Page 87 of Marking Mia

I clap my hand over my mouth, horrified at what I’ve just said, but it’s too late. Jace’s eyes have darkened, his pupils blown wide with lust. In the tight confines of the car, I can smell his arousal, musky and wild- and it makes my mouth water.

My eyes drift down to the prominent bulge straining against his jeans. I lick my lips, imagining how he’d taste on my tongue, how he’d feel, stretching my throat as he fucks my mouth. The images are so vivid, so explicit, that I have to squeeze my thighs together again to relieve some of the pressure building there.

“Fuck,” Finn mutters from the driver’s seat, and I realize he’s watching me in the mirror and can see exactly what I’m thinking reflected on my face.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my cheeks flaming. “I didn’t mean to say that. I need to get myself under control. I’ll be fine once this passes.”

Kane’s hand closes over mine, squeezing gently. “It’s not going to pass, Mia. Not on its own.”

I turn to look at him, dread pooling in my stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that once an omega is in heat, there’s only one way to ease the pain,” he says slowly. “You need to be knotted. Repeatedly. Until your body is satisfied that it’s been bred.”

What the hell?If I give in to these urges and let them fuck me through this heat, there’s no way I won’t endup pregnant.

“There has to be another way,” I insist, even as another cramp doubles me over. “Birth control or something.”

“Human birth control doesn’t work on werewolves,” Kane explains quietly. “And the herbs that can prevent conception for our kind need to be taken before the heat begins. It’s too late now.”

The car falls silent except for the sound of the engine and my labored breathing. No one speaks as the minutes tick by, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. My mind races, trying to find a solution, an escape, but my body knows what it wants—what it needs.

I need to be impregnated.

When Finn finally pulls into the driveway of their home, I’m the first one out of the car, stumbling toward the entrance on shaky legs.

“Let me carry you,” says Kane.

“No, I’m fine,” I say, my skin tight and my clothes an unbearable layer against my hypersensitive flesh.

I need relief. Need something—anything—to make this burning agony stop.

I practically run into the house once Finn unlocks it, heading straight for the kitchen. The cool tile floor beneath my bare feet offers momentary relief as I grab a glass and fill it with ice water. I gulp it down, then immediately refill it, desperate for anything that might lower my body temperature.

As I desperately gulp it down, I can still feel the clenching heat in my belly.

Face hot, I splash cold water on my face, letting it drip down my neck and soak the collar of my t-shirt. It helps for about three seconds before the heat returns, worse than before.

“Fuck,” I gasp, bracing myself against the counter as another cramp seizes me. “This isn’t working.”

The three alphas hover in the kitchen doorway, watching me with varying degrees of concern, while their pants are tented with arousal. I can feel their eyes on me, can almost taste their need to claim me, to ease my suffering in the only way theyknow how.

“Mia,” Kane steps forward, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re fighting your biology. It’s only going to get worse.”

“He’s right,” Finn adds, his usual stoicism cracking slightly as he watches me struggle. “Your body needs what it needs. There’s no shame in that.”

“I’ve heard stories about omegas who try to wait out a heat,” Jace says. “It’s not pretty. It becomes dangerous.”

“Dangerous, how?” I ask, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turn white.

“You’ll become feverish,” Kane explains. “Delirious. Your temperature will continue to rise until your body begins to shut down. An omega needs her alpha’s knot during heat. It’s not optional, Mia. It’s survival.”

Another wave of pain hits me. This one is so severe that my knees buckle. I slide to the floor, pressing my cheek against the blessed coolness of the tile, tears streaming down my face.

“I can’t,” I sob, curling into a ball as my insides twist with need. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not ready for any of this!”

The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—primal, overwhelming, animalistic. It’s not just physical; it’s etched into my very DNA, a biological imperative screaming at me to submit, to open my legs and take what my body so desperately craves.

Through my tears, I see Kane dropping to his knees beside me. His hand, when it touches my face, is blessedly cool against my burning skin.

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