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As the days of my heat pass, one thing becomes abundantly clear—I would not have survived this without Emin Argent.

An omega’s heat is a time of extreme arousal, but also, extreme vulnerability. Not only do I spend the days wanting , but I spend them wanting in a highly specific way. It’s like pregnancy cravings, and Emin fulfills each one.

I don’t just want to fuck, I want him to lift me up onto the kitchen counter and take me.

I want him to put his fingers inside me, hook them in a specific action.

I want him to see how long he can knot inside me, his member swollen and quivering as we whisper to each other on the pillow, his face occasionally going blank with pleasure.

Without any alpha during this time, I genuinely might have lost myself, the wanting too much to overcome. But without Emin? I would have been unsatisfied to the point of tears. To frustration, anger, violence.

Every time I open my mouth to bite him, the urge to sink my teeth into his neck growing stronger and stronger, I just manage to pull myself back. Just manage to clamp my mouth shut, force myself to draw back.

I will not mark him. And he won’t mark me.

After nine full days, my heat finally starts to abate, easing up and letting go of its hold on me. I don’t miss the look of disappointment on Emin’s face when I come out of the shower and say I think the worst of it is over.

For nine days, he’s done nothing but hold me, touch me, feed me, clean me, and fuck me. And now, feeling like a newborn calf, I walk through the front door, heading to Emin’s truck.

He walks ahead and opens the door for me, watching me carefully as I climb inside.

“Are you sure you’re not sore?” he asks, when he climbs into the driver’s side.

“I’m sure,” I laugh, then shrug, pulling the seatbelt over my chest. “It must be a biological thing. Not sore at all.”

He swallows, turns and looks out the driver’s side window. Starts the truck, but doesn’t pull out of the driveway.

“Emin?”

“Veva.” When he turns back to look at me, his voice is hoarse. “What are we—what are we doing?”

I’d thought, foolishly, that I was going to be able to get through the heat without an attachment to Emin. That I could use his body, get the relief I needed, and feel nothing at all for him after.

Of course, that turned out to be impossible. How could I not feel softer toward him, after more than a week of doing nothing but touching him, talking to him, running my fingers through his hair?

We talked about growing up. We talked about my mother, the gift my grandmother gave me, what it was like living in the camp.

Emin apologized over and over for what he did, kissing the tops of my knees, the inside of my elbows, my eyelids. Every inch of me. Giving me such pleasure that I could hardly focus on what he was saying, let alone think of the past.

“I don’t…” I face the front of the truck, sucking in a deep breath. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to spend more time with Emin.

Knowing that he went looking for me, that he had no idea what I was trying to tell him—he’s not the man I thought he was.

But is this what I want? A relationship with him? The very thought of it feels foreign, to tie myself to another person.

And there’s the question of Sarina. What do I do about that situation? Because she knows how old she is, and if Emin and I decide to make a go of this, I’m going to have to tell him the truth. He deserves the truth.

But, is that what’s best for Sarina? The Ambersky Pack might be better for omegas than the Grayhide, and things might have gotten better even since I was a teenager, but that doesn’t mean things are good .

It’s too much to think about. Too hard to come up with a conclusive answer.

“I don’t know,” I finally manage, and when I glance at Emin, I realize he’s staring at me, a strange, open look on his face.

“Veva.” He sucks in a breath, says. “Listen. I—I know things are complicated for you. And I’m not asking for a promise. For a definite answer. But I want…I want you to try. Try this out, give it a chance? Give me a shot to show you what life could be like here, with me?”

I swallow. Even just him asking for this feels like enough for me to say yes. I resist it, resist the urge to give in.

For the past ten years, I’ve been hating Emin. Maybe that entire time, it was a cover to keep from feeling what has always been deep down.

“Okay.”

The word slips out, but the look on Emin’s face is enough that I know I can’t take it back. He puts the car into reverse, rolls out the driveway. Turns on the radio, starts to whistle.

I’ll give it a chance, I decide. But I’m never, ever going to stop thinking about what’s best for my daughter, even if it’s not what’s best for me.

***

“Mom!”

The moment Sarina flies into my arms, the constant, low thrum of anxiety in my chest eases up. I just can’t stand to be away from her.

I’m crouching in Dorian and Kira’s driveway, clutching my daughter to my chest. Dorian and Kira stand at the edge of the driveway, Dorian with one of the twins and Kira with the other. Behind us, Emin’s truck idles.

“You look different.” I finally pull back and hold Sarina at arms’ length, turning her side to side so she giggles at the movement. There are a few more freckles across her nose. Her hair is a shade lighter, more strawberry blonde. “Have you been outside a lot?”

“In the pool a lot,” Kira says, smiling down at my daughter. “But always with sunscreen.”

“And lemon juice!” Sarina adds, touching her hand to her hair.

I glance at Kira, and she blushes. “I hope that’s okay—we’d talked about it lightening hair and she wanted to try it.”

“Kira,” I say, standing up and shaking my head at her. “You took my kid for nine days without warning and you think I might be mad she had lemon juice in her hair?”

Kira laughs. “Some people are really uptight about their kids.”

I want to say, But you kept her alive .

Sarina drifts to the side, talking to Emin, and I resist saying it. All this time, since having Sarina in the camp, I’ve been trying to keep her alive. Sometimes with Willow’s help, but also mostly alone.

And now—now there’s someone else I can trust. A second place Sarina can go, if I need it. The realization feels like the strangest weight lifted, right off my shoulders.

So instead, I just reach out and touch Kira’s arm, and say, “Thank you.”

When she meets my eyes, I get the sense that she understands what I’m trying to say. That it’s about more than watching my daughter—it’s about showing me that I can trust someone else with her. Like Emin said.

Emin steps away from Sarina and pulls his sister to the side, whispering something in her ear. Together, they look over at me—seeming more like twins and less like they have years of distance between them—then back to each other, whispering more.

“Hello?” I ask, waving at them. “Are you telling secrets over there?”

Emin smirks at his sister, then comes back to my side.

“I’m on a mission to get you to stay in Ambersky,” he says, eyes roaming my face, then darting to Sarina, who is already in the back of the truck, reading a book. “And Kira had a few ideas about how to do it.”

I raise an eyebrow, heart picking up pace. Emin wants to keep me here, wants to prove to me that it’s worth staying. That also means he’ll let me leave. He’ll let me pick him.

Another piece of the weight lifts from my chest, and I realize with it gone, I feel closer to freedom than I ever have before.