Page 33 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

That sent a jolt of reluctant laughter through me, too. "We're a disaster. There's no way this would make sense to anyone else."

"But it works for us," Malik said, steady as ever. "That's all that matters."

As conversation drifted back to the tournament, to the next week's stream plans, to Theo's latest dumb gaming stunt, I felt something settle in my ribs. Like my body finally believed it could rest.

These five, with their stubborn loyalty and sharp edges and terrible humor, had become necessary. Not because of some stupid designation, but because they had earned it. Earned me.

They'd seen the worst of me, the panic, the withdrawal, the meltdown, the heat. And stayed. Listened. Adapted. Never once treated me like I was less.

They didn't want an Omega because they had to, or in spite of it. They wanted me, full stop. With all the mess and contradiction and weirdness that came with it.

And for the first time since this entire disaster started, I didn't feel alone.

My body was still wrecked, nothing about my future was secure. But now, when I looked at the abyss, I didn't have to face it solo.

After dinner, we lingered at the table longer than usual.

Nobody seemed in a hurry to scatter to their separate corners like we normally did.

The conversation had drifted from tournament logistics to random gaming stories, but underneath it all was this new current, an awareness that something fundamental had shifted between us.

Eventually, Malik started clearing plates, and the rest of us followed suit without discussion. Even that felt different. More synchronized. Like we were all operating on the same frequency for the first time.

"Den?" Reid suggested, glancing around the group. "More comfortable for talking."

I nodded, even though my stomach was doing nervous flips. We'd crossed one line tonight, but there were still bigger conversations waiting. The kind that would determine whether this fragile new thing between us would actually work.

The den was warmer than the kitchen, all soft lighting and worn furniture that invited you to sink in and stay.

I ended up on the main sofa, tucked into the corner where I could see everyone.

The others arranged themselves around the room with that same unconscious choreography from dinner, close enough to feel connected, far enough to not crowd.

But even with the casual positioning, tension hummed in the air. The kind that came from wanting something you weren't sure you were brave enough to ask for.

Theo was the first to crack, because of course he was.

"So about the scenting thing," he said, his usual grin flickering with something more serious underneath. "I just want you to know that I've been wanting that for a long time. Probably straight from that first disaster when your heat crashed on stream. If not before."

I barked a hollow laugh. "What did you feel? Pheromones through the ethernet?"

"The recognition," Malik said. "There’s a name for it. Pack resonance. Like your biology is three steps ahead of your brain."

I rolled my eyes. "That’s designation myth, a folk story."

Reid didn’t budge. "You really think that? Then why did we drop everything when you needed backup? Why did you call us, and not someone else, when shit hit the fan? Why are we doing all this pack behavior already?"

I had nothing. If I said what I was really thinking, I’d probably scream.

"The point is," Reid pressed, "this doesn’t have to end on anybody’s schedule, not unless you want it to."

That landed hard. They weren’t offering contract extensions, or even just pack support. They were offering something permanent. I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

"And if I do this," I managed. "If I agree to try pack bonds, what happens when it falls apart? If the sponsorship tanks? If you all get sick of me?"

Theo cut in with a grin. "If we turn out to be assholes?"

I glared at him. "I already know that part."

That broke the tension. All of them actually laughed, which was so much more terrifying than silence.

Ash was first to recover. "The job and the bonds are separate, Quinn. We can keep one and drop the other, if it comes down to it."

Reid nodded, eyes never leaving me. "Neither has to end if we don’t want it to. That’s what we’re saying. It’s not up to anyone else."

I stared at them for a long, unsteady moment. Five Alphas, all staring back, all basically offering their lives on a platter. It should have been suffocating. But it wasn’t.

"I don’t know how to do this," I said. "I don’t know how to be in a pack without losing everything I’ve built myself into. How to need people without it turning into dependence. How to be an Omega and not just some stereotype."

Malik’s voice anchored the room. "The bonds don’t erase you, Quinn. They give you more to work with. That’s the whole point."

Jace was gentler. "It’s mutual, you know. We need you as much as you need us."

I stared, surprised. "You need me? For what?"

He shrugged. "Balance. Perspective. The energy you bring to the channel, the way you keep us on edge."

"Calling us on our bullshit," Theo added. "No one does that better."

Ash nodded. "Technical skills. You push me to keep up. Competition makes us both better."

"The way you’ve handled getting back up after the health crash," Malik said. "My audience admires you, Quinn. A lot."

Reid didn’t add anything for a while. Then, even quieter than the others: "You make us better, period. Not just as streamers, as people."

It would have been easier if they were lying. But they weren’t. I could smell it.

"So what now?" I asked, voice rougher than before. "If I try this, what happens next? Is there, like, a checklist?"

