Though she went quiet, she didn’t fall asleep right away.
Even though her body was spent, and the food had taken the edge off, the burn of heat still rolled off her in thick, feverish waves. She shifted slightly in my arms, just enough to press the crown of her head against my throat again. Her exhale was a long, shaky sigh.
Then her voice, soft and hoarse.
“I could have… handled this differently.”
My arms tightened instinctively around her. “You did what you had to.”
“No.” Her laugh was quiet and flat. “I mean now. This week.”
That pulled my attention sharp. I glanced down. Her eyes were open again, staring across the room, unfocused but restless.
“The doctor I see—the one who advised me to take a break from the suppressants… she warned me what was coming. She recommended a couple of… services.”
Something cold and dark opened in my gut. “Services,” I repeated, though it came out low. Flat.
Wren heard it anyway. Her lips twitched — not quite a smile, more like something bitter surfacing. “Professionals. Companions. Paid and trained to help omegas through heat.”
I went still.
Too still.
“She gave me names,” she added, voice distant, “vetting. Medical profiles. I could’ve hired someone to get me through it. Would’ve made it easier. Faster. Supposed to burn through the worst of it in twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours with the right—attention.”
My breath hissed out between my teeth before I could stop it.
Someone.Touching her. Kissing her. Inside her. Skin on skin. Even if it was sanctioned. Professional. Even if she’d asked for it. The primitive, feral part of me responded like a match to dry grass.
I locked it down so hard it nearly made my vision blur.
She noticed. Her voice softened, threading with that weary amusement that never quite reached humor.
“I didn’t,” she added quickly. “I didn’t want that.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“I thought about it,” she admitted, turning her face slightly toward my neck. “When the fever started and the headaches were bad… I almost called one of them. But I couldn’t.” Her eyes slid shut. “I didn’t want to just lie there. Let someonedothings to me. No matter how polite or skilled or highly recommended.”
A small, bitter breath escaped her. “I didn’t want to feel helpless. Not with a stranger.”
And there it was.
The truth. Quiet. Raw.
Not shame. Not prudishness.
Control.
Wren had lived her entire adult life dragging her instincts down into silence. Choosing who got access to her. Choosing when and how. Or not at all.
The idea that she might have sacrificed all that for convenience made me feel?—
No. Not feel.
Burn.
Yet underneath the fire, deeper than instinct, something else sat cold and heavy in my chest.She almost went through this alone.
