Page 28

Jude

The knock on my apartment door comes at nearly eleven p.m. It’s soft but insistent. I'm grading papers at my kitchen table, a cup of lukewarm tea forgotten beside a stack of essays on cellular biology, when the sound pulls me from my work.

Through the peephole, I see Jolie swaying slightly on her feet, one hand pressed against the doorframe for support. Even in the dim hallway light, I can see she's flushed, her new haircut damp with perspiration.

I unlock the door immediately.

"I had to come." She practically falls into my arms, her skin burning hot even through her clothes.

The scent that hits me makes my breath catch—her usual honeyed sweetness is there, but it's overlaid with something richer, more complex.

Something that makes my Omega instincts sit up and take notice despite the suppressants I take religiously.

"I'm sorry," she gasps against my shoulder. "I didn't know where else to go. Something's wrong with me."

I guide her inside, kicking the door shut behind us. Her legs are unsteady, and she leans heavily against me as I help her to the couch.

"Tell me, when did this start?"

"This evening. Maybe earlier." She curls into the corner of the sofa, pulling her knees to her chest. "I thought it was just stress from everything with Mom, and then Eli, but it keeps getting worse. I'm so hot, Jude. And I ache everywhere."

My heart sinks as the pieces click into place. The fever, the restlessness, the way her scent has intensified—I've seen this before, during my own heats, before I found suppressants strong enough to prevent them entirely.

"Jolie," I say gently, sitting on the coffee table so I can face her directly. "When was your last heat?"

She looks up at me with glassy eyes. "I've never had one. The suppressants..." She trails off, understanding dawning across her flushed features. "Oh God. I need to stop it. I can't go through a heat, Jude. You must know how to stop it."

"It's too late." I press the back of my hand to her forehead, confirming what I already know—she's burning up. "Stress can cause breakthrough heats, especially if you've been around multiple Alphas whose pheromones have been affecting your system."

A broken laugh escapes her. "Mom was right. She said they were influencing me, and I didn't listen."

"This isn't about being right or wrong," I say firmly. "This is about getting you through the next few days safely. How long have you been feeling symptoms?"

"I've felt weird since yesterday, but it's gotten so much worse tonight. Like one hundred percent worse." She doubles over slightly, a soft whimper slipping from her lips. "Jude, I need... I can't think straight. Everything hurts, but it also feels like I'm on fire."

I've never felt so helpless in my life. As an Omega myself, I understand exactly what she's going through—the desperate need for an Alpha's knot, the way heat makes every nerve ending scream for relief that only claiming can provide.

But I can't give her what she needs, and seeing her suffer, knowing there's nothing I can do, makes my chest ache.

"Okay," I say, forcing my voice to remain calm. "Let's get you more comfortable. I'm going to set up a nest in my spare bedroom—it's smaller, easier to make cozy."

Her hand shoots out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "Don't leave me. Please."

"I'm not leaving," I promise, covering her hand with mine. "I'm just going to gather some blankets and pillows. I'll be right back."

I work quickly, stripping my spare bedroom of everything unnecessary and building a proper nest with every soft surface I can find. My Omega instincts are responding to her distress, making me want to create the most comfortable, secure space possible for her.

When I return to the living room, she's curled into an even tighter ball, making soft sounds of distress. Her scent has intensified again, filling my apartment with a sweetness that makes my head swim despite my suppressants.

"Come on," I say, helping her to her feet. "Let's get you settled."

The nest seems to provide some comfort. She burrows into the blankets immediately, but continues to shift restlessly, unable to find relief. I sit on the edge of the bed, running cool fingers through her shortened hair.

"This is embarrassing," she mumbles into the pillow. "I should have known. Should have prepared better."

"There's nothing embarrassing about this," I tell her firmly. "Having a heat is natural Omega biology. The fact that stress triggered yours doesn't make it your fault."

"Jude," she whispers, turning to look at me with desperate eyes. "I need... can you...?" She doesn't finish the sentence, but I know what she's asking. What her body is screaming out for? What I can't provide despite every instinct demanding that I try to help her.

