Page 23 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

CORA

The cold of the exam table seeps through my jeans, even though I’ve been sitting here for almost twenty minutes.

My thighs stick to the paper sheet no matter how many times I shift, and the silence in the room grows heavier with every second Dr. Avery stays gone.

The clock ticks too loudly. The sharp scent of antiseptic stings the back of my throat.

When the door finally creaks open, she walks in with her tablet tucked against her hip, her expression pulled tight in thought. She doesn’t look surprised. That tells me everything.

“The new suppressants didn’t take,” I say, flat and tired, before she even opens her mouth.

She sighs and nods. “No. We ran the bloodwork twice. The compounds aren’t bonding. Your hormonal cycle is overrunning everything.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe through the heat building behind my eyes. “So what now? A different dosage? Another formula?”

She sets the tablet down and perches on the stool. Her voice is calm, her gaze soft. “Cora. We’ve been at this for two weeks now. At this point, we need to ask whether this is something to manage... or something to accept.”

“You’re telling me to give in. Go feral.”

“I’m saying you’re an Omega. Your body is trying to do what it was made to do. The more you resist it, the more aggressive your system becomes.”

My arms fold tightly over my chest. The room suddenly feels smaller.

Dr. Avery watches me, the same way she always does right before she says something I won’t like.

“You’re not broken. You’re not malfunctioning. Your body is reacting to constant suppression. You’ve forced your system out of rhythm for so long, and now it’s fighting back.”

“This isn’t new.”

“No. Because the truth hasn’t changed. You’re in heat because you’re supposed to be. You’re needy because your body wants to bond, nest, and claim. And that’s not shameful. It’s not weakness.”

I stare at the ceiling. I blink until everything blurs. “You think I should stop fighting it.”

“I think it’s hurting you more to keep pretending you don’t need something fundamental to your biology.”

She rises, hands me a printed slip of notes, and walks out, leaving me alone again. Outside, the wind cuts across my skin.

The sun is too bright. My shoes crunch over gravel as I make my way toward the parked taxis, steps dragging.

I’m halfway to the lot when I almost barrel into someone.

“Cora? I haven’t seen you in a while.” Grace steadies me with a hand on my arm. “You okay? You’re pale.”

I try for a smile, but it cracks on one side. “Just left the clinic. Nothing serious.”

Her eyes skim my face. “Want to talk about it? I’ve got a quiet shop and tea with your name on it.”

Something in me breaks open a little. I nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”

We walk the few blocks to her flower shop in silence. Inside, the scent of cut flowers and damp soil wraps around me.

The warmth, the light, the hum of something living... it’s comforting in a way I didn’t expect.

She hands me a mug filled with something earthy and sweet, sits beside me on the worn couch tucked into the window nook, and waits.

I stare into the tea. “Why am I so afraid of Alphas?”

Grace tilts her head but doesn’t interrupt.

“You have Rowan. Jake. Ash. You live with three Alphas, and you’re happy. You built a life together. I don’t understand how. How do you let that happen without feeling like you’re losing yourself?”

She gives me a soft smile. “Because I’m not giving anything up. Not really. I’m choosing them. And I’m choosing how I let them in. Power isn’t about who marks who.”

I exhale, slow and shaky. “I’ve never bonded. Not even close.”

Her tone stays soft. “Why not?”

“Because…” My throat tightens. I force the words out.

“I grew up in foster care. Moved from house to house. No one stayed. No one taught me what trust looks like. I learned to protect myself, build my own things. My bakery? I started that from scratch. Took over the space and turned it into something that mattered. Something safe. I’ve had interest. Plenty.

But I never let anyone close enough to see the parts of me that aren’t strong. ”

She reaches across and wraps her fingers around mine. Her hand is warm and sure.

“It takes more strength to admit you want something. Or need something. Especially touch. And safety. That’s not a weakness. That’s the truth.”

I swallow, voice low. “Dr. Avery said I’m making it worse by trying to control it. That this is just how my body works.”

“She’s right. But needing something doesn’t make you powerless. You’re not helpless just because your heat is strong. If anything, you hold every card. You get to decide who enters your space. Who earns your trust. Who helps you through it.”

I stare at the bouquet of lavender on the counter. The petals look soft and wide open. It’s too easy to imagine my own skin like that.

