Page 60 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Kara

Malik’s voice had been the first thing I heard, soft and steady, bleeding through my bedroom door.

He had been streaming a morning meditation again, some daily mindfulness ritual that had become such a staple in our apartment, it was basically white noise at that point.

Actually, no, it was more familiar than white noise.

I’d gotten used to the background hum of it, the cadence of his breath, the way his words would swell and fade, like waves moving in and out without ever breaking.

“…breathe in for four counts, hold for two, release for six. Feel the tension leave your body with each exhale…”

I stretched, shook sleep from my limbs, and the pack bonds hummed along with me.

I was hyper-aware of the claiming marks on my body, a new, not-unpleasant sensation.

Reid’s teeth on my left shoulder (protective as hell), Theo’s wild imprint on the right (no surprise), Jace’s neat little mark on my wrist, and Ash’s bite at the nape of my neck, anchoring everything else.

Each one felt different. Each one made sense.

These four Alphas, with their four flavors of obsession, and all of them had left something on me, a physical reminder, but also something more. Something fundamental.

And it should have felt complete, but it didn’t.

Not quite.

Because Malik.

He was the missing piece. Not just in the technical way, where his bond hadn’t sparked, that was part of it, but deeper than that, too.

It was like my entire nervous system was holding its breath, waiting for the last chord to resolve.

The symphony of it all was beautiful, sure.

But there should have been a fifth movement. A final note. His.

I rolled out of my nest, yes I was finally willing to admit that was exactly what it was. Without thinking, my hand landed on one of Malik’s meditation cushion. Not mine, technically, but it had wandered in one morning and now it just… lived here. Like it belonged.

I pressed my face into the fabric and inhaled.

Sandalwood and linen, earthy and sharp, nothing like Reid’s cedar and ozone, or Theo’s green tea and electricity, or Jace’s rain and snow, or Ash’s charcoal and vanilla.

This was Malik, calm and layered, hard to pin down, but once you did, you wondered how you’d ever gone without it.

What would his bond mean, exactly? What part of me would he claim, and how would it be different from the others?

I let the question needle at me all through my shower, the steam sticking to my skin, clinging in a way thoughts sometimes did.

I pulled on comfortable clothes as I listened to Malik’s stream still rolling in the background, somewhere down the hall, before I wandered toward him, drawn along like iron filings to a magnet.

His voice made me stop outside his meditation room, because I wasn’t about to interrupt a live stream and cause drama with his fans or screw with his headspace.

The door was cracked just enough that I could see him, cross-legged on his mat, sunlight bleeding in from the big windows.

Malik always looked the same when he meditated, straight-backed, hands gentle on his knees, eyes half-closed but somehow focused on everything.

“…and as we close our practice today, remember: mindfulness isn’t about perfection. It’s about awareness. Presence. Accepting yourself without judgment, not as you wish you were, but as you are, right now…”

The words landed harder than I’d expected. Like a gut check, but softer. Acceptance, not just tolerating, but actually accepting. No judgment, no angle, no grind. The others had offered me relief from one chaos or another, but Malik? It clicked, finally.

This was what he brought.

Presence.

The space to not fight against myself for five seconds, to just… exist.

He finished his stream, his voice clear and even all the way to the end: “Peace and clarity to you all.” Then the faint click of his mic, the equipment winding down. I waited until silence blanketed the room, then rapped quietly on the doorframe.

He looked up, and the smile he gave was all real, no performance. “Quinn. Morning.”

“Hey,” I answered. I hovered, still holding his cushion, a little stupidly. “Your session was good.”

“You were listening?” He waved me inside, easy as everything else he did.

“Just the end,” I admitted, stepping in. His scent was stronger here, but not overwhelming. “Didn’t want to mess you up.”

His attention sharpened; he had that way of really looking at someone, not just glancing. “You never interrupt,” he said. “You’re patient. You wait for the right second. Not unlike Jace.”

It was unsettling how accurately he could nail me. “Yeah. I guess so.”

He unplugged something on his desk, then turned back. No rush. “Was there something you wanted? Or just here for company?”

This was the hard part, putting the need into words when I barely understood it myself. “Actually… could you walk me through that breathing exercise? For anxiety, I mean. I feel off today.”

It wasn’t untrue. Just not the whole truth. I didn’t miss the way he tracked the hesitance in my tone. Still, he didn’t push.

