Page 11 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER NINE

Kara

The worst part about withdrawal wasn't the physical symptoms, though they were brutal enough. It was the time.

Time to think.

Time to obsess.

Time to replay every career-ending second of that stream in excruciating detail.

By the time Dr. Patel finally cleared me to leave the guest room, I'd memorized every crack in the ceiling and cataloged every humiliating scenario awaiting me outside that door.

"Your vitals are stable," she announced, checking the monitoring equipment one last time. "The worst of the withdrawal symptoms should subside within the next week, though you'll experience intermittent effects for several months."

"Several months," I repeated flatly. "Fantastic."

"You spent eight years poisoning your system with military-grade suppressants, Ms. Quinn. Your recovery timeline is actually quite accelerated, all things considered."

I couldn't argue with that, so I didn't try. "When can I stream again?"

"Short sessions would be acceptable starting tomorrow, provided you monitor your symptoms carefully." She gave me a stern look. "No more than two hours at a time, with mandatory breaks."

"Two hours? That's barely enough time to–"

“To not end up dead?” Patel cut me off, her tone as sharp as broken glass. “Because that’s what’s on the table, Quinn. Your body is recalibrating from years of chemical suppression. Push it, and you’ll be right back on an IV, if you’re lucky.”

I swallowed my protest, knowing she was right. "Fine. Two hours."

"And no suppressants other than the tapering doses I've prescribed." She handed me a small pill case. "These are legal-grade, designed to ease your transition rather than completely block your designation responses."

So, I’d still get Omega symptoms. Just not the catastrophic, career-destroying heat that landed me here in the first place. Awesome.

"When's my next dose?"

"Tonight at eight. Mr. Maddox has the complete schedule." She packed her medical bag with efficient movements. "I'll check on you again tomorrow. In the meantime, hydrate, rest, and try not to argue with everyone attempting to help you."

I snorted. "No promises on that last one."

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "I assumed as much. Your alpha friends warned me about your... spirited personality."

"They're not my friends," I corrected automatically. "They're my business partners."

"Of course." Her tone made it clear she didn't believe me for a second. "Well, your business partners have been quite concerned. Particularly Mr. Maddox, who hasn't left the house since you arrived."

Something warm and unwelcome flickered in my chest at that information. I squashed it immediately.

“He’s probably worried his investment is going to flatline before the first collab stream,” I said.

Dr. Patel gave me a long look. "Is that what you think this is?"

"I know exactly what this is. A mutually beneficial business arrangement. They get content and PR points for 'rescuing' me, I get a lifeline, a sliver of my career back."

"Interesting." She snapped her bag closed, humming slightly, clearly not buying it. "Most business arrangements don't involve taking turns sleeping outside your door to monitor your breathing, or researching obscure medical journals for suppressant withdrawal protocols."

I blinked, caught off guard, and just stared at her for a moment. "They did that?"

"They did many things that suggest this arrangement, as you call it, might be more complex than you're allowing yourself to believe." She shrugged and headed for the door. "But what do I know? I'm just the doctor who's been watching five terrified Alphas pace outside your room for three days."

Before I could formulate a response, she was gone, leaving me alone with her uncomfortable observations and the realization that I could finally leave this room. Somehow though the idea of walking out of the door was terrifying. Reality was waiting for me out there, and I wasn’t quite ready for it.

I couldn’t bring myself to go to see the five alphas that had probably saved my life, so I decided to shower, making it to the bathroom on wobbly legs. I spent longer than I care to admit just letting the water scald the exhaustion and fever residue out of my skin.

My legs trembled with the effort of standing, but the hot water felt heavenly against my skin. The shower helped, but I was still weak but determined to look less like a corpse when I faced my new... housemates.

As I dried off, I caught my reflection in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Hollow cheeks. Shadows under my eyes. Skin pale and drawn. I looked like someone recovering from a serious illness, which, I supposed, I was.

Someone had packed up my stuff from my apartment, and it all sat in neatly labeled boxes against the wall, apparently moved here while I was unconscious. Seeing my life packed away in cardboard felt surreal, but at least they'd thought to bring it.

I pulled on the clean clothes someone had left for me, loose joggers and an oversized t-shirt that smelled like nothing. All of it was deliberately scent-neutral. Another small consideration I hadn't expected.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the bedroom door and stepped into my new reality.

