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No, this is nothing. A bug, maybe. Or just the stress itself. It always wreaks havoc on my body. Nothing new there. It’s just the drop, the adrenaline ebb affecting me so damn badly as I start to wind down.
Brinlee is finishing her dance, and even from here, I can see her grin flashing. My gaze follows her curves, her legs… My dick aches. My ass clenches. I need to fuck.
The thought makes me snort.
So funny.
Roman leans over the bar toward me. He’s saying something but I can’t hear him over the beat of the music. I try to read his lips. Damn, his mouth is so sexy…
“What did you put in this drink?” I rattle the ice cubes in the glass. “It hit me hard.”
“That’s lemonade,” he says. “No alcohol. You only had one drink when we arrived earlier, that’s all.”
“What the hell? I feel drunk.”
“Hm… You’re flushed. Are you running a fever?”
It’s possible.
But I’m distracted from replying by two familiar, delicious scents: Kyrian. And Archer.
Smiling, I swivel on my barstool, leaving my non-alcoholic beverage on the bar. “Hey, guys.”
And then I see the other alphas crowding around me and flinch back. A smell hits me, so strong I gag. It stinks, burning my airways.
“Holy shit,” Roman says from behind me. “Ky? Arch? What’s going on?”
“We’re going home,” Kyrian growls, reaching for me. “Sawyer…”
“What’s wrong with them?” I nod at the alphas surrounding us. “Why the fuck are they staring at me?”
“They smell you, like I do,” Archer says, sliding a proprietary arm around me. “The whole bar can smell you.”
“What…?”
“When were you going to tell us you were going into heat?”
The next part is lost in a kind of dark haze. Kyrian and Archer get on either side of me, Roman following us, and somehow Brinlee appears in front of me and takes my hand.
“Hey, you,” she whispers in my ear, and I shiver pleasantly. It’s pleasant having them around me, but it’s also torture, because unlike the other, stinking alphas, my pack mates smell good, they smell amazing, and it makes me so hard I can barely walk.
“When were you going to tell us you were going into heat?”
Fuck.
Having taken suppressants religiously since I was given my designation results, I never experienced a heat—until now. It’s a strange out-of-body sensation while feeling, very intensely, certain parts of it.
The emptiness that needs filling.
The hard rod of my cock that needs friction.
My scent glands tingling, begging for a bite.
My legs tremble as we make our way through the crowd, every head turning to look. I don’t even know who will be manning the bar or the door when we’re away. I assume Archer made some calls.
A haze, like I said. Time seems to slip and jump, then stretch impossibly like sour candy spaghetti, before snapping back.
Stepping out of the bar.