"I can't give you what you really need," I say softly, hating the words even as I speak them. "But I can try to help in other ways."

I fetch a damp cloth from the bathroom, placing it on her forehead. I bring water and protein bars, knowing she needs to stay hydrated and maintain her strength. When she begs me not to leave her alone, I stay beside the nest, holding her hand while she drifts in and out of restless sleep.

By three a.m. her condition has worsened significantly. The fever is higher, and her tears flow freely—not from emotional distress, but from the physical need her body can't ignore.

"Please," she sobs, reaching for me. "Jude, please. I can't take this anymore."

My heart breaks as I gather her into my arms, letting her bury her face against my neck. "I know, sweetheart. I know it hurts."

"Help me," she begs. "Use your fingers, anything. I just need..."

The request tears at something fundamental in my chest. She's not asking for romantic intimacy—she's asking for basic relief from biological torture. And while I can't give her the knot her Omega demands, I can try to ease her suffering in smaller ways.

"Are you sure?" I ask quietly. "I don't want to take advantage—"

"You're not," she gasps. "You're the only person I trust right now. Please."

With gentle hands, I help ease the worst of her physical distress, using my fingers to bring her to climax after climax.

It's not romantic—it's a medical necessity.

A friend helping a friend survive something neither of us can control.

But even temporary relief isn't enough. Within minutes of each orgasm, the need builds again, stronger than before.

Hours pass in a cycle of desperate need and brief respite. She dozes between waves of heat, and I hold her, trying to keep her cool and comfortable. But as dawn approaches, I realize something that makes my blood run cold.

My temperature is rising.

At first, I tell myself it's just exhaustion, stress from caring for her through the night. But when I press my hand to my forehead and feel the familiar burn of fever, and my scent starts to shift and intensify, I know the truth. Her heat has triggered mine.

It's rare but not unheard of—Omegas in proximity can sometimes trigger each other's cycles, especially during times of high stress or emotional connection. My suppressants, strong enough to prevent spontaneous heats, are no longer powerful enough to override a biologically induced response.

"Jude?" Jolie's voice is weak but concerned as she notices my distress. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie, but I'm already pulling out my phone with shaking hands.

"I just need to make a call." She doesn't need to deal with my heat on top of her own.

She needs help—real help—from Alphas, who can give her what she truly needs.

And despite every complicated feeling I have about the Silver men, I know they care about her enough to put her needs first.

I scroll through my contacts, finding Eli Silver's number from the faculty directory as one of Romeo’s next of kin. My hands shake as I type out a message.

Emergency. Have Jolie with me. She's in heat and needs help. Can you come? Bring Beck.

The response comes within minutes.

Elias: On my way. Address?

I send my location, then return to Jolie's side. She's watching me with glassy eyes, lucid enough to understand what's happening.

"You called them," she says. It's not a question.

"You need Alphas," I tell her simply. "And despite everything complicated between you all, they care about you. They'll help."

"What about my promise to Mom? What about—"

"Right now, the only thing that matters is getting you through this safely," I interrupt gently. "Everything else can be figured out later."

Within twenty minutes, I hear the front door open—I'd given Eli the spare key code.

Heavy footsteps approach the bedroom, and the Silver brother appears in the doorway.

His face is full of concern, his Alpha pheromones already responding to Jolie's distressed scent.

Elias looks devastated, like seeing her in this state is physically painful for him.

"How long?" he asks quietly.

"Since yesterday evening. It's getting worse." I stand up, immediately feeling dizzy from my own rising fever. "She needs Beck too."

"I know what she needs," Elias says, already moving toward the nest. "The question is whether she wants it from me."

Jolie's eyes flutter open as Eli's presence fills the room. Despite her fever, despite the biological demand making rational thought nearly impossible, she focuses on the Alpha.

"I'm scared," she whispers.

"I won't hurt you," Eli promises, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "I'll only do what you want us to do."

"Promise?" The word comes out as a broken whimper.

"Promise."