Page 70 of Omega's Fire

“The world isn’t that black and white, Leo.”

“It is when it comes to consent,” he shoots back.

We’re still at the red light, and I take the opportunity to really look at him. The morning sun catches the gold in his hair, and his jaw is set in that stubborn line I’m beginning to recognize.

“You’re right,” I say quietly. “About consent, you’re absolutelyright. That part is black and white. What I did was wrong, full stop.”

“But?”

“But that doesn’t mean the science behind scent matching is wrong. Just how we’ve used it.”

Leo’s quiet for a long moment. “Sometimes I hate how reasonable you sound.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Don’t push it.” But there’s a hint of smile in his voice.

“I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson on pushing it.” I say as I turn into the parking lot. “I’m trying,” I say quietly. “I’m probably going to screw up again but I am trying.”

Something in Leo’s expression softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

We sit in the parked car for a moment, neither moving. The space between us feels charged.

“My phone’s been going crazy too,” Leo admits. “Reporters wanting soundbites.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing yet. I’m still processing.” He absently rubs his belly. “She’s been active all morning.”

“Can I?” I gesture toward his stomach.

Leo hesitates, then nods. I reach across the console, placing my hand gently on the swell. Almost immediately, I feel movement—a flutter, then a more definitive kick.

“Strong girl,” I murmur.

“Like her dad,” Leo says, then blushes. “I mean—”

“I knew what you meant.” I reluctantly withdraw my hand. “We should go in.”

The community center is warm, welcoming. Leo signs us in at the front desk, and I notice he writes “L. Torres and N. Thorndike” on the participant list. The casual acknowledgment that we’re here together makes something warm bloom in mychest.

The class itself is held in a small room with yoga mats arranged in a circle. Five other couples are already there, chatting quietly. They all look comfortable with each other, hands intertwined or resting on bellies, the easy intimacy of established pairs.

Leo and I are not that. We sit carefully on our mat, not too far apart and not too close.

“Welcome, everyone,” the instructor says. She’s a warm, maternal beta named Susan who immediately puts the room at ease. “Today we’ll be practicing positions and breathing techniques for labor. Partners, your job is to provide physical support and encouragement.”

She demonstrates various positions, and then it’s time to practice. Leo struggles to his feet, one hand pressed to his lower back.

“Here,” I say, offering my hand.

He takes it, and the contact sends the familiar electricity through me. His scent is as intoxicating as it’s always been.

“The wall position first,” Susan instructs. “Partners, apply counter-pressure to the lower back.”

Leo braces against the wall and I position myself behind him, hands carefully placed on his lower back. Through his sweater, I can feel the tension in his muscles.

“Too much pressure?” I ask, moderating my strength.