I tune it out. We’ve heard the same information every hour. Storm’s bad. Stay inside. Roads flooded. We get it.
The house creaks and settles around us. The storm shutters rattle. And underneath it all, soaking into everything, is thatscent. Honeycomb and cherry syrup. Soaking into everything. It’s everywhere now. In the furniture, the walls, the air itself.
My body has been responding to it all day. Heat pooling low in my gut. Possessive thoughts that I keep having to shove down. The overwhelming urge to go to her room, break down the door if necessary, make sure she’s?—
No. Stop. That’s not me thinking. That’s my alpha, and I need to get him under control.
But it’s getting harder.
I’ve always prided myself on my control. In the military, control was everything. Control your emotions, control your instincts, control the situation. I was good at it. Am good at it. I don’t lose my temper easily, and I don’t let my alpha override my better judgment.
Except right now, my better judgment is taking a backseat to some primal part of my brain that keeps insisting I need to check on the omega, protect the omega, claim the?—
I shake my head violently, trying to clear it.
“Anyone else feel weird?” Cole asks suddenly, breaking the tense silence. “Like... wrong. Off. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin.”
I go very still. “Yeah. I feel that.”
Jalen nods slowly, setting down his tablet. “I can’t focus on anything. I’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes.”
“Same.” Malik finally looks up from his phone. “I’ve scrolled through a thousand feeds and retained none of them.”
We all look at each other, and I can see the same realization dawning on each face. The aggression. The lack of focus. The possessiveness I felt earlier when Cole got too close to the hallway.
“When was your last rut?” I ask Malik directly.
He frowns. “Two and a half months ago. Why?”
“I had one three months ago,” Cole says slowly, sitting up properly now.
“Same here,” Jalen adds. “Last one was early August. We shouldn’t be due for months.”
“We shouldn’t be,” I agree.
“It’s the suppressants,” Malik says, his voice tight. “They’re failing.”
“All of us? At the same time?” Cole frowns. “That’s statistically impossible.”
“Not impossible.” Malik shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “Just rare. It happens when a pack syncs up.”
“We’ve never synced before,” Jalen points out.
“We’ve never been exposed to this level of pheromones before,” I say, the truth settling heavy in my gut. “It requires exposure to a highly compatible omega in heat.”
The words hang in the air.
“Compatible…” Jalen whispers.
Because we all know what that means. Not just biologically compatible; that’s common enough. We’re all alphas, so we could probably respond to any omega’s heat pheromones to some degree. That’s just biology.
But compatible in the way that matters. Pack bonds. Potential mates. The kind of deep, instinctual connection that can pull alphas and omegas together, whether or not they want it. The kind of compatibility that makes your alpha sit up and take notice, that makes every protective instinct flare to life, thatmakes you want to build nests and bring food and guard the door and?—
“No,” I say firmly, cutting off that line of thinking before it can go any further. “We’re not going there. We’re not even entertaining that possibility.”
“I’m just stating facts,” Malik says, but his voice has gone soft. Careful. The way he talks when he’s trying not to spook someone.
“Well, state them quieter,” I snap.
