Page 27 of Omega's Fire

Something cold settles at the base of my spine. Something’s wrong.

“You okay?” I ask, watching as he moves around the room, seemingly searching for something. A moment later, he finds it—a Bureau-issued gray hoodie. He bends grabbing it and I notice the slight wince as he moves. His body is still recovering from the intensity of the last few days. The alpha in me roars at the sight, wanting nothing more than to bundle him back to bed and tend to every ache, but I force myself to remain still.

He’s not looking at me.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. His heat was perfect. It opened his eyes to the inevitability of our bond. Instead, he’s moving like a stranger, as if nothing has changed.

I rise from the bed and move to intercept him. When my fingers brush his arm, he freezes.

“Hey,” I say, softer now. “Look at me.”

He does, finally, and what I see in his eyes stops my breath. Nothing. No warmth. No recognition of what we shared. Just cool detachment. I lean in to claim his mouth with mine. He turns his head at the last moment, my lips grazing his cheek instead. He smells as wonderful as ever and his skin is warm. I smile at him, trying to find that connection again.

“Don’t,” he says quietly, stepping back. “We both know what that was.”

There’s a hardness to his tone that makes the floor feel like it has shifted beneath my feet. “Do we?”

“It was my heat. Nothing more. I told you that.” He shrugs into the hoodie with what feels like finality. “I’m not interested in pretending otherwise.”

His words hit like ice, sharp and sudden. I cross my arms overmy chest, suddenly aware of my nakedness. “That wasn’t just a heat.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Post-heat bonding talk. So predictable.” He moves toward the door. “I’m gonna make myself coffee.”

“Leo, wait—”

But he’s already gone, leaving me alone, naked and confused.

I find him in the kitchen, preparing his coffee. He doesn’t look at me or even acknowledge my presence.

“We should talk about what happened,” I try again, keeping my voice measured despite the anxiety climbing my throat.

Leo takes a deliberate sip from his mug. “Nothing to talk about.”

“You can’t seriously believe that.” I lean forward, trying to catch his eye. “What we shared—”

“Was a heat. That’s all.” His gaze remains fixed on some middle distance. “You got what you wanted. I got through it. End of story.”

A flare of frustration burns through me. “That’s not what happened and you know it.”

“What I know,” Leo says, finally meeting my eyes with cold precision, “is that I only have five more days to wait out. I’ll be gone soon. Better get used to it.”

His words leave me speechless. Five days. Five more days until our mandatory cohabitation period ends. And he can simply... walk away.

Panic surges through me, fierce and unexpected. Leo can’t leave. It isn’t right. The pull I feel toward him is cellular, atomic. It can’t all be one-sided.

“Leo—” I begin.

“No.” He cuts me off. Then he’s gone again, moving outside to the porch, leaving his coffee half-finished on the counter.

I stand frozen in the kitchen, staring after him through the doorway, completely rattled. This wasn’t supposed to happen.Why is Leo fighting this? I could feel how he reacted to me during the heat. He wanted me. I know he did. I felt it.

What if bonding isn’t always reciprocal? What if it can be one-sided, the chemistry hitting one person differently than the other? Maybe that’s what’s happening here. It would explain everything—his reluctance, his coldness, the way he can stand there and pretend that what we shared meant nothing. Oh my god, it would explain the reluctance of other omegas in the system, the ones who fight the matches despite the science. That can’t be right. We both feel it. We have to. The thought that this might be one-sided makes nausea rise in my stomach, bitter and choking.

I swallow then follow Leo out onto the porch. He gives me a disdainful look and goes back inside, retreating to his corner, the one he claimed when we first arrived at the cottage. He sits again, staring at the wall. We’re back where we started. Worse, maybe.

No. We still have five days. No prime match has ever failed and we are more than prime. We are a 98% match. There is no possibility that this can fail. I take the chair closest to him, staring at his face, desperately thinking.

Okay, he’s right about the chemistry. We are compatible in that. That argument is getting me nowhere. I need to show himwhyit is important. He needs to understand why we are a good match.

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