The hallway opened into a massive open-concept living area that took my breath away. Vaulted ceilings. Wall-to-wall windows overlooking a wooded backyard. Modern furnishings that somehow managed to look both expensive and lived-in.

But what hit me hardest was the scent.

Alpha. Everywhere. Five distinct signatures mingling in the air, so potent I nearly staggered, each one sharp and distinct, all layered over the clean house scent and the sunshine from the huge windows.

My newly awakened Omega senses went haywire.Even with fresh suppressant in my system, my body logged every last one with alarming precision:

Cedar and summer storms. Reid.

Green tea and something electric with an edge of burnt sugar. Theo.

Ink and icy snow. Jace.

Vanilla and charcoal with an undercurrent of hot metal. Ash.

Sandalwood and fresh linen. Malik.

My body responded instantly, a rush of warmth flooding my system. I gripped the wall, furious at my biological betrayal.

"Quinn?" Reid's voice came from somewhere to my left. "You're up."

I turned to find him watching me from the kitchen doorway, concern etched across his features. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes confirming Dr. Patel's claim that he hadn't been sleeping.

"Doctor says I'm allowed to rejoin society," I managed, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "Though 'society' is a generous term for this frat house."

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Good to see your personality survived intact."

"It'll take more than a suppressant crash to kill my sparkling wit."

"Clearly." He gestured toward the kitchen. "Hungry? Malik made soup."

My stomach growled loudly in response, making a liar of me before I could deny it. "Maybe a little."

I followed him into a kitchen that was a chef’s wet dream, every surface was immaculate, knives all lined up like soldiers, industrial grade appliances gleaming, and enough space to feed an army. The scents were even stronger here, particularly Reid's, as if he spent the most time in this room.

"Look who's vertical!" Theo's excited voice preceded him as he bounded into the kitchen, all chaotic energy and bright eyes. "The Queen lives!"

His scent slammed into me, bright and wild, green tea, electricity, anticipation. I flinched, almost taking a step back.

"Easy, Theo," Reid warned, noticing my reaction. "She's still adjusting."

"Right, sorry." Theo dialed his energy back about two notches, the most restraint I'd ever seen from him.

“Just glad you’re not, y’know, dead. That would’ve been a bitch to explain to our followers.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Nice to know my death would be a scheduling inconvenience.”

"That's not–" he started, then caught my expression. "Oh, you're joking. See, this is why we need you around. Someone has to match my chaos energy."

Malik appeared next, calm and collected as always, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. His scent, sandalwood and sage, was somehow both soothing and stimulating, making my skin prickle pleasantly.

"Perfect timing," he said, his deep voice vibrating through me in a way it never had before. "The soup just finished. Nothing too heavy, just chicken broth with rice and vegetables."

“You cook?” I blurted, more shocked than I should have been.

"Don't sound so shocked. Some of us have skills beyond trash-talking twelve-year-olds in game chat."

"Speaking of which," Theo interjected, "you should see what your fans have been saying. The support is insane."

"Later," Reid cut in, shooting Theo a warning look. "Let's not overwhelm her with internet drama right now. She just got out of bed."

I bristled at being discussed like I wasn't standing right there. "I can handle it. It's my career on the line, remember?"

"And it will still be there after you eat something," Malik said firmly, placing a steaming bowl in front of me. "Doctor's orders."

The aroma hit me. It was simple, nourishing, and unexpectedly appealing. My stomach growled again, louder this time, and I surrendered to the inevitable, sliding onto a barstool.

The first spoonful nearly made me moan. After days of nothing but IV fluids and occasional water, real food tasted like heaven.

"Good?" Malik asked, watching me eat like it was a personal victory.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without revealing how pathetically grateful I felt for something as simple as soup.

Footsteps announced another arrival. Jace drifted into the kitchen next, silent, hands shoved into the pockets of a black hoodie, eyes behind smudged glasses tracking every movement. His scent was like a summer storm you watched from the safety of your window: ink, rain, cool and distant.

"Your equipment's set up," he said, his voice low. "Whenever you're ready."

"You set up my streaming rig?" I asked between spoonfuls.