9. Bo
Bo
I'd been watching her for days.
Not in a creepy way. Not lurking in corners or following her around the cabin. Just... noticing. The way she moved, the way she held herself, the way her scent shifted and changed as the days passed.
Something was happening to her. Something she wasn't telling us about.
Day ten. The ice had finally stopped falling, though the damage it left behind would take weeks to clear.
Calder and I had been outside most of the morning, cutting up fallen branches, checking on the animals, trying to restore some order to the chaos the storm had created.
Physical work. The kind of thing that usually cleared my head.
It wasn't working.
Every time I came back inside, her scent hit me like a wave. Stronger than it had been. Sweeter. That missing note I'd noticed the first night was still there, but something else was building underneath it. Something that made my hindbrain sit up and pay attention in ways I'd been trying to ignore.
She was in the kitchen when I came in for water, standing at the counter with her back to me.
She'd graduated from the walking stick to careful, limping steps, and she was using the counter for support while she made herself tea.
Her short curls were disheveled, sticking up at odd angles from sleep or frustration or both.
She pushed them back with an impatient gesture that I'd seen a hundred times now.
I didn't announce myself. Just crossed to the sink and filled a glass, standing close enough that I could smell her properly.
Rain on warm stone. Wild honeysuckle. Frozen pine. And underneath it all, that new thing. That building sweetness that told me exactly what was coming.
“You're staring again.”
She didn't turn around. Didn't need to. She'd learned to track my movements the same way I tracked hers.
“You're cycling.”
The words came out blunt. I wasn't good at softening things, at finding gentle ways to say hard truths. It was one of the things Ellis had hated about me, back when she still pretended to care what I thought.
Noa went very still. Her hand stopped mid-motion, the tea forgotten. I watched her shoulders tense, watched the careful control she wrapped around herself like armor.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yeah, you do.” I leaned against the counter, giving her space but not letting her escape the conversation. “Your scent's been changing for days. Getting stronger. Sweeter. You're coming off suppressants, and your body's starting to remember what it's supposed to do.”
She turned around slowly. Her face was pale, her amber eyes wide. I'd expected anger. Defensiveness. The sharp tongue she used to keep everyone at arm's length.
Instead, I saw fear. Real, naked fear that she couldn't quite hide.
“How long have you known?”
“Suspected since day one. Your scent was wrong. Missing something. Took me a few days to figure out what.” I kept my voice even, non-threatening. “You lost your suppressants in the creek. Along with everything else.”
She closed her eyes. Just for a second, a moment of something that looked like despair before she pulled herself back together.
“Ten days,” she said quietly. “I took my last dose the morning of the storm. I always carried extras in my pack, but...”
“But they're at the bottom of the creek.”
“Yeah.” She opened her eyes and met my gaze. “I've been on suppressants since I was eighteen. Ten years. I've never... I don't know what it's going to be like when...”
She trailed off, but I understood what she wasn't saying. She'd never had a real heat. Never experienced what her body was designed to do. And now she was going to go through it for the first time, trapped in a cabin with three alphas she barely knew.
No wonder she was scared.
“How long?” I asked. “Until it hits?”
“I don't know. The doctors always said it could take a week or two for the suppressants to fully clear your system. Sometimes longer if you've been on them for years.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a protective gesture. “Could be a few days. Could be a week. I have no way of knowing.”
I nodded slowly, processing. A few days to a week. Plenty of time for the weather to clear, for the roads to open, for her to get back to town and find more suppressants.
Or not. The way our luck had been running, we'd probably get hit with another blizzard just as her heat was starting.
“We need to tell the others.”
Her head snapped up. “No.”
“Noa…”
“I said no.” Her voice was sharp, edged with something close to panic. “I don't want them to know. I don't want anyone looking at me differently, treating me like a problem that needs to be managed.”
“They're not going to…”
“You don't know that.” She took a breath, trying to steady herself.
“You don't know what it's like. Being an omega.
Having everyone assume they know what's best for you, what you need, what you should want. The moment they find out, everything changes. Every interaction becomes about managing my biology instead of just... talking to me like a person.”
I understood that. More than she probably realized.
“Had a bond once,” I said. The words came out rough, unpracticed. I didn't talk about Ellis. Not to anyone, not even Calder and Shepherd. But something about the fear in her eyes made me want to give her something. Some piece of myself that might help her trust me.
She blinked, thrown by the change of subject. “What?”
“Her name was Ellis. We were together for three years.” I stared at the floor, not able to look at her while I said this. “She was... I thought she was everything. Beautiful, smart, knew exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted was me.”
“What happened?”
“She used me.” Simple words for something that had been anything but simple.
“Found out pretty quick that I'd do anything she asked.
That I was so desperate to make her happy, to be what she needed, that I'd ignore my own instincts.
My own judgment. She'd say something was fine, and I'd believe her even when everything in me was screaming that it wasn't.”
The kitchen was quiet. Just the tick of the clock on the wall, the distant crackle of the fire in the other room.
“Three years of that. Three years of twisting myself into knots trying to be what she wanted, losing track of who I actually was. And then she found someone else. Someone more useful. And she told me to leave.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I finally looked up, met her eyes. “I was so broken by the time it ended that I didn't know which way was up. Wandered into these mountains half-hoping I wouldn't make it out. Calder found me, brought me back, gave me a place to exist while I figured out how to be a person again.”
She was quiet for a long moment, processing. I could see her connecting the pieces, understanding why I'd told her this story.
“That's why you're not pushing,” she said slowly. “Why you're not telling the others without my permission.”
“Your body. Your choice. I'm not going to take that away from you just because I think I know better.” I straightened, pushing off from the counter.
“But I am going to tell you that they deserve to know.
Not so they can manage you or control you or treat you like a problem.
But because they're going to notice anyway.
