Page 55 of Want It All

It was three in the morning when my phone began to vibrate.

I didn’t bother to check it, didn’t even roll over to look at the number. It would be a spam call, or someone trying to steal my identity, neither of which I wanted to deal with in the too-early hours.

I rubbed my eyes. I was tired – so fucking tired – but sleep was impossible.

I couldn’t remember the last time I felt rested.

The Banksia clinic had contacted Dr. Ford and my APF team, and they’d prescribed new sleeping tablets, but they were like tranquilisers.

They knocked me out for longer than I cared to be unconscious, and I felt like death when I woke up, complete with headaches and nausea.

I was getting pretty desperate, though; I suspected that in a few days’ time, I’d be reaching for the packet.

My phone stopped vibrating. I sighed with what felt like relief and turned my attention back to the comedy I was watching.

My phone vibrated again. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I muttered, rolling to pick it up.

I froze.

Tristan Grace calling .

There was no way he was calling me, and equal chance of my answering. I ended the call and threw my phone across the bed.

Where it started vibrating again.

Dread stabbed at my stomach. What if he was calling about Rose? She’d texted a couple of days ago and said that she and Sebastian had caught the flu. She’d sent some intermittent memes since then, but what if something had happened? What if she needed to go to hospital?

I reached for the phone, then balled my hands into fists until it rang out.

Rose and I hadn’t defined what was going on between us.

I was desperately in love with her, and I didn’t doubt her feelings for me, but we didn’t have labels yet.

I wasn’t her boyfriend, her partner, her packmate, or her emergency contact.

Tristan wouldn’t call me about something like that. He’d call Rose’s parents.

‘Stupid,’ I muttered to myself, then my breath hitched as my phone vibrated again. Maybe he’d already called her parents. Maybe she was already in hospital. Maybe … Maybe it was even worse than that.

I swallowed against the remembered grief, against the memory of the officers on our doorstep, their hats in their hands, their faces showing matching sorrow. But if it was that bad, then mum would know, and she’d be calling me, too. There’d been no missed calls from other numbers on the screen.

Why the fuck is Tristan calling?

It clearly wasn’t a pocket dial, not when he’d tried so many times. I could hear a number of secondary buzzes that meant someone was texting me, too.

I pressed my hands against my eyes and groaned at the ceiling.

It was curiosity that got me in the end. I reached across and grabbed my phone, reading through the string of text alerts.

Pick up the phone, Griffiths.

Don’t be such a dick. Pick up.

I scoffed. As if he could fucking talk.

Please. Pick up.

Byron, I need help.

I stared at the last text, my stomach churning. Byron, I need help .

My instincts roared to life. Your mate needs you .

‘Fuck off,’ I muttered at them.

My phone vibrated again. Tristan Grace calling .

I answered before I could regret it. ‘What the fuck do you want, Grace?’

‘You picked up.’

He sounded surprised. I pushed down the sudden wave of longing that came with hearing his voice. ‘Yeah, well, calls in the early hours of the morning don’t tend to be light conversations, do they?’

‘No,’ he agreed awkwardly.

Fuck, it was so agonising. I may have been a complete tool, but he’d been just as bad. What a fucking pair we are. I was right when I told Pravin that my scent match was probably an asshole. I just left out the fact that I was one, too .

‘What do you mean by need help , Grace?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Sebastian is in heat.’

I sat up straight. ‘In preheat? Fuck. What does he need? I can drive –’

‘No,’ Tristan interrupted. ‘He’s in full heat. He has been for four days now.’

‘Four days ?’ I repeated, incredulous. ‘That isn’t … Full heat? Are you sure ?’

‘He’s not coming out of it.’ For the first time, I heard the desperation in Tristan’s voice. ‘He’s still deep in the haze. And I – and we –’ He inhaled sharply. ‘We need help.’

If I wasn’t already sitting down, my knees would have given way. Still in the heat haze? Heats generally lasted no more than a couple of days: one for preheat, two for the haze, and a couple of quiet days after for recovery.

We need help .

It wasn’t just Tristan – it was Rose, too.

‘To be clear,’ I said slowly, ‘what do you need from me?’

‘I can’t –’ His voice caught. ‘I can’t keep doing this on my own. Rose is amazing, but he needs knots, and I –’

‘Grace,’ I interrupted, incredulous. ‘Are you asking me to come and fuck your omega ?’

‘I’m asking my scent match to come and take away his omega’s pain,’ Tristan retorted sharply. ‘I’m asking my mate to do his fucking duty to his pack and help his omega through his first heat .’

