Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
HOLLY
I wake disoriented, tangled in sheets that feel too smooth against my hypersensitive skin. For a moment, I can’t remember where I am—the room is unfamiliar, the quality of light all wrong. Then it comes rushing back: the blizzard, the alphas finding me, Kai’s mansion.
My heat.
I kick off the blankets, my body burning from the inside out. Sweat plasters my t-shirt to my skin, and every nerve ending feels raw. Exposed. This is worse than I imagined, and I know it’s only the beginning.
According to the medical literature—the clinical, sanitized descriptions I’ve studied with detached interest—I’m still in the preliminary phase. The true heat hasn’t even started yet. This is just my body adjusting to the absence of suppressants, recalibrating after years of chemical interference.
God help me when the real thing hits.
I force myself to sit up, taking stock of my surroundings with more clarity than I managed last night.
Sunlight streams through the windows, reflecting off the snow outside to create a brilliance that makes me squint.
The storm must have passed overnight, leaving behind a transformed landscape of pristine white.
The room is even more impressive in daylight.
What I took for simple luxury last night reveals itself as thoughtful design.
The bed sits at an angle that catches morning light without it becoming blinding.
The furniture arrangement creates natural pathways through the space.
Even the color palette—soft blues and greens with accents of warm amber—feels intentionally soothing.
Who designed this room? Kai doesn’t seem like the type to obsess over paint swatches and furniture catalogs.
Then again, I don’t know anything about him. Maybe he just makes a habit of giving random omegas a safe place to experience their heats with no strings attached.
Paranoia tingles at the edge of my senses. Maybe there are strings attached to this that I just haven’t seen yet.
The question nags at me as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, testing whether they’ll support my weight.
They do, barely. I shuffle toward the bathroom, desperate for a shower to wash away the night’s sweat.
The bathroom continues the theme of understated luxury—marble countertops, a glass-enclosed shower big enough for three people, and a deep soaking tub positioned beneath a window with a view of snow-laden pine trees.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and wince. My hair is a tangled mess, my eyes fever-bright, cheeks flushed. I look exactly like what I am—an omega in early heat—and the sight sends a wave of panic through me.
This isn’t me. This can’t be me.
But it is.
The woman in the mirror is Holly Chang—medical doctor and hidden omega, now stripped of pretense and chemical barriers. This is what I’ve been running from all these years.
I turn away from my reflection and step into the shower, adjusting the temperature to just shy of scalding.
The water pressure is perfect, the rainfall feature living up to its name as water cascades over my heated skin.
For a few minutes, I simply stand there, letting the water sluice away the sweat and fear.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel that feels impossibly soft against my skin, I feel marginally more human.
A knock at the door startles me so badly I nearly drop my towel.
“Holly?” Noah’s voice calls through the wood. “I wanted to check how you’re doing.”
Noah. Fuck, when did I start thinking of him by his first name?
“I’m fine,” I call back, wincing at how hoarse my voice sounds. “Just woke up.”
“May I come in? I’d like to check your vitals if that’s all right.”
The doctor in me knows this is sensible. The omega in me—the part I’ve suppressed for so long—thrills at the idea of an alpha coming into close proximity.
Down, girl.
“Just a minute.”
I dress in clean clothes from my duffel—loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal top—though even these soft fabrics feel abrasive against my sensitized skin.
I move to the door, hesitating with my hand on the lock. Taking a deep breath, I turn it and open the door just enough to see Noah standing in the hallway, medical bag in hand.
He looks different today—less the stern attending physician and more just..
. a man. He’s wearing jeans and a simple henley shirt that stretches across his shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
His hair is slightly mussed, as if he’s run his hands through it repeatedly, and there’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw.
He looks me up and down in clinical assessment, but then his gaze lingers on my feet.
His lips curl into the first smile I’ve ever seen from him. “Cute socks.”
Embarrassed for no reason at all, I resist the urge to kick off the fuzzy green socks that I know look like something a toddler would pick out. “They’re comfortable.”
His smile widens. “I’ll bet.”
Then he shakes himself, seeming to realize that he isn’t here to banter. “May I come in?”
I step back, opening the door wider. “Yeah, of course.”
