Page 32 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

He snatches up the device, scrolling through the list of readings. Every single one shows the same cursed number: zero.

"That’s impossible, Summer. Dear Fate, that’s impossible," he whispers.

I type again.

"You know how it is with True Mates. The moment they find each other, the Pull wakes. Once they touch, they can’t stay away.

If they try, within a week they pass out.

Within two… they die. And me? It's been almost a week and a half. I should be in a coma by now! All I have are the stabbing headaches, the sexual arousal, and I miss him so much, but I’m not dying! "

Lake reads the message a few times, shuts his eyes tight, then nods slowly.

"When I moved into Aiden’s house, I felt the Pull toward him from the very first day, and the moment we touched, it was nearly impossible to stay away.

He actually lost consciousness after four or five days, if I remember correctly.

So… it should’ve happened by now. And I saw Snow an hour ago, he’s not in a coma.

It looks like… you really aren’t. But I don’t get it, Snow said… "

I wince bitterly and type,

"Snow was simply wrong. Probably… wishful thinking?"

I catch the glint of a tear on Lake’s cheek. He wipes it away quickly.

"Because of my other son’s case—Skye’s—I’ve read a lot about delayed Pulls.

The only time it happens is between an alpha and a beta, or an omega and a beta.

In those cases, separation can last for a few months.

But even then, veradiol still spikes, it just doesn’t reach life-threatening levels right away.

Eventually, it climbs so high it becomes unbearable.

But you… you’re at zero? I just don’t understand! "

Lake squeezes his eyes shut, silent for a moment, then stands.

"I need… I need to think about it."

And just like that, he leaves!

Fuck.

I break down crying again.

As I sob, something strange happens.

A wet trickle slides down my thigh.

What the hell? I touch it with my finger and bring it to my nose.

Slick.

With a new scent. Sweet. Ripe like fruit.

I stare at the clear fluid, stunned.

My eyes go wide, my mouth falls open.

What the hell is happening?

No.

No!

No!!!

Am I… going into heat?

Now? You cruel Fate.

Why would you fuck me over like this?

Shock knocks me over. Again… I lose consciousness.

◆◆◆

I open my eyes two hours later, a pool of slick between my thighs.

For a while I sit there, crying silently, trembling, being a hell of a mess and more.

But what’s new? I’m a mess, period. Heat or not.

Then I close myself in the shower and sit there, sobbing hysterically, trying to shower the arousal away with an insane amount of hot water.

After that I go back to bed and kick the rest of my nest, pushing it off the bed, throwing pillows on the ground, over the walls, whimpering wildly…

But the slick does not stop dripping.

The hotness in my body rises quickly.

What happens during the night blows past anything I ever imagined.

Even with that constant sense of despair and misery hanging over me, my body refuses to sink into it.

I’ve never really read much about heats before.

I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because I never had a boyfriend, and it always felt too abstract.

Or perhaps I just don’t remember? Right now, with Snow absent, everything in my memory is blurred and foggy again, and it takes effort to recall anything from before I came to the Nolans’ house.

I weakly try to reassemble my nest, but it’s clumsy and half-hearted. Finally, I curl up in what I’ve built, an ugly, misshapen circle. It feels useless anyway. It needs a total rebuild, but I have no idea how to even start.

What should I soak it with? My pheromones are all over the place. My energy is too chaotic, my hole is full of slick, my head completely blank, no clue how to create a space that feels safe. So I suffer.

The music is not here, the rest is irrelevant. I collapse onto the pillows with a dildo sticky with slick in my hand, pushing it inside from time to time just to find a shred of relief.

Why the fuck did this heat hit me so fast?

I had zero warning, zero signs it was coming!

For a moment a terrifying thought flashes through my head: what if the Snow situation triggered it? Maybe it was that wave of sexual energy he shoved into me at the oceanarium… What if it destabilized my hormones, jumpstarted them?

Sure, I’ve been using the dildo regularly these past weeks, but this is nothing like before. This is a rising tide, boiling, burning…

I writhe on the bed, skin hot, feverish, sticky with sweat. My body pours out pheromones in a hormonal burst that sets the heat off.

Thank Fate my room is tucked away up in the attic, far from the rest of the house, because the smell is intense enough to raise suspicion. Just to be sure, I stuff clothes along the door crack to block the scent from leaking out.

Everything itches, tingles.

