Chapter 29 #3
I crawl toward the door on shaking hands and knees, every movement agony. The carpet burns against my palms. My thighs are slick and sticky.
A wave hits. I pause, panting through it.
Then I push forward again.
I'm only a few feet away when I hear Eli's voice through the door.
It isn't his usual soft tone.
It's gone—occupied, deep with alpha rut, rough: "That's it baby. You come hard for your alpha. You milk your alpha's knot hard like a good omega."
It doesn't take more than a few words, a few guttural noises, to eviscerate any hope I had that Eli might be my salvation.
I want to believe it could be different.
I want to believe that he could compartmentalize, that he could make space for me the way he always promised he would, even when things were bad.
But heat is not a time for logic. Heat is not a time for promises.
Eli is gone, just like the others, overtaken, buried under the avalanche of scent and rut and instinct.
There is nothing left of the gentle, careful man who once curled his body around mine after nightmares, who used to touch my hair while we watched old movies, who remembered how I like my tea and the exact moment to pull me close when the world felt too much. He’s not there. Not now.
I feel the loss like an organ being torn out.
It's an almost physical sensation: my chest caving inward, my ribs crushing my lungs, my hands tingling with the pins-and-needles numbness of shock.
I can't process the sounds coming from the other side of the door, can't reconcile them with my memory of Eli.
I want to call his name, to plead for him to remember me, to see me stranded in the hallway, but my tongue is caught between my teeth and my body is too busy shuddering.
He is not available. He is not safe. He is not mine.
The reality of it sends me reeling backwards, a cold, clean slice of pain through the haze of heat.
I stop crawling, just kneel on the carpet, letting my head hang, hair falling into my eyes.
My breathing grows ragged, the sobs starting somewhere deep in my chest and vibrating outward through my raw, over-sensitive nerves.
I remember every time Eli used to say nothing could keep him from me, that he would always know if I needed him, that he was the one person in the house I could count on.
The first time he brought me a weighted blanket after a panic attack.
The way he used to tuck my hands inside his sleeves if they were cold.
The time he sat on the floor with me for six hours because I couldn't leave my room, telling stories until I forgot what I was afraid of.
All of it is useless now. All of it is erased by the wet, desperate sound in his voice, the way he says Marie's name like it's a prayer, the slick, obscene noises of bodies locked together behind the door. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone.
The word echoes in my head until it drowns out even the cramps.
My omega keens for comfort, for an alpha’s touch, but there is nothing for me here except the memory of it, the bitter aftertaste of abandonment.
I want to crawl into the walls, into the floorboards, to disappear entirely rather than suffer this humiliation.
Still the pain pulses through me, relentless, every cramp a reminder that I am alone in this. That there is no one coming. That I am nothing compared to the person in that room, nothing compared to the scent match who gets everything I ever wanted and destroys it without even knowing.
I stay there, kneeling, for I don't know how long. Time fractures around me, splintering into blurry fragments of agony and longing. I barely hear the next set of moans from the room. I barely feel the slick soaking into the fabric of my shirt, pooling under my thighs.
I only know that my body is shutting down. My heart is beating too fast and my head is light and my hands are cold. I am losing myself.
I want to scream, or hit something, or run away, but all I can do is kneel and shiver.
Eventually I realize I am not breathing right. My breaths are short and shallow and my stomach is twisted into a knot of pain. My eyes are dry and burning.
I have to move. I have to get away from the sound of Eli's voice.
I don't look at the door, don't let myself imagine what’s happening inside. I don't let myself remember how his hands used to feel when they held me.
I push off the carpet with numb fingers and turn my face away, crawling in the opposite direction, each movement slow and mechanical, my body moving on instinct rather than willpower.
If I can't get help from them…
Then I need something else.
Cold air.
Space.
Anything.
I fumble the front door open with shaking hands and spill outside.
The night air hits my overheated skin like mercy.
Cool wind brushes my wet arms, my damp hair. I inhale greedily—clean air, grass, anything but heat and rut.
I barely make it to the back porch before my body gives out.
I collapse onto the wooden boards, curling on my side as another wave slams into me. Slick spills out, soaking the wood beneath me.
I scream.
The sound tears out of me raw and broken, echoing into the night. I clutch my stomach, trying to anchor myself to something solid.
