Page 12 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

"Ash did most of it. I just handled the cable management."

As if summoned by his name, Ash appeared in the doorway, tall and imposing, his grey eyes taking me in with one sweeping glance.

He was taller than the others, shoulders filling the whole frame.

Everything about him screamed ‘don’t even try,’ from the way he watched me down to the way he kept just a little further back than the rest. He kept his distance, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"It's functional," he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "Not optimal yet. Need to adjust for the room acoustics."

His scent, charcoal and vanilla, hit me last, and perhaps hardest. There was something raw and elemental about it that made my inner Omega sit up and take notice in a way that was deeply annoying.

"Thanks," I managed, hating how awkward I suddenly felt. These were the same guys I'd trash-talked for months. The same alphas I'd dismissed as ego-driven knot-heads. Now they were cooking me soup and setting up my equipment, and I had no idea how to process it.

"So," I said, desperate to establish some normalcy, "when do we start this content charade?"

Reid exchanged glances with the others before answering. "Tomorrow, if you're up for it. Nothing major, just a short stream announcing our new... arrangement."

"Our 'friends to enemies to reluctant packmates' arc," Theo added with a grin. "Chat's going to lose their minds."

"We were never friends," I pointed out.

"Details, details." He waved a dismissive hand. "The point is, people love a redemption story. Bad blood turned good content."

"And what's our official story? How are we explaining my sudden relocation to the House of Knots?” The truth was not an option, and they all knew it.

Theo snorted at my joke.

"That's up to you," Reid said, echoing our earlier conversation. "But we were thinking something close to the truth. You had a medical emergency, we offered support, and we're exploring a content partnership while you recover."

"No mention of the suppressants," Malik added. "No details about your health beyond what you're comfortable sharing. You decide what gets aired and what doesn’t."

It was reasonable. More than reasonable. But something about their careful consideration made me even more determined to maintain emotional distance.

"Fine," I said, pushing away my half-finished soup. "Show me where you've set up my equipment. I need to check my socials, see what damage control I'm facing."

"You should finish eating first," Malik suggested.

"I'm fine," I insisted, standing too quickly. The kitchen spun, my knees buckling. I bit the inside of my cheek and grabbed the counter.

Five Alphas tensed simultaneously, ready to catch me if I fell. The collective wave of protective pheromones hit my system like a drug, making my knees weak and my skin prickle for entirely different reasons.

"I'm fine," I repeated through gritted teeth, hating my body's response. "Just stood up too fast."

"Your room's this way," Reid said after a moment, gesturing down a hallway opposite from where I'd emerged. "We put you on the east side, away from the main streaming area to minimize noise interference."

I followed him on unsteady legs, acutely aware of the others watching me go. The hallway opened into another wing of the house, this one quieter and more private.

"This is your space," Reid said, stopping at an open door. "Scent-neutral as possible, though in a house with five Alphas, there's only so much we can do."

The room was larger than my entire apartment, spacious, bright, with a dedicated alcove for my streaming setup. My PC glowed softly in the corner, monitors arranged precisely as I liked them, keyboard and mouse positioned just right.

"How did you know how I organize my setup?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"We watched your streams," he admitted. "Ash is particularly observant about technical details."

I ignored the way that made me feel and went straight to the windows. The backyard was all woods. No neighbors, just green and sky. I could almost trick myself into thinking this wasn’t a prison sentence.

"This place is... not what I expected."

"What did you expect? Alpha cave drawings and protein powder scattered everywhere?"

"Something like that," I admitted. "Maybe a few more trophy walls and fewer actual livable spaces."

He leaned against the doorframe, careful to maintain distance. "We do our posturing on stream, Quinn. No need to bring it home."

I turned to face him, suddenly needing to understand. "Why this room? Why so far from everything else?"

"You value your independence. We wanted to respect that." He shrugged, the gesture casual but his eyes watchful. "Plus, it's the most scent-isolated room in the house. We thought you'd be more comfortable."

Another consideration I hadn't expected. "And where are you all?"

"Main wing, opposite side. Theo and Jace share a wall, which is a constant source of conflict since Jace edits at 3 AM and Theo streams until dawn sometimes.

Malik's at the end of the hall since he needs the most soundproofing for his meditation content.

Ash has the basement setup for his hardware builds. "

"And you?"

"Master suite, second floor." He smiled slightly. "Pack leader privileges."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. The Alpha gets the penthouse."

"House Wrecked was my idea," he said simply. "My investment initially. The others joined later."

That was news to me. I'd always assumed they'd formed as a group.

"So this is your pack, then. Your... territory." The words felt strange in my mouth.

"It's a content house," he corrected. "A business arrangement, just like what you and I agreed to."

He was throwing my own words back at me, and I deserved it. Still, something about his tone suggested he didn't entirely believe that himself.

