Page 69 of His Drama Queen

Tomorrow I'll decide what that means.

eighteen

Vespera

Theshowerisalreadyrunning when I notice.

I'd woken up alone in my bed—Dorian must have carried me up after I fell asleep on him—and headed straight for the bathroom, still half-asleep and warm from whatever dreams I'd been having.

But stripping down jolts me fully awake.

Slick.

Not a little. Not the trace amounts that sometimes appear between heats.

A lot. Clear and slippery on my inner thigh, smelling like jasmine intensified to the point where even I can detect it.

My heat is coming.

Not in a week like Corvus calculated. Not safely distant.

Soon. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.

And the three Alphas who claimed me are right downstairs.

The shower runs hot while I stand under the spray, trying to think past the biology already clouding my judgment.

Options. I need options.

One: Leave now. Drive back to Columbus before the heat hits fully. Ride it out alone in my old dorm room or maybe Dad's house, suffering through it the way I've done since I presented.

Pros: Maintain independence. Don't give them what they want. Prove I can survive without them.

Cons: The rejection sickness will come back immediately. Within hours of leaving, the fever will spike again. The shaking will return. And going through heat while also fighting rejection sickness? That combination could actually kill me.

Two: Stay here. Let the heat happen. Let them help.

Pros: I won't die. The bonds will strengthen, which means less sickness after. My body will get what it's been screaming for.

Cons: I'll be giving in. Surrendering to exactly what they wanted when they forced those marks on me. Proving that biology wins, that choice doesn't matter, that they were right to claim me without consent because eventually I'd come around anyway.

The water beats down on my shoulders.

There has to be a third option. Some way to thread the needle between dying and surrendering.

But I can't think of one.

Because the truth is simpler and uglier than I want to admit: I'm trapped. The biology they forced on me has created a cage more effective than any locked door. They didn't need to keep me prisoner—my own body does that for them.

Stepping out of the shower, I dry off mechanically.

This is what they wanted. What they planned for. Force the bond, wait for heat, let biology do the rest.

Except.

Except last night wasn't inevitable. It was a choice.

Small. Barely conscious. But still a choice.