Chapter 24 Xaden
XADEN
The final cards hit the table with soft taps against worn wood. Violet's got a straight flush spread before her, chips piled high enough to buy out everyone at this table twice over. She grins like she just conquered nations instead of three alphas who should have known better.
"Told you I wasn't a beginner." Her fingers drum against the polished surface, victory written across every line of her body.
Outside, wind slams against the bakery windows hard enough to rattle glass in frames. Snow comes down in sheets now, white obscuring the streetlights beyond. The storm forecast called for six inches. Looks more like twelve from where I'm sitting.
Garrick leans back in his chair, which creaks under his weight. His flannel shirt carries flour from this morning's baking, white powder caught in the rolled cuffs at his elbows. "You hustled us."
"Strategically withheld information," Violet corrects, reaching for her wine glass. The Merlot catches candlelight, turning deep purple in the dim kitchen. "There's a difference."
"Not much of one," Liam says, but he's smiling. His green henley brings out the amber in his gaze as he studies her across the felt. "Campus champion three years running. Underground games funded your education. That's professional level."
"You learn fast or you lose everything." She takes a sip, throat working as she swallows. Then she sets the glass down and shifts in her seat. Small movement, barely noticeable. But I notice everything.
I've been watching her for the past twenty minutes. Not the cards. Not the way her fingers shuffle with professional precision. Her.
Something's changing.
It started subtle. A flush creeping up her throat that I attributed to wine and warmth. Pupils dilating wider than candlelight explains. Small shifts in her seat like she can't get comfortable, crossing and uncrossing her legs under the table.
Now her breathing has changed. Deeper. Each inhale deliberate like she's pulling air into her lungs with conscious effort. Her fingers keep touching her throat, pressing against the pulse point there like she's checking her own heartbeat.
Her aroma hits me between one breath and the next.
Vanilla and honey. Sweet and warm. But underneath, something else blooms. Something richer, deeper, more primal. The smell of omega biology waking up after months of suppression.
Heat.
The realization clicks into place with terrible clarity.
My coffee scent spikes involuntarily, going dark and smoky. Across the table, I see Garrick's nostrils flare as he catches it too. His burnt sugar aroma sharpens, caramelizing into something almost painful in its intensity.
Liam goes completely still, cedar notes deepening until the kitchen smells like a forest after rain.
Three alphas all recognizing the same thing at once.
"When's your next cycle due?" I ask. "You've been off suppressants for months. Your body should have regulated by now."
Violet's fingers freeze on her wine glass. "What?"
"Your heat." I lean forward, elbows on the table. I have to confirm what my instincts are already screaming. "When's it supposed to start?"
The temperature in the kitchen shifts. Garrick and Liam both go rigid, attention laser-focused on Violet. She looks at me with eyes gone wide, pupils blown so large there's barely any blue left around the black.
"I don't..." She sets the glass down with a soft clink.
"Five months, maybe? I’m not sure. Before I left Mark.
That was my last heat, and it was on suppressants, so it barely registered.
Just cramping and mood swings. I've been off them since then.
Doctor said it could take three to six months for my cycle to regulate naturally again. "
"And you're feeling what, exactly?" I keep my voice level. Calm. Even though my alpha claws at the inside of my chest, demanding I get closer to her. "Right now. What are you feeling?"
Her teeth catch her lower lip. The gesture seems unconscious, nervous. "Warm. Like the room's too hot even though I know it's not." Her fingers twist together on the table. "Restless. Like my skin doesn't fit anymore. Like I have to move but don't know where to go."
She takes a shaky breath, and I watch her nostrils flare. Scenting us.
"And you all smell incredible," she finishes quietly. "Which usually means..."
She trails off. Doesn't have to finish.
We all know what it means.
The kitchen goes silent except for wind howling against walls and snow pelting windows like thrown sand. The candles flicker, flames dancing in draft that sneaks through old window frames. Shadows stretch and contract across Violet's flushed face.
Garrick's aroma shifts first. Burnt sugar going darker, almost scorched. Then Liam's cedar deepens, threading with vanilla until the scent fills the small space like fog. My own coffee notes turn rich and smoky without conscious permission, betraying how my body responds to hers.
