Page 30 of Heat Clickbait
The clinical way she said it made me flinch. "They told you?"
"They gave me the highlights. With your consent, I'd like to do a physical examination, check your hormone levels, ensureyou're recovering properly, discuss ongoing care. But first, I need to understand what happened from your perspective."
So I told her. About the convention, the catastrophic scent-matching that had destroyed every carefully constructed wall I'd built. About the nest they'd prepared without knowing who would fill it, the days of intensity that had rewritten my understanding of my own body. About begging for bites and being refused, about the hurt and relief tangled together in my chest.
She listened without interrupting, occasionally making notes but keeping her focus on me. When I finished, wrung out from the telling, she set her tablet aside completely.
"Callie, what they did, refusing to mark you during heat, that's extraordinarily rare. Most Alphas, even ones with the best intentions, struggle to resist that level of biological imperative."
"So they're saints?" The sarcasm came out sharper than intended.
"They're terrified," she corrected gently. "Of overwhelming you, of becoming another trauma story, of ruining something that could be extraordinary by rushing it." She leaned forward slightly. "Tell me about your mother."
The shift felt like whiplash. "What about her?" I demanded as I leaned back, trying to put more distance between us.
"Nova mentioned she had a public heat incident. That trauma often carries generational weight."
"She went into heat on live television." The words came out flat, practiced from years of therapy that hadn't quite healed the wound. "Lost everything, her career, her Alpha, her sense of self. Spent my entire childhood warning me about the dangers of letting biology override choice."
"And now you're here."
"Now I'm here," I agreed, laughing bitterly. "Living her worst nightmare in real-time. Publicly claimed by not one but five Alphas, my independence in shambles?—"
"Is it?"
The question stopped me cold. "What?"
"Your independence. Is it actually in shambles, or are you afraid it should be?" She pulled something up on her tablet, turning it toward me. "Your subscriber count has increased from what I can tell."
I stared at the numbers, trying to reconcile them with the narrative in my head. "That's just drama tourism. People love watching disasters."
"Some, certainly. But look at the actual comments." She scrolled through screenshots she'd apparently been collecting. "Omegas thanking you for showing that needing others doesn't mean losing yourself. Alphas learning about consent and restraint. Packs finding new models for dynamics that don't follow traditional hierarchies."
"We're not a pack," I said automatically. "We're just... scent matched and exploring."
Dr. Yates raised an eyebrow that conveyed several volumes of professional skepticism. "Five Alphas who built a nest for an Omega they'd never met, who just spent days caring for you through heat without taking advantage, who are currently hovering outside this door like guardian angels with anxiety disorders… that's not pack behavior?"
"I don't know what it is," I admitted, the fight going out of me. "I've spent so long defining myself in opposition to this, to needing Alphas, to biological destiny, to everything my mother feared. Now I'm here, and it feels right in ways that terrify me, and they won't even mark me properly so I can blame it on bonding hormones."
"Would you prefer that? To have the choice taken away?"
"No." The answer came immediately, surprising me with its certainty. "No, I... The fact that they wouldn't, even when I begged, even when their instincts were screaming for it... That's when I knew this was different."
"Different from what?"
"From every horror story. From my mother's experience. From what Rex—" I cut myself off, but she caught it.
"Rex?"
"No one. Nothing. Just... past experience with Alphas who couldn't respect boundaries."
She made a note but didn't push. "I'd like to do that physical examination now, if you're comfortable. Check your recovery, discuss ongoing care options."
The examination was gentler than expected. She checked my temperature (finally normal), my hydration levels, the various marks and bruises that painted a map of the last three days across my skin. When she examined my neck, her fingers careful against the unmarked glands, she made a thoughtful sound.
"The secretion levels are still elevated. Your body is primed for bonding, probably will be for the next few weeks. That's going to make being around them... intense."
"More intense than the last three days?"
