The lights flicker again, and the wind howls around the house like it hates that we’re locked inside. Rain is hammering against the metal shutters like buckshot, drowning out the sound of the ocean raging in the distance.
I return to my checklist. Emergency supplies: check. Water: check. Non-perishable food: check. Emotional stability of my pack mates: very much not check.
Dax has been pacing for the last twenty minutes. He keeps walking toward the hallway where Sierra’s room is, then catches himself and turns around. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Jalen says without looking up from his guitar. He’s been playing quietly for the last hour. Soft, meandering melodies that would be soothing if he didn’t keep hitting the same progression over and over like he’s forgotten how to play anything else.
“I’m not pacing,” Dax says.
“You’re literally pacing right now.”
“I’m... walking. Thoughtfully.”
“That’s what pacing is, dumbass.”
Cole snorts from his position sprawled on the couch. He’s been scrolling through his phone, making intermittent jokes to cut the tension, but even he seems off. His leg won’t stop bouncing, and he keeps glancing toward the hallway.
We’re all doing it, I realize. All of us are hyper-aware of Sierra’s presence in that room down the hall.
An omega in pre-heat.
Our suppressants are doing their job—mostly. We’re not going feral or anything dramatic like that. But there’s this underlying current of... awareness. Restlessness. The kind of energy that makes you want to do something, fix something, protect something.
Someone.
“This is fine,” Cole says to no one in particular. “We’ll all be fine.”
“You sound very convinced,” Jalen mutters.
“I’m extremely convinced. We’re four professional adults who can handle being in the same house as an omega in heat without losing our minds.”
“She’s not in heat yet,” Dax says. “Just pre-heat.”
“Oh, well, that’s completely different then.”
“It is, actually. Pre-heat is just the hormonal prep phase. Heat itself is?—”
“We know what heat is, Dax.”
“I’m just saying, there’s a distinction.”
The lights flicker again, longer this time. I check the generator app on my phone. It’s ready to kick on automatically if the power goes out, but I should probably do a physical check too. Just to be sure.
“Maybe we should leave,” I say.
Three heads turn toward me.
“What?” Cole says.
“Leave. Get in the car, brave the storm, drive to the nearest hotel.”
“Have you looked outside?” Jalen asks, knocking his knuckles against one of the metal shutters. “Oh, wait, you can’t. Because there’s a literal storm trying to get in. We’d die. Immediately.”
“I’m just saying, we could?—”
“We could drive into a flash flood and drown,” Dax says. “Great plan, Malik.”
“I’m trying to be considerate.”
