As I drag myself to the couch, another wave of pain comes, and I press my hand against the back to keep myself upright. If I can get to the wall that leads to the garage door, I can move faster. But as I rise, I realize I’m clutching the blanket Timber lies against whenever he watches TV. And the second the scent wafts over to me, I moan.
My omega side is taking over, and I don’t want to hold back. I’m already panting from the pain, but it gently subsides as I grab the soft fabric, bunching it in my hands. I drag it up, burying my face against it, groaning out loud with happiness.
After that, it all becomes a blur. The cramps grow milder when I give in to my nesting instincts. I know I’m tearing through the living room, looking for pieces of my alphas, but it’s not important, because I have to get ready. I can hear crashes and see the damage, but it’s like a picture on the other side of the room. It doesn’t mean anything when all I need isthem.
The madness is taking me over so fast that my body moves on its own as I pile up blankets and pillows before dragging myself back into the kitchen. I find my favorite whisk and spatula and the lavender honey I bought at the market with Timber so I can take them up to my nest.
I’m whimpering, crying out as more heat fires in my body. I’m praying to whichever God is listening to just stop and let me go home. I don’t want to do this here, but before I realize it, I’m at the top of the stairs, my arms filled with everything I need as I stumble toward my room.
As soon as I step inside, I relax. It hasn’t changed a single bit since I left. The only coffee I can smell comes from the stuff in my arms, so he mustn’t have been here since I left. My beanbag bed is untouched, and Timber’s shirt, which has lost all of its scent, is still curled up in a ball from when I last used it as a pillow.
But I’m on autopilot, and the empty ache of knowing I have to pack up my safe space means nothing when my heat is growing closer.
In my mind, the mind that’s set on getting everything for my nest, there’s one way to clear the craziness of my thoughts. I can’t prepare it when I’m so horny, and I have to make it perfect for my alphas. Even though they won’t be here, my omega side stays loyal to them.
I wince as more pain hits me, but I keep going. I have way better plans than dragging myself around, ones that involve my alpha’s scent and my trusty dildo.
Quickly opening my closet, I grab the cloth bag I keep wrapped up tight at the very bottom. I squeeze it with my hand, already moaning at how thick and long it is.
I tell myself to go back to my bed, but my omega side is so strong that I’m already opening my bedroom door, stumbling, falling the second I’m in the hallway as I crawl to Timber’s room.
If I want to focus, I have to come at least once. And I know exactly where I want to do it.
Timber
Leaving Marilyn’s office with a mix of nerves and annoyance, I’m already desperate as I whip out my phone. The panic of missing the chance to talk to Ollie again has taken me over. But I just can’t stop making excuses, even though I’ve already admitted I just want to see her.
I don’t know what the traffic is like. She could need help finding things because it had been so long since she’d left. Or she might get revenge for how I treated her by damaging stuff in the house.
I’d already watched her on the home security system enough that there’s probably no saving me, so what’s one more time?
As soon as I’m out of view of the glass walls of Marilyn’s office, I scramble to open the app because I need to see Ollie so badly that I can’t breathe.
The garage looks normal, nothing wrong with the hallway, but the second I change to the living room camera, I freeze.
I teeter at the top of the stairs that lead to the main entrance of the administration building, my heart in my throat as I quickly flick through the other cameras.
Corridors and other areas are fine, the garage is fine. I’ve had no alarms about break-ins, and there’s no sign of strange cars around the house.
So what the fuck is going on?
Fear pounds through my heart as I switch back to the living room, grabbing the banister to stop me losing my shit at the chaos that’s torn through the room like a whirlwind.
The coffee table is tipped over, pillows pulled from the couches, ornaments and vases shattered underneath their stands. Books lay scattered around the room, and blankets have been dragged across the floor.
Maybe Ollie really is getting revenge by trashing the place…
I go back to the kitchen camera, and there’s no way she’d throw pots and pans around the room, not even if she was angry.
The only other place that’s fucked is the stairs leading straight to our bedrooms.
I hurry to the main entrance as I rewind the footage for the living room, trying to work out what’s happened.
My heart is in my fucking throat as Ollie moves in reverse at 10x the speed, which makes it look like she’s cleaning, even though she keeps stumbling and dragging herself across the floor.
Panic chokes me as she vanishes off-screen toward the kitchen, and I pause it to jump to the kitchen camera.
The room is in the same state, with things dragged out of cupboards, cookbooks, dish towels, and cooking utensils scattered over the surfaces and tumbled everywhere. The fridge door stays open, with food tipped out onto the floor.