“It doesn’t feel like control. It feels like drowning.”

“Then take the reins. Decide what this looks like. Stop pretending you can ride it out alone. You don’t have to keep burning like this. You could have Alphas who help. Ones you choose. Ones who follow your rules. Who give you relief instead of making it worse.”

The ache low in my belly pulses, stubborn and heavy.

She leans back, watching me with that quiet certainty she always carries. “That bakery you built? It’s a gift. A safe space for others. But who’s making sure you’re safe?”

My throat tightens again. “No one.”

“Then maybe it’s time to let someone try.”

I press the mug to my lips, but the tea has already cooled. Grace doesn’t push. Just lets the silence sit between us.

I want all three of them. But how could I ever ask for something like that? How could I expect them to want the same? Grace’s situation was different.

I close my eyes. Julian’s name dances just beneath the surface. His mouth. His hands. The way his scent hits me like a drug.

Even with all the logic I try to use, my body has already decided what it wants.

But this doesn’t have to be a surrender. I can take it back. Define it on my terms.

And maybe then, heat won’t be something I fight. Maybe it can be something I use.

Something I command.

The casserole is warm in my hands, the foil crinkling as I hold it tighter than necessary. “Do you need help with that?” the taxi driver asks, eyes flicking to the dish as I shift it against my wool-covered hip.

“No,” I say, voice low but even. “I’ve got it.”

Outside the cab, the cold slices through the knitted warmth of my sweater dress, the hem brushing just above my knees.

My boots crunch against the gravel as I shut the door behind me. He doesn’t know I’m coming. I didn’t call. I didn’t text.

But after everything—after the way I walked out—I owe him at least this. A proper apology.

Closure, if nothing else.

Julian’s front door looms ahead, dark wood and wrought iron, too elegant for the man who lives behind it. My fingers curl tighter around the dish.

I inhale once, slow and deep, and knock.

A few beats pass. Then the door creaks open.

He’s shirtless.

And not in a just-out-of-bed way. His skin glistens faintly, chest rising with breath that hasn’t quite steadied yet.

His sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle that makes my stomach twist with memory.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is rough, detached.

I swallow. “I brought dinner.”

His gaze drags down to the casserole. No reaction. No smile. No hint of warmth.

I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. “I wanted to apologize. For how I left that morning. I shouldn’t have—”

“Cora.” His tone slices clean through my sentence. “Just because I fucked you doesn’t mean you get to show up like this.”

The casserole nearly slips from my hands.

It’s not the words, exactly. It’s the way he says them. Like they mean nothing. Like I mean nothing.

My mouth opens, then closes. I step inside anyway, needing to ground myself with something, anything, before I snap.

The door clicks shut behind me, and the sound is final.

On the counter, spread across the granite like some twisted reminder, are the architectural renderings of the hotel. Elevation lines. Pool schematics. A mock-up of the rooftop bar.

“You’re really doing it,” I say quietly. My voice doesn’t shake, but it tastes bitter.

Julian doesn’t look at me. “It’s business.”

“Right. Just business,” I echo, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and failing miserably.

He finally looks at me then, and something sharp flickers behind his eyes. “Whatever’s happening in that pretty little head of yours, cut it out. You said it yourself—this thing between us wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

“Yeah, well,” I snap, setting the casserole down so hard the dish clinks against the counter, “congratulations. You got what you wanted. You’ll never touch me again. And this is the last time we ever have to speak.”

I don’t wait for his response. I spin on my heel and walk out, chest tight, breath uneven.

The air outside hits harder this time. Cold. Biting. I can’t even make it to the sidewalk before the tears blur everything.

I dig for my phone, hands clumsy and numb. “Noah,” I manage when he picks up. “Can you come get me?”

He’s there ten minutes later. I don’t even have the energy to wave.

When the door swings open, Noah sees me and stills.

“Get in the car.” His voice is low, clipped. There’s something dangerous simmering underneath it.

I slide into the seat, silent. My cheeks are wet. I don’t even bother wiping them. Noah closes the door with more force than necessary. Then he turns. Marches back toward Julian’s place like he owns the goddamn world.

I sit there, back stiff against the leather, hands in my lap. My heart doesn’t know what to do with itself.

Whatever’s about to happen behind that door is not going to be pretty. And I have no idea how to stop any of it.