Page 18 of Reckless Consequences

I move aside as she kneels beside him, her fingers trembling slightly as she opens the specialized container. Inside lies a single vial of clear liquid—Mona’s booster.

“How do I—?” she starts, looking to me for guidance.

Despite the fever burning through me, I shift into medical mode, finding clarity through purpose. “IV push. Slowly. I’ll walk you through it.”

Her hands steady as I guide her through the process—prepping the injection port, measuring the dosage, administering it with careful precision. The intense focus on her face reminds me of when she hacks—that same combination of technical skill and intuitive leaps.

When our fingers touch during the procedure, electricity shoots through me. I swallow a moan, keeping my hands steady.

“How long until we know if it works?” she asks as the last of the medication enters Finn’s system.

“Minutes. Maybe seconds.” I check his vitals, scanning for any change. “Mona thinks it hits the virus head-on. If she’s right, we’ll know fast.”

Ryker appears in the doorway in tactical gear. His eyes find mine, taking in my state—the flush on my skin, my dilated pupils, the tremors. His cedar scent hits me hard.

“Suppressants failed,” he states rather than asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Another wave builds, threatening to overwhelm me now that the immediate crisis of administering Finn’s medication has passed. My internal temperature spikes again, sweat beading at my hairline and following the curve of my spine.

“But you held it off,” Cayenne says, her expression softening as she really looks at me, really sees the state I’m in. “You fought biology to take care of him.”

“Had to,” I manage, my voice rough-edged. My throat works visibly as I swallow back the omega keens building in my chest. “Pack needs him.”

“Pack needs you too,” she counters, rising from Finn’s bedside to approach me. Her pupils dilate as she draws nearer, nostrils flaring slightly as she inhales my heat scent. Her reaction is more intense than a beta’s should be.

A sudden change in Finn’s breathing pattern catches my attention—the harsh, labored gasps smoothing into something deeper, more regular. His oxygen monitor beeps once, the numbers climbing from 87 to 89, then 91. The fever flush recedes from his cheeks. His eyelids flutter, though they don’t open, and his fingers—which had been locked in rigid claws—slowly relax against the sheets.

“It’s working,” I whisper, watching the booster perform its miracle in real time. “Look—his color’s coming back.”

A collective exhale moves through the room. Finn’s lips move beneath the oxygen mask, no longer forming numbers and equations but something simpler. A name. Her name.

The room shrinks around us, air thickening with pheromones I can no longer control—dark vanilla and midnight jasmine reaching toward each pack member. Jinx makes a small sound near the door—half warning, half need. Ryker’s pupils dilate visibly, his scent intensifying in response to mine.

“Cayenne,” I warn, backing up until I hit the wall. My temperature spikes higher. My underwear is soaked, each movement sending pleasure through me. “My heat—it’s too close. If you touch me?—”

“I know.” She keeps walking, every step full of purpose. Her eyes track me with predatory focus that seems more alpha than beta, a designation shift visible in the planes of her face and the dominant set of her shoulders. “I brought what Finn needs. And I’m staying. For all of it.”

“You don’t understand,” I try again, back hitting the wall. The contact sends splinters of pleasure-pain racing across my nerve endings. My entrance clenches with painful emptiness. “The suppressant’s rebound effect—it’s going to be intense. Dangerous. I can’t?—”

“You don’t have to hold back anymore,” she says, stopping close to me. Her citrus scent mixes with my vanilla, creating something new and right. “You’ve been waiting for me. Now I’m here.”

Her hand finds mine. Heat explodes through my system. My knees buckle as pheromones fill the cabin.

Sensation overtakes me completely, perception narrowing to the single point where our skin connects. Every nerve ending beneath her touch fires simultaneously, pleasure radiating outward. A sound between whimper and moan escapes me, omega need impossible to contain any longer.

She catches me, her arms surprisingly strong as she guides me toward the nest I’ve been unconsciously building. The contrast between her cooler body and my fever-hot skin creates delicious friction, each point of contact sending new waves of pleasure cascading through me.

“I don’t regret waiting,” I gasp, fighting for clarity even as biology claims me. “Wanted you here. All of you.”

“I’m here,” she confirms, her voice steady despite the pheromones affecting her too—her pupils dilating, a flush spreading across her cheeks, her own scent intensifying in response to mine. “For all of it.”

Through the haze closing in, I catch the shift in Finn’s breathing—slower now. Steadier. The angry red flush of fever completely faded from his skin. His hands, which had been restlessly plucking at the sheets, now lie still. The oxygen monitor shows 94% and climbing—almost normal range. The booster is doing more than working; it’s reversing damage we thought might be permanent.

We’re together again. And for the first time in what feels like forever, safety wraps around us—quiet and warm.

The last clear thought I have before biology takes over is this: Roman Sterling got it all wrong. It was never about designations. Never about strength or skills. It’s this—us. The way we choose each other. The way we bleed and fight and still come back. Vulnerable. Fierce. Whole. We’re not dangerous because we were built to be. We’re dangerous because we became. Together.

As the haze claims me fully, I feel something I never expected in the midst of biological imperative.

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