Time fractures.
I don't know how long I'm there—minutes, hours. The cramps come and go in vicious waves, leaving me shaking, sobbing, gasping.
My voice goes hoarse from screaming.
My throat burns.
My mind floats in and out.
I'm dimly aware of a light flicking on next door. A door opening. Footsteps pounding across grass.
Then arms are under me, lifting me.
"Vee—hey, hey. I've got you."
Finn's voice is frantic. His arms are strong and warm, wrapping me up carefully. "Oh gods—Vee. I'm sorry. We didn't know. We should've—"
I try to speak but the words dissolve into a sob.
Finn cradles me closer, murmuring soothing nonsense as he carries me. "You're okay. You're safe. I've got you."
I slip in and out as he crosses the lawn and brings me inside his house. The warmth hits my wet skin, and my body shudders.
A cramp seizes me again and I cry out.
Finn swears under his breath.
"Malcolm!" he calls. "Alex!"
Footsteps rush in.
Malcolm appears first, face tight with alarm, shirt half-on. Alex is right behind him, eyes sharp.
"What happened?" Malcolm demands.
Finn doesn't answer.
Because the moment Malcolm and Alex get close enough, their noses flare.
They scent it.
Heat.
Their faces change—alarm deepening into something taut and instinctive.
"Fuck," Alex mutters, voice low and controlled.
Malcolm's jaw tightens. "She's in heat."
I gasp as another cramp hits. My body curls inward instinctively, and I inhale sharply—
And the world changes.
The scents run me over like a freight train.
Not muted. Not blurred. Not blocked.
Full.
Sharp.
Real.
My eyes fly open, pupils dilating so hard the room goes slightly unfocused. My lungs seize as scent floods my senses with brutal intensity—alpha, alpha, alpha, layered and distinct, rich with detail.
Panic floods me instantly.
"No," I whisper, voice trembling. "No—"
Finn's hand strokes my hair. "Vee, it's okay—"
It is not okay.
Because my omega instincts surge toward the scent like a starving thing. My body reacts without permission, heat deepening, craving sharpening.
And at the same time, terror slams into me.
I don't understand why I can smell them like this.
I don't understand why it's so strong.
I don't understand why my body is screaming recognition.
Then it happens.
A flare deep in my chest—hot, bright, unmistakable.
Bond.
Not the gentle, growing thread I always imagined.
This is a spark thrown into gasoline.
It ignites violently, pain and heat and recognition colliding into something that makes me gasp and then scream.
Because I know.
I know with bone-deep certainty.
Malcolm.
Alex.
My scent matches.
Both of them.
If Finn was an alpha, he'd be a match too.
The realization isn't relief.
It's horror.
My body surges toward them like it's been waiting its whole life for this moment.
And my mind recoils.
Because it doesn't make sense.
Because it's impossible.
Because I belong to another pack.
Because I'm still in pain.
Because everything is already falling apart.
And now there's this—this bond-flare, this instinctual certainty—lighting up inside me like a brand.
I gasp, clawing weakly at Finn's shirt.
"Finn—"
"I've got you," he promises, voice urgent. "You're safe. You're—"
Malcolm and Alex are frozen for a beat, their attention snapping into place with the same recognition.
Alex's eyes lock on mine.
Malcolm's breath catches.
Their nostrils flare again, deeper, like they can scent what just happened inside me.
My bond ignited. Imprinted.
On them.
My stomach churns with terror as another cramp hits and I cry out, body curling inward.
I can't hold it together.
Everything is too much.
The scents are too strong.
The bond is too bright.
The pain is too sharp.
I sob, shaking, as the world tilts and slides, my consciousness flickering.
The realization breaks through the fog of pain: they must have known all along. With me unblocked and them on suppressants, they could scent our compatibility while I remained oblivious. They deliberately masked themselves from me.
Why?
The question forms on my tongue, but dissolves as another wave of agony crashes through me.
The last thing I register before everything goes hazy is Finn's frantic voice—apologizing, soothing, promising—and Malcolm and Alex closing in, not touching yet, but surrounding me with presence like walls. Promising to take the pain away. Promising to take care of me.
And my own body, traitorous and desperate, hearing the screaming in my mind but reaching for them anyway.
To be continued…