My skin is hypersensitive. I can’t stop touching myself even when it irritates the hell out of me. I stroke my nipples, jerk my cock, push the toy in again, but the satisfaction is shallow, fleeting.

The poor dildo, with its dumb eggplant pattern, is completely inadequate for a simple reason: it can’t expand into a knot.

I only manage to fall asleep around 2 am, after hours of fucking myself relentlessly, when my body finally gives me a short break. But three hours later, with dawn breaking, I wake up to another brutal wave.

Moaning, I try to shove the dildo back in, but it’s useless. It doesn’t scratch the itch. I crave something else. I crave… an alpha: one with white hair, one whose solid body and primal energy could fill what feels so unbearably empty.

The one who hurt me.

The one I can’t stop fantasizing about.

I want him. I want his presence, his weight pressing me down, his cock buried inside me, breaking me into a trembling, moaning jelly of pleasure.

It’s insane how a heat rewires your whole mind. I never realized the sheer power of it before. It wipes away hesitation, shame, even dignity. I’d drop to my knees right now and beg, spread wide open at his feet.

Pride doesn’t exist here. My body has its own mind, wilder than my power ever was. This is far beyond control.

The next hours are hell.

Cramping grips me hard, my hole spasming painfully because there’s nothing to clench around. Empty, and demanding to be filled: that’s me. The need grows more savage by the minute. I doze off around seven, but barely for ninety minutes before another surge slams into me.

C’mon. Where were the swollen, ticklish glands, the pink color of them, lingering wetness in my hole, increased sensitivity there, the usual signs that reportedly last for weeks before?

In rare, calmer moments, I scroll through articles. They say a first heat usually lasts three to four days, sometimes five or seven, though extreme stress can cut it down to two. Rarely, trauma even stops it completely. Lucky me… that’s not happening.

My traitorous body doesn’t recognize Theo’s pregnancy as traumatizing enough, I guess?

What I do learn is that first heats are usually the most brutal, and going through it alone can be agonizing, physically and mentally.

And it terrifies me, because I already know I’m one of those omegas who get hit the hardest. My legs simply won’t close; I even start to walk with them slightly spread.

Usually around nine, Jordan brings my breakfast. But this morning he’s late.

Nine-thirty passes, and finally he comes while I’m still riding the dildo. I rip it out of myself and leap to the door when I hear him knock. I crack it open, and he hands me the tray.

I take it, noticing my hand is sticky, okay… Jordan fortunately doesn’t notice.

"Gotta get back downstairs, we’ve got guests," he says quickly before running off.

Guests?

The word sticks in my throat, but Jordan’s already gone down the stairs. Of course he has no idea I’m in heat. As a beta, he can’t smell pheromones. And my red face? Oh well, there can be so many reasons for that.

I force down a few pancakes, though food goes in with difficulty. That’s typical too, omegas during heat can only stomach small, high-calorie meals, mostly sugar. I lick maple syrup from the plate, then stare at the door, uneasy.

What the hell does it mean that the Nolans have guests? Are they staying? Passing through?

Please let them not catch my scent.

That would be humiliating.

I don’t want to think about it. I’ve got bigger problems. I throw myself back on the bed and grab the dildo, starting another round, but it’s even worse this time.

The dildo doesn’t knot!

And going through heat without a knot is torture. Only a knot can bring the deep, breeding orgasms that calm and soften the waves. Without it, I’m fucked.

Exhausted, I collapse. When I wake again, maybe an hour later, the waves come even sharper, if that’s even possible. Why is this heat so fucking wild?

And the worst part? I only want one thing. One person, to be exact.

Snow.

Snow!

After everything, after the betrayal and the pain, I still want him. Am I pathetic?

The moment I close my eyes, I see his face above me, long blond strands brushing my neck as he thrusts into me in my imagination.

I snap my eyes open and fling myself off the bed, crashing onto the floor like a rabid animal. A guttural, sexual howl rips out of me, an AO sound meant to call an alpha.

Instinct takes over. I’m already lost.

Snow. I need Snow. That blond bastard who sticks his dick in married omegas and breeds the hell out of them. Time to breed me.

I lunge for the door, yank it open hard, and tear down the stairs like a madman, to the second floor, then the first.

My head is a mess, and nothing lines up. My memory is even more shredded, and I can’t remember what Jordan just said.

Then it hits me: the stairs dump straight into the living room, and the guests are definitely there.