Page 86 of Heat Clickbait
"There's a private room," Jenny said, her professional smile softened by genuine concern. "You can take all the time you need. The convention has protocols for this now, partly because of—" She gestured at us.
"Because we made scent matching into a viral nightmare?" I supplied.
"Because you showed it could be navigated publicly with dignity," she corrected.
We escorted them to a quiet space, one of those anonymous conference rooms that could be anything to anyone. Tara hadn't let go of the lead Alpha's hand, couldn't seem to, their biological magnetism overriding conscious thought.
"I'm Morgan," the Alpha said, introducing herself and her packmates, Sam and River. "We're musicians, collaborative composers. We weren't even looking for?—"
"No one's ever looking for this," Milo said gently. "It finds you anyway."
We spent an all the time we could with them before our panel and promised to come back if they wanted us to. We shared our story, the mistakes and triumphs, the way we'd navigated going viral while building something real. How we'd maintained our individual brands while creating something together. The practical stuff no one tells you, how to handle the heat storms, the bond feedback, the invasive questions from people who think your biology is their business.
"Document what feels right," I advised. "Keep private what needs protecting. And remember that everyone judging you has their own story they're projecting onto yours."
"The internet already knows," Sam said, showing us their phone where #ConventionMatch was starting to trend. "Someone got video before you cleared the room."
"Good," Crash said surprisingly. "Better to control the narrative from the start. We tried to hide and it made everything more complicated."
By the time we had to leave for our panel, Tara had stopped shaking. The four of them had that shell-shocked look of people whose lives had just fundamentally changed, but also something else, hope, maybe, or recognition.
"Can we..." Morgan started, then stopped. "Could we maybe talk again? After we've had time to process? We could use... guidance."
"Absolutely," Nova said, handing over his card. "The first few weeks are the hardest. You don't have to navigate them alone."
As we walked to our panel, I thought about cycles, about how StreamCon had been the setting for my greatest fear andgreatest joy. How the same space that had witnessed my public loss of control now saw me helping others through theirs.
"You're thinking very loudly," Nova observed.
"Just... full circle thoughts. How we're sitting on a panel about authentic pack dynamics when a year ago we were the disaster everyone was documenting."
"We're still a disaster," Crash pointed out cheerfully. "Just a successful one."
The panel room was packed, standing room only, with people sitting in the aisles despite fire code violations. Our moderator, a Beta journalist who'd followed our story from the beginning, gestured us to our seats. The backdrop showed our pack logo, something Ghost had designed, abstract but beautiful, six elements creating one cohesive whole.
"So," the moderator began, "let's start with the elephant in the room. Or should I say, the scent match in the convention center?"
The audience laughed, but warmly. These were our people, creators who understood the intersection of public and private, performance and authenticity.
"We actually just came from witnessing another match," I said, adjusting my mic. "In the same room where we met. It's a good reminder that what we experienced wasn't unique. It was just uniquely public."
"Do you regret that?" someone called from the audience. "The public nature of your bonding?"
I thought about it, really considered the question. "I regret not having more agency in how it was shared initially. But going public turned our story into something bigger than just us. We get messages daily from packs who found courage in our chaos, Omegas who learned they can choose connection without losing independence, Alphas who realized restraint is a form of love."
"The data supports that," Nova added, because of course he had statistics. "Since our story went viral, reported cases of forced bonding have decreased by thirty percent. Consent education in pack dynamics has become mainstream."
"Plus," Blitz said with his sunshine grin, "our subscriber counts have never been better."
More laughter. Someone asked about the challenges, and Ghost actually spoke, his quiet voice carrying through the room as he talked about learning to be part of something again after loss. Milo discussed the complexity of multi-person relationships, how they required more communication, not less. Crash made everyone laugh with stories about our domestic chaos.
"The thing is," I said as our time wound down, "we're not trying to be perfect representation. We're just trying to be honest about our experience. Some days that means beautiful synchronized heat cycles that defy medical explanation. Other days it means fighting about who forgot to buy coffee and Ghost building rage Legos at 3 AM."
"Therapeutic Legos," Ghost corrected into his mic, causing another wave of laughter.
As the panel ended and we signed autographs, took photos, answered individual questions, I kept thinking about Tara and her pack. How they'd navigate the next few weeks, the bond settling, the public scrutiny, the renegotiation of everything they thought they knew about themselves.
"Should we check on them?" Milo asked, reading my mind.