Calder's already picking up on something. And when your heat actually hits, they need to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“For whatever you need.” I held her gaze, trying to make her understand.
“If you want to go through it alone, we'll give you space. Lock ourselves in our rooms, stay as far away as possible. If you want help...” I paused, feeling the weight of what I was offering.
“We can talk about that too. But they need to know the situation so they can make sure you're safe. Whatever that looks like.”
She stared at me for a long moment. I watched her wrestling with herself, the fear fighting against something else. Trust, maybe. Or just the practical recognition that I was right.
“Tonight,” she said finally. “We'll tell them tonight. After dinner. Together.”
“Okay.”
“And Bo?” She hesitated, then reached out and touched my arm.
Not just a brush this time. Her hand settled on my forearm, warm through the fabric of my sleeve, and stayed there.
I could feel each individual finger, could feel the slight tremor in her touch, could feel my own pulse kick up in response.
“Thank you. For telling me about Ellis. You didn't have to do that.”
I couldn't speak for a moment. Could only stand there, frozen, feeling her touch like a brand on my skin.
I wanted to turn my arm over, capture her hand, pull her toward me.
I wanted to back her against that counter and find out if she tasted as wild as she smelled.
I wanted things I had no right to want, and the intensity of that wanting was terrifying.
“Yeah, I did.” My voice came out rough, barely recognizable as my own.
I made myself look at her face instead of her hand, even though I could still feel her fingers burning through my sleeve.
“You needed to know that I understand. That I'm not going to push you into anything.
Whatever happens with your heat, it's your choice. All of it.”
Her hand tightened on my arm, just for a second.
Then she let go, and I felt the loss of her touch like a physical ache.
She nodded once, something shifting in her expression.
Not quite trust, but something closer to it than I'd seen before.
And underneath that, something else. Something that looked almost like want.
Then she picked up her tea and limped out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the ghost of her touch and a need so sharp it hurt to breathe.
I stood there for a long time, staring at nothing.
Seven years since Ellis. Seven years of keeping everyone at arm's length, of refusing to let anyone get close enough to hurt me again. I'd built walls so high that even Calder and Shepherd only knew pieces of me. The parts I was willing to show. The parts that felt safe.
And now there was this omega. This sharp-tongued, stubborn, terrified woman who'd crashed into our lives and refused to leave. Who looked at me like she was trying to figure out if I was dangerous. Who'd just trusted me with her biggest secret because I'd trusted her with mine.
I didn't know what that meant. Didn't know if it meant anything at all, or if I was reading too much into a simple conversation. But something had shifted between us in that kitchen. Some barrier had come down, some wall had cracked.
I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Wasn't sure I wanted to find out.
But I knew one thing: when her heat came, I was going to be there.
Whatever she needed, whatever she asked for, I was going to make sure she got it.
Not because she was an omega and I was an alpha and biology demanded it.
But because she was Noa, and she deserved to go through this on her own terms.
That meant something. I wasn't sure what yet, but it meant something.
I finished my water and went back outside, back to the physical labor that usually quieted my thoughts. But my mind kept circling back to her. To the fear in her eyes. To the trust she'd offered. To the heat that was coming whether any of us were ready for it or not.
The afternoon passed in a blur of chainsaw work and hauling brush.
Calder worked beside me, quiet and steady, not asking questions about why I was attacking the fallen branches like they'd personally offended me.
He knew me well enough to recognize when I needed to burn off energy.
Well enough to leave me alone until I was ready to talk.
By the time we headed back inside, my muscles were aching and my mind was slightly clearer. Not calm, exactly. But focused. Ready for whatever came next.
Dinner was quiet. Noa was tense, picking at her food, barely meeting anyone's eyes. I caught Calder watching her with a slight furrow in his brow, caught Shepherd's sharp gaze flickering between her and me. They knew something was off. They just didn't know what yet.
After the dishes were cleared, Noa stood up. Her hands were shaking slightly, but her voice was steady when she spoke.
“I need to tell you all something.”
Calder and Shepherd exchanged a look. They settled into their chairs, giving her their full attention. I stayed where I was, leaning against the doorframe, ready to step in if she needed support but not wanting to take over.
This was her story to tell. I was just there to make sure she could tell it.
“When I fell into the creek,” she started, “I lost more than just my pack and my supplies.” She took a breath. “I lost my suppressants. I've been on them for ten years, and I haven't had a dose in ten days.”
Silence. The kind of silence that felt heavy, weighted with understanding.
“I don't know exactly when it's going to hit,” she continued, her voice carefully controlled. “Could be a few days, could be a week. But at some point, I'm going to go into heat. And there's nothing I can do to stop it.”
Calder leaned forward, his expression intent. “What do you need from us?”
It was the same question he'd asked her that first morning. What do you need? Not what should we do, not how should we handle this. What do you need?
Something in her expression cracked at that. Just a little. Just enough to show the fear underneath.
“I don't know,” she admitted. “I've never done this before. Not without suppressants. I don't know what it's going to be like or what I'm going to need.” She looked at each of them in turn. “But I wanted you to know. So you could... prepare. Or leave. Or whatever you need to do.”
“We're not leaving.” Shepherd's voice was quiet but firm. “The roads are impassable anyway, but even if they weren't, we wouldn't abandon you to go through this alone.”
“You might want to,” she said, a bitter edge to her voice. “It's not going to be pleasant. For any of us.”
“Let us worry about that.” Calder stood and crossed to where she was standing, stopping close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “Whatever happens, whatever you need, we'll figure it out together. That's what we do here.”
She stared up at him, and I watched something shift in her expression. Not quite trust, not yet. But the beginning of something. Another crack in those walls she'd built so high.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay.”
It wasn't much. It wasn't a plan or a solution or anything close to resolution. But it was a start.