Page 71 of The Knotheads Next Door
"I should get him settled," she says, her voice slightly unsteady. "Big day tomorrow."
I nod, stepping back to give her space. "Yes. The festival."
"Right. The festival." She hesitates, then adds, "Thank you, by the way. For earlier. With the alpha. It was... considerate."
"Anytime," I say, meaning it more than I should.
She smiles, a small, private thing that makes my chest ache, then slips past me and up the stairs, leaving me alone with thoughts I have no business entertaining.
I tell myself to be rational. To remember that this was always temporary. To focus on the practical realities rather than impossible what-ifs.
But as I move through the quiet house, preparing for bed, I can't shake the image of Rowan in our kitchen, Gerald on her shoulder, humming softly as if she's exactly where she belongs.
Seven days left in her trial month. Seven days to figure out what happens next.
Seven days to decide if I'm brave enough to acknowledge what I've been feeling—what we've all been feeling—before it's too late.
Chapter 21
Rowan
Iwake up burning from the inside out.
My sheets are soaked—with sweat, with slick, with need so intense it makes me whimper before I can stop myself. Every nerve ending is hypersensitive, my skin too tight, my body an aching mess of want and confusion.
This isn't a heat spike. This is something else. Something worse.
Or maybe the word is "better," in some twisted biological sense I can't bring myself to acknowledge.
I curl into a ball, pressing my thighs together against the throbbing emptiness between them. Maybe if I just stay here, perfectly still, it will pass. Another blip in my body's increasingly erratic behavior.
But even as I think it, I know this is different. More intense. More insistent. My omega—the part of me I've been denying for so long—is fully awake now, demanding attention. Demanding... more.
Gerald mews from his bed, concerned by my unusual stillness. The sound helps ground me, reminding me that I have responsibilities. That I can't just lie here and let biology win.
With trembling arms, I push myself upright, gasping at the rush of sensation that accompanies even that simple movement. My clothes feel abrasive against my oversensitive skin, and I can smell myself—sweet and ripe and ready in a way that would mortify me if I weren't so desperate.
The bathroom. I need a cold shower. Need to wash away the slick between my thighs, need to apply extra blockers, need to get myself under control before facing the three alphas who share this house.
Three alphas.
My body pulses with renewed want at the mere thought of them. Theo with his gentle hands and kind eyes. Wells with his controlled strength and hidden depths. Jasper with his gruff intensity and surprising tenderness.
No. I can't think about them. Not now. Not like this.
I stumble to the bathroom on unsteady legs, locking the door behind me before stripping off my ruined pajamas. The shower helps, a little. The cold water shocking my system back to something approaching normality.
But even as I wash away the physical evidence of my condition, I know it's temporary. This isn't going away with a cold shower and extra blockers. This is my first real heat—the one I should have had a decade ago, finally arriving with the force of a hurricane.
I need a plan. I can't stay here, in a house with three unmated alphas. That would be... disastrous. For all of us.
I'll find a hotel. Somewhere discrete, where I can ride this out alone. It's not ideal—omegas in heat are vulnerable, especially those without pack bonds or mates—but it's a better plan than the alternative.
By the time I finish in the bathroom, I've convinced myself it's manageable. Just a heat. A natural biological process that millions of omegas handle every year. Nothing I can't get through with privacy, hydration, and perhaps a trip to the adult toy store in the next town over.
I can do this.
The conviction lasts until I open the bathroom door and am hit with the combined scents of my housemates—Jasper's pine and sawdust, Theo's sandalwood and clean cotton, Wells's bergamot and paper. My knees actually buckle, and I have to grip the doorframe to stay upright.
