“Cleaning supplies for the glass?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Jalen’s hand.
“On it,” Dax says.
Malik appears at my elbow with a clean kitchen towel. “Here.”
I take it and press it gently to Jalen’s palm. He winces but doesn’t pull away.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I know it stings.”
“It’s fine.” His voice is quieter now, and when I glance up at his face, he’s looking at me with something like wonder. “You didn’t have to do this. You should be resting.”
“You’re hurt. Of course I did.”
It’s the simplest truth in the world. My omega won’t let me do anything else, heat or no heat. An alpha is injured, and I need to help. That’s just how it works.
Cole returns with a first aid kit. I set it on the counter and start pulling out supplies. Antiseptic wipes, gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment. My hands are steady despite the fever making everything feel slightly surreal.
“This is going to sting,” I warn, tearing open an antiseptic wipe.
Jalen nods, and I carefully clean around the wound. He doesn’t flinch, but I can feel the tension in his arm, see the tight line of his jaw.
“Sorry, sorry,” I murmur, trying to be as gentle as possible. “Almost done with this part.”
The heat is making me extra soft, extra nurturing. Every instinct is screaming at me to take care of him, make sure he’s okay, fix the hurt. It’s overwhelming and kind of annoying because I’m supposed to be maintaining professional distance, but I can’t seem to help it.
I pat the area dry with gauze, then examine the cut more closely. “It’s not too deep. Should be fine without stitches, but you need to keep it clean.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jalen says, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.
I spread antibiotic ointment carefully over the wound, then start wrapping his hand with gauze. My fingers brush against his skin, and I try very hard not to notice how warm he is, how his toasted marshmallow and spiced apple cider scent gets a little stronger this close.
Behind me, I can hear Dax carefully sweeping up the broken glass. Malik and Cole are hovering nearby. I can feel their eyes on me, their presence like a weight in the small kitchen space.
The air is thick with alpha scent and omega-in-heat pheromones, and it’s making my head spin a little. Or maybe that’s the fever. Hard to tell.
“There.” I secure the gauze with medical tape, checking to make sure it’s snug but not too tight. “That should hold. Change the dressing tomorrow and keep an eye on it for infection.”
“Thank you,” Jalen says softly. His good hand comes up like he’s going to touch my arm, then stops mid-air like he’s thought better of it. “Seriously. You didn’t have to?—”
“Stop saying that,” I interrupt. “You were bleeding. What was I supposed to do, go back to bed?”
“Most people would,” Dax says from where he’s dumping broken glass into the trash. “Especially in your condition.”
Right. My condition.
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing in a kitchen with four alphas while wearing sleep shorts and a tank top, running a fever, and definitely giving off enough heat pheromones to make everyone uncomfortable.
“You should get back to your room,” Dax continues, his voice careful. “You’re in heat.”
“I know,” I say, turning to face him. “But he was bleeding.”
It comes out more matter-of-fact than I intend. Just a simple statement of priority: bleeding alpha trumps personal discomfort.
Cole is looking at me with something soft in his eyes. “Thanks, Sierra. Really.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I start packing up the first-aid kit, needing something to do with my hands. “Just basic first aid.”
“It’s more than that,” Malik says quietly. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, dark eyes watching me with that analytical gaze of his. “You’re not feeling well, and you still came out to help.”
