Knot Just Six (Heatseekers Omegaverse #1)

Chapter 1

"Oi. Babes."

The gentle nudge of an elbow in my upper arm pulls my attention away from the calendar app on my phone. Instead of staring out the window at the city crawling past us, Loz is inspecting me from behind her long lashes.

"Hmmm? Yeah, Loz—you alright? You need something?"

Her dress sparkles in the traces of light that seeps in through the tinted limousine windows.

A small sigh falls out of her mouth. "I'm absolutely fine. Fucking peachy. You, on the other hand, look like you've swallowed a damn lemon."

A little nervous giggle slips out as my eyes dart around uncomfortably. "Huh. Yeah—nah, I was just looking at the schedule for the next few weeks." I try to keep my tone nonchalant.

Loz's eyes sharpen into a glare. "Calling bullshit on that one, babes. Spill."

I squeeze my lips together and glance down at my creased sundress. Talking about heats has been an uncomfortable topic for months now. "Loz, I got a message from Doctor Hill today—she really doesn't want you delaying your heat too much longer."

Another long breath hisses from her nose. "Shit. I guess that tracks."

"I'm just thinking about how we can make everything work…

I think we can move most of the interviews around and give you a free three weeks from the second Saturday in April…

but… oh… hang on a tic. There's a note on their booking site…

huh. Christopher Townsend left the pack a few months ago.

They may not be able to take bookings for… crap, a couple of months at least."

A small frown flickers across her perfectly made-up brow.

She turns away from me and stares out the window, her ruddy gold hair glowing in the dim light.

"That alphahole Patrick fucking Townsend's the one who leaked those fucking photos, so that's a fucking moot point," she mutters, her voice low and tight with fury.

Tension twangs in my shoulders as my lips curl between my teeth and I fidget with a ragged edge on my fingernail. "Did the investigative team find something?" I don't think I managed to keep my voice as steady as I should have.

Loz snorts. "Trix did. The team just confirmed it."

It makes sense that everyone around her, even me, was kept out of the investigation.

It makes less sense that my pushy, nosy big sister found out about it, and somehow figured out the stuff the professionals overlooked; but knowing her, she would have been like a dog with a bone and refused to stop digging until she'd got to the bottom of the situation.

To be fair, if I had been in Loz's shoes, I wouldn't have done much differently.

If anyone knows what it's like, having something plastered around in public that's supposed to be private, it's me.

I can't even begin to think about how much it would have hurt not knowing if I could trust my oldest friends or the men I'd invited into my nest—I'd want to connect with someone who couldn't possibly have been involved, too.

She smooths an errant sequin in her skirt. "I'll forward you the report when we get home. Apparently, Christopher Townsend reported it to the cops fucking months ago, but the report sat in a fucking drawer 'til last week."

She's glaring at the sequin like it owes her beer money.

"Trix figured it out. She started sniffing around Patrick fucking Townsend, 'cuz he started splashing an awful lot of cash around all of a sudden, and got the info together.

Then, when she shared what she'd found with the PIs, they took it to the cops, and oops, whaddya know, look what we found.

Apparently, the pigs reckoned his report wasn't enough on its own, so they didn't do shit about it. "

Her glossy, blush pink nails continue worrying the black sequin. My phone gives the quiet buzz it makes when it spits out an alert that isn't about Lauren. I ignore it, like usual.

There's a churning, roiling storm in my stomach.

I don't know whether it's the nausea that comes when I forget to eat before evening, the thought of what Christopher—the poor bugger I barely know on sight—must have been through over the last few months, or the memory of how we fought to survive those leaked photos that never should have been taken in the first place.

But whatever it is, it's sending a swell of nausea through my gut.

From the way her gaze is fixed on her dress, Loz seems to be caught up in the memory of the last few months.

I hate seeing her like this, but at the same time, a secret part of me is glad she can still let the mask slip around me, even if only a little.

I reach across the empty seat between us, and rest my hand on her bare shoulder.

She turns her face towards me, and rests her hand on mine.

A small smile pulls at the corner of her lips.

"Well, Pack Townsend's dead to us. Now let's talk about your next heat. I reckon your nest is due a serious overhaul after that debacle, so I'll make sure you have at least four free days before they come to help you with nesting, and I'll get Ruby to come over for a consult next week."

A smile flutters across her full lips.

"She has some new natural fibre Sherpa blankets that are, apparently, to-freaking-die for," I add, "and she has based her current collection around your nesting mood board on the 'Gram."

Her smile deepens a little, her cheeks pinkening. "Yeah, I still don't get that one."

I try, and fail, to swallow the sputter that spills out.

"Uh, turns out when the winner of the Golden Disc Award for Best Supporting Omega tags you on the 'Gram and thanks you for your…

uh, what was it you said? Oh, yeah, your 'life-changing throw pillows,' your business picks up.

