Page 64 of Knot Your Romeo

I work quickly, stripping my spare bedroom of everything unnecessary and building a proper nest with every soft surface I can find. My Omega instincts are responding to her distress, making me want to create the most comfortable, secure space possible for her.

When I return to the living room, she's curled into an even tighter ball, making soft sounds of distress. Her scent has intensified again, filling my apartment with a sweetness that makes my head swim despite my suppressants.

"Come on," I say, helping her to her feet. "Let's get you settled."

The nest seems to provide some comfort. She burrows into the blankets immediately, but continues to shift restlessly, unable to find relief. I sit on the edge of the bed, running cool fingers through her shortened hair.

"This is embarrassing," she mumbles into the pillow. "I should have known. Should have prepared better."

"There's nothing embarrassing about this," I tell her firmly. "Having a heat is natural Omega biology. The fact that stress triggered yours doesn't make it your fault."

"Jude," she whispers, turning to look at me with desperate eyes. "I need... can you...?" She doesn't finish the sentence, but I know what she's asking. What her body is screaming out for? What I can't provide despite every instinct demanding that I try to help her.

"I can't give you what you really need," I say softly, hating the words even as I speak them. "But I can try to help in other ways."

I fetch a damp cloth from the bathroom, placing it on her forehead. I bring water and protein bars, knowing she needs to stay hydrated and maintain her strength. When she begs me not to leave her alone, I stay beside the nest, holding her hand while she drifts in and out of restless sleep.

By three a.m. her condition has worsened significantly. The fever is higher, and her tears flow freely—not from emotional distress, but from the physical need her body can't ignore.

"Please," she sobs, reaching for me. "Jude, please. I can't take this anymore."

My heart breaks as I gather her into my arms, letting her bury her face against my neck. "I know, sweetheart. I know it hurts."

"Help me," she begs. "Use your fingers, anything. I just need..."

The request tears at something fundamental in my chest. She's not asking for romantic intimacy—she's asking for basic relief from biological torture. And while I can't give her the knot her Omega demands, I can try to ease her suffering in smaller ways.

"Are you sure?" I ask quietly. "I don't want to take advantage—"

"You're not," she gasps. "You're the only person I trust right now. Please."

With gentle hands, I help ease the worst of her physical distress, using my fingers to bring her to climax after climax. It's not romantic—it's a medical necessity. A friend helping a friend survive something neither of us can control. But even temporary relief isn't enough. Within minutes of each orgasm, the need builds again, stronger than before.

Hours pass in a cycle of desperate need and brief respite. She dozes between waves of heat, and I hold her, trying to keep her cool and comfortable. But as dawn approaches, I realize something that makes my blood run cold.

My temperature is rising.

At first, I tell myself it's just exhaustion, stress from caring for her through the night. But when I press my hand to my forehead and feel the familiar burn of fever, and my scent starts to shift and intensify, I know the truth. Her heat has triggered mine.

It's rare but not unheard of—Omegas in proximity can sometimes trigger each other's cycles, especially during times of high stress or emotional connection. My suppressants, strong enough to prevent spontaneous heats, are no longer powerful enough to override a biologically induced response.

"Jude?" Jolie's voice is weak but concerned as she notices my distress. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie, but I'm already pulling out my phone with shaking hands. "I just need to make a call." She doesn't need to deal with my heat on top of her own. She needs help—real help—from Alphas, who can give her what she truly needs. And despite every complicated feeling I have about the Silver men, I know they care about her enough to put her needs first.

I scroll through my contacts, finding Eli Silver's number from the faculty directory as one of Romeo’s next of kin. My hands shake as I type out a message.

Emergency. Have Jolie with me. She's in heat and needs help. Can you come? Bring Beck.

The response comes within minutes.

Elias: On my way. Address?

I send my location, then return to Jolie's side. She's watching me with glassy eyes, lucid enough to understand what's happening.

"You called them," she says. It's not a question.

"You need Alphas," I tell her simply. "And despite everything complicated between you all, they care about you. They'll help."

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