Page 1 of Heatwaves

“Lila, don’t make me come up there and drag you downstairs. You know I will.” My mom’s voice filters up the stairs, drawing a sigh from me.

I have zero desire to attend today’s event, which I’ve told my parents repeatedly. But, as they pointed out, my heat is coming whether I want to go to the annual heat meet and greet or not.

“I’m coming, Mom,” I call down, trying to fight my annoyance. It’s not her fault I’ve reached the age of my first heat. It’s the one thing I’ve always dreaded.

I hate the idea of being a slave to my body for a week, but it’s not something I can change. It’s the way of whale shifters.

Our biology is very different from humans and other supernaturals, closer to blue whales in this aspect. Once a year during winter, allfemales aged twenty-one to one hundred twenty go into heat as our bodies ready us to get pregnant. The heats last anywhere from two days to seven days but will end early upon conception. Otherwise, it continues to its natural end. Since this is the only time we can get pregnant, it’s a big deal.

Not that I have any intention of getting pregnant anytime soon. Just the idea of carrying a baby for up to a year is reason enough to hold off as long as possible. Barring any complications, whale shifters are born within the three-month period of winter.

For nearly a hundred years of our two-hundred-year lifespan, we go into heat every year. The only exception to this is if we’re pregnant or just had a baby. But you can bet your ass that next year, we’ll go into heat again.

Though I’ve asked time and time again, no one has been able to explain to me why we have to spend ninety-nine years going into heat. Who the hell wants to have a baby over a hundred?

It’s so freaking ridiculous, and I hate it.

Running my hands down the white dress my mom picked out for me, I glance at the full-length mirror and grimace.

It’s not that I hate the dress. In fact, if it were for any other event, I’d probably love it. It hugs my curves without being too tight before flaring out at the hips. The fabric of the skirt moves with me when I walk, and I love the way the soft material feels against my thighs. It’s shorter than what my mom would usually pick for me, but since she’s trying to pimp me out, I’m not all that surprised.

At least I was able to convince Mom to let me do my own hair and makeup. It meant I got some time away from her to get ready. She’s been up my ass all day today.

I almost wish I hadn’t agreed to get ready at their house, having moved into my own place over a year ago. I just couldn’t tell my dad no when he asked—even though I know he was asking for my mom.

Forcing myself to step away from the mirror, I head down the stairs. My mom isn’t bluffing about coming up here and getting me. I’m a grown-ass adult, and I don’t need my mom dragging me down the stairs of my childhood home because I don’t want to go to an event.

It can’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be, right?

Gods, I hope not.

Both my mom and dad are waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Dad grins up at me while Mom stands there with her hands on her hips, foot tapping impatiently. It takes more effort than it should not to roll my eyes at her, reminding myself over and over again that I love her.

“You look beautiful, honey.” My dad pulls me in for a hug as soon as I step off the last stair, and I allow myself to melt into his arms.

I’ve always been closer to my dad than my mom. My mom is a great parent, and I’d fight anyone who said otherwise, but we don’t understand one another. She doesn’t understand why I feel the need to question the status quo, and I can’t figure out why she’s fine with it. It’s put us at odds on more than one occasion once I hit my teenage years.

“We’re barely going to make it there on time,” Mom says as she turns toward the door, and my dad reluctantly releases me from his embrace. “Making us late isn’t going to change the outcome. You’re still going to go into heat, and you need to find someone—or multiple someones—to help you through it.”

I bite my tongue, not wanting to lash out at her. Though part of me wants to insist I’m notpurposefully trying to make us late, I know it’s a lie.

Taking a step toward the door to follow her, I pause when my dad squeezes my hand. His eyes remain on Mom until the door shuts behind her.

“You know, she just wants to make sure you find a pod to help you through your heat. If not a pod, then at least a couple of men who don’t mind sharing, even if they’re not a part of a pod. She’s just worried about you. She doesn’t want you to have to spend your first heat like she did—alone and miserable.”

My eyes widen as shock reverberates through me. In all the talks my mom has forced on me over the last year, she never once talked about her first heat. Now I know why. My shoulders droop as my anger deflates.

“I know she loves me and only wants the best for me. I wish she would’ve shared that information with me. It might have been easier for me to understand where she is coming from. But what she wants for me and what I want for myself are two completely different things.”

Dad nods. “I know, honey. But let’s just give her today, yeah? And who knows? Maybe you’ll even enjoy yourself.”

“Fat chance, Dad,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll try. That’s the most I can promise.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

With one last squeeze, he releases my hand and follows my mom out the door. It’s times like this I wish I had siblings so my mom’s full attention wasn’t focused on me. Unfortunately, my parents hadn’t been able to have any other children after a complication following my birth.

Rolling my head from side to side, I try to work out the tension in my neck. It’s only a few hours at the beach, surrounded by every whale shifter in the area. It can’t be that bad, right?

---