched in slick, my skin burning, my mind foggy with need.
The suppressants weren't doing anything anymore, I took two, then three, then four at a time, and still the heat kept building, kept pressing against the walls I'd built around my Omega nature like water against a dam.
I called in sick to work twice. I couldn't risk it, not when my scent was leaking through my blockers, not when every Alpha I passed on the street made my knees weak and my core clench with shameful, desperate want.
I told myself I should cancel the trip. Every rational brain cell I had screamed that this was a bad idea, that something was wrong, that I should stay home and ride out whatever was happening to my body in the safety of my own apartment.
But I couldn't.
The loneliness was worse than the fear. The silence of my apartment pressed in on me like a physical weight, suffocating, unbearable. At least at the cabin, there would be other people. At least I wouldn't be alone.
At least you might find what you're really looking for, whispered that traitorous voice in the back of my mind. The one that built nests and craved knots and dreamed about four men I was never supposed to want.
I told it to shut up. It didn't listen.
The morning of my flight, I woke up in the most elaborate nest I'd ever built.
I didn't remember doing it. The last thing I recalled was falling asleep on my bed, just my regular bed, with its normal amount of pillows and blankets. But sometime during the night, my body had taken over while my mind was elsewhere.
I sat up slowly, taking in the damage.
Every pillow I owned was arranged in a circle around me, creating walls of softness that reached almost to my shoulders.
The blankets were layered in a specific pattern, weighted one on the bottom, then the fuzzy ones, then the cashmere on top, all of them tucked and folded to create a perfect cocoon of warmth and security.
Even my dirty laundry had been incorporated, a worn t-shirt tucked under my head like it was supposed to be there.
I'd built a fortress. A den. A nest.
"No," I whispered, my voice cracking. "No, no, no." The evidence was undeniable. This wasn't just excessive blanket-buying anymore. This was full-blown nesting instinct, the kind that suppressants were supposed to eliminate completely, the kind that only happened when an Omega was preparing for….
Heat.
I was going into heat. The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. I scrambled out of the nest—out of the bed, it was just a bed, not a nest and ran to the bathroom, nearly tripping over the ottoman I'd moved in front of my door again.
The mirror confirmed my worst fears. My cheeks were flushed, my pupils blown wide, my lips swollen like I'd been biting them in my sleep. And my scent—God, my scent—
It filled the small bathroom, thick and sweet and unmistakable. Burnt sugar and peaches and lightning. The scent of an Omega in pre-heat, broadcasting her fertility to every Alpha in a mile radius.
I was fucked. I was so completely, utterly fucked.
I gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard, trying to think. I couldn't go on this trip. I couldn't get on a plane smelling like this, couldn't sit in an enclosed space with strangers, couldn't risk being around other people when my body was screaming for something I refused to give it.
I couldn't stay here either. My apartment suddenly felt like a trap, the walls closing in, the silence pressing against my eardrums until I wanted to scream. I needed to get out. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere, just—not here. Not alone. Not anymore.
The cabin, whispered that desperate voice. Fresh air. Isolation. Someone who cares about you.
It was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea.
I went anyway.
The airport was a nightmare.
I'd doused myself in scent blockers before leaving, three different brands, layered on so thick I could barely smell myself anymore.
But I knew it wasn't enough. I could feel eyes on me as I walked through the terminal, could sense heads turning in my direction, could smell the sharp spike of Alpha interest from men I passed.
I kept my head down. Walked fast. Didn't make eye contact.
The flight itself was worse.
The man in the seat next to me was a Beta, thank God, but there was an Alpha two rows back. I could smell him, leather and musk and something aggressive and every time the air circulation shifted, his scent wafted toward me and made my thighs clench together.
I spent the entire three-hour flight with my face pressed against the window, breathing the stale recycled air and trying not to whimper.
By the time we landed, I was shaking. My skin was too hot, too tight.
Slick had soaked through my underwear and was threatening to seep into my jeans.
I needed to find a bathroom, needed to clean myself up, needed to get somewhere private before I completely fell apart.
First, I had to find Carol.
I grabbed my bag from the overhead compartment and shuffled off the plane with the other passengers, my legs unsteady beneath me. The terminal was small—this was a regional airport, barely more than a building with a runway but it was still too crowded. Too many people. Too many scents.
I scanned the waiting area, looking for a woman who matched the vague description Carol had given me. Older, she'd said. Gray hair. Warm smile.
I didn't see anyone like that. What I saw instead made my heart stop.
Two men stood near the exit, impossible to miss even in a crowd.
One was huge—six-foot-four at least, with broad shoulders and ice-blue eyes that scanned the terminal like a predator surveying his territory.
The other was leaner, dark-haired, with a lazy grin and gray eyes that sparkled with mischief.
Caleb. Leo.
My stepbrothers.
Alphas.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stand there, frozen, while my body recognized them before my mind caught up.
No. No, this isn't possible. They can't be here. They can't—
Then their scents hit me. Pine and woodsmoke and bitter winter cold.
Dark chocolate and whiskey and something spiced.
The smells crashed into me like a physical force, overwhelming my blockers, drowning out every other scent in the terminal, flooding my system with memories I'd spent three years trying to bury.
Caleb's hands on my waist, his voice rough in my ear. "You're ours, little fox. You've always been ours."
Leo's laugh, dark and delighted, as he pinned me against a wall. "God, you smell good. Like sugar and sin."
My knees buckled. I grabbed for the nearest wall, but it was too far away, and then I was falling, my bag slipping from my fingers, my vision going white at the edges as my body surrendered to instincts I couldn't control.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.
Pine and woodsmoke. Cold. Caleb.
"Easy, little fox." His voice was low, rough, vibrating through my bones.
"I've got you." I tried to push him away, but my arms wouldn't cooperate.
My whole body had gone limp, pliant, submissive in a way I hadn't been since I was fifteen years old.
My Omega recognized her Alpha, and it didn't care that my mind was screaming in protest.