Page 3 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER THREE

Kara

The minute the stream cut to black, I sank back in my chair, just letting the world spin.

My body felt way too hot, way too real, and the room was spinning like someone had yanked the gravity out from under me.

If I focused, I could almost pretend it was just the aftermath of a tournament loss, but the logic part of my brain was the first to go.

All I had left was this crystal-clear memory: sixteen-year-old me, sitting across from Victoria Smith, the queen shark of Nexus Management.

She’d had perfect French tips and a smile so sharp it could slit throats, and she’d slid that plain white bottle across the desk like she was handing me a ticket to the rest of my damn life.

“These will make sure you stay competitive,” she’d said.

“The gaming world doesn’t want Omega streamers, Kara.

They want fighters. Killers. Betas who can stand their ground with the Alphas. ”

I’d known exactly what was inside. Black-market grade suppressants, the kind you needed a fake ID just to know about, let alone take.

The kind that didn’t just blunt your heats, but erased them, left you empty and cold enough to convince everyone, including yourself, that you were something else.

That’s the way I built my entire career.

“What happens if I don’t take them?” I’d asked her, sounding braver than I felt. I’d been scared out of my mind, but not an idiot.

Her smile had gone razor-blade cruel. “Then you’ll be just another Omega streamer.

You know what that means? It means nobody cares about your gameplay.

They tune in to see tits and ass, Kara. Donations for flashing a little skin; Alphas subscribing just to hear you moan while you fake your way through a game you’re supposedly playing competitively.

” She’d leaned in close, so I couldn’t look away.

“Is that what you want, Kara? To be masturbation material for knot-head Alphas? Or do you want to be taken seriously?"

That was the first time I popped one of those pills. Right there in her office, hands shaking so hard I almost dropped the bottle.

That was eight years ago. Now, sitting here, sweating through my shirt as the chemicals finally failed, I felt my body coming apart in real time.

It was…unreal. Like something inside me had been caged so long it forgot how to do anything except fight.

My career, my fake Beta image, everything I’d built, the whole stack of lies was teetering on the edge, and I knew it was about to collapse.

Worst part wasn’t even the fear. It was the need.

That mind-chewing, clawing, stomach-churning need for an Alpha’s hands, hell, for a knot, for anything to take the edge off the fire boiling up from my bones.

I couldn’t think. My hands kept sliding between my thighs, desperate for any pressure, any friction, like I didn’t even have control anymore.

The notifications on my phone wouldn’t stop.

Blinking and buzzing, lighting up with messages from management, from sponsors, from fans who’d seen the feed cut out.

But I couldn’t read a single word. Not with the heat pounding in my head, not with the taste of honey and pepper filling my mouth, my scent out of control for the first time in years.

Not with the memory of five Alpha voices still echoing in my headset.

I almost missed the first voice. “Guys, we need to help her.” That was Reid, low and urgent, not even trying to hide the panic.

“How? We don’t even know where she lives,” Theo shot back.

“I do,” Ash said, quieter than the others. “Tournament registration forms.”

“That’s stalker shit,” Malik snapped. “We can’t just show up at her place.”

Jace overrode him. “She’s in a dangerous heat crash. That’s not a regular suppressant fail. That’s industrial-grade suppression, and she could be in medical danger. I’m not kidding.”

At first I wanted to yell at them to leave me the hell alone, but then another wave hit me, hard, angry, all teeth, and I lost my grip. A pathetic noise wormed out of my throat. Probably into the open mic. Perfect.

“Quinn? You still there?” Jace’s voice. The quiet ones always surprised you. “Can you hear us?”

I opened my mouth to tell them all to fuck off, but what came out was just, “Yes–” and it sounded so needy it made me want to smash something. “Don’t…don’t come here. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Reid again, and he didn’t sound like he was going to debate it. “That’s a suppressant crash. How long were you even on them?”

If I’d tried to answer, I would’ve just lost it completely.

I couldn’t think around the pain. Natural heats, I’d heard about those.

Omegas dealing with the usual mess. But this?

This was punishment. Like my own body was furious at me for locking it up for so long.

Eight years’ worth of rage and biology ripping me apart.

“Quinn?” Reid’s voice, gentler now. “Kara? Talk to us.”

He said my name, my real name, and I broke. “Eight years,” I whispered. “I’ve been on them for eight years.”

Silence. For a second, I thought maybe the comm had cut out.

Then Theo, voice soft but stunned, “That…Kara, that could fucking kill you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped, or tried to, but the words came out choked as another tsunami of need nearly doubled me over. I barely swallowed down the moan.

“Clearly not,” Reid shot back, all steel and no patience. “We’re coming over. Whether you want us to or not.”

“Don’t you fucking dare– ” but I couldn’t finish.

I couldn’t even finish. That next wave was so bad my vision whited out and I clawed at the arm of my chair, nails digging in.

Every nerve stripped raw, skin hot, and the emptiness between my legs was actually blinding.

I’d have screamed if I could get my breath.

“Kara.” Reid’s voice, softer again, but with that Alpha-command woven through it. Impossible to ignore. “We’re not showing up to take advantage. We’re showing up to help. You need a doctor. You need help.”

What I needed was, well… No, that wasn’t something I was about to admit. I bit my tongue, literally, but my body…? My body didn’t give a shit.

All that time I spent pretending, forcing my scent down, acting Beta for the cameras, for the fans, for everyone?

Gone. Eight years of suppression, boiling out of my pores, turning my skin slick and my mind into a punch-drunk riot.

The scent was everywhere. Wild honey and cracked pepper, so thick I could taste it, and I was pretty sure anyone in a three-block radius could smell it too.

“Please, Reid.” I hated myself for it, but the word just slipped out. “Please hurry.”

My vision closed in, black at the edges, and I knew I was going to pass out. Knew I’d just detonated my entire life on camera, live for thousands of people to see.

Kara Quinn, Beta queen, professional shit-talker, one of the only “Betas” who could actually keep up with the Alpha pros. Turns out I’d been a lie. I’d just heat-crashed. Not only that but everyone saw it.

And now the five Alphas I’d spent months dragging on livestream were racing to my rescue.

If I were in any shape to laugh, I probably would have.