DAYS 56-58
The second heatdoesn't creep up on me like the first. It hits like a sledgehammer to the skull.
Day fifty-six, I wake up screaming his name, and I hate myself for it.
Not just physical need—though my body is burning, pussy so swollen and wet I can't think past the emptiness. It's deeper than that. A bone-deep ache for him specifically. His voice, his cold touch, his approval. The way he made me feel complete even as he systematically destroyed who I used to be.
The heat is different this time—more intense, more desperate. My skin feels like it's on fire, hypersensitive to even the silk of my nightgown. Between my legs, I'm soaked with slick that keeps flowing no matter how many times I try to clean myself. My pussy clenches desperately around nothing, aching for the stretch of his dual cocks, the ridged texture that fit me so perfectly.
I try to fight it. Spend two hours in a cold shower, biting my tongue bloody to keep from calling for him. But my bodydoesn't care about my pride. It knows what it needs, and it's not accepting substitutes.
"This isn't choice," I snarl at my reflection, ice covering the bathroom mirror. "This is biology. This is the cage he built in my fucking blood."
But knowing doesn't make it easier to resist. My nipples are hard points of pain against my wet nightgown, so sensitive that every movement is torture. The preservation magic pulses through me, carrying archived sensations of his mouth on my breasts, his teeth scraping across sensitive flesh until I sobbed with need.
Father finds me collapsed on the bathroom floor, shivering despite the fever burning through my veins. "Elise, what?—"
"Get out." My voice doesn't sound human anymore, roughened by heat and desperation. "Don't touch me. Don't help me. I need to—I have to?—"
I can't finish the sentence. Can't admit what I need even to myself. Can't say that every cell in my body is screaming for his knot, for the feeling of being stretched impossibly full and claimed completely.
By noon, I'm building a nest, and I want to burn it down.
My hands move without permission, gathering soft things, arranging them in patterns that feel right. But it's all wrong—too warm, too human, missing the scent that would make it home. Missing the cold silk sheets of his chambers, the frost-touched air that made my transformed skin sing with comfort.
"Stop," I command my own body. "Stop doing this."
But I can't stop. Can't override the programming that runs deeper than consciousness. I arrange pillows and curse him with every breath. Smooth blankets and hate him for making me need this. Create the perfect nest for an alpha who isn't here and despise myself for every careful adjustment.
This is what he's reduced me to. An animal following instincts he carved into my bones. A creature so thoroughly conditioned that even my rebellion follows patterns he programmed into me.
The preservation magic keeps whispering:Remember how perfect you felt in his arms. Remember how right it was to kneel for him. Remember how complete you were when you stopped fighting.
"Shut up," I gasp, pressing my hands to my ears. "I remember. I remember all of it. That's the problem."
Because I do remember. Every moment of satisfaction when I pleased him. Every rush of endorphins when he called me 'good girl.' Every time submission felt like coming home instead of giving up. The way his dual cocks filled me so perfectly, each ridge hitting spots that made me see stars.
He didn't just claim my body. He rewired my brain to crave captivity.
Professor Wells arrives with Father, takes one look at me writhing in my pathetic nest, and immediately starts calculating.
"How long since the heat started?"
"Six hours," Father answers when I can't.
"She needs her alpha within forty-eight hours or her body will start consuming itself. The bond won't allow substitution."
"What about sedation? Medical intervention?"
"Would you sedate someone dying of thirst instead of giving them water?" Wells studies me with clinical detachment. "Her omega physiology requires specific biological inputs during heat. Without them, her nervous system will overload."
I laugh bitterly from my nest, slick soaking through the blankets beneath me. "There's no medical fix for being custom-made for one specific monster."
"Elise—"
"No." I struggle to sit up, ice spreading from where my hands grip the blankets. Another wave of heat crashes through me, making my pussy clench desperately. "Don't Elise me. Don't pretend this is salvageable. He designed me to need him. Built dependency into my cellular structure. Made me into a perfect little addict whose drug has a name and an address."
The truth hangs in the air like poison gas.
