"You can't hide behind aturtleneck," he hisses, taking a step toward me. "And I'm nothiding,I'm controlling myself, which is more than I can say for you."
"Yeah? How's that working out for you?" I gesture to the visible bulge in his pants that he can't hide anymore now that he's on his feet. "Because from where I'm standing, you're about five seconds away from losing your shit."
Plague takes another step toward me, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?"
The sound of a wary omega growl from the bed draws both our attention. Ivy is awake now and watching us with wide eyes, her hands clutching one of her blankets. Her honeysuckle scent has a clearly irritated citrus tang to it.
"Are you two seriously going to do this right now?" she asks flatly.
The directness of her question immediately douses some of the fire between Plague and me. We both take a step back, suddenly aware of how our aggression must look to her.
"I'm sorry," Plague says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it.
"Yeah," I agree, running a hand through my hair. "We're being assholes. You've got enough shit to deal with. Did we wake you up?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry,” I say, sighing.
Ivy gives us both a measured look, but her shoulders are still visibly tense and rigid as she sits up fully in the nest, cross-legged, surrounded by soft blankets and Wraith's clothes. "This is exactly what I’m worried about, you know. That you two can't even be in the same room without losing control."
“Whiskey—” Plague starts, but she cuts him off with a raised hand.
“No. Listen to me. I need to know I'm safe with you. Both of you. And I don’t exactly feel safe right now, scent matched or not.”
The honesty in her voice is like a punch to the gut. I take a step back, trying to make myself smaller, less threatening. Not easy.
"What do you need from us?" Plague asks quietly.
Ivy takes a deep breath, her expression thoughtful. “I need to know you can control yourselves. That you won't turn that aggression on me when my heat intensifies.”
"We would never—" I begin.
“You say that now,” she interrupts. “But I've seen what heat pheromones can do to alphas.”
Plague and I are both dead silent. Guess neither of us knows what to say to that.
Ivy shifts on the bed, and a fresh wave of her scent hits me like a truck. Honeysuckle and summer rain, sweeter now, more urgent. Her heat is intensifying. I grip the arm of the loveseat, my blunt nails digging into the cheap upholstery.
Across the room, Plague has gone completely still, his nostrils flaring slightly. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I see my own struggle reflected in his gaze before he breaks the contact.
"I should get some air," he says, starting to rise.
"No." Ivy's voice is firm. "You're not leaving me here."
"Ivy," Plague begins, his voice strained, "I don't think?—"
"I know what's happening between you two," she interrupts. "I can smell it too, you know. Both of you."
Fuck. Of course she can. An omega's sense of smell during heat is even sharper than an alpha's. She can probably scent every drop of sweat, every surge of arousal, every moment of restraint.
"It's not just me that's got you two wound up," she continues, her gaze moving between us. "It's each other, too, isn't it?"
The bluntness of her observation hits like a body check. I stare at her, momentarily speechless.
"Of course not," Plague says, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in his voice.
