Her door.
We all freeze.
Time seems to slow down as Sierra appears in the hallway. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, her hair a wild tangle around her face. Her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are bright, though slightly unfocused. She’s swaying slightly, one hand braced against the wall for balance.
She looks absolutely wrecked.
And my alpha wants nothing more than to sweep her up, carry her back to her nest, curl around her, and make sure she’s safe and comfortable and?—
Her eyes land on our packed bags.
I watch the confusion cross her face, followed by something that looks almost like hurt.
“You’re leaving?” Her voice is small, uncertain in a way that makes my chest ache.
The hurt in those two words nearly kills me. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to drop my bag, to go to her, to explainthat we’re not leaving because we want to, we’re leaving because we have to, because staying would be?—
“We need to,” Malik says carefully, setting down his bag. His voice is gentle, the way he talks to clients when he’s explaining something difficult. “Sierra, it’s not safe for us to stay.”
Her scent spikes, filled with confusion and distress and something sweet that makes every alpha in the room want to fix whatever’s wrong, to do whatever it takes to make her feel better.
“I don’t understand,” she says, her words slightly slurred from the fever. “The storm—you can’t go out in that. You’ll get hurt.”
She’s worried about us. Even in the middle of her heat, even when she can barely stand upright, she’s worried about us getting hurt.
Something in my chest cracks.
Cole makes a pained sound, his bag slipping from his shoulder to hit the floor with a dull thud. “Sierra?—”
“We’re going into rut,” I say bluntly, because someone needs to just say it. Someone needs to cut through all the dancing around the issue and lay it out plainly. “All four of us. If we stay here with you in heat...”
I let the implication hang there. She’s smart. She’ll understand.
She blinks at me, her fever-bright eyes trying to focus. I can almost see her processing, her brilliant mind working through the fog of heat hormones.
“Oh,” she says softly. Then again, with more comprehension: “Oh. That’s—that’s rare, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Malik confirms.
“Because of me?” Her voice is so small, and there’s guilt there, like this is somehow her fault.
“Because you’re compatible,” Jalen corrects gently, taking a step toward her before catching himself and stopping. “It’s notyour fault. It’s just... biology. Pack dynamics. It happens sometimes when alphas are exposed to a highly compatible omega.”
She’s quiet for a moment, swaying slightly, and I have to physically restrain myself from going to her. My hands are clenched so tight the bones protest. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to move, to help, to protect.
Wrong instincts. Bad alpha. Stand down.
“We won’t touch you without permission,” I say, and my voice comes out rough, gravelly, barely controlled. “But it’s better if we go. Safer. For everyone.”
She nods slowly, as if she’s thinking through something complex. Her eyes are clearer now, more focused, and I’m struck again by how strong she is. Most omegas would be completely incapacitated by their heat already. But Sierra is standing here, talking to us, processing information.
“That’s... that’s very considerate,” she says finally.
“—bridge on Route 72 is now completely impassable due to flooding—” the radio announces suddenly. “—multiple roads are washed out—emergency services advising all residents to shelter in place—do not attempt to travel—I repeat, do not attempt to travel?—”
We all turn to stare at the radio.
“Route 72 is the only way out of here,” Malik says quietly. “It’s the main road. The only road that doesn’t flood.”
