Page 5 of Heat Clickbait
"We're Bond Pack," I started, extending my hand across the table with practiced professionalism that suddenly felt inadequate. "I'm Nova, and we're actually here specifically looking for an Omega collaborator for a new series we're developing about modern pack dynamics and changing relationship structures in the streaming community."
She stared at my hand for a heartbeat too long, and I watched something shift in her expression. It was a recognition that went beyond professional interest, deeper than simple networking. When her fingers finally met mine, even through her obvious chemical barriers, even through every defense she'd erected, something in my chest went very, very still.
The world narrowed to the point of contact between us, to the way her pulse fluttered against my palm, to the sharp intake of breath she tried to hide.
Behind me, I heard Crash stop bouncing for the first time all day.
Heard Milo's sharp intake of breath, the sound he made when something surprised him.
Felt Ghost's sudden, intense focus like a weight against my shoulders.
Saw Blitz's pupils dilate in my peripheral vision, his whole body going unnaturally still.
The empty nest room we'd built seemed to pulse in my mind like a second heartbeat, all those carefully planned details suddenly taking on new significance.
Professional collaboration,I reminded myself desperately, though my voice came out rougher than intended.Nothing more.
But my body, traitorous thing that it was, had already decided otherwise.
CHAPTER THREE
Callie
The moment I sat down at table eleven, something in the air shifted.
Not gradually, not subtly, shifted like tectonic plates grinding against each other before an earthquake, the kind of seismic movement that sends animals fleeing hours before humans feel the first tremor. My hand was still extended from our handshake, fingers still tingling from the brief contact, when Nova's scent hit me through three layers of industrial-strength blockers, through the synthetic strawberry haze of my vape that had been clinging to my clothes since morning, through every chemical defense I'd meticulously erected between myself and the world over the past year.
Aged whiskey, the expensive kind that came in crystal decanters and spoke of old money and older traditions. Leather-bound books, the smell of knowledge preserved in volumes that had been handled by countless careful fingers. Amber warm enough to drown in, rich and golden and completely overwhelming.
My knees went liquid, joints dissolving like they'd been held together with nothing more substantial than hope. Theconvention center chair beneath me — standard issue plastic and metal that had probably supported thousands of networking conversations, suddenly felt unstable, like it might dissolve and leave me sprawling across the industrial carpet with its geometric pattern in corporate blues and grays. Our hands were still connected, his fingers wrapped around mine with a grip that had started professional, firm but brief, and had transformed into something desperate in the span of a single heartbeat.
"I—" The word came out strangled, caught in my throat like I'd swallowed broken glass. My voice cracked like I'd been screaming for hours, though all I'd done was breathe him in. Once. That's all it had taken. One breath, one moment of my carefully constructed defenses failing, and my entire body had rewired itself around his presence like he was magnetic north and every cell in my body contained iron filings.
Nova's pupils dilated so fast I watched it happen in real-time — those warm brown irises consumed by black until his eyes looked almost feral, wild, like something that belonged in the deep woods rather than a sterile convention center. His breathing had gone shallow, quick little sips of air like he was trying not to drown in whatever he was scenting from me despite my blockers. The professional smile he'd been wearing when I first approached, polished, practiced, the kind that had probably closed a thousand deals, shattered into something raw and hungry and completely unguarded.
"Fuck," someone whispered behind him, the word cutting through the ambient noise of dozens of other speed-dating conversations. Crash, the purple-haired Alpha who'd been bouncing in his seat with nervous energy just moments ago, had gone completely still. His stillness was wrong, unnatural, like a video buffering mid-motion or a hummingbird suddenly frozen in flight.
My hand trembled in Nova's grip. Not a small tremor, not something I could hide or pass off as caffeine jitters, full-body shaking that started in my chest and radiated outward through my nervous system until even my teeth chattered. Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading through my veins like injected sunshine, like molten honey flowing through pathways that had been dormant for too long. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, every nerve ending firing at once in a symphony of biological chaos I had no hope of controlling.
"Your scent," Nova said, his cultured British accent rougher now, the polished edges scraping away to reveal something primal underneath, something that spoke to parts of my brain that existed before civilization. "You smell like?—"
"Don't." The word ripped out of me, sharp with panic and desperate authority, but even as I said it, my body betrayed me completely. I leaned toward him across the small table, the motion involuntary, magnetic, like gravity had restructured itself around his presence and I was simply following the new laws of physics.
Behind Nova, the other four Alphas had abandoned all pretense of casual observation. Whatever they'd been discussing before I sat down, collaboration opportunities, streaming schedules, the weather, had evaporated the moment my scent began breaking through my chemical barriers. Milo's hands gripped the back of Nova's chair white-knuckled, his usual easy smile replaced by something intense and focused. Ghost had looked up from his phone for what might have been the first time all day, those dark eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my hindbrain scream warnings and want in equal measure. Blitz had risen halfway from his seat, all that carefully cultivated muscle coiled like he was ready to either flee or pounce, fight or flight responses warring across his features. And Crash? Crash was recording, because of course he was, his phone held in ashaking hand as he documented what might be the most career-destroying moment of my life.
"We should discuss collaboration opportunities," I managed, though my voice sounded nothing like my usual confident streaming persona, nothing like the carefully modulated tones I used when negotiating sponsorship deals or chatting with viewers. It came out breathy, desperate, like I'd been running marathons or climbing mountains instead of sitting in a plastic chair. "I think I overheard part of your pitch earlier about a pack dynamics series? It sounds absolutely fascinating, and I think my audience would really respond to?—"
Nova's thumb brushed across my knuckles, and I lost all capacity for speech. That single point of contact, smaller than a quarter, sent electricity shooting up my arm, down my spine, pooling between my thighs with mortifying intensity. My body clenched around nothing, a physical ache that made me bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, to leave marks I'd have to explain later if there was a later.
"Jesus Christ," someone said from a nearby table, their voice carrying over the white noise of convention chatter. "Are they?—?"
"Scent matching," another voice confirmed, excited and breathless like they were witnessing something rare and spectacular. "Holy shit, that's an actual scent match reaction. I've never seen one in person before."
Phones appeared in my peripheral vision like mushrooms after rain, sprouting from every table within a twenty-foot radius. The distinctive sound of cameras clicking, videos starting, social media notifications pinging as people began livestreaming what was supposed to be a simple networking event. My career, my carefully crafted brand, my independence? It was all dissolving in real-time as strangers documented my body's betrayal. But I couldn't look away from Nova's face, fromthe way his jaw had gone tight with restraint, from the visible struggle between his Alpha instincts and his desperate attempt to maintain professional control.
My scent blockers were failing catastrophically. I felt them breaking down under the biological stress, the chemical barriers melting like sugar in rain, like sand castles against a rising tide. The sharp medicinal smell that had been my armor for months gave way to something else, something I'd been hiding for a year, something that made all five Alphas inhale sharply in unison like they were sharing the same nervous system.
Spun sugar, the kind that dissolved on your tongue at carnivals and state fairs. Chili pepper, bright and dangerous and warming. And underneath, growing stronger with each rapid heartbeat, vanilla sweet enough to cause cavities, pure enough to make bakers weep.