"Right," I said, turning back to the window. "Business arrangement."

A silence stretched between us, filled with unspoken complexities neither of us was ready to address.

"I'll let you get settled," he said finally. "Dinner's at seven, if you're feeling up to joining us. Otherwise, someone can bring a tray."

"I'm not an invalid," I snapped, more harshly than intended.

"Never said you were." He pushed off from the doorframe. "But you are recovering from a major medical event, so maybe ease up on the defensive spikes."

He left before I could respond, closing the door softly behind him.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted from the simple act of walking through the house and having one conversation. Dr. Patel was right, I was in no condition to jump back into streaming.

My phone sat on the nightstand, fully charged. I picked it up with trembling hands, bracing myself for the digital carnage awaiting me.

Hundreds of notifications. Thousands of mentions. DMs from fellow streamers ranging from supportive to ghoulishly curious. Emails from sponsors, some terminating contracts, others "pausing our partnership to reassess alignment."

The platform had sent a formal notice of content review, citing designation disclosure violations. My account wasn't suspended, but it was demonetized pending investigation.

Victoria had called seventeen times and left increasingly desperate voicemails, the last one openly threatening to "release everything" if I didn't call her back immediately.

I set the phone down, too overwhelmed to process it all. My career was in shambles, my body was betraying me with every breath, and I was trapped in a house saturated with Alpha pheromones that made my skin feel too tight and my core ache with needs I refused to acknowledge.

A soft knock interrupted my spiral. "Quinn?" Jace's quiet voice came through the door. "I brought your medication. Dr. Patel said you might need it earlier than scheduled if symptoms flared."

I crossed to the door and opened it, finding him standing with a glass of water and a small pill in his palm.

"Thanks," I said, taking both from him. Our fingers brushed, and a jolt of awareness shot through me, making me nearly drop the glass.

If Jace noticed my reaction, he didn't show it. "The house scents are probably overwhelming. This should help dampen your sensitivity a bit."

I swallowed the pill gratefully. "Is it that obvious?"

"To someone who's seen it before, yes." His eyes met mine briefly before sliding away. "My sister went through something similar."

"The one who was on military suppressants?"

He nodded. "She was in the service. Special ops. They put all Omegas on blockers for 'operational security.'" His normally expressionless face hardened. "Nearly killed her when she came home and tried to detox."

"But she recovered?" I couldn't keep the desperate hope from my voice.

"Eventually." He didn't elaborate, which somehow said everything.

I took another sip of water, using it to mask my discomfort. "The setup looks good. Thank you."

"Like Ash said, it's functional, not optimal. He's already ordered some acoustic panels for the walls. Something about your voice frequencies bouncing wrong."

"He can tell that just by looking at the room?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Jace's face. "Ash notices things others don't. Especially technical things."

"And you? What do you notice?"

His eyes met mine again, this time holding my gaze. "Everything."

Something in his tone made me shiver. Before I could respond, he continued, "First stream is scheduled for noon tomorrow. Just a short announcement, like Reid said. Nothing strenuous."

“I’ll be ready,” I promised, not sure if I meant it.

He nodded once, then turned to go.

"Jace," I called after him. "Why are you all doing this? Really?"

He paused, considering the question with the same quiet intensity he brought to everything.

"Because what happened to you was wrong," he said finally. "And because none of us could live with ourselves if we didn't help."

He disappeared down the hallway before I could press further, leaving me with more questions than answers and the unsettling realization that these Alphas might actually care about me as a person, not just a content opportunity.

I shut the door gently and leaned against it, breathing in the scent-neutral air and trying to convince myself I could handle tomorrow.

That I could walk out there and be Quinn again, confident, controlled, impossible to knock off balance.

As I breathed I tried to process everything.

The house. The alphas. The way my body responded to their presence despite my determination to remain detached.

Tomorrow we'd start the charade, the fake pack bond, the content creation, the carefully constructed narrative of enemies becoming packmates. I needed to be ready, to remember that this was business, not personal.

But as the medication began to take effect, dulling my hypersensitivity to their lingering scents, I couldn't help wondering if I was lying to myself. If maybe, just maybe, there was something more happening here than a simple business arrangement.

Because business partners didn't sleep outside your door to monitor your breathing. They didn't research obscure medical journals to help with your recovery. They didn't carefully set up your equipment exactly the way you liked it.

And they certainly didn't make your Omega instincts practically vibrate with recognition at their scents, even through medication designed to suppress exactly that response.

I focused all my energy on tomorrow. How to make it look easy. How to pretend none of this had ever touched me.

But the house was alive with alpha energy, and my instincts weren’t going to make this easy, they were going to fight me, every step of the way. Every second, every breath, every time one of them got too close.

I’d survived worse. But if I was being honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to survive this.