Chapter 12: Heat

The wedding planning session is finally winding down.

I’m sitting in the parlor, half-listening to Feifei debate between two nearly identical shades of white for the table linens, when I feel it.

A flush of heat that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

I shift in my seat, tugging at my collar, it’s warm in here, has it always been this warm?

"Runze?" Feifei glances at me. "You okay? You look flushed."

"I’m fine, just warm."

Mother frowns. "The room isn’t warm, dear. Are you feeling ill again?"

"No, I’m..." I trail off because another wave of heat rolls through me, this one stronger. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive. The fabric of my shirt is suddenly irritating.

What the hell?

"We should wrap this up anyway," Feifei says, checking her phone. "Mom, we need to go pick up those fabric samples from the shop before they close, and I wanted to stop by the florist to confirm the centerpiece order."

"You’re right." Mother starts gathering her things. "Runze, will you be alright here for a bit? We’ll be back in forty-five minutes or so."

I nod, not trusting my voice, my throat feels dry, my hands are shaking slightly.

"Grandmother Wuchen is at her charity lunch," Feifei says. "But Mrs. Wen should be in the kitchen if you need anything."

Mrs. Wen, the elderly beta housekeeper. Right.

They leave in a flurry of bags and notebooks, Feifei calling goodbye down the hall, the door closes.

Silence.

I’m alone.

Well, not entirely alone. Bael is somewhere in this massive house, probably in his home office working.

Another wave of heat.

I stand abruptly, steadying myself on the arm of the chair. Something is wrong, this isn’t normal, I feel... strange, restless, my skin is hypersensitive, every brush of fabric making me want to crawl out of my own body.

I need... I don’t know what I need.

Water, air, space.

I make my way out of the parlor, heading toward where I remember seeing a bathroom, my legs feel shaky, there’s a strange tension coiling low in my stomach, an ache that’s spreading through my entire body.

The bathroom is too bright, too small, I splash cold water on my face but it doesn’t help, if anything, it makes it worse, I can smell everything too intensely. The soap, the clean linen scent of the towels, something else underneath that I can’t identify.

And then I feel it.

Slick.

The realization hits me like ice water.

No.

This can’t be happening.

I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection, my face is flushed, my eyes look strange, dilated, my breathing is coming too fast.

Heat.

I’m going into heat.

Original Runze’s memories are fragmented, scattered, but I can pull pieces. His heats were always irregular, months between them sometimes, he never bothered with suppressants because they were so unpredictable, so infrequent.

But when they hit, they hit hard.

And I’m going into heat right now, in Bael’s house.

Panic floods through me, cutting through the haze for a moment, I need to leave, I need to get out of here before...

Another wave, stronger than the others, my knees nearly buckle.

I can barely walk, there’s no way I’ll make it home like this.

The guest room, I passed it on the way here, upstairs, down the hall, I can lock myself in, wait it out or call someone.

I stumble out of the bathroom and up the stairs, gripping the railing, every step is an effort, my body is screaming at me, demanding something I refuse to give it. The ache is getting worse, spreading, intensifying.

I find the guest room plain, elegant, barely used.

I close the door behind me and try to lock it.

My hands are shaking so badly the mechanism won’t catch, I try again, the lock turns but doesn’t engage properly.

Fuck.

I give up and stumble toward the bed, collapsing onto it, the sheets are cool against my burning skin but it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

My phone, I need my phone.

But when I reach for my pocket, my hands are shaking so badly I drop it, it clatters to the floor. I try to bend down to pick it up but another wave crashes over me and this one is so intense I can’t see straight.

I curl into myself, pressing my face into the pillow, the heat is building, overwhelming, slick is soaking through my underwear, mortifying, terrifying.

My body knows what it needs even if my mind is screaming no.

Alpha.

And there’s only one alpha in this house.

No.

I bite down on my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to ground myself, but it’s not working, the heat is consuming rational thought, replacing it with pure, desperate need.

Slick is ruining the sheets beneath me, my cock is hard, throbbing, I try to ignore it but my hands move on their own, seeking relief that won’t come because nothing is enough except...

A knock on the door.

My entire body goes rigid.

"Runze." Bael’s voice, low and rough. "Open the door."

I freeze, maybe if I stay quiet, he’ll leave.

"I know you’re in heat." His voice is closer now, right against the door. "I can smell you."

Shit.

If he can smell me...

"Open the door, Runze."

It’s not a request.

The door handle turns.

Wait...

The lock, I tried to lock it, but it didn’t catch, I know it didn’t catch.

The door swings open.

Bael stands in the doorway.

He’s still in his work clothes, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it, but it’s his eyes that make my breath stop.

Not cold, not controlled.

It’s dark, hungry, and barely restrained.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him.

We stare at each other.

His chest is rising and falling too fast, his hands are clenched into fists, every muscle in his body is tense, coiled tight.

"How long since your last heat?" His voice is strained.

"Months."

"Shit." He runs a hand through his hair, paces, two steps, stops. "No wonder it’s so strong."

Another wave is building, I try to hold back the sound but it escapes anyway, a whimper I can’t control.

His jaw clenches, his hands tighten into fists.

"..You need to... leave," I manage.

"Where?" The word comes out harsh. "Downstairs? My office? You think I can work while you’re up here smelling like..." He cuts himself off.

"Then go somewhere else, anywhere else."

"Go where? To my office? A meeting?" He laughs, bitter. "Everyone will smell you on me."

I hadn’t thought of that, his clothes, his skin, everything will smell like me now.

"Then call someone, a doctor, anyone."

"It’s too late for suppressants, you’re too far gone."

Another stronger wave, I’m shaking now, slick soaking through everything.

Bael makes a sound low in his throat.

When I look up, he’s staring at me, his control is fracturing, I can see it in his eyes, in the way his hands are trembling, in how his entire body is oriented toward me.

"You’re in my house," he says, voice rough. "In my guest room, smelling like that."

"I.. I didn’t plan this."

"I know." He takes a step toward the bed. "But you’re here anyway."

"Stay back."

Another step.

"Bael..."

"Stop making those sounds." His voice is barely recognizable. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want me to..." He stops, jaw working.

We both know what I want, what my body is begging for.

He’s at the edge of the bed now, close enough that his scent wraps around me. Alpha. My body is screaming at me to reach for him, to pull him down, to beg...

"Get out," I whisper, but it sounds like pleading.

"You don’t mean that."

"Yes, I do."

"Liar." He leans down, hands bracing on either side of me, caging me in. "You’re terrified I’ll leave."

Another wave crashes through me and I arch off the bed with a broken moan.

Something snaps in his eyes.

"Fuck," he breathes.

And then his mouth is on mine.