Something is happening outside. I can feel it in the way Dustin keeps checking his phone, the way the house feels too quiet. I burrow deeper into the blankets, trying to ignore it, my eyes drifting closed as exhaustion pulls at me.
But a sharp, sudden spike of uncertainty hits me in the chest.Kade.And then I hear a loud pop that cuts through the quiet. My eyes fly open, my heart immediately jumping into my throat. The sound is sharp and sudden, completely out of place in the peaceful afternoon. Another pop follows, sharper and closer than the first. The sounds are wrong, foreign, triggering some primal instinct that screams danger.
I sit up abruptly, panic flooding my system like ice water through my veins. "What was that?"
My hands grip the blankets beneath me, my whole body going rigid with fear. I don't even know what those sounds are exactly but every instinct I have is telling me something is very wrong.
Dustin is right there immediately, pulling me into his arms. His body is tense, coiled like a spring ready to release. I can feel the rapid beat of his heart against my back, can smell the sharp edge of adrenaline cutting through his usual hay and honey scent.
"It's okay, sunshine. Just stay calm."
But his voice carries an edge that tells me it's not okay, that he's worried too even if he's trying to hide it from me. His arms are tight around my waist, almost restrictive in their grip.
"Where are the others?" I ask, my voice climbing with fear. "Where's Kade? Where's Stefan?"
The absence of my other Alpha suddenly feels glaring, wrong in ways I can't articulate. He should be here. They both should be here. The nest feels incomplete without them, vulnerable.
Dustin grabs his phone from the nightstand, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. He brings it to his ear, his free arm still wrapped securely around me. "Yeah," he says into the phone, his voice clipped and professional in a way I've never heard before. "Got it."
He hangs up and looks at me, his expression serious but controlled. "I'll be right back. Don't leave this room."
"No, wait—" I start, reaching for him, but he's already moving toward the door.
He rushes out and I'm left alone in the nest, my panic building with each second that passes. What's happening? Why were there those sounds? Are Kade and Stefan okay? Did someone get hurt? Are we under attack?
The questions spiral through my mind, each one feeding the anxiety until I can barely breathe. My chest feels tight, my vision starting to tunnel at the edges. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to provide the comfort Dustin's absence has taken away.
The door opens again and Dustin comes back, but he's not alone. He's supporting Ashton, who looks completely disoriented and beautifully flushed. The Omega is naked, his pale skin marked with bites and bruises that stand out in stark relief. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd directions. He's clearly just been thoroughly fucked, the evidence of it visible in his unsteady gait and the dazed look in his eyes. Slick coats the inside of his thighs, still wet and glistening.
I still completely as Dustin deposits Ashton on the bed, my brain struggling to process what's happening. Why is Ashton here? Why is he naked? What's going on? Is he okay? Did something happen to him too?
Ashton sways slightly where he sits, his eyes unfocused. He looks like he might topple over at any moment, his body still pliant from whatever happened with Stefan.
Dustin moves to the door and locks it with a decisive click that echoes in the quiet room. The sound of the lock engaging makes my anxiety spike higher because locked in means something dangerous is outside.
"I'll answer all your questions but for right now, just stay put."
Then he's on his phone again, moving to the far corner of the room and speaking in low, urgent tones I can't quite make out. I catch fragments—"secure," "perimeter," "five minutes"—but not enough to understand what's actually happening.
My panic attack builds, my breathing becoming rapid and shallow. Each breath feels insufficient, like I can't pull enough air into my lungs no matter how hard I try. My chest feels tight, like there's a band around my ribs constricting with each breath. Sweat breaks out on my forehead despite the comfortable temperature of the room.
I start asking about Kade and Stefan, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Where are they? Are they okay? What were those sounds? Did something happen? Are they hurt? Is someone here? Are we in danger?"
The questions come faster and faster, my voice pitching higher with each one. I can hear the edge of hysteria creeping in but I can't stop it, can't control the spiral.
I'm patting around the nest frantically, looking for something though I don't know what. Some sign that my Alphas are okay, some reassurance that everything is fine. My hands move over blankets and pillows, searching without knowing what I'm searching for. Maybe their scent, maybe some tangible proof that they're coming back.
Dustin is across the room on the phone and can't answer me, and the not-knowing is making everything worse. The silence where answers should be is deafening, feeding my panic until it's a living thing consuming me from the inside.
Dustin tries to come over and calm me, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder, but it's not working. Nothing is working. The panic has taken hold completely, my vision tunneling until all I can see is a small circle directly in front of me. Everything else fades to gray at the edges. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely control them.
This feels like Harmony House, like the moments right before they would do something terrible. The confusion, the disorientation, the sense that something is very wrong but no one will explain what. They would create scenarios designed to break us down, situations where we felt helpless and scared and desperate for any kind of stability.
They never did this during heats because I was sedated, unconscious through the worst of it. But before and after, when they wanted to break me down and make me compliant, they would create situations exactly like this. Chaos and fear and no information, leaving me to spiral until I was willing to do anything they asked just to make it stop.
The staff would watch with clinical detachment as we fell apart, taking notes on clipboards about our reactions. They never offered comfort, never explained what was happening. Just observed and recorded like we were lab rats in some twisted experiment.
I can feel myself slipping back into those patterns, that learned helplessness that Harmony House spent years instilling. The belief that I have no control, that terrible things are happening and all I can do is endure them and hope they pass quickly.