Noah enters, maintaining a careful distance between us. I appreciate the gesture, even as something primal in me yearns to close that gap.
Stop it, I scold myself. He’s a colleague. A temporary supervisor. Nothing more.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, setting his bag on a nearby table. “Any nausea? Dizziness? Cramping?”
“All the above,” I admit, as I settle into the rumpled sheets with my back against the headboard. “Though the nausea is mild. Mostly I’m just…really overheated.”
Noah nods, his clinical gaze assessing me. “Your body is adjusting to the absence of suppressants. It’s essentially going through withdrawal while simultaneously ramping up hormone production. It’s a lot for your system to handle.”
“I am aware of the physiological mechanisms at play, Dr. Klinkhart,” I say dryly. Though saying his name feels more like teasing than a display of professional courtesy. “I did graduate from medical school.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough, Dr. Chang. Then you know I need to check your vital signs.”
I flop down on the edge of the bed and hold out one arm. “Proceed.”
Noah takes a seat next to me on the bed, on the very edge so there is still ample space between me.
As he approaches with a digital thermometer, and I tilt my head to allow him access to my ear, his proximity sends a wave of awareness through me I really wish I could ignore.
For the first time, I get an inkling of his scent.
It’s something citrusy and bright. Then my overexerted hindbrain fixates on the details of him, the controlled strength in his movements, the slight roughness of his fingertips as they brush my skin.
The thermometer beeps. “101.2,” he reads. “Elevated, but not dangerous.”
Next comes the blood pressure cuff. Noah wraps it around my arm, his touch clinical but somehow still sending sparks along my nerve endings. I focus on breathing evenly as the cuff tightens.
“120 over 80,” he reports. “Textbook normal, which is impressive given the circumstances.”
“I’ve always had excellent blood pressure,” I say, aiming for professional detachment despite the way my pulse jumps when his fingers press against my wrist to take my heart rate.
“Pulse is elevated, too. 115 beats per minute,” he notes after a moment. “Not unexpected. Are you feeling out of breath at all?”
“Well, I am now.”
The thought becomes words coming out of my mouth before my muddled brain can snatch them back.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the pretense of a medical examination falls away. We’re not colleagues right now. We’re an alpha and an omega, alone in a room, with my heat building between us like a gathering storm.
Tension rises as Noah stares back at me, then abruptly breaks as he laughs and looks away. “Duly noted.”
“Luckily, I don’t think a heat cycle has ever killed anyone.”
I can swear I hear him mutter what sounds like, first time for everything, but I can’t be sure.
He abruptly jumps to his feet and steps back, clearing his throat. “Your vitals are reassuring. No signs of dangerous withdrawal effects.”
“That’s good,” I manage, mind wandering to what his chest looks like under that tight shirt outlining every muscle.
“Are you hungry? Kai’s making breakfast. We could bring you something.”
The thought of food makes my stomach turn, but I know I need to eat. “Maybe just toast? And tea, if there is any?”
“I’ll have Kai bring it in a bit.” He hesitates, as if trying to decide whether to continue, then adds, “we’re all just down the hall if you need anything. Anything at all.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. “Thank you,” I say softly. “For everything. This isn’t...this isn’t how I planned things to go.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Life rarely goes according to plan, especially around here.”
With that cryptic statement, he gathers his medical bag and moves toward the door. “I’ll check on you again this afternoon, if that’s all right.”
“Sure,” I agree, and I have to bite my tongue to resist the compulsive urge to beg him to stay. “Sounds good.”
I wish I could just go back to sleep after Noah leaves, but a surge of kinetic energy overtakes me. Trying to work it off and I provide a distraction for the growing discomfort in my body, I decide to explore the room more thoroughly.
The mini-fridge is stocked with water, sports drinks, and several types of juice. The cabinet beside it contains an impressive array of snacks—everything from protein bars to chocolate, dried fruits to nuts.
I’m examining the bookshelves—filled with an eclectic mix of fiction, pop psychology, and what appear to be vintage comic books—when I hear voices from the hallway. Noah and Kai, their tones low but distinct enough that I can make out words through the door.
Noah’s voice is the loudest. “—just saying, it’s weird that you had this room all ready to go,”