Well, shit.

We were both silent after that.

‘I don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet,’ I said at last.

‘This isn’t about us, Griffiths,’ Tristan answered.

He sounded tired, as if he’d used up all his fight in his last retort.

‘It’s about Sebastian.’ He cleared his throat; he almost sounded close to tears.

‘Either you’re the alpha I think you are, and you’ll help, or you’re not, and you’ll turn your back on an omega in pain.

It’s up to you. I’ll leave our door unlocked for an hour. ’

He ended the call.

I sat and stared at my black phone screen. My reflection stared darkly back.

‘Fuck you, too, Grace,’ I muttered.

Fuck you – because you’re right .

If I walked through their door, I wasn’t just walking into a heat.

I was walking into a heat with an omega I cared about, who happened to be partnered with my scent match ; an omega who was the scent match of the woman I was in love with.

It couldn’t get messier if it tried, but at the same time, it was overwhelmingly simple.

If I walked through their door, I was walking into a heat with a pack .

The question was whether I could get out of my own way long enough to take my place in it.

I’ll leave our door unlocked for an hour .

‘Fucking hell,’ I muttered, and left my bed.

I showered first, washing off any hint of artificial scent, and all my cancellers.

I rinsed my hair, making sure I couldn’t smell shampoo or conditioner, then dried off and pulled on clean clothes.

When I was done, I messaged my parents, letting them know what was happening, though I didn’t expect they’d see it until morning.

I trusted them with Sebastian’s secret, though I imagined my mother would have a few choice words the next time I saw her.

The kitchen was my next stop; I pulled out all the berries in my fridge. They were already washed and ready to eat, so I divided them into containers, then cut up some apples and pears.

Tina never wanted anything but fruit during her heats, she’d told me.

I grabbed some bottles of water, too, and some elderflower cordial, just in case. If Sebastian didn’t want anything, it didn’t matter, but it was better to be prepared.

Four days .

I inhaled. I’d never knotted anybody before. What if I fucked it up? What if I hurt him?

My phone buzzed. Are you okay, B?

My heart constricted at the text from my dad.

I’m okay , I sent back. I’ll update you .

A moment later, he responded. Not with too much detail, I hope .

I snorted. Absolutely not. Go to bed. Love you .

Love you , he sent back. You’re an amazing alpha, B.

I closed my eyes until the pricking feeling stopped.

I sent a message to my APF team via my monitors, then texted Dr. Ford, letting them know what was going on – with no detail, of course; I knew Sebastian wasn’t registered – so they wouldn’t send someone to check on me if I was radio silent for a few days.

After that, there was no excuse to stay in my apartment, so I grabbed the berries and the drinks and slipped outside, locking my door behind me.

The corridor lights were dim. Clouds had hung around the coast since the big storm a few days ago, so there was no light from the moon or stars when I passed by the windows.

It would have been comforting to see them, but I guessed I was on my own.

I knocked softly when I got to Tristan and Sebastian’s apartment. There was no answer; when I turned the handle, the door opened silently.

My groan was not so quiet.

Scent washed over me: cherry, chocolate, vanilla.

After so long in the scentless bubble of Banksia, my body went tight as I drew them in.

I wanted to drown in those sweet scents, to bury my face in them and never surface.

I wanted to taste them from the source, wanted the flavours sliding over my tongue –

‘Alpha?’

With difficulty, I pushed my instincts aside and closed the door behind me, making sure to catch every lock. The air purifier on the wall was already set to high. I didn’t want anyone else scenting my pack; those perfumes were for me .

‘Omega,’ I said softly.

Sebastian looked terrible. There were huge shadows under his eyes, and his skin was dull and sallow. It seemed as if he’d lost weight since the last time I saw him; his pyjama shorts hung low beneath his hip bones. His lips were swollen and chapped.

He was still more beautiful than he had any right to be.

‘I gave permission for you to come, but I wasn’t sure whether you would.

’ It was clear he was still deep in the haze: his pants tented over his crotch and his usually clear blue eyes were cloudy.

He didn’t look wholly real; he was an alpha’s dream come to life; a fantasy made flesh.

‘If you run again, there won’t be another invitation.

I won’t let you hurt him – hurt us – a second time. ’

‘I understand.’

His eyes fixed on the bag in my hand. ‘What did you bring?’

I pulled out the containers of berries. ‘Some fruit and some drinks. Would you like some?’