"Zia?" I called out. "We're at the perimeter."
From inside, a sound that tore me in half, a whimper that pitched up into a keen. It was the sound of a structure failing.
"Status?" Alfie choked out, leaning his forehead against the wood. "Come on, fox. Give us the signal."
"In," she panted. The word was wet, broken. "Get... in."
I turned the handle.
The air pressure in the room hit us first. It was humid, tropical, heavy with the scent of an Omega in full bloom. It coated my tongue, thick and electric. The lights were low, just the amber glow of the safety LEDs Euan had rigged along the baseboards.
She was in the center of the massive bed, tangled in a drift of our stolen clothes. She wasn't wearing the oversized hoodie anymore. She was bare skin and sweat, curled into a tight ball, shaking with a violence that looked closer to a seizure than sex.
"Protocol," I snapped, blocking Alfie with my arm before he could launch himself at her. "Me first. Grounding. Then we cycle."
Alfie let out a wounded noise but nodded, dropping to his knees by the door to wait his turn. Euan moved silently to the perimeter, checking the thermostat, his face a mask of terrified efficiency.
I walked to the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight.
Zia flinched, her head snapping up. Her eyes were glossy, unfocused, swimming in instinct. She looked at me and didn't see Kit the drummer; she saw a heat source. She saw a wall.
"It hurts," she gasped, clawing at her stomach. "Too much. It’s... red."
"Not red," I corrected, my voice dropping into the register I knew settled her marrow. "Not a safeword. Just intensity. I've got you."
I sat behind her, pulling her back against my chest. Her skin was burning, a dry, feverish heat that soaked instantly into my t-shirt. I wrapped my arms around her, locking my hands over her diaphragm, manually taking over the rhythm of her breathing.
"Exhale," I commanded, pressing down. "Push it out. All of it."
She sobbed, collapsing against me. "Kit."
"I'm here. I'm the furniture. I'm the wall. I'm whatever you need, love. We’re going to breathe, Z. Four counts in. Six counts out. On my mark."
I leaned down, putting my mouth right against her ear. "Inhale. Two. Three. Four."
She dragged air in, shaky and thin.
"Hold," I rumbled, letting the vibration of my chest steady her. "Good lass. Now let it go. Slow. Drag it out."
We did it five times. Ten times. Until the frantic bird-heart hammering against my forearm slowed to a heavy, dragging thud.
"Water," Euan said, appearing at the bedside like a ghost. He held out a bottle with a straw.
"Drink," I directed her. "Three sips. Euan’s counting."
She drank. She coughed, water spilling down her chin, but she stayed anchored to me.
"The wave is cresting," I murmured, feeling the tension coil in her muscles again. Her hips jerked against my thighs. The scent spiked, sharp enough to make my eyes water. "Alfie. You're up. She needs the praise."
Alfie scrambled over the mattress. He didn't look like a rockstar; he looked like a devotee approaching an altar. He crawled between her legs, shoving my knees apart to get closer, burying his face in her stomach.
"Hi," he whispered, frantic, kissing the skin of her belly, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. "Hi, fox. Look at you. You're magnificent."
"Alfie," she whined, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him up. "Input. I need input."
"Copy that," Alfie groaned. "Use me. Use whatever you need. I'm right here."
He offered himself up completely. He let her guide his hands, his mouth. He kept up a steady stream of worship, a litany ofyesandthank youandperfectthat seemed to act as a lubricant for her distress.