“Of course,” he said. “Sit with me?”

He pointed at a cushion across from his. The mate to the one I’d been clutching. I settled in, legs folded, picking up his rhythm.

“Close your eyes,” he coaxed, that familiar, meditative tone dropping over us. “Focus on your breathing. Four in, two to hold, six out.”

I did it. Counted in, held, let go. The pattern was simple. After a few rounds, I heard Malik shift closer. Barely a gap between us now.

“Hand over your heart,” he said. “Feel it. Don’t change anything. Just… notice.”

The contact was grounding. It slowed the racing thoughts almost instantly. I breathed out, let go of the jittery, half-formed panic that had been gnawing at me since I woke.

“With every exhale, let something go. Not forever, just for right now.”

I started small. The restlessness. The itch. Then went bigger, letting go of the worry about belonging, about the future, about not being enough for any of them. With each breath, it loosened. Not gone, but not knotted up in my chest, either.

He didn’t talk much after that, just short prompts when I needed them. “That’s it. Just be here. Now. Nothing to fix.” His voice was a background hum, gentle and low.

I didn’t know how much time passed. Minutes, maybe. Maybe more. There was just the sunlight, the soft scratch of my own breathing, and Malik’s presence across from me, steady as bedrock.

When I opened my eyes, Malik was watching, head tilted, eyes a little darker than usual. Like he’d been waiting to see if something shifted. It had.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I could feel how true it was; the restless edge was still there, but manageable. “Thanks.”

He smiled, but didn’t look away. “I had a feeling the breathing wasn’t the only reason you came in.”

I almost laughed. “Am I that transparent?”

He shrugged, but there was nothing mocking in it. “To people who pay attention.” Pause. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He meant it. No pressure, but no escape, either. If I wanted to be silent, he’d let me. But I didn’t.

“It’s the pack bonds.” I exhaled, the words easier now that I’d had time to get used to the idea. “What they mean. What each of you reflects back at me. I’ve been trying to figure out what yours will be.”

Recognition lit up his face. “So you’ve been analyzing.”

“That sounds clinical,” I said, even though he wasn’t wrong. “It’s more like… realizing I see myself differently with each of you.”

“And you’re not sure what you’ll see, with me.”

“Right.” It should have been easy. I’d had enough therapy to know how these conversations went. But this… this was different. “It’s not that you don’t give me something, it’s just harder to define.”

He didn’t flinch at that. “Maybe because what I offer isn’t a thing, but a way of existing. Not an action, a lens.”

That nailed it. “So… mindfulness?” I tried the word out.

“Presence,” he agreed, voice softening again. “No judgment. Acceptance.”

I nodded, but it still felt like I was only seeing half the picture. “There’s more, though.”

“There always is, Quinn.” He shifted, his knee barely brushing mine. The contact sent a pulse through our half-formed bond. “But the question is, are you ready to dive into it?”

This was it, then. The final test. Not just naming the feeling, but letting it take over. I leaned forward, not even pretending to hide the want in it. “I want to see how it feels. Not just guess.”

His pupils widened; the scent in the room darkened, richer. “Are you sure? You don’t have to. You’re stable. If you need more time, or if you change your mind, I won’t push.”

He meant it, too. The lack of pressure, the way he never tried to take control, even when I was begging for someone to do just that, it made everything else fall away.

“I’m sure,” I said. “I want your bond, Malik. Not because I need another fix or because the others want it, but because I want you. That part of you.”

He was so still, for a heartbeat, I worried I’d screwed it up. Then he smiled, slow and careful, like he’d been waiting his whole life for me to say that.

“What do you think it will mean, for us?” he asked. Not a test. Not a trick. Just curiosity.

I took my time. “The others… they’re about survival. Action. You’re about… letting myself exist. Accepting that who I am, right now, is sufficient.” I looked at him directly. “I want that.”

He held my gaze, something bright in his eyes. “That’s more self-awareness than I generally see in a year’s worth of counseling.”

“I’ve had excellent teachers,” I said, dry. Five of them, and all a little too involved for their own good.

He snorted, then sobered. “So what do you want to do about it?”

Perfectly Malik, giving me the lead, even though we both knew I wanted him to take it. “I want to finish what we started,” I said, and I meant every word. “I want your mark. Your bond.”