The scent thickened further, almost dizzying now. My skin was flushed, oversensitive. Every shift of fabric sent sparks through me.
“Aveline.” His voice was closer. Still controlled. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he said.
There was no strain in his tone. No fear. That frightened me almost as much as the heat. Because part of me believed him. And if he was wrong, I could kill him. I wouldn’t survive that.
My knees buckled, and I slid down against the wall to sit on the floor of my nest, breath coming shallow and uneven. The warmth inside me had become a tide, rising steadily. Not chaotic. Certain.
I pressed my hands to my stomach, as if I could hold it in place.
“I’m having another heat spike,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
And this time, I wasn’t alone in a tower built to contain me.
That knowledge should have comforted me.
Instead, it made the heat burn brighter—and the fear sharpen with it.
Thane
Iknew before she finished speaking.
The shift in the air was immediate and unmistakable. Her scent deepened, thickened, unfolding into something fuller and more complex than the sharp, startled surge from the night before. She was diving into another heat spike. At least I hoped it was just a spike and not a full heat. Aveline wasn’t ready for that.
I moved closer to her door without touching it, forcing myself to breathe slowly so my own instincts wouldn’t rise too quickly in answer.
“Aveline,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady through the wood. “Talk to me.”
There was a rustle inside—a soft, uneven thud—like someone losing balance and catching themselves too late.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said. Her voice trembled around the edges, thin but trying very hard not to be. “It feels different this time.”
It would.
The first spike had been shock. Her body surging after years of suppression, reacting to proximity and possibility all at once. This was the beginning of something stronger. Each spike would be stronger until her full heat.
“I know,” I said gently. “You’re not in danger.”
A strained breath came from inside the room. The scent grew stronger again, honey and warmth and something underneath that carried a steady pulse—a call to her alphas.
“Make it stop,” she whispered.
My chest tightened.
“If I could,” I said quietly, “I would make it easier. But it wouldn’t work. This is natural. It’s part of being an omega.”
Silence.
Then, sharper, “I’ve never had this before. You have to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The instinct to break the door open and gather her against me hit hard and fast. I kept my palm flat against the wood instead, grounding myself in its coolness.
“We can’t leave,” I said.
There was a pause—brittle and confused.