Three unmated alphas in an enclosed space with an omega going into heat.
This could go catastrophically wrong if we're not careful.
"How certain are you?" Liam already shifts into doctor mode, professional despite how his fingers drum against his thigh in a tell he probably doesn't know he has. "About the timing? The onset?"
"Pretty certain." Violet's voice has gone breathy, strained. She shifts again, pressing her thighs together under the table. "Everything feels hypersensitive. Touch, sound, smell. Especially smell. I can pick out each of your scents individually and it's driving me..."
She stops, cheeks flushing darker.
"Driving you what?" I prompt gently.
"Wild." The word comes out barely above a whisper. "Making me crave things I shouldn't crave yet. Making me think about..."
Another gust of wind rattles the windows. The lights flicker once, twice, then die completely.
Darkness swallows the kitchen. Only candles remain, golden light pooling around our table while the storm rages beyond these walls. The sudden loss of electric hum makes everything else seem louder. Wind. Snow against glass. Our breathing.
"Generator's in the basement," Garrick says, already pushing back from the table. His chair scrapes against tile, loud in the new quiet.
"Leave it." My tactical brain runs scenarios, calculating risks and resources. "We have enough light. More importantly, we should get Violet somewhere safe before the next wave hits."
"Wave?" Her fingers grip the table edge, knuckles going white. "There are waves?"
"Heat comes in cycles," Liam explains gently, rising from his seat. "Building intensity until it peaks, then temporary relief before the next one builds. Like..." He searches for comparison. "Like contractions, almost. Your body preparing."
"How temporary?" Violet looks between us now, fear starting to thread through her aroma. "The relief?"
"Few hours if you're lucky." Liam moves around the table toward her. "Less if your body's been cycling naturally for months without suppressants. It'll be compensating for lost time."
She processes this information. I watch her spine straighten despite the flush spreading down her throat, disappearing beneath the neckline of her blue sweater. Even now, facing biology she can't command, she tries to stay composed.
"Okay." Her voice comes steadier than I expected. "So what do I do? What do we do?"
The question hangs in candlelit air. What do we do? Three alphas who've been circling her for weeks, touching and tasting and building toward this moment. And now biology forces a decision none of us expected to make tonight.
Except maybe we are ready. Maybe we've been ready since the moment she walked into Garrick's bakery with nothing but hope and desperation, and we all looked at each other and knew.
"You should nest," Garrick says quietly. His dark gaze locks on Violet, assessing with the same intensity he brings to evaluating dough. "Somewhere safe. Comfortable. Where you can ride this out without feeling exposed."
"I don't know how to nest." Panic edges into her voice now. "I've never... Mark never let me. Said it was primitive. That modern omegas didn't have to..."
"Your instincts will know," Liam interrupts gently. "Your body knows what it requires. You just have to listen to it."
Wind hammers the building again, hard enough that something crashes in the alley beyond. Metal on pavement, loud even through walls. The storm's getting worse, not better. Roads will be impassable within the hour if they aren't already.
We're trapped here together. Four people, one omega in heat, three alphas whose restraint already frays at the edges.
Could be a disaster. Could be exactly what we all crave.
"Upstairs," I say, standing. The chair scrapes against tile, echoing Garrick's earlier movement. "Your apartment. More private than down here. More defensible."
The military term slips out before I can stop it. But it's accurate. Upstairs we can monitor access, ensure she's safe from anyone who might catch her scent on the wind.
Not that there's anyone else around. The storm's seen to that.
Violet nods, starting to rise. Her legs shake enough that she has to brace one hand on the table for support. Liam's beside her immediately, one palm securing her elbow to steady her.
"I've got you," he murmurs, and something in my chest tightens at the tenderness in his voice.
"I can walk." But even as she protests, she sways into his support. "It's just a few stairs."
I move to her other side, not touching yet but close enough to catch her if she falls. Her aroma intensifies with each passing second, filling my lungs with every breath until I'm drowning in vanilla and honey and desperate omega longing.
Restraint. I have to maintain restraint.
Garrick already gathers candles, practical as always. We require light upstairs. He balances three in his large hands, flames dancing as he moves.