Page 9 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kara

I wasn’t proud of the way I fell apart.

Twenty-four hours ago, if someone had told me I’d end up carried around by five Alphas in some kind of pack parade, I’d have laughed.

Hell, I probably would’ve made a meal out of that story for the next six months.

But now? Now I was clinging to Reid like my life depended on it, head tucked against his neck so tight you’d have to pry me off.

It was like I couldn’t actually breathe unless I was inhaling every ounce of his scent. Pathetic. Welcome to my new low.

"Her fever's getting worse," Reid muttered, his voice low and grim. The reply came from Malik, which tracked with the hit of spice in the air, cardamom and something cleaner, something herbal, like a tea I couldn't name.

"Suppressant withdrawal," Malik said, totally deadpan, like this happened every day. His hand was cold against my burning forehead. "We need fluids. And something for the fever. She must not have taken any of the meds we left for her."

There was a time, not even that long ago, when I would’ve had something savage to say about the way they were talking over my head, but my body had different ideas.

Another tremor ripped through me, burning all the way to my fingertips, lighting every nerve on fire.

The sound I made, high and desperate, felt like it belonged to a stranger. I barely recognized it as my own.

Reid must have felt it. "It's okay," he rumbled, voice so deep and steady it was almost hypnotic. "We've got you. Just breathe."

Everything blurred after that. The drive, the voices circling around me, the way the world dissolved every time I closed my eyes.

"--doctor on standby–"

"--need to draft the announcement–"

"--contract details–"

If they said anything else, I didn’t hear it. I must have blacked out, because the next thing that registered was the sound of a door opening and bright, clean sheets under my cheek. New room. No scent. Strangely bland, like a hotel.

"Where?" My voice was a mess. I could barely manage the word. My mouth felt full of gravel.

"Guest room at our place," Reid said, setting me down like I was made of glass. I could hear him, but it was like listening through a wall. “Scent-neutral. We had it prepared."

Of course they did. Every box checked, all according to plan. Never mind what was actually happening to me. Omega charity case, now available in a sterile guest suite.

"Need to talk," I said, forcing myself upright even though my body protested every inch. "Terms."

Reid’s eyebrows climbed. "Right now? You can barely sit up. You’re in withdrawal, Kara," he pointed out, not even bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "possibly heading for a medical crisis, and you want to negotiate?"

I gripped the blanket, freezing him in place with my best death glare. Not that it was particularly intimidating with my teeth practically chattering out of my skull and me clutching the blanket so hard my nails nearly tore through it. "Now," I repeated.

For half a second, I thought he’d argue. He didn't. Instead, a reluctant smile cocked the corner of his mouth. "Stubborn as ever," he said. "Alright."

He waved Malik and Jace away, the former was dispatched for water and meds, the latter to call the doctor. In seconds it was just us, the weird intimacy of business negotiations while I shook apart on a designer duvet.

"Your conditions," Reid said, voice clipped. "Separate rooms, no scenting, business arrangement. What else?"

I tried to focus. The fever made it feel like my brain was full of cotton. "Six months. Not a day longer."

"Done."

"I keep creative control. No micromanaging. I stream how I want, when I want. You don't get to dictate my brand."

He didn't even blink. "Within reason. The point is that we're creating content, not changing who you are. The audience gets you, the real you, or nothing."

"I'm not a prop," I snapped. "You want a doormat, find another Omega."

It was supposed to be an insult, but Reid just shrugged. "We want you for you. That's the angle. Your brand is built on being impossible."

I eyed him, suspicious. "So what do you want from this, exactly? What's the catch?"

He ticked it off like a shopping list: "Joint streams. Some pack dynamic content. Behind-the-scenes stuff. The enemies-to-packmates story arc. That's it."

"And the Omega angle?" The phrase tasted like poison and I couldn’t keep the disgust out of my voice.

Reid’s face tightened. "We don’t exploit that. We say what happened, a medical situation, then move on. No heat content. No designation bait. Nothing like that."

Before I could decide how I felt about his answer, Malik returned. He handed me water and pills with clinical efficiency, then hung back by the door.

"The doctor will be here in an hour," he said to Reid. "She wants her hydrated, watching for increased heart rate or confusion. Standard protocol."

I downed the pills gratefully, the water almost sweet against my throat.

