Page 19 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kara

“Three, two, one, go live!” Theo’s voice echoed off the ceiling panels, way too loud considering our streaming room wasn’t built for six people at once.

Maybe for four. Five if we all sat perfectly still and didn’t breathe.

But five full-grown Alphas, all at arms-length and crowding around a table someone probably designed as a joke?

That was another breed of claustrophobia.

They insisted that it would be better if we did a full group stream so here we were, with me wedged between Jace and Malik.

Reid and Theo were across from me, and Ash was off to the side at the tech station.

The cameras were everywhere, multiple angles, lights set up so nothing in the frame looked like a cave, which honestly just made my headache worse.

The proximity of five Alphas at once should have been overwhelming, but Dr. Patel's new medication regimen had helped stabilize my system even after yesterday's episode.

At least, that's what I told myself as my skin prickled with awareness of every scent, every movement, every subtle shift in energy around me.

I could feel every shift of the air. Scent, movement, energy, with all the alphas within touching distance, all of them pretending this was normal, like it wasn’t a powder keg with my own raw edges right in the middle.

It was game time. So I put on my mask, the voice, the grin, the practiced indifference.

“Welcome to the first-ever Pack Wrecked group stream featuring yours truly,” I said, flicking an eyebrow at the camera like I was inviting all of the viewers to laugh at the cosmic joke of dropping five alphas and one Omega into a single room.

“Try not to get too excited. I know all these alphas are basically internet catnip.”

Predictable chaos from the chat, emotes, exclamation points, pure adrenaline. I expected it. Self-sabotage, self-aware humor, whatever it took to keep the peanut gallery off the scent of my last heat meltdown. If you laughed at your own designation first, they couldn’t weaponize it.

“We’re playing Nightmare Corridor today,” Theo said, bouncing in his chair like a sugar-high golden retriever, because of course. “Co-op horror with a twist, every time someone screams, they have to swap controllers with the person on their right.”

“Which means I’m stuck with whatever mess Theo leaves me,” Reid deadpanned, and if my hackles weren’t already up from the overload, his voice would have done it, low enough to vibrate my bones.

Theo just grinned. “Bold of you to assume I’ll be the one screaming,” he shot back, elbowing Reid, not softly.

I caught myself watching them. Actually watching.

Not the way I watched their streams, which always made Pack Wrecked look like The Reid Show, featuring Four Other Dudes.

Here it was real. It was in the way they jostled for ground but never overstepped, the genuine push-pull. Actual friendship, not brand content.

“Quinn gets immunity for the first hour,” Malik added, calm and steady, soothing, almost, if I let myself acknowledge it. “Doctor’s orders.”

I glared at him for show. “I don’t need special treatment.”

“It’s not special treatment,” Reid said, holding my stare the way only he could. “It’s medical accommodation. Different thing.”

I was ready to argue, but Jace just handed me a controller. His fingers brushed mine, barely a ghost of touch, but it jolted through me anyway, a line of fire under my skin.

“Ready?” His voice was low, almost a secret.

I nodded. He nodded back. If Alphas could do “understated,” that was Jace; if I had to be shoehorned next to someone, I’d take him over the rest any day. Solid, like a wall I could lean on.

The game loaded with the kind of music meant to put your nerves on edge, tinny and ominous. “Nightmare Corridor” wasn’t just a jump-scare generator. It was designed to make you lose your sense of time and direction. Someone thought that was entertainment.

Theo jumped in first, wrestling the main controller. “Prepare to witness true courage in the face of digital terror.”

I dropped into sarcasm mode, commentary rolling out of me, sharp and just this side of mean. It took the edge off. Anchored me in the familiar rhythm of trash talk and competitive spite.

“Left, you absolute potato,” I told Theo as he missed an obvious door. “No, your other left. Do you need a diagram?”

Theo didn’t even blink. “Backseat gaming already? I thought that was Reid’s specialty.”

“I prefer the term tactical guidance,” Reid corrected, smiling just enough that it counted as a threat.

For the first twenty minutes, it wasn’t a disaster.

Theo did what he did best, getting lost and making it look like part of the plan, while the rest of us bantered and took shots.

Chat loved it. The only other thing people loved more than five alphas clowning each other was one Omega who could keep up.

Then the air changed.

