“No, I don’t want a crepe,” Noah snaps. “Holly needs to be in the heat suite with the door locked, not wandering around the house.”
Holly shrinks a little under his stern gaze, and I feel a surge of protectiveness that surprises me with its intensity.
“She was fine with me,” I argue. “We were just talking.”
“She’s in heat, Kai,” Noah says, as if I somehow missed that fact. “Her hormones are all over the place. She can’t consent to?—“
“To a conversation?” I interrupt, incredulous. “Come on, Noah. She’s not some mindless omega stereotype from those old medical textbooks you read. She’s a person who just also happens to be in heat.”
Noah’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t up for debate. Holly, please go back to the suite.”
Holly stands, clutching her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sorry for causing trouble.”
“You didn’t,” I say firmly, but she’s already moving toward the door.
Noah steps aside to let her pass, then fixes me with a hard stare. “Don’t be alone with her again. Not until her heat is over.”
“Or what?” I challenge, feeling my usually dormant alpha instincts rising to meet his. “You’ll write me up for a bedside manner violation, Dr. Klinkhart?”
Noah’s eyes narrow. “This isn’t a joke, Kai.”
“No,” I agree, turning off the stove with more force than necessary. “It’s not. But treating Holly as if she has no agencyhere isn’t helping anyone. You can’t hold yourself personally responsible for this situation and expect that to go well.”
Noah opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to say. Without another word, he turns and follows Holly down the hallway, leaving me alone in the kitchen with a plate of cooling crepes and the lingering scent of jasmine and citrus.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. So much for comic relief. I’m starting to feel a little more like a character in a Shakespearean tragedy.
EIGHTEEN
NOAH
I hesitateoutside the door to the heat suite, my hand hovering over the knob. The scent of omega in heat seeps through the cracks, calling to something primal in me I’ve spent years learning to control.
Get it together, Klinkhart. She’s just another patient who needs you to act like a fucking professional.
That’s what I need to focus on—the medical reality. Holly Chang is experiencing her first natural heat cycle after years of suppression. Her body is going through a hormonal cascade that’s throwing her system into chaos. As a doctor, it’s my responsibility to monitor her condition and ensure her safety.
That’s it. Nothing more than that.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself before knocking firmly on the door.
“Holly? It’s Dr. Klinkhart. May I come in to check your vitals?”
The formal title feels ridiculous given the circumstances, but I need the distance it creates. My professional boundaries are the only thing keeping this situation from spiraling completely out of control.
“Um…okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible when muffled through the door.
I turn the knob and step inside, immediately irritated to discover she hasn’t locked it like I instructed. I specifically told her to keep it locked for her own protection. Three alphas under one roof with an omega in heat is a powder keg waiting for a spark—as Grayson has already demonstrated.
Then a realization hits me: she trusts us. Trusts me. The thought lands uncomfortably in my chest. Trust isn’t something I’ve earned from her, not after how I’ve treated her since she arrived in Heat Mountain.
The door clicks shut behind me, and Holly’s scent hits me full force—fresh laundry hanging in the breeze, jasmine tea with lemon, intensified tenfold by her heat. My alpha instincts roar to life, demanding I claim, protect, possess. I force them down with practiced discipline, focusing instead on the clinical symptoms I can observe.
Holly is practically buried under a pile of blankets, only her face visible as I approach, flushed cheeks and sweat beading on her forehead. She watches me warily with dilated eyes that seem to have difficulty focusing on any one thing for more than a few seconds.
“I need to check your vitals,” I say, approaching the bed with my medical bag. My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. “No need to get up.”
Without a word, she sticks an arm out of the mounded bedding and I don’t miss the slight tremor in her hand as she tries to hold it steady.