She would make your dodgy flannel the pinnacle of nest fashion if she saw you in it. "

Her chuckle makes her face light up. "Bogan chic nests. Heh. I want to make that a thing on principle." She relaxes into her seat.

My snort is louder than I meant it to be. "Don't you dare. Ruby would have to find a whole bunch of new suppliers—I'm pretty sure her current ones would struggle to source such cheap flannel."

Loz laughs properly this time, and some of the tension drops away from her shoulders. I gently tug my hand back and flick through the apps on my phone.

"Anyway. I'm not leaving you stuck in some sodding medical heat clinic that smells like disinfectant, and I'm definitely not abandoning you to a solo heat.

Do you want me to start looking into different heat support packs on Heatseekers?

I've heard on the grapevine that there are at least thirty packs on there who are supposed to be utterly excellent and who regularly work out of LA, and at least another forty or so in the elite tier that are here regularly.

I can reach out to the PA network, see who's really trustworthy—"

She shakes her head. "I was chatting to Bronwyn about that. She keeps raving about Pack X—apparently she has been using them for her heats for the last three years, and she has been bugging me to try them since."

I raise an eyebrow. I've never heard of Pack X.

Apparently, neither has the Omega PA subreddit.

Even after I turn off the filters and search through the posts about packs who've left the industry, the horror stories about STIs and injuries and rape and forced submission—any of which would get a pack insta-banned from Heatseekers—I can't find anything about them.

Given what the subreddit tends to be vocal about, this is actually not a bad sign—if Pack X haven't shown up on there even once, it means they are either very new, or very, very good at what they do.

Or, on the other hand, very, very good at hiding things.

I purse my lips at the thought.

But Bronwyn Mitre, Lauren's co-star on the movie that made her a household name, has been her mentor in the business for the last ten years. That woman takes no prisoners. If she trusts them, it'll be for a good reason.

I type their name into the Heatseekers Pack Review search. None of their profile photos show their whole face—just snippets, hints of their bodies—but that's par for the course on the app. But, wow, those are some drool-worthy snippets.

I scroll through their review page, my eyebrows shooting up.

Holy heck, that's a lot of five-star reviews.

"Huh. Springtime garden scent profile, it says here. Sounds… blossomy—that's still your thing, right?"

Lauren nods, her face relaxing into a small smile.

"I… haven't heard of them—but if they are who you want to try, I'll put the booking request in on Heatseekers when we get home."

"Thanks, babes. And," her tone sharpens, "don't think I've forgotten—you promised me you'd put some fucking thought into taking on the managing director role—"

The sigh that I can't hold back makes my cheeks puff out.

"Loz, we talked about this. I'm not qualified.

I never even finished my master's, and I don't know enough about what the problems even are in heat support, let alone how to fix 'em or how to spend your money effectively to target 'em.

Besides, you know what kind of jerks are out there—"

"Yeah, and that's why I want you holding the reins.

You know how important this shit is, babes.

I dunno if the answer is low-income heat hotels, or a new kind of heat-friendly sex toy, but—I know you won't assume you know the answers, and you'll figure out how to get the people who do to work together and get shit done.

Anyone else could really fuck things up—"

"And anyone else could really stuff things up for you, Loz. Speaking of stuffing things up, you didn't eat dinner because that new hair guy ran over time." I glare at her as I pass her a protein bar from my purse.

She raises a blonde eyebrow at me as she grabs it and peels back the foil wrapper.

"Pretty sure you didn't either, babes," she mumbles, her mouth full of oats and whey protein performing their mediocre attempt at impersonating flavour.

"I'm fine. I ate earlier." My response is automatic at this point. I hope she didn't hear the gurgle my stomach just made. She can't be keeling over on the red carpet, and it's not like I don't have heaps of stored energy. I hold out my open hand for the empty wrapper.

A grimace flashes across her face as she swallows the last bite.

"Dels, I swear to fuck, you're the only person I know who can herd cats by breed when it comes to other people's shit, but couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery if you're the only one who benefits.

" She passes me the rubbish, then retrieves her pocket mirror and checks her teeth for stray remnants of her sorry impersonation of dinner.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, and there's more than a few cats around you that need herding, Loz, I'm not gonna risk you getting screwed over by some shitty new PA just so I can swan around and say I'm the MD of some fancy heat support research charity—"

The limousine crawls to a stop. "Babes, I love you, but you don't swan around so much as waddle."

I sputter out a laugh and give her a gentle nudge with my elbow. "Game face on, Loz. Sorry, Lauren Treloar, Omega goddess who definitely doesn't swear like a sailor on leave."

She grins wickedly at me, her posture straightening. My friend disappears as the starlet takes her place. "You know it, daaaahling," she croons, her voice in the seductive purr she adopts whenever she is on screen. She unclicks her seatbelt, and turns towards the door.

The limousine door opens, and she steps out into the blinding flashes that pepper the night sky.