It was small, at first, a click from the vents, the hum of the AC kicking in. Standard. But now it was aimed directly at me, and all their scents tangled in the crossfire. Cedar and thunderstorms. Ink and snow. Green tea and ozone. Charcoal and vanilla. Sandalwood and linen.

My system surged. No warning. Scent dialed to maximum, every voice chiseled into my skull, every light a knife to the face. I could feel the seam in my hoodie like it was made of wire, itching at the edge of pain.

“So as I was saying about the tournament strategy–” I started, but the words felt sticky in my throat. Another spike, louder, heavier, like the controller was dipped in lead. I clenched it tighter, resisting the urge to throw it.

Reid caught on instantly. His eyes snapped to me, all pretense gone, just sharp concern, locked in.

“You okay?” Theo turned away from the game, face pinched, uncertain.

“Fine.” I grinned, and the lie tasted like copper. “Just thinking about how badly you’re going to scream when the first monster appears.”

Deflection usually worked. Everyone but Reid seemed to buy it, shifting their focus back to the glowing screen. I lost myself in the corridor Theo was navigating, counting seconds until the inevitable scare.

When it hit, a monster straight out of someone’s acid trip lunging at the camera, Theo screamed like it was staged for maximum humiliation. Classic. He almost dropped the controller.

“Controller swap!” Ash called out, already tracking who owed who.

Most days, I’d be cackling along with them, but the sound slammed into me like a fist. Theo’s scream, the game, the post-scare laughter, my ears rang, everything in my vision closing in at the edges. I white-knuckled it, but my voice was gone.

“Quinn’s exempt, remember?” Malik said, cutting through the static, all focus.

I should have wanted to snap at him. I should have hated the implication that I was fragile. But I couldn’t drag a protest out of my mouth. Instead, I tried to breathe, tried to tune out the colors and noises now turned up to eleven.

Somewhere to my left, Jace moved. Anyone else might have missed it, but I felt every inch of it. He flicked the overheads to a dimmer setting, softening the glare by a notch or two. The relief was instant. I almost gasped, but held it in.

We locked eyes. He understood what he’d done, and gave me a little nod. I didn’t really know how to say thanks, so I just blinked and looked away. The show must go on.

Reid took over the controller, barely breaking stride, pushing forward in the nightmare corridors while the rest of us got pulled into the banter again.

But everything still felt off-kilter for me.

Too hot, then too cold. Too loud, then dead quiet.

My senses didn’t know what game they were playing, and I was just along for the ride.

“Quinn, what’s your take on this strategy?” Reid said, trying to pull me back in.

“You’re being too cautious,” I snapped, falling into the role I had assigned myself long ago. I was aggressive and dismissive, but this time my hands were shaking. “You’re playing like there’s something to lose besides your dignity.”

It landed a little too hard. Reid didn’t bite, just kept his voice steady. “Sometimes caution keeps you alive.”

Right then, the game dropped another sound bomb, a sudden surge in the audio, spooky music dialed up to maximum. It hit so hard I winced, hand spasming on the controller.

Malik noticed. He slid a fraction closer, not touching, just enough that his scent started to buffer the others. Sandalwood and linen, grounding and clean. I could breathe again, a little.

“Breathing pattern,” he whispered, not for the mics. “Four in, hold four, out four, hold four.”

I did it automatically, brain latching onto the routine from his meditation streams. Four in, hold four, out four, hold four. Over and over, until my heartbeat slowed and the world stopped spinning.

“Thanks,” I whispered, timing it so only he could hear.

Malik didn’t say anything back. He just kept sending out the calm, like a lighthouse or a security blanket.

The world kept turning, and so did the controller. After Reid, Malik took a turn, then Jace. The rotation kept us moving, just fast enough to avoid another meltdown.

But I noticed something else, lurking under the surface. They’d all started to adapt, each in their own way, dialing themselves down for me, smoothing the edges, making little invisible accommodations.

Reid’s voice stayed in a lower register, never barking.

Theo’s reactions got quieter, tight bursts of energy with the volume dialed back.

Ash locked in on the audio levels, making sure no spike ever made it to the monitors.

Jace stuck to the dim lighting, tweaking as sunlight changed.

Malik kept up the breathing cues, subtle but impossible to miss if you were looking for them.