Page 41 of Heat Clickbait
scheduling intimacy is actually kind of sweet though?
The banter felt good, normal. Like we weren't performing for 330,000 strangers, just being ourselves in our own space. Which, I realized as I watched the comments shift from chaotic to affectionate, was exactly what people needed to see. Not a perfect pack with perfect chemistry, but real people figuring things out in real time.
"We're figuring it out," I said once the laughter died down, my voice softer but no less certain. "Day by day, choice by choice. We're not perfect. We're probably going to make mistakes. Hell, we'll definitely make mistakes. But we're doing it together, and we're doing it publicly, because representation matters."
"Other packs need to see there are different ways to exist," Nova added, his business manager brain clearly engaged. "Not every pack forms the traditional way. Not every bond follows the expected timeline."
"Other Omegas need to know that needing people doesn't mean losing yourself," I said, thinking of all the messages in my DMs from scared teenagers and isolated adults.
"Other Alphas need to see that respect and desire can coexist," Ghost said quietly, his voice carrying weight despite its whispered delivery. "That claiming someone doesn't mean owning them."
The viewer count had passed 350,000. #CalliePack was trending worldwide again, but this time, I knew if I scrolled through the tag it would be different. More nuanced. More real. Less about drama and more about understanding.
A donation came through from a familiar name that made my chest tight with emotion: Kara from Pack Wrecked with a message that popped up in bright gold letters.
Proud of you for showing the messy middle. That's where real life happens. Love you, babe.
"Thank you, Kara," I said, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "For everything. For paving the way, for showing me it was possible, for being the one of the best friends a girl could ask for."
We streamed for another hour, answering questions with as much honesty as we could manage. Yes, we were navigating intimacy and it was complicated. No, we weren't fully bonded yet and we weren't rushing it. Yes, there were challenges with five Alphas and one Omega. No, we didn't have all the answers, and we were okay with that uncertainty.
When we finally ended the stream, Ghost's finger hovering over the button for just a moment before clicking it, everythingfelt too quiet. The absence of notification sounds and chat messages was almost jarring after the hour of digital chaos.
"Well," Crash said, flopping backward on the carpet, "that was either the best or worst thing we've ever done."
"Both," I decided, echoing my earlier answer as I finally relaxed fully against Nova's chest. "It was both."
My phone buzzed with a text that made my breath catch. My mother's name popped up on the screen.
Watched your stream. You looked... happy. Real. Different than I expected. Maybe we could talk? When you're ready. No pressure.
I stared at the message, feeling the pack's quiet support around me like a physical thing. Not pushing for details, not pulling me toward any particular response, just... there. Present. Steady.
"You okay?" Milo asked softly, his chef's intuition picking up on the shift in my energy.
"Getting there," I admitted, tucking my phone away.
And surrounded by five Alphas who'd chosen to protect my autonomy even in the depths of biological chaos, who were willing to face the internet's judgment alongside me, who made me laugh even in the middle of crisis and held me steady when everything felt like too much, I thought maybe, just maybe, I actually was.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Callie
I settled into the Bond Pack house with my streaming setup, grateful when Zia agreed to help with the persistent audio issues plaguing my temporary studio. The week-long trial run with the pack would be overwhelming enough without technical difficulties sabotaging my content. My subscriber count had been fluctuating wildly since the heat incident went viral, and I couldn't afford to lose viewers because my audio sounded like I was broadcasting from inside a garbage disposal.
"Be there in twenty," Zia had said when I'd called, her voice carrying that familiar note of exasperated affection that meant she was already mentally cataloguing everything I'd probably done wrong. And exactly twenty minutes later, because Zia was pathologically punctual in the way only people who'd learned to survive on precision could be, she knocked on the door with her characteristic three sharp raps.
Ghost answered before I could get there, moving with that silent grace that still made my hindbrain do little flips of appreciation. I watched from the hallway as my best friend stood on the threshold, purple hair twisted into its characteristic chaotic bun secured with what looked like a mechanical pencil,glasses slightly askew from the weight of her equipment bags, carrying three professional cases like she was moving in permanently.
"Nice to meet you," she said to Ghost, completely unbothered by his silent, imposing presence that probably made most non alphas stammer and retreat. Her voice held that same steady confidence she brought to every technical crisis. "I'm Zia. Here to make Callie's streams not sound like garbage, which, judging by what I heard in her last VOD, is going to require actual miracles."
Ghost blinked, clearly unused to Omegas who didn't react to his Alpha presence at all, no flutter of heartbeat, no subtle shift in posture, no unconscious submission signals. His dark eyes studied her with genuine curiosity as he stepped aside, and Zia marched past him like she owned the place, already scanning the room with the professional interest of someone mentally cataloguing every acoustic flaw and electrical hazard.
"Jesus, Cal, what did you do to these levels?" She dropped her cases near my makeshift setup with practiced efficiency, immediately pulling out her laptop and a tangle of cables that somehow made perfect sense to her. "It sounds like you're broadcasting from inside a tin can having an existential crisis while drowning in a fish tank."
"I tried following a YouTube tutorial," I admitted, moving to hug her briefly before she got completely lost in the technical details. She felt exactly the same in my arms. Solid. Reliable.
"Never follow YouTube tutorials for audio engineering. You know this." Her fingers were already flying across her laptop, pulling up various programs with intimidating waveforms and equalizer displays I couldn't begin to interpret. "Remember when you tried to fix your first mic setup following some dude-bro's advice? You sounded like you were streaming from the bottom of a well filled with cotton balls and regret."
