Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maya Bishop wakes before dawn, drenched in sweat, her thighs sticky and her pulse erratic. She stares at the ceiling of her apartment, willing her body to calm down.

Her sheets smell like her—clean but sharp with the faint edge of arousal and restraint. It's always like this the morning after her rut-adjacent urges peak. Not a full rut, but her body flirts with the idea. Teases her with the ache of it.

She doesn't indulge.

Not properly.

She gets up, showering with cold water, scrubbing at the skin between her thighs like it might erase the need. Discipline. Control. That’s what separates her from the stereotype, from the snarling, unhinged alphas that omegas are raised to fear.

At the station, Sullivan gives her a look. A knowing one. He's been through it too. They don’t talk about their dynamics much, but there's an unspoken camaraderie between them. Alphas in a sea of betas, forever toeing the line between dominance and decency.

"You look like shit," he offers without malice, sipping his black coffee. "Wednesday again?"

Maya shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

Sullivan smirks. "It does, though. You're wound tighter than a compressed line."

She ignores him.

Because he's right.

Maya barely has time to step through the bay doors before the klaxon screams overhead.

The sound hits her like a blessing.

Adrenaline—clean, sharp, uncomplicated—floods her system and shoves the restless heat in her blood into a manageable corner. She’s halfway into her turnouts before Andy even finishes shouting assignments.

“Structure fire, two-story, confirmed smoke from the roof,” Andy calls, already moving with her clipboard in hand.

Maya grins despite herself. “Finally. Something that isn’t my hormones trying to kill me.”

Andy shoots her a look—fond, sharp-eyed. Beta instincts maybe, but Andy has known Maya Bishop long enough to read her better than most alphas could.

“You’re spiking,” Andy says under her breath as they climb into the rig. “It’s early for you to be this tense.”

Maya snaps her mask into place, all business. “I’m always tense.”

“Not like this. This is pre-rut tense.”

Maya’s jaw tightens. Andy isn’t wrong—and that’s the problem.

Vic drops into the seat across from them, already smirking. “Is our fearless lieutenant about to go feral again?”

“I do not go feral,” Maya snaps.

Vic snorts. “Last time you rutted you scared a firefly half to death because she thought you were her fated alpha. She was around the station for 3 months after you explained what was happening. That poor beta thought you were so in love with her.”

Vic, meanwhile, is not subtle. She flicks her eyes down as Maya adjusts her turnout pants, then lets out a low, impressed whistle.

“Oh my god,” Vic says. “You could crack glass with that weapon between your legs.”

Andy follows Vic’s gaze and immediately looks back up, cheeks faintly flushed.

“Maya,” Andy warns.

“What?” Maya snaps. “It’s a biological response. I’m not waving it around.”

Vic grins wickedly. “You kind of are. I mean—I’m a beta, and even I can feel the vibes.”

Maya drags a hand down her face. “Can we please not discuss my anatomy at a live scene?”

Vic laughs. “I honestly don’t know how you do it. If I woke up with half the urges you alphas carry around, I’d never leave my apartment again.”

Maya’s voice goes a little rough. “It’s not fun.”

The rig rumbles under them as Engine 19 rolls out, sirens piercing the cold evening air. Maya drives—she always drives when she needs to calm her nerves. Her hands on the wheel, engine vibrating through her spine, it gives her something physical to anchor the storm inside.

Andy rides shotgun, half turned to face Vic in the back.

Vic is too quiet.

Which is always suspicious.

Maya narrows her eyes in the rearview. “You’re smiling.”

Vic just grins wider. “I smile a lot.”

“No,” Andy says. “This is different. This is post-orgasm smug. What did you do?”

Maya sighs. “Who did you do?”

Vic puts a dramatic hand to her chest. “Can’t a girl just be glowing from inner peace?”

Andy scoffs. “The last time you were glowing you gave that poor barista a hickey and forgot his name.”

Vic rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. If you must know…”

Maya glances briefly over her shoulder at a red light.

“...I fucked Theo.”

Andy gasps.

Maya chokes. “Theo Ruiz?”

Vic beams. “The very same.”

Andy blinks. “Our Theo? Station 19 Theo? Currently driving the aid car Theo?!”

“Mmhm.” Vic looks way too pleased with herself. “It was—intense.”

Maya groans. “Please don’t say that while I’m trying to not think about sex.”

Vic leans forward, voice low and conspiratorial. “He’s surprisingly dominant, okay? He had me pinned against his kitchen table.”

Andy covers her ears. “Oh my god, stop!”

“I am in pre-rut,” Maya says through gritted teeth. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Vic laughs. “I’m just saying—betas don’t get enough credit. That man knew what he was doing.”

Maya sighs, trying not to picture it. She fails. Miserably.

“I need a goddamn sensory deprivation tank,” she mutters.

Vic taps her boot against Maya’s seat. “You need to get laid. Properly. Like omega begging to be bred properly.”

Andy whistles low. “We’re all going to hell.”

Maya just shakes her head, heat rising under her collar.

The truth is—she wants that. That raw, uncontrollable submission. The scent. The slick. The undeniable bond.

But she’s never trusted herself with it. And now she’s hard again in her gear, cock swelling against the unforgiving seam of her uniform, and Vic’s words aren’t helping.

“I’m going to throw you out of this truck,” Maya says mildly.

Vic laughs. “You’d miss me.”

“Maybe,” Maya mutters.

The engines scream to a stop, brakes hissing as the teams leap into motion. The scent of smoke is thick in the air, a greasy curl that clings to their nostrils and coats