Page 75 of Heat Clickbait
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Callie
I woke to the sound of Margaret Cross's ringtone. A classical piece I'd programmed into my phone years ago that I'd never bothered to change. The screen showed 7:23 AM, entirely too early, and below the time, her contact photo from years ago when she still smiled at cameras instead of fleeing from them and her child.
Five bodies shifted around me in the nest, the pack instinctively responding to my sudden tension even in sleep. Nova's arm tightened around my waist, Milo mumbled something that might have been "five more minutes," and Ghost's eyes cracked open just enough to assess the threat level before closing again. Only Crash remained completely unconscious, drooling slightly on my shoulder while Blitz stretched like a cat disturbed from a particularly good dream.
I extracted myself carefully, padding to the bathroom to answer. The woman who'd given me life but couldn't give me presence better have a damn good reason for calling so early in the morning.
"Callie." Her voice held the edge of her old newscaster accent and carried that particular brittleness that meant she'd been rehearsing this conversation. "I'm in town."
The words hit like ice water. "You're what?"
"I've been here two days, working up the courage to call." A pause, the sound of traffic in the background. "I'm staying at the Marriott downtown. I thought... perhaps we could meet. All of us. You and your..." She struggled with the word. "Your pack."
I gripped the bathroom counter, staring at my reflection. Five distinct bite marks decorated my neck like a constellation of choices, with Theodore's being the newest, still slightly pink around the edges. My mother had left when I was a child to protect me from this exact scenario, multiple Alphas, public claiming, the complete loss of dignity she'd experienced.
"Why now?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Because I've watched your streams. All of them. The medical explanations, the individual dates, the way they refused to mark you during heat." Her voice cracked slightly. "I was wrong, Callie. Not about the dangers, those are real. But about you. You're stronger than I ever was. You found Alphas who see that strength instead of trying to break it."
"They're still asleep?—"
"I'll wait. I've waited years to have this conversation. A few more hours won't matter. Text me when and where and I'll be there on my best behavior. I promise."
After she hung up, I stood in the bathroom for long minutes, processing. My mother, who'd abandoned me to save me from biological destiny, wanted to meet the five Alphas who'd helped me embrace it while maintaining my independence.
"Everything okay?" Nova's voice came from the doorway. I glanced at him and found him perfectly groomed despite having just woken up. Because even unconscious, Nova maintainedbetter personal presentation than most people achieved with effort.
"My mother's in town. She wants to meet everyone."
His expression shifted through several complicated emotions before settling on supportive determination. "Then we'll meet her. Properly. As a pack."
Within an hour, the house had transformed into controlled chaos. Milo wanted to stress-bake, but we weren't giving him enough time to make anything, Ghost ran security protocols on the meeting location my mother had suggested, a neutral restaurant downtown, while Crash oscillated between outfit changes with the energy of someone preparing for either a first date or an execution.
"What if she hates us?" Blitz asked, doing pushups in the living room to burn off anxiety.
"She already hates the concept of us," I pointed out, trying to settle my own nerves. "This is about seeing if we can exist as actual people in her mind instead of cautionary tales."
When we got there I realized just how aggressively neutral the restaurant my mother had chosen was. It was the kind of place that served overpriced salads to people who wanted to be seen not eating.
It only took me one glance to find her. She sat in a corner table, hands wrapped around a tea cup like it was armor against the world.
Margaret Cross at forty-eight looked exactly like what she was, a woman who'd rebuilt herself from public humiliation into carefully maintained anonymity. Her brown hair, the same shade as mine before I'd dyed it pink in rebellion, was pulled into a severe bun. She wore beige everything, as if color might draw attention she could no longer afford.
When she saw us approach, all six of us moving with the pack synchronicity that had become second nature, her knuckles wentwhite around the cup. I was surprised that it didn't break or shake its way off the saucer if I was being honest.
"Mrs. Cross," Nova said, taking point with his perfect British manners. "Thank you for reaching out."
She studied each of them in turn, cataloguing. When her eyes reached me, they lingered on the visible marks on my neck. "You let them claim you."
"I chose to be claimed," I corrected, sliding into the chair across from her. The pack arranged themselves around us, not quite hovering but definitely present. "Big difference."
"Is it?" She looked at Milo, who was already fidgeting with the sugar packets. "When your heat comes, when instinct overrides thought, what choices remain?"
"All of them," Ghost said quietly, surprising everyone by speaking first. "We've proven that. We refused to mark her during heat specifically to preserve that choice."
My mother's expression shifted, reassessing. "You're the one who lost his first pack."
