Page 135 of Run Wild Omega

I can hear him. I can hear all of them. But the words are swimming in a soup of hormones and need, and my brain is picking out the ones that matter and discarding the rest.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Three of them. Three scents layering over me like a second skin. Pine and smoke. Sagebrush and rain. Woodsmoke and warm amber. My biology is cataloging them, reaching for them with a desperation that bypasses every rational thought I’ve ever had.

“I need…” I start, and the sentence breaks apart because I don’t know how to finish it. I need what? I need to be touched. I need to be filled.

I need someone to put me out of this misery or kill me trying.

“What do you need, baby?” Wyatt says, and his face is close, so close, his eyes searching mine. But something’s different.

His pupils are blown. His jaw is clenched. The tendons in his neck are taut as bridge cables, and I can see his canines through his parted lips. They’re extended. Not fully, not yet. But enough.

He’s losing control.

The realization sends a bolt of electricity straight to my core. The Omega in me, the primal, ancient, biological part that doesn’t give a damn about lawsuits or pack politics or what’s appropriate, surges to the surface and screams yes.

“I can’t…” I gasp. “I can’t think. Everything is… I need…”

Another wave crashes through me. My back bows off the mattress, my thighs clamping together, and the whimper that escapes my throat is raw and obscene. I feel hands on my shoulders, steadying me, and I don’t know whose they are. I don’t care. I arch into the contact, my body chasing the pressure.

“Tess, talk to us,” Dylan says from somewhere to my left. His voice is rough, scraped raw. “Tell us what’s happening.”

“I’m burning,” I whisper. “I’m burning from the inside out and I can’t make it stop. Everything hurts. Everything feels too good. I can’t… I can’t control it.”

“Your temperature is holding at 101.4,” Miles says from the foot of the bed. He’s got the thermometer in his hand, but his fingers are shaking. “The heat is peaking. It should plateau soon.”

“What if it doesn’t?” I sob. “What if it just keeps getting worse?”

“It won’t,” Wyatt says. “I won’t let it.”

“How? How are you going to stop it?”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw works, and his thumb strokes the back of my hand, and his eyes are so dark they look black.

A third wave. Harder than the last. My body convulses, my hips bucking against the mattress, and the sound that comes out of me isn’t a whimper anymore. It’s a moan. A deep, shameless, desperate moan that fills the room and makes all three of them go rigid.

I feel my tank top riding up. The sheets are soaked. The nest that smelled like comfort five minutes ago now smells like sex and slick and the frustrated biology of three men who are fighting the same battle I am.

“I need you,” I say, and the words come out clear. Not the heat talking. Not the hormones. Me. The part of me that has been falling for three men since the moment a storm rolled over a mountain and changed everything.

“Tess…” Wyatt’s voice is a warning.

“I need all of you. I can’t… I can’t do this alone. My body won’t let me. It’s not asking for one. It’s asking for the pack.”

Silence.

I force my eyes open. I look at Wyatt first. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his hand still gripping mine, his chest heaving. His canines are fully extended now, pressing against his lower lip, and his eyes have gone black. The restraint in him is visible, a physical thing, trembling under his skin.

Miles is at the foot of the bed. His glasses are gone. His analytical distance is gone. His pupils are blown so wide I can barely see his irises, and his nostrils are flared, breathing me in with each labored inhale. His hands are fisted at his sides. I can see the outline of his cock, hard and straining against his jeans.

Dylan is at the doorframe. He’s not leaning anymore. He’s rigid, his shoulders squared, his chest expanding with each breath. His eyes are locked on me, and the look in them is pure, undiluted want. His lips are parted, his canines visible, and the muscle in his jaw is jumping.

Three men. All of them hard. All of them fighting. All of them one breath away from snapping.

“We need to talk about this,” Wyatt insists. “Right now. Before this goes any further.”

“Talk about what?” I manage.