Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sierra
The awareness slams into me. Four alphas, all focused entirely on me, and my omega practically does a backflip of excitement.
ALPHAS.
“I heard a crash,” I manage, trying to sound normal and professional and like I’m not currently running a fever in tiny pajamas. “Is everyone—”
That’s when I see the blood.
Jalen is in the kitchen, standing by the sink with his hand wrapped in what looks like a dish towel. Even from here, I can see red seeping through the fabric. Broken glass glitters on the floor around his bare feet, and there’s a shattered glass in the sink.
My omega does not like this.
Alpha is hurt. Alpha needs help. Fix it.
“What happened?” I’m already moving toward him before I consciously decide to, my bare feet careful on the hardwood.
“It’s nothing,” Jalen says quickly, but his voice is tight. “Just grabbed a glass in the dark and it broke. I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Barely.”
“Jalen.” Dax’s voice comes from behind me, low and worried. “Let her see.”
I reach Jalen and very carefully step around the broken glass. Up close, I can see more blood on his hand, dripping onto the counter. The dish towel is already soaked through.
“Let me see,” I say, knowing I’m using my omega voice without being able to stop myself. The one that’s soft but brooks no argument. The one that makes alphas want to listen and comply.
It works. Jalen unwraps the towel slowly, revealing a nasty gash across his palm.
“Shit,” I breathe. “Okay. First aid kit?”
“With the emergency supplies,” Cole says from somewhere behind me. “I’ll get it.”
“Cleaning supplies for the glass?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Jalen’s hand.
“On it,” Dax says.
Malik appears at my elbow with a clean kitchen towel. “Here.”
I take it and press it gently to Jalen’s palm. He winces but doesn’t pull away.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I know it stings.”
“It’s fine.” His voice is quieter now, and when I glance up at his face, he’s looking at me with something like wonder. “You didn’t have to do this. You should be resting.”
“You’re hurt. Of course I did.”
It’s the simplest truth in the world. My omega won’t let me do anything else, heat or no heat. An alpha is injured, and I need to help. That’s just how it works.
Cole returns with a first aid kit. I set it on the counter and start pulling out supplies. Antiseptic wipes, gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment. My hands are steady despite the fever making everything feel slightly surreal.
“This is going to sting,” I warn, tearing open an antiseptic wipe.
Jalen nods, and I carefully clean around the wound. He doesn’t flinch, but I can feel the tension in his arm, see the tight line of his jaw.
“Sorry, sorry,” I murmur, trying to be as gentle as possible. “Almost done with this part.”
The heat is making me extra soft, extra nurturing. Every instinct is screaming at me to take care of him, make sure he’s okay, fix the hurt. It’s overwhelming and kind of annoying because I’m supposed to be maintaining professional distance, but I can’t seem to help it.
I pat the area dry with gauze, then examine the cut more closely. “It’s not too deep. Should be fine without stitches, but you need to keep it clean.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jalen says, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.
I spread antibiotic ointment carefully over the wound, then start wrapping his hand with gauze. My fingers brush against his skin, and I try very hard not to notice how warm he is, how his toasted marshmallow and spiced apple cider scent gets a little stronger this close.
Behind me, I can hear Dax carefully sweeping up the broken glass. Malik and Cole are hovering nearby. I can feel their eyes on me, their presence like a weight in the small kitchen space.
The air is thick with alpha scent and omega-in-heat pheromones, and it’s making my head spin a little. Or maybe that’s the fever. Hard to tell.
“There.” I secure the gauze with medical tape, checking to make sure it’s snug but not too tight. “That should hold. Change the dressing tomorrow and keep an eye on it for infection.”
“Thank you,” Jalen says softly. His good hand comes up like he’s going to touch my arm, then stops mid-air like he’s thought better of it. “Seriously. You didn’t have to—”
“Stop saying that,” I interrupt. “You were bleeding. What was I supposed to do, go back to bed?”
“Most people would,” Dax says from where he’s dumping broken glass into the trash. “Especially in your condition.”
Right. My condition.
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing in a kitchen with four alphas while wearing sleep shorts and a tank top, running a fever, and definitely giving off enough heat pheromones to make everyone uncomfortable.
“You should get back to your room,” Dax continues, his voice careful. “You’re in heat.”
“I know,” I say, turning to face him. “But he was bleeding.”
It comes out more matter-of-fact than I intend. Just a simple statement of priority: bleeding alpha trumps personal discomfort.
Cole is looking at me with something soft in his eyes. “Thanks, Sierra. Really.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I start packing up the first-aid kit, needing something to do with my hands. “Just basic first aid.”
“It’s more than that,” Malik says quietly. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, dark eyes watching me with that analytical gaze of his. “You’re not feeling well, and you still came out to help.”
I shrug, snapping the first-aid kit closed. “Anyone would have—”
That’s when the room tilts slightly.
Or maybe I tilt. Hard to tell.
I grab the counter for balance, and suddenly Malik is there, his hand on my elbow, steadying me.
“Whoa. Easy.”
“I’m okay,” I say automatically, but my voice sounds distant even to my own ears.
“You’re shaking,” Malik observes. His hand is very warm on my arm, and up close, his cool, creamy scent is even stronger. All alpha and concern and something else I can’t quite identify. “Your fever’s climbing.”
Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Everything feels hot and cold and weird.
“Shit,” Dax mutters. “Sierra, you need to get back to your nest.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, but when I try to prove it by taking a step, my legs feel like overcooked spaghetti.
Malik’s other hand comes to my waist, holding me steady. “Let me help you back to your room.”
I should say no. Should insist I’m fine, I can manage, I don’t need help from my rival who’s also an alpha and also smells really, really good right now.
But my omega has zero interest in pride or professional boundaries.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
Malik guides me carefully around the counter, his hand never leaving my waist. I lean into him slightly (just for balance, obviously) and try not to notice how nice it feels to have someone helping, someone supporting me.
The walk down the hallway takes forever. Or maybe thirty seconds. Time is weird.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m not usually like this.”
“You’re in heat, sweetheart.” His voice is calm, matter-of-fact. “Nothing to apologize for.”
Sweetheart? My omega tries to purr.
“Stop that!” I whisper-hiss.
“Hm?” Malik’s dark gaze finds my face.
My face heats. “Nothing. Just, uh, a little winded.”
We reach my door, and he helps me to it, making sure I’m steady before he lets go.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod, gripping the doorframe. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” he corrects. “For helping Jalen.”
“He was bleeding,” I say again, like it’s the only explanation needed.
Which, to me, it is.
Malik smiles. A real, soft, genuine smile. “Get some rest, Sierra.”
I slip into my room and close the door, then lean against it, breathing hard.
My nest calls to me, and I stumble toward it, burrowing into the blankets and pillows that smell like me, like safety.
But everything feels different now.
I can still feel Malik’s hand on my waist, steadying me. Can still see Jalen’s surprised expression when I started tending his cut. Can still hear Cole’s quiet thanks, Dax’s concern.
They were worried about me.
They helped me back to my room.
They said thank you like they meant it.
I pull a pillow against my chest, my fever-fuzzy brain trying to process what just happened.
The Knightley Pack is supposed to be guys I hate. Guys who steal my events and make my professional life difficult.
But just now?
Just now, they were four people who got concerned when I appeared. Who noticed I was shaking. Who made sure I got back to my room safely.
And Jalen, even when he was bleeding and in pain, had looked at me with wonder and said, “You didn’t have to do this.”
Like the idea of someone taking care of him was foreign.
Like he wasn’t used to it.
I curl up tighter in my nest, the realization settling over me like the blankets.
They’re not just rivals anymore.
They’re not just the Knightley Pack, the guys who make my life difficult, the alphas I’m supposed to compete against.
They’re Cole, who makes terrible jokes to lighten the mood.
They’re Dax, who swept up broken glass and worried about me being in heat.
They’re Malik, who noticed I was shaking and helped me back without making it weird.
They’re Jalen, who tried to insist he was fine even while bleeding, who looked surprised that I’d help.
They’re people.
Real, complicated, surprisingly kind people.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
My omega has some ideas, but those ideas are terrible and involve zero boundaries and way too much alpha proximity.
“We are not thinking about that,” I tell the darkness of my room.
But as I drift into an uneasy, feverish sleep, I can’t quite make the thought go away.
Something has shifted.
And I’m not sure I can shift it back.