Nick immediately shifts into protective mode, and I can actually see his alpha instincts kicking in as he responds to my distress. "I knew something was off. We're leaving right now."
He signals for the check, asks for our food to be packed to go, and within minutes we're outside the restaurant. The fresh air helps a little, but not enough. Every step seems to intensify the heat building in my core, the sensitivity of my skin, the overwhelming awareness of Nick beside me.
"Can you make it back to my place, or should I call a car?" Nick asks, his hand hovering near my elbow, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"Car," I manage. "Please."
As Nick pulls out his phone, I catch his scent again—stronger now, richer, and my body responds with a wave of want so intense it makes my knees weak. I grip the brick wall of the restaurant, trying to stay upright.
"Hey," Nick says, immediately at my side. "Easy. Car's two minutes away."
His proximity should help, but it's making everything worse. The protective tone in his voice, the way he's automatically positioning himself between me and the street…it's triggering every omega instinct I've spent years suppressing.
When the car arrives, Nick helps me into the backseat, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering at the brief contact. The drive to his apartment takes forever. I'm pressed against the door, as far from Nick as I can get, but it doesn't matter. The confined space is filled with his scent, and I'm drowning in it.
"Almost there," Nick murmurs, and I realize he's been talking to me, trying to keep me calm. "Just hold on."
By the time we reach his building, I'm barely holding it together. Nick pays the driver and helps me out, his arm around my waist for support. The contact sends electricity racing through my nervous system, and I have to clench my fists to keep from grabbing onto him.
In the elevator, pressed close together in the small space, I finally understand what Amara meant about this being dangerous. My body is screaming for relief, for Nick specifically, and the rational part of my brain is rapidly losing the battle against pure biological need.
"Micah," Nick says as we reach his door, and his tone makes me look up. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, nostrils flared slightly. "Your scent...it's..."
He trails off, but I know what he's not saying. He can smell it too—the sweetness of pre-heat, the pheromones that are probably broadcasting my need to every alpha within a five-block radius.
Including him.
As he fumbles with his keys, I lean against the wall, watching his hands shake slightly. I need to tell him what's happening. I need to warn him before we're alone in his apartment together, before my body makes the decision for me.
But as Nick finally gets the door open and turns to help me inside, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of concern and something darker, what looks almost like hunger, I realize I might already be out of time.
Nick
It's everywhere in my apartment. Saturating the air, clinging to the walls, transforming my familiar space into something I barely recognize. The sweetness I noticed earlier has intensified, becoming richer, headier, with an underlying note that makes my pulse kick up and my skin prickle.
"Jesus," I breathe, steadying Micah as he sways against me. "How did it get so strong so fast?"
Micah doesn't answer, just leans heavily into my side, his breath coming in short pants. He's burning up against me, radiating heat through his clothes. Every instinct I have is screaming that he's in distress, that I need to fix this, protect him, make it better.
"Come on," I say, guiding him toward the bedroom. "Let's get you lying down."
Micah tries to protest, but he can barely stand on his own. That, more than anything, tells me how bad this is getting.Micah's stubborn as hell normally. The fact that he's letting me manhandle him without complaint is alarming.
I ease him down onto my bed, and he immediately curls onto his side, knees drawn up to his chest. The sight of him, small and vulnerable in the center of my king-size mattress, twists in my chest.
"I'm getting you water and something for the fever," I say, already moving toward the door. "You're burning up."
"Nick, wait—" Micah tries to sit up, then falls back with a grimace. "That won't help. I need to—"
"Water first," I interrupt, needing to do something, anything, to help. "Then you can tell me what's going on."
In the kitchen, I grip the counter and take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Micah's scent clings to my clothes, follows me even here, making it hard to focus.What the hell is happening to me?I've never reacted this way to anyone before. It's like my body's operating on some frequency I didn't know existed, responding to signals I can't consciously interpret.
I fill a glass with cold water and grab ibuprofen from the cabinet, though something tells me Micah's right about it not helping. By the time I return to the bedroom, Micah has managed to sit up, his back against the headboard. He's removed his outer shirt, leaving just a thin t-shirt that clings to his sweat-dampened skin. The sight makes my mouth go dry.
"Here," I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. I hold out the water and pills.
Micah takes the water but waves away the medication. "It won't help," he says, his voice strained. "Nick, I need to tell you something, and it's going to be awkward as hell, but I don't have much time."