Page 30 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Kara

I wasn’t sure how many days it was after my heat started when I woke up and thought, for half a second, that someone had broken in and trashed my room while I was sleeping.

Then I looked closer. Every surface was covered.

Not with anything truly random, not garbage, not books, not wrappers.

No, it was hoodies, half-folded and slung over the desk chair.

Gaming keyboards and mice and gamepads stacked like some kind of weird tech art project.

Empty energy drink cans lined up by brand and color.

Snapbacks on every available hook or stuck to the bulletin board with pushpins.

Even Malik’s meditation cushion was tucked in the corner, angled so the sunrise would hit it first thing every morning.

The real horror show, though, was my bed. Or what should have been my bed. The mattress was buried under a mountain of Alpha-scented... stuff. Hoodies, shirts, soft blankets, a comforter that definitely wasn’t mine, and enough personal items to rival a lost-and-found box at an internet café.

All of it smelled like Alphas.

Like my packmates.

Or, more accurately, like the people whose stuff I’d apparently been hoarding for weeks without even realizing it.

I stared at the pile, heart dropping, as I picked up a blue flannel that was definitely Theo’s. When the hell had I taken that? I couldn’t remember even touching most of these things. Yet here they were, in my room, forming a not-so-subtle nest.

Nest.

The thought hit me hard and fast. I’d built an Omega nest. A proper, textbook, designation-cliché nest. And worse, I’d done it on autopilot.

While my stubborn brain was busy pretending everything was normal, my biology had been quietly pillaging the rest of the house for Alpha-scented comfort objects and arranging them as Dr. Levine had suggested “might help.” Fantastic.

I was officially nothing more than my designation.

Before I could even process the mortification, a soft knock broke the silence.

“Kara?” Reid’s voice, low and steady, filtered through the door. “Dr. Patel’s here for your check-up. Can we come in?”

Panic slammed into me. There was zero chance to hide the evidence. I ripped the most incriminating stuff off the top of my bed and jammed it under the mattress, but it didn’t do much. The whole room reeked of what I’d done.

I cracked the door. Reid and Dr. Patel stood there, both completely unreadable. Professional. Not a flicker of judgment, which somehow made me feel even more like I’d been caught with my hand in the world’s most embarrassing cookie jar.

Dr. Patel edged forward, forcing me to back up and let her in or make it super awkward.

I gave in and swung the door open wide. She breezed in and set her med bag on my desk, scooping Ash’s stolen coaster out of the way with clinical efficiency.

She barely gave me a glance before saying, “Fever’s broken. Good. How’s the cramping?”

I clenched my jaw, trying to act normal with Reid watching from the doorway. “Better. It’s... mostly over.”

“I’ll need to check your vitals,” Dr. Patel said.

Reid cleared his throat. “I’ll give you privacy.”

“Actually,” Dr. Patel said, calm as ever, “I’d like you to stay, if Kara’s comfortable. We need to discuss next steps.”

After the last three days, it felt pointless to argue. “Fine. Whatever.”

Reid let the door swing shut, but he kept his distance. I could smell him from across the room, all thunderstorm and cedar. Instead of making my skin crawl, it actually eased something in my chest. Which just made everything more humiliating.

If Reid noticed the nest behind me, he didn’t show it. But I knew. I knew he saw every last detail.

Dr. Patel wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm, her other hand steady on my pulse.

I kept my gaze on the wall behind her. I didn’t want to see Reid cataloging my failures, the evidence that I’d been sneak-thieving Alpha stuff for weeks, desperate for comfort while pretending I hated the entire concept of pack bonding.

“Vitals are good,” Dr. Patel announced. “Temperature’s normal, heart rate a touch high, but not concerning. How’s your sensory tolerance?”

“It’s... less brutal,” I said. I flinched a little as she checked my pupillary reactions. “Manageable.”

“And the emotional state? Anxiety, mood swings?”

I glanced at Reid, then away. “I’m fine.”

Dr. Patel was silent for a beat, then: “Would you rather discuss that privately?”

I was too tired for another round of denial. “He can hear it. They’ve already seen everything else.”

Reid shifted his weight, uneasy. “Quinn, if you’d rather I go...”

“I said it’s fine,” I snapped, harsher than I meant. “Sorry. Just tired of pretending this isn’t happening.”

Dr. Patel made a note on her tablet. “The heat was more severe than anticipated. Even on suppressants, you had a full crash. That’s concerning, but not unexpected considering your history. After years of chemical suppression, your system is rebuilding itself almost from the ground up.”

My stomach twisted. “So it’ll happen again.”

“Very likely, yes. Maybe not as extreme next time if we adjust your medication and...” She scanned the room, not bothering to hide what she saw. “If you provide appropriate designation support.”

In other words: pack bonding. The last thing I wanted to talk about.

I tried to fight it. “I’ve been researching alternatives. Different suppressants, or therapy, or, I don’t know, something that works without all this? Without…”

“Becoming dependent on Alphas?” Reid finished, voice barely above a whisper.

I glared at him, hurt and furious and terrified all at once. “Yes.”

Dr. Patel didn’t flinch. “Kara, I understand your desire for autonomy. Truly. But your body is severely compromised. Without appropriate support, you risk long-term damage. Your system is sending very clear distress signals.”

“And ‘support’ means them.” I gestured at Reid, at the evidence-laden nest, at the house full of Alphas.

“Support means letting your designation needs be met instead of fighting them,” she said, gentle but unyielding. “Your unconscious nesting is your body’s way of healing. It’s not a failure.”

Heat climbed up the back of my neck. Of course she’d noticed the nest. So had Reid. Even if he stayed poker-faced, I could sense the way his scent thickened, the ozone, the sharpness.

“That’s just... withdrawal comfort stuff,” I tried, knowing how weak it sounded.

“It’s pack-bonding behavior, and it’s healthy,” Dr. Patel said flatly. “Letting yourself nest, allowing in their scents, is your system seeking what it needs.”

“So I’m just stealing their stuff because my DNA tells me to.” I spat the words out, bitter.

A strangled sound came from Reid, a half-laugh, half-sigh. I shot him a death glare.

He shrugged, unapologetic. “We’ve noticed the hoarding for weeks, Kara. Did you think no one realized what was happening?”

Mortification crushed me. “Why didn’t you call me out?”

“Because you needed it,” he said. “And we didn’t mind.”

The matter-of-factness made it somehow worse. They’d all seen, they’d all understood, and they’d just... allowed it. No judgment. No humiliation. Just silent, practical accommodation for my needs.

Dr. Patel continued, running through the rest of her checklist while I tried to process that. “Your withdrawal symptoms should keep improving. But you’ll need ongoing medication and, ideally, actual designation support. The more you reject pack bonds, the worse your system will compensate.”

“You mean letting them scent me,” I deadpanned. “Letting bond ties form.”

“I mean letting your body get what it’s asking for. The alternative is medical intervention, and frankly, that may not be enough after what you’ve put yourself through.”

Heavy silence. Reid crossed his arms, tension radiating from him in waves, even as he kept his expression flat. I recognized the scent, protectiveness, worry, barely reined in as he waited for me to say something.

Dr. Patel packed up her bag. “I’ll leave you with a revised treatment plan and extra meds. The rest is up to you, Kara. But as your doctor, I urge you not to dismiss the option that’s right in front of you, even if it’s the hardest one to accept.”

When the door closed behind her, I slumped onto the corner of my bed, the nest, really, since there was no point denying it now. I was exhausted. Not just physically, but in a way that felt like my bones were tired.

“You could’ve said something,” I muttered, staring at the piles of clothes and gear. “About all this.”

Reid didn’t move. “Would you have admitted it if I had?”

I clenched my jaw. “No. Probably not.”

“Exactly.” He pushed away from the wall, still not getting too close. “None of us minded, Kara. We knew you needed it, even if you didn’t want to see it yet.”

I looked at the evidence. Hoodies. Hats. Random objects with their fingerprints or their scent or their memories attached. “It’s humiliating.”

“Why?” he asked, and it was so earnest that it caught me off guard. “Because you have needs that make you vulnerable? Because your body is doing what it has to do to fix itself? There’s no shame in that.”

“It’s not the needs,” I ground out. “It’s the dependency. I’ve spent my entire career proving I don’t need anyone. Especially not Alphas. Now I’m supposed to just... rely on you? All of you?”

He fell silent, then said, “Did you think less of me when I told you about my rut suppressant crash? When I admitted I needed the whole pack to get through it?”

I shook my head, fast. “Of course not. That’s different.”

“Why?” Sharp, but not cruel. “Because I’m an Alpha? We’re allowed to need our pack but you’re not?”

The question hit its mark. “It’s not the same.”

His voice dropped, soft and relentless. “Isn’t it? All of us have designation needs, Quinn. But for some of us, no one ever told us it was okay to have them. So we pretend it doesn’t matter until it nearly kills us. That’s not strength.”