But I couldn't.
The loneliness was worse than the fear. The silence of my apartment pressed in on me like a physical weight, suffocating, unbearable. At least at the cabin, there would be other people. At least I wouldn't be alone.
At least you might find what you're really looking for, whispered that traitorous voice in the back of my mind. The one that built nests and craved knots and dreamed about four men I was never supposed to want.
I told it to shut up. It didn't listen.
The morning of my flight, I woke up in the most elaborate nest I'd ever built.
I didn't remember doing it. The last thing I recalled was falling asleep on my bed, just my regular bed, with its normal amount of pillows and blankets. But sometime during the night, my body had taken over while my mind was elsewhere.
I sat up slowly, taking in the damage.
Every pillow I owned was arranged in a circle around me, creating walls of softness that reached almost to my shoulders. The blankets were layered in a specific pattern, weighted one on the bottom, then the fuzzy ones, then the cashmere on top, all ofthem tucked and folded to create a perfect cocoon of warmth and security. Even my dirty laundry had been incorporated, a worn t-shirt tucked under my head like it was supposed to be there.
I'd built a fortress. A den. Anest.
"No," I whispered, my voice cracking. "No, no, no." The evidence was undeniable. This wasn't just excessive blanket-buying anymore. This was full-blown nesting instinct, the kind that suppressants were supposed to eliminate completely, the kind that only happened when an Omega was preparing for….
Heat.
I was going into heat. The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. I scrambled out of the nest—out of thebed, it was just a bed, not a nest and ran to the bathroom, nearly tripping over the ottoman I'd moved in front of my door again.
The mirror confirmed my worst fears. My cheeks were flushed, my pupils blown wide, my lips swollen like I'd been biting them in my sleep. And my scent—God, my scent?—
It filled the small bathroom, thick and sweet and unmistakable. Burnt sugar and peaches and lightning. The scent of an Omega in pre-heat, broadcasting her fertility to every Alpha in a mile radius.
I was fucked. I was so completely, utterlyfucked.
I gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard, trying to think. I couldn't go on this trip. I couldn't get on a plane smelling like this, couldn't sit in an enclosed space with strangers, couldn't risk being around other people when my body was screaming for something I refused to give it.
I couldn't stay here either. My apartment suddenly felt like a trap, the walls closing in, the silence pressing against my eardrums until I wanted to scream. I needed to get out. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere, just—not here. Not alone. Not anymore.
The cabin, whispered that desperate voice.Fresh air. Isolation. Someone who cares about you.
It was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea.
I went anyway.
The airport was a nightmare.
I'd doused myself in scent blockers before leaving, three different brands, layered on so thick I could barely smell myself anymore. But I knew it wasn't enough. I could feel eyes on me as I walked through the terminal, could sense heads turning in my direction, could smell the sharp spike of Alpha interest from men I passed.
I kept my head down. Walked fast. Didn't make eye contact.
The flight itself was worse.
The man in the seat next to me was a Beta, thank God, but there was an Alpha two rows back. I could smell him, leather and musk and something aggressive and every time the air circulation shifted, his scent wafted toward me and made my thighs clench together.
I spent the entire three-hour flight with my face pressed against the window, breathing the stale recycled air and trying not to whimper. By the time we landed, I was shaking. My skin was too hot, too tight. Slick had soaked through my underwear and was threatening to seep into my jeans. I needed to find a bathroom, needed to clean myself up, needed to get somewhere private before I completely fell apart.
First, I had to find Carol.
I grabbed my bag from the overhead compartment and shuffled off the plane with the other passengers, my legs unsteady beneath me. The terminal was small—this was a regional airport, barely more than a building with a runway but it was still too crowded. Too many people. Too many scents.
I scanned the waiting area, looking for a woman who matched the vague description Carol had given me. Older, she'd said. Gray hair. Warm smile.
I didn't see anyone like that. What I saw instead made my heart stop.