Reality was still fuzzy, but I was tracking better now.

The fog may not have cleared immediately, but I was starting to feel a little less like I’d die in the next five minutes.

“I need my phone. My laptop. I have to call my manager. "

"Already handled," Reid said. "Victoria Smith is in talks with our manager now."

That, more than anything, made my blood run cold. Suddenly it was hard to look at him. "Victoria knows I’m here?"

He considered for half a second. "Is that a problem?"

I looked away, jaw tight. "She's the one who got me the suppressants. The illegal ones."

Reid and Malik traded a look, the kind that said they’d already guessed it.

"Nexus Management has a reputation," Reid said quietly.

"She’ll want me back on them eventually, I just know it. Brand consistency and all," I said bitterly.

"That’s not happening," Reid countered, and even feverish I could feel the power in his voice. "Those suppressants were killing you."

"They were keeping me employable," I snapped. It was true, and I didn’t even bother to sugarcoat it.

He leaned in, eyes locked on mine. "Not anymore. The world knows now. The only question is what story you want to tell."

I sagged against the pillows, drained. "And what story is that?"

His answer was infuriatingly simple. "Up to you. But I'd go with the truth, late-presenting Omega, misdiagnosed as Beta, medical complications, now recovering with a supportive pack."

It was perfect. Squeaky-clean. Just close enough to reality to make everything else fade out, including the years of hiding and the chemical damage I’d deliberately done to myself.

"Why are you doing this?" I finally managed. "Really, Reid. What do you get out of this?"

He was silent for a long time. When he spoke, I almost didn’t recognize his voice. "Remember the Apex Invitational three years ago?"

I frowned, trying to summon the memory. "Vaguely. I placed fifth."

He huffed a humorless laugh. "I placed seventeenth. I was going through Alpha rut suppressant failure during the finals. Off stream, but… it nearly killed me. I was on blockers. My team had to cover for me."

I stared. Of all the things I’d expected, empathy from Reid Maddox was not one of them.

"You hid it." My voice was flat.

"Had to. My reputation, our team contracts… everything was on the line. But after that, I swore I'd never let anyone else go through it alone. Especially not someone as stubborn as you."

For a second, I couldn’t come up with a single retort. All my old comebacks felt useless.

"So this is guilt?" I tried, but it came out soft, almost grateful.

He shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. Also, you're the best competitor out there. Losing you because of designation politics would be..." He broke off. "It'd be a waste."

The door burst open then, and just as well, because I had no idea how to deal with that admission. Theo bounced in, face flushed, brandishing a tablet.

"Contract draft!" he announced, as if we'd all been waiting for this moment. "Six months, joint content, shared revenue. It's ironclad."

He handed me the tablet. I scanned it, even as my hands shook, and what I saw was terrifyingly thorough. Living arrangements, content expectations, revenue shares, privacy clauses, medical coverage, even non-disparagement. It had the weight of something they'd been perfecting for days.

"You had this ready fast," I muttered.

Ash showed up in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "We started the moment your stream crashed. Figured we'd need it eventually."

"So you knew I’d cave?"

"We hoped," Reid corrected. "Big difference."

My eyes skimmed the medical clause. "You're covering the doctor?"

"Pack Wrecked LLC is." Reid’s expression didn’t change and there was zero hesitation. "It’s a business write-off. We need you healthy."

Clinical. Efficient. I tried not to feel anything about it.

"One more thing." I passed the tablet back, fixing Reid with a glare. "No heat content. No Omega fan service. I want it in writing."

He scrolled right to it, finger tapping a paragraph I’d missed. "Designation privacy. Content veto. Guaranteed."

Another tremor knocked the wind out of me, leaving me curled on my side like a child. I didn't fight it or try and hide it this time.

"We should let her rest," Malik said softly. Reid agreed, and they made for the door.

I caught Reid’s wrist before he could leave, surprising both of us. A jolt of awareness triggering another wave of need to wash through me. "I'll sign now," I said. "Let's not drag this out."

He hesitated, then gave me this look that was almost sad, if I hadn’t known him. "You always have options, Quinn."

"Not ones that won't bury me," I replied. Then, with more force, "This is a business arrangement. That's all."

He brought up the signature line and handed me the tablet. "Just so we're clear. Content partners. No pack bonds, no designation anything."