Malik smiled a little. "No rituals. Just let what’s already happening keep happening. Shared spaces, scenting, routine pack stuff. Only as much as you want."

"Nothing sexual unless you want it," Reid said plainly. "Pack bond doesn’t mean dating. That’s a separate conversation."

"But the offer is open," Theo winked.

I snorted in spite of myself. "One crisis at a time."

Reid leaned forward. "We go at your pace. That’s all. No pressure."

I scanned the room. Five alphas. Every single one of them had seen me at my worst and hadn’t run. Not even close. The part of me that wasn’t terrified was… almost hopeful.

My stomach fluttered. "So. First step?"

Reid shook his head, amused. "Nothing formal. For most people, it’s just scent exchange. That’s where recognition starts."

Jace added, quietly, "If you’re comfortable."

My heart was trying to climb out through my ribs. Scenting was personal. Physical. The kind of thing I’d spent years engineering my life to avoid.

"Now?" My voice actually wobbled.

Theo was already up, grinning like an idiot. "No time like the present. Unless you need to wait?"

Did I? I considered for about half a second. "No. Let’s just get it over with. Before I change my mind."

Malik asked, gently, "Who do you want to start with?"

Five sets of eyes landed on me. I could have picked anyone. But in the end, it was no contest.

"Reid," I said, barely louder than a whisper.

His reaction was instant, a flash of satisfaction, then he shifted beside me on the sofa, carefully close. The rest clustered around, quietly intense but not crowding out the space.

"You don’t have to do anything," Reid said, easing the words out. "Just breathe."

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving me the chance to flinch or object. I didn’t. I held still, let his face dip to the side of my neck. His breath ghosted over my skin, and the first contact, a brush of his nose, just under my jaw, nearly short-circuited me.

His scent bloomed, real and raw, thunder and warmth, something dangerous and protective at once. He inhaled, slow, and the tension in his body eased.

"Your turn," he murmured. Bared his own neck in offering.

My hands shook, but I leaned in anyway. Up close, his scent was more complicated, layered with things I didn’t have words for. My body reacted before I could think about it: I inhaled, deep, and felt something shift under my skin. Something biological. Primal.

Pack.

Alpha.

Mine.

Instead of fear, the thought brought relief. Almost a feeling of rightness pulsing through me.

When I pulled back, the room felt different. I felt different. Some internal balance had recalibrated, fighting against months of spiraling chaos and finally winning a round.

"Okay?" Reid’s voice was low, gentle.

I nodded. Maybe grinned.

Theo was next, his scent caffeine-bright, energetic, but pulled in at the edges, like he knew this could knock me over.

Then Jace, quieter, methodical, his scent polished and strange, persistent in a way that reminded me of ink stains and cold snow.

Ash was after that, careful but steady, vanilla and charcoal wrapping around me like a weighted blanket.

Malik last, his scent grounding, steady: sandalwood and linen, the cool clarity of someone who could meditate through a hurricane and come out smiling.

By the time we’d finished the circuit, I felt rebuilt. Or at least, less broken-up than I’d been before.

"How is it?" Malik asked, eyebrows up.

"…Better," I said, testing the word. "Calmer. Like my body stopped free-falling for two seconds. Is that normal?"

Malik’s smile was small but real. "Exactly what’s supposed to happen. It’s chemical. Gets your system back online."

"Which is why every part of you was screaming for it," Jace said. "Even when you wouldn’t let yourself admit it."

I looked at them, really looked, and I realized for the first time in years that I didn’t feel alone. Not just empty noise, or forced teamwork, but actual, tangible connection.

"Thank you," I said, but it sounded pathetic. "For… not giving up, even when I made it impossible."

Reid leaned forward, steady as always. "We never would have. That’s the point of pack. We don’t leave people behind."

The rest picked the conversation up, momentum shifting back to the everyday: dinner, schedules, memes.

But I just sat there, quietly feeling the difference.

The bonds weren’t metaphor anymore; I could sense every one of them, thin threads of recognition and stability that didn’t just reinforce me, they steadied me.

My old training wanted to scream at the dependency, to fight it tooth and nail.

But there was something else, something the suppressants could never reach, a biological part of me that had spent eight years clawing to survive.

It was the first time in my life I’d stopped fighting, and started adapting.

And maybe, just maybe, that was real strength.

So I sat there, surrounded by five Alphas who had seen me at my worst, who still wanted me exactly as I was. In that moment, I was Kara Quinn: Omega, streamer, pain in the ass, actual member of a pack.

It wasn’t defeat. It wasn’t giving in.

It was finally, finally coming home.

My only question, one I would refuse to dwell on, was whether or not this would be enough?