Chapter 18 #2
“The doctor I see—the one who advised me to take a break from the suppressants… she warned me what was coming. She recommended a couple of… services.”
Something cold and dark opened in my gut. “Services,” I repeated, though it came out low. Flat.
Wren heard it anyway. Her lips twitched — not quite a smile, more like something bitter surfacing. “Professionals. Companions. Paid and trained to help omegas through heat.”
I went still.
Too still.
“She gave me names,” she added, voice distant, “vetting. Medical profiles. I could’ve hired someone to get me through it. Would’ve made it easier. Faster. Supposed to burn through the worst of it in twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours with the right—attention.”
My breath hissed out between my teeth before I could stop it.
Someone. Touching her. Kissing her. Inside her. Skin on skin. Even if it was sanctioned. Professional. Even if she’d asked for it. The primitive, feral part of me responded like a match to dry grass.
I locked it down so hard it nearly made my vision blur.
She noticed. Her voice softened, threading with that weary amusement that never quite reached humor.
“I didn’t,” she added quickly. “I didn’t want that.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“I thought about it,” she admitted, turning her face slightly toward my neck.
“When the fever started and the headaches were bad… I almost called one of them. But I couldn’t.
” Her eyes slid shut. “I didn’t want to just lie there.
Let someone do things to me. No matter how polite or skilled or highly recommended. ”
A small, bitter breath escaped her. “I didn’t want to feel helpless. Not with a stranger.”
And there it was.
The truth. Quiet. Raw.
Not shame. Not prudishness.
Control.
Wren had lived her entire adult life dragging her instincts down into silence. Choosing who got access to her. Choosing when and how. Or not at all.
The idea that she might have sacrificed all that for convenience made me feel—
No. Not feel.
Burn.
Yet underneath the fire, deeper than instinct, something else sat cold and heavy in my chest. She almost went through this alone.
Wren. In this kind of pain. In this kind of danger. With no one she trusted. No one to hold her. No one to make sure she made it out the other side.
I breathed deep. Steady. Careful. When I finally spoke, my voice was barely audible. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
She blinked.
“Not just because it would’ve…” I stopped, teeth gritting. “Because it would’ve killed me to know someone else—”
I shook my head. No. That wasn’t fair to lay on her now.
I tried again.
“I’m glad you waited,” I said, quieter. “Even if you didn’t know it was for us.”
She looked up at me then, eyes heavy, but clear. No masks. No pushback. Just that tired, honest woman I’d been chasing since the moment I realized she was missing.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
I shifted just slightly, careful not to loosen the blanket around her, and pressed my forehead gently against hers. Skin to fabric. Nothing more.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured.
She let out a breath, this one less shaky. More surrender than struggle. Finally, finally, she closed her eyes.
Wren finally gave in to sleep.
Her breathing evened, the tension in her body melting one slow inch at a time until her weight went fully slack in my arms. I didn’t move right away—couldn’t.
My body was a live wire, raw and burning.
Every breath of her scent scraped against the inside of my skull, pulling tight every thread of control I’d laid down.
But I had it.
Barely. Just enough.
I shifted her carefully, still swaddled tight in the blanket like some fragile, priceless artifact. She made a soft sound in protest, instinctive, but didn’t wake. I eased her down into the nest of pillows we’d built earlier, adjusted the edge of the blanket at her shoulder, then stood.
Just being vertical hurt.
The blood pumping through my body felt molten. Like every nerve was screaming her name.
I made it to the bathroom in seven long strides.
Turned on the faucet. Cranked it to cold.
Bent down and threw two full handfuls of freezing water straight into my face.
The shock didn’t help as much as I wanted it to. My skin still burned. My lungs still ached.
I gripped the edge of the sink and leaned into it, head bowed, trying to exhale through the fire. My back muscles were tight. My thighs throbbed. Everything in me was demanding—answers, action, contact.
But it wasn’t mine to take. None of it. She hadn’t asked for a claim. She hadn’t asked for me. Just help. Just safety. I gave her that. I’d keep giving it until she no longer needed it and then—
I didn’t finish that thought. Instead, I did something stupid. I glanced in the mirror.
The man staring back at me looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His jaw was clenched so hard it pulsed, eyes rimmed with red, pupils still too wide.
Pathetic.
I splashed another handful of water across my face. Entertained—for the briefest second—the idea of stripping down and throwing myself into the snow outside. It probably wouldn’t help either.
But the ache would at least be honest.
After I used the damn toilet, I rinsed my hands, and then braced both palms on the counter. She was going to come out of this. I was going to make damn sure of it.
And when she did… when she was steady and thinking clearly again…
We were going to talk. If I reminded myself of this enough, it would help me maintain the control we needed.
I left the bathroom and stepped back into the bedroom.
She was still asleep. Curled slightly to the side now, face half-buried in the blanket, one hand peeking out from the folds. Vulnerable and flushed and so damn beautiful it hurt to look at her.
I stared at her for a long moment. Let myself have that. Just that.
There were so many things I wanted to say.
And so many more I knew I couldn’t.
Not yet.
The sound of the front door opening snapped me out of it.
I turned sharply. Moved to the bedroom door and stepped through, easing it closed behind me until the latch clicked quietly into place. Jay stood in the kitchen, his expression tight and fierce. I tracked his gaze to where Rhett was already pacing, his hair damp and littered with flecks of snow.
He’d left his boots by the door and dropped his jacket too, but energy just surged off of him.
I didn’t get a chance to say a word. He turned as soon as I came out. His energy was wrong—tight, barely contained.
“We’ve got a problem.”
My stomach sank even as my spine straightened.
“What kind of problem?”