The nest needs work. Definitely needs work.
I start rearranging again, but nothing helps. Nothing feels right.
I need to cool down.
Standing up takes more effort than it should. Everything feelsheavy and floaty at the same time, like I’m moving through honey. Or maybe Jell-O. Some kind of thick, wobbly substance that makes my legs unsteady.
The en-suite bathroom’s tiles are blessedly cool under my bare feet. Small mercies.
I start the shower, making it cold. Cold enough that my heat-addled brain protests, insisting that this is terrible and wrong and we should definitely be seeking warmth, preferably alpha warmth.
“No,” I tell my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes a little glassy, my hair a mess. I look exactly like an omega in the early stages of heat. “We are absolutely not doing that.”
My reflection doesn’t look convinced.
I step under the spray and gasp. It’s freezing, but in the best possible way. The cold water sluices over my overheated skin, and for a few blessed minutes, I can actually think clearly.
The constant hum of awareness eases slightly. The restless energy under my skin settles to manageable. Bearable.
I lean my forehead against the cool tiles and just breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
The storm is still raging outside. I can hear it even through the bathroom walls, the wind howling like something alive and angry.
And underneath that, more sounds from the house. Footsteps. Voices. The creak of floorboards.
They’re still awake, too.
Probably can’t sleep either. Their alphas have to be going haywire right now, same as my omega.
I feel a little guilty about that. They didn’t ask for this any more than I did. They’re trying to be respectful, trying to give me space, and here I am accidentally torturing them with my pheromones.
Although they did steal the Sterling wedding from me, so maybe a little pheromone torture is karmic justice.
No. No, that’s petty. I’m better than that.
The heat is making me petty.
I stay in the cold shower until I’m actually shivering, then force myself to turn off the water. I dry off quickly and pull on a tank top and sleep shorts, because anything else feels like too much fabric.
This is going to be a long few days.
Back in my room, I rearrange the nest one more time. Move the pillows. Adjust the blankets. Fluff everything up. It’s still not perfect, but it’s better.
Good enough.
I burrow into the center of it, pulling the softest blanket around my shoulders. The scent of the fabric is comforting. Soothing lavender laundry detergent and fabric softener plus my own scent underneath. It’s not the same as having pack scent in my nest, but it’ll do.
Not that I want pack scent.
Definitely not.
My omega makes a skeptical noise.
“We don’t,” I insist. “We handle our heats alone. We’ve always handled our heats alone.”
Alone is sad.
