I am currently standing behind the front desk, smoothing down my shirt for the fourth time because Ember is about to walk through the front door, and I don’t know how to act. I’m being ridiculous, I know, but I can’t help myself.
I check everything for the umpteenth time, making sure every little detail is perfect for this funeral. The scent of liliesand citrus disinfectant, layered with the slightest whisper of existential dread that I cannot, for the life of me, remove from the atmosphere, clouds the air in a perfect dance of life and death. Sunlight pours through the tall windows, catching on the polished wood and the curve of the casket waiting in the viewing room.
Everything is ready.
Today’s service is for a man who wanted to be a Victorian lighthouse keeper. His daughter wanted to honor him by making his funeral as “lighthousy” as possible. Her word, not mine. She brought in her own fog machine, rope nets, and a ship wheel. I artfully arranged everything as tastefully as possible. I draped the rope nets over the coffin and leaned the wheel against the podium.
I can handle eccentric. No. I thrive in eccentricity. It’s my bread and butter, and I love that shit.
What I apparently cannot handle is my omega deciding that today is apparently the day to go into heat. It’s not even the right month. I’m supposed to have about twelve more weeks before my next heat, but alas, I guess I can’t control everything.
It starts as a low, subtle warmth. Just enough to be annoying, but not enough to really notice something wrong. I pause mid-staple, confusion warring with disbelief. No. No. No. I can’t deal with this right now.
The warmth spreads despite my efforts to calm myself out of my heat. It deepens, sharpening my senses to an unreasonable degree. I can smell everything. EVERYTHING. The polish. The flowers. The faint chemical I used on the body I prepared yesterday. I can even smell the house’s judgment. That shouldn’t be possible, and yet here I am, smelling it.
Underneath all of that is a scent of a being that isn’t even here at the moment. Smoke and warm spices. Ember. I straighten so fast I get a little lightheaded. I can’t go into heat because Ember, the alpha that I may or may not be attracted to, is here. He’s my employee, and up until a few days ago, he was a child. That would be weird. Right?
I mean, yes, he’s a fully grown phoenix who was reincarnated and not an actual child, but still, he’s my employee.
My alpha.
I shake my head, ridding that thought out of my mind before it can sink its claws in any deeper.
The bell above the front door chimes. My pulse stutters and my stomach drops.
The house lets him in because it obviously HATES me, and he walks in as if he belongs here, all broad shoulders and wild curls catching the light. He’s wearing a deep blue button-down, sleeves pushed up just enough to be a problem for my omega. His gaze sweeps the room and lands on me. His eyes soften a little, and it hits me like a full-body event.
My omega loses its entire fucking mind. Heat floods through me, my knees giving out briefly as my heartbeat slams hard in the confines of my chest.
His nostrils flare, and I know he’s picked up on the scent of my heat. His pupils blow wide, and his breathing picks up as he steps closer to me. It takes everything I have not to throw myself into his arms.
“Are you okay, Habibi?” he asks, voice low, calm, and entirely too steady for the panic that this situation calls for.
My brain latches on to a very important detail.
What is a Habibi? Is it a threat? A nickname? A curse? A spell?
“I’m fine,” I say, voice squeaking. “Completely fine. Very normal. Extremely average. Why do you ask?”
He steps even closer, the air shifting around him, warmer and heavier. It’s charged so heavily that I should feel embarrassed for being so turned on in a place of mourning. Just to be clear, I’m not embarrassed, but I definitely should be.
Instead, my omega is preening shamelessly like the cockslut he is.
My eyes lock on his body, the slight swagger in his hip as he walks, and the quiet authority in his posture. Something deep inside me whispersmine.
“You smell different, Habibi,” he murmurs, his voice a soft growl and his nostrils flaring as he takes in my scent.
There it is, that word. It slides over me, warm and dangerous, and I drop the pamphlet I was holding as a shiver wracks my body.
“Nope,” I say quickly, “Nothing different. Same me. Regular me. Maybe it’s you?”
My voice is pitched high, betraying me.
“Mmm,” he hums, the sound coming from deep in his chest.
I make the fatal mistake of looking into his eyes. I’m hypnotized. He could tell me to do anything right now, and I would do it without question. Drop to my knees and blow him? Done. Bend over and take his dick. Lovely. Cross-dress and do the hula? Give me a second to find a grass skirt, and I’m all over it.
The heat in my stomach deepens into something uncomfortable, and I let out a high-pitched whimper, grasping my lower belly as cramps hit me and my slick begins to flow freely.
