Page 27 of Omega in Love
Those plans assumed we'd stay professional.
Now? Those plans are fucking useless, like trying to follow a tactical manual while the building's already burning down around you.
"Alright, let's call it there for a sec!" I shout across the set, louder than necessary, my voice cutting through the ambient chatter and music. The photographer frowns, confused, camera still raised, but I don't wait for his approval or anyone else's. My priority hasn't been the job for a long time.
Brookes turns toward me, and that's when I see it, his pupils blown wide like dark pools drowning the warm brown of his irises, lips parted as he gasps quietly through the rising storminside him. His skin is flushed and sweaty, a fine sheen making him glow under the lights, and he looks like he's barely holding on, fingers trembling as they reach instinctively toward me. In that moment, he looks both impossibly beautiful and terrifyingly vulnerable.
"Dante," he says, voice a fragile thread that doesn't sound anything like the confident, quick-witted man I've grown to—no, I won't even complete that thought now. Not when he's looking at me with those terrified eyes, the rose scent of him turning sharp with distress.
"Right here, Petal." I'm beside him in a heartbeat, arms around his waist before he can stumble, feeling the feverish heat radiating through his thin clothes. My thumb brushes the small of his back instinctively, finding the spot that always soothes him. "We're taking you home."
"I. . .I didn't think it would be this fast. I stopped the suppressants two weeks ago." His words tumble out, rushed and panicked, eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape that isn't there. "I thought I had more time. I didn't tell you, I'm sorry—" The confession crashes between us, another complication in an already treacherous situation.
"Shhh. Doesn't matter. You're safe. We've got you," I reassure him, deliberately lowering my voice to that register that steadies him. The same tone I used the night he woke screaming from nightmares, the night I promised myself I'd never let anyone hurt him again.
He shudders against me, and I feel the sharp edge of pain pulse through his body, a tremor that starts at his spine and radiates outward. His muscles are tense under my hands, rigid with the first real contraction, and when he whines, quiet but broken, it feels like something cracks open in my chest.
"Levi, now!" I bark, my eyes never leaving Brookes' face, memorizing every flicker of discomfort. "Get Hero. We'releaving." No discussion, no debate, my Alpha voice slipping out despite my best efforts to contain it.
People around us are starting to notice. Crew members exchange looks, whispering behind cupped hands, and one of the stylists takes a step closer, too close, her curiosity trumping basic decency. Hero intercepts with fluid efficiency, his body a wall between Brookes and the rest of the room, his voice calm but firm as he clears a path toward the exit, using that quiet authority that makes people step aside without question.
Brookes grips my shirt in his fists, bunching expensive fabric between trembling fingers, burying his face in my neck where my scent is strongest. "It hurts," he whispers against my skin, words meant only for me.
"I know, baby. I know." I lift him carefully, one arm under his knees, the other around his back, cradling him against my chest like something infinitely precious. He doesn't resist. He curls into me like he's trying to disappear, making himself small in a way that conflicts with everything I know about Brookes Daniels, who's spent years taking up space in a world that tried to diminish him. That, more than anything, tells me how weak he truly is right now.
His scent is thick now, rolling off him in waves of desperation and need. His fragrant rose scent transformed into something headier, laced with pain. It hits me hard, base instincts flaring in my bloodstream like wildfire, but I grit my teeth and push it down until my jaw aches. This isn't about wanting him. This is about protecting him, even from the animalistic part of myself that's clawing to respond.
The car ride is a blur of streetlights and tension. Levi drives, fast and silent, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, taking corners with precision. Hero's in the backseat with me, one arm braced across the seat like he's physically willing the world to stay away, his body angled toward the windows, scanningconstantly. Brookes lies across my lap, writhing now, tiny gasps escaping his parted lips, his body arching with each wave of heat.
"Please," he whispers, again and again, the word becoming a broken prayer against my chest. "Please, it hurts. Fuck, it burns, like I'm being scorched from inside."
"I know. Just hold on, Petal." I brush the sweat-damp curls from his forehead, hating how inadequate the gesture feels. "We're almost there. Just a few more minutes."
He pants, his breath hot against my neck, "Hurts, it hurts everywhere. Please do something. . .anything." The desperation in his voice cuts through me like a blade, making my throat tight.
"He's burning up," Hero murmurs, voice tight. "Turn the air up, Levi. He can't suffer like this."
Levi reaches for the controls as the air conditioning blasts cooler air into the back seat.
Brookes fingers claw weakly at my chest, bunching my shirt then releasing, only to grab again. His thighs tremble where they brush my legs, muscles spasming with each fresh wave. Every movement is frantic, desperate, like he's being torn open from the inside out, his body seeking relief it can't find on its own.
Hero catches my eye over Brookes’ shuddering form and nods once, his expression grim but determined. "We'll set up the spare room. Nesting blankets, low lights, scent diffusers. You take him straight there when we arrive."
Levi's voice cuts in from the front seat, steady despite the tension thrumming through the car. "I'll pull the mattresses from the other rooms. We'll triple stack and layer the floor with blankets. He needs soft, warm, safe—a proper nest. I've got the temperature controls ready on my phone."
It's organized chaos. Improvised, frantic, but methodical in the way only trained operatives can manage. We'll make it work. We have to. There's no other option when it comes to him.
Brookes is whimpering by the time we pull into the garage, his body slick with sweat, his skin too hot to the touch. His scent has turned feverish, like blooms left too long in the sun. I lift him again, my arms trembling not from his weight but from the restraint it takes to move with careful precision when every instinct screams to claim, to soothe, to possess. His scent clings to me, coating my lungs with sweetness and need, pressing against my control like a physical force. My dick is painfully hard against my suit pants, but I relegate that discomfort to the background where it belongs. This isn't about me.
"We're here," I murmur against his temple as I push open the door to the spare room with my shoulder, cradling his head against the movement. "We've got you, Brookes. Right here with you."
The space is already half-nested, pillows and duvets strewn across the mattresses in hasty layers, the lighting dimmed to a warm golden glow that won't hurt his sensitive eyes. It's not perfect, not the elaborate sanctuary an omega in heat deserves. It's not even close to what I'd prepare given time. It's something though, a start, a shelter.
He clutches me tighter, fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt with surprising strength, his voice hoarse and raw. "Don't leave me." The plea cuts through my chest, settles somewhere beneath my ribs.
"Never." The word comes out like an oath, rough and sacred. I lower him onto the bed, trying to untangle him gently, but he follows me down, pressing his body along mine like he's terrified I'll vanish if he loosens his grip for even a second. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are liquid with fever and fear.
"I need you, Dante, I need—" He breaks off, unable to articulate what his body is demanding, frustration etched into the lines of his beautiful face.
