Page 114 of Strays
“Dr. Lindstrom isn’t happy,” she says, sighing as she sets the phone on the table. “I had to explain why I need more time off right after just getting back, and he went speechless for an entire minute when I said the wordheat.”
That reminds me that I need to make our own arrangements at work.
I call the Solomons first. The reaction is completely different from Jo’s human supervisor. The second I say our mate is going into heat, Josh is all over it.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Take care of your nyra. I’ll formally place your pack on a week of heat leave. DEA will be notified.”
I hang up and glance at Jo. She already seems calmer. I don’t know if it’s the clarity of what’s happening, or the comfort of seeing us get everything ready for her heat, but her mood’s lighter, more like herself. Still, she fusses around the nest on and off all day, rearranging pillows and blankets, only to move everything again ten minutes later.
By nightfall, she finally looks satisfied.
A nest is just a wide mattress over a wooden platform, so it usually resembles a human bed, only much bigger. Jo likes to cover it with soft sheets and stack a few pillows at the head. It never really looked like a nest, not in the way the word implies. I never questioned why it was even called that until now. This is different.
She’s arranged pillows and blankets around the edges, building soft walls with a deep center. When she curls up in the middle, she’s almost invisible. It looks exactly like a nest now.
We press in around her, tight and close, the nest pulling us into a ball of warmth. I don’t sleep much, just light dozing, waking over and over to check on her. But at some point, I must have gone under deeper, because the next thing I feel is Jay shaking me.
I jolt awake, Shane stirring beside me.
“She’s running hot,” Jay says.
Jo’s still asleep. I press my hand to her forehead, and Jay’s right; she’s burning up.
We debate whether to wake her, but we don’t really know how this works, so we let her sleep, trusting her body to wake her if it needs to.
I’ve never resented not having my fathers around. After they gave up on finding my mother, I hated being near them, watching them with Lydia, like they’d forgotten my mother ever existed.
Watching them raise their sons with her to form a pack, while I was condemned to be a solitary aegis, would’ve been worse than anything I went through in the Strays Program. And not having Jay and Shane is just unthinkable. They’re part of me.
So, in the end, I’m grateful my fathers gave me up.
But right now, this is the first time I feel their absence like a weight in my chest. They would’ve explained everything. Taught me how aegis care for their nyra during heat. I have no idea what I’m doing.
I try to sleep again, but it’s no use. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, counting my own heartbeats. When the sky outside the window starts to lighten, that first faint glow of sunrise creeping in, Jo’s scent goes wild.
A wave of spice rolls over me, so potent it knocks the air from my lungs. It’s blinding. A rut fog slams into me out of nowhere, and I have to fight it with everything I’ve got just to keep my mind clear. Everything I’ve ever felt or thought about desire suddenly feels distant and weak.
This is insane.
My cock’s throbbing, leaking through my shorts. I’m trembling, hands twitching, the urge to touch her, take her, scraping at the inside of my skin. I swallow hard. Her scent fills my nose, my throat. It burns. A hum starts deep in my chest, but this time it’s different. It’s deeper, resonating through my bones, louder than it’s ever been.
When I reach out to check her again, heat radiates off her skin. She’s on fire.
Shane and Jay are up in an instant. I didn’t wake them; her scent did.
They’re already humming too, loud and raw, the sound tearing straight from their chests. We sit around her in the nest, all three of us shaking. Fighting it. Holding back. Waiting for her to wake up.
Jo shifts in her sleep. Just a small motion at first, her shoulder twitching beneath the blanket, one knee pulling up. Then a low sound, not quite a whimper, rises from her chest.
We freeze. Jay’s fists curl, and Shane swallows hard. My pulse slams against my throat, and for a second, I can’t breathe. The last time I felt like my body was rebelling against my mind like this, it was the day we met her. I clench my jaw and lock every muscle to keep still.
It must be a dream, though, because she’s still asleep.
Shane shifts beside me, breathing unevenly. His jaw’s clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching in his cheek. “I’m gonna… walk it off,” he mutters, voice raw like he’s been holding back a scream.
I nod. Jay doesn’t even look up, just says, flat, “Track if you have to.”
But Shane doesn’t move. He’s glued to the nest, torn between getting out and staying near her. He meets my eyes, and I can see how much it costs him to breathe.
