I went into heat on a Thursday night in the middle of campus.
One minute I was walking back to the dorms after a late study session, backpack heavy on one shoulder, the cool autumn air sharp in my lungs. The next, a wave of heat slammed into me so hard my knees nearly buckled. Slick gathered between my thighs with humiliating speed. My scent—sweet, heavy, unmistakable—spilled into the night like a beacon.
Omega. First heat. Completely unprepared.
I had been on suppressants for years. The prescription had run out two weeks ago and between midterms and the new semester I had forgotten to refill it. Stupid. Dangerous. And now my body was announcing itself to every alpha within a mile radius.
I barely made it behind the old science building before the second wave hit. I braced myself again
