Chapter 2 #2
The cramp that hit me then was the worst one yet.
It took me at the knees, doubling me forward, and I caught myself on the dresser with both hands.
The pain crested, then stayed, a deep grind through my bones.
My skin had gone hot, then cold, then hot again.
My scent, honeysuckle and herbs, was suddenly so strong I could smell it everywhere.
The suppressants had failed me. My heat was here, not in a week, not manageable, not on my schedule. Here, now, on my best friend's wedding night, in a hotel full of people, with no partner, no plan, and nothing but the clothes I was wearing and the phone in my clutch.
I stayed bent over the dresser for a long moment, breathing, letting the pain crest and recede. Then I straightened, in the dark, and reached for my phone.
Practical. I could do practical. Practical had never failed me.
I needed a room. A suite, not a guest room. Something with space, a kitchenette, a door that locked from the inside. I needed water, a shower, my phone, the app I'd used before, the one designed for exactly this situation.
I unlocked my phone, but the brightness was set too high. Everything was too bright. I swiped it down before I opened the app.
Heat Seekers. I'd used it several times before, with unfailing success, but those were with vetted partners and a plan to meet that started and ended on my terms. Never like this.
Never emergency, never desperate, never with my body already running hot, my hands already shaking, my scent already thick enough to taste.
But I knew how it worked. I knew the SOS function, the "I need help now" option that pinged available profiles in a set radius.
I knew I could set the callout, screen the responses, and choose someone, or someones, who looked safe enough, close enough, competent enough to get me through the next few days without anything going wrong.
The cold shower was the first thing. Not because I thought it would stop the heat; I'd been through enough to know water temperature wasn't a cure. I did it because the cold gave me something to focus on that wasn't the cramping, and I needed my brain clear for the next ten minutes.
I stripped out of the body-con dress in the dark, catching the hem under my foot, and left it in a pile on the bathroom floor. I turned the shower to cold without checking the temperature first, stepped in, and let my body register the shock.
The water hit like a wall. My skin seized, my lungs pulled tight, and for a count of five I couldn't feel the cramping at all. Then my body adjusted. I'd always run hot, even off heat. The cold became just cold, and the pain came back underneath it, a low throb the water hadn't touched.
I stayed under the spray for five minutes, maybe seven, until I stopped shaking and my shoulders went numb. My thoughts settled back into working order. The cold bought me ten minutes of a functional brain, maybe fifteen. I used them to make the calls I needed.
I got out, toweled off with a fluffy towel I didn’t remember feeling so scratchy that morning, and wrapped myself in the same blush silk-blend robe I'd worn in Celia's suite. I sat on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hand.
Heat Seekers lived in a folder on my second screen, tucked between my banking app and a meditation thing I'd downloaded at three in the morning six months ago and never opened.
The app opened to my profile. Nit4You, the name I'd picked three years ago when I'd set up the account, a pun on my name that was clever enough to be memorable and vague enough to be anonymous.
The photo was a silhouette against city lights, my face in profile, the skyline behind me.
Urban, professional, unmistakably me to anyone who knew me and completely generic to anyone who didn't.
I'd written exactly what I wanted and nothing flirtier, with none of the coy performance the app seemed built to invite.
Omega, 24. Heat partners only. Prefer experienced responders. Professional and discreet on both sides desired.
I'd never used the SOS function. I'd never needed to. Now I opened it.
The emergency callout screen was designed for speed.
Radius first; I set it to three miles, hoping that would be enough to turn up a pack at ten at night on a Saturday.
I adjusted a few settings to show my profile to responders only, not the general browsers.
No point broadcasting my location to every alpha with a phone in range.
I hit send before I could overthink it.
The app confirmed:
Notice sent! Responders within your indicated radius have been notified. Review and approve a request to communicate, or close your request to future responders.
Time was ticking, and I had only a few more minutes of clear thought.
I needed a suite. The standard queen was too small, too close to the wedding guests who booked with the guest block, who might come up to their rooms any time in the next few hours.
I needed to book it now, while I could still walk and talk, still pass for someone who wasn't about to spend three to five days in heat.
The robe was presentable, and the sandals I slipped on would at least make this look like less of a walk of shame. I could do this. I was already moving, already planning the route: grab my bag, my phone, a water bottle from the minibar, and get to the lobby before the next wave hit.
The lobby was quiet. Most of the wedding guests were still in the ballroom, and the late check-ins had already arrived. The marble floor stretched cool and empty under the dimmed chandeliers, and my sandals tapped on it with the authority of a woman who knew exactly where she was going.
The front desk clerk was an alpha woman with neat braids and the kind of professional neutrality that came from working the night shift at a luxury hotel.
She looked up when I approached and gave no sign she'd caught my scent.
Either the suppressants were still doing something or she was very good at her job.
"I need to extend my stay," I said. "And upgrade my room."
"Of course." Her fingers moved to the keyboard. "Name on the reservation?"
"Nitsa Petrov. I'm with the wedding party. I'm booked through tomorrow, but I need an additional five nights, and I need to move to one of your suites."
"The Meridian Suite is available. That's our top floor?—"
"Something with a kitchenette. A wet bar at minimum. The heat-ready suites, if you have them."
Her fingers paused. Then resumed, a beat slower. "We do have heat-rated accommodations on the upper floors. Private access, scent-sealed, separate HVAC. Those suites are usually booked in advance."
"I'm aware. I'm asking what's available tonight."
She checked the system, made a call, then checked it again.
I stood at the counter with both hands flat on the marble, spine straight.
Heat brain cataloged every alpha crossing the lobby for threat, safety, and proximity before conscious thought caught up.
There was a bellman with a cart, a guest heading for the elevator, and a man in a suit checking his phone near the bar. None of them looked at me.
"We have the Duchess Suite," she said. "Twenty-ninth floor. Separate HVAC, full kitchenette, soaking tub, living area, king bedroom. It's three times your current rate."
"That's fine."
"I'll need a card for the difference."
I slid my card across the marble. The charge would hurt. I'd figure that out later, when I wasn't in heat and could look at my business account without flinching. Now the suite came first. It put a scent-sealed door between me and any guest who might knock and catch a lungful of omega in distress.
The clerk processed the payment, programmed a key card, and slid it across the counter in a small paper sleeve. "You'll need the gold elevators, end of the hall. The elevator will require your key for any floor after eleven. If you need anything?—"
"I won't." I took the key. "Thank you."
I made it back to the elevator before the next cramp hit. This one was bad, but I had it to myself, so I leaned against the wall and breathed through it while the floors ticked upward.
The ride to twenty-nine took too long. The hallway was longer. The door to the Duchess Suite was at the end, past three other rooms and a service closet. I got the key in the lock on the first try, small mercies, and pushed into cool, dark, silent space.
I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't need to see the suite to know it was right.
Neutral-filtered air met me instead of other people's scents rising from the carpet.
The kitchenette was to my left; I found it by feel, opened the minibar, pulled out two bottles of water.
The curtains were open to the city skyline, so I crossed the room and pulled them shut, one panel and then the next, until the city was gone and the suite was dark.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed. King-size, white linens, the headboard low and upholstered. The suite was dark, quiet, entirely mine. For the first time since the headache settled behind my right eye during the toasts, I could hear myself think.
My shoulders dropped, my jaw unclenched, and my breath came out almost a sob. My eyes stung and my hands shook. For thirty seconds I sat in the dark with two bottles of water and didn't move.
Then I cracked the first bottle of water, drank half of it in one go, and checked my phone.