Page 19 of Omega's Fire

I close my eyes, letting my forehead fall forwards to the wall. My body aches from tension, from the uncomfortable ride in the car with my wrists cuffed, from the adrenaline crash following my violent awakening. I’m exhausted, hungry, and completely at the mercy of a man I’ve spent years opposing.

The reality of the situation settles into me and I suddenly feel unaccountably tired.

Two weeks minimum. Two weeks trapped in here with Nash Thorndike, waiting for my body to betray me. I know the science. Prolonged proximity to a high-compatibility alpha will trigger my heat cycle. It’s inevitable.

They don’t need my consent. They just need time. But they have no idea just how damned stubborn I can be. I am not doing this.

I open my eyes and find Nash watching me from the kitchen. I catch his gaze and hold it, letting my determination show, letting him see exactly what he’s up against.

The pull between us is unmistakable, making itself known even through my anger. I feel it like a tug beneath my ribs. It’s like gravity trying to draw me toward him.

I pull my gaze away and settle more firmly against the wall, stretching my legs out on my makeshift bed. Outside, the sun continues its arc across the sky, marking the passage of the first day of my captivity. Two weeks stretch before me. I wile away the time calculating the hours and minutes. 336 hours, 20,160 minutes of constant temptation and testing.

I focus on that number. 20,160 minutes. Each one a battle I intend to win. I can do a minute at a time.

Leo Torres might be trapped in a cottage with his Bureau-mandated asshole, but he will not be broken.

Not by Nash Thorndike. Not by the Bureau.

I know what’s going to happen. It’s unavoidable. I’ve read every research paper that Nash Thorndike has ever written. He might be wrong about a lot of things but he is right about others.

I’m going to go into heat while I am here. The two week window and our proximity guarantees it. I already know I am going to give in to it. Slick is already coating my thighs. I’m not going to give in until the last possible moment. It’ll just be sex and, if I am honest with myself, I’m really looking forward to it.

In the mean time, I’m not going to engage. I’ll do what I have to do get through this and that’s it. I close my eyes again, steady my breathing, and begin to count the minutes in sixty second increments.

One down. 20,159 to go.

I can outlast him.

Nash

It feels like silence becomes a third resident in the cottage. For five days, I watch Leo maintain his protest by the wall. He keeps his back straight and his shoulders rigid. His gaze fixed on nothing.

He sits in the same spot, day after day, as if he could turn himself into a statue through sheer force of will.

I’m impressed by his willpower, annoying as it is, but I always knew I was going to have to fight for him.

The first morning, I’m acutely aware of his state of undress. He’s wearing nothing but boxers, his skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool air. I turn the heating up and the goosebumps go away but he still doesn’t move or even seem to notice.

They brought him here with nothing. The thought sends a flash of anger through me. Director Rowe should have thought of that. She told me they were going to treat him with care. They didn’t even let him get dressed.

“You can wear some of my clothes,” I say on the first day, placing a folded stack of my own t-shirts and sweatpants on the coffee table. “They’ll be too big, but they’re clean and better than nothing.”

He doesn’t acknowledge them. The clothes remain untouched all day. It is ridiculous. I know he’s making his point, but he can’tspent two weeks in the same set of boxers.

At midday, I call the Bureau’s security post on the old-fashioned landline.

“This is Dr. Thorndike. I need appropriate clothing delivered for Mr. Torres.” I keep my voice low, though I know Leo can hear me from his position by the wall. “Medium shirts, probably 30-32 waist pants.” I’m estimating—Leo refuses to tell me even this basic information. “Underwear, socks, basic toiletries. As soon as possible.”

The clothes arrive by late afternoon. I place them silently near him and retreat. Later, when I return from a walk by the lake, Leo has finally dressed himself. The clothes hang slightly loose on his frame, but cover him completely. He seems marginally more at ease, or at least I think he is. It’s hard to tell and I’m not sure how much is me wanting him to relax and finally let me in.

The days pass. He showers religiously, twice daily: once after waking, once before bed. Always for around fifteen minutes. I wonder if it’s a need for privacy, a routine to maintain some sense of control, or if he’s trying to wash away my scent that inevitably permeates the small cottage. Perhaps all three.

I have to be affecting him. He is affecting me. He smells so good, I just want go to over to him and bury my nose in that sweet soft space at the nape of his neck. I don’t do it. I can’t even begin to imagine the reaction. I have to play this carefully. A single wrong step is going to make everything so much harder.

Still, his scent is driving me mad. I walk around with what feels like a permanent erection. My body reacts to him instinctively.

“Seems like a lovely day. We could go for a walk around the lake,” I say on the second morning, attempting conversation as I place coffee near him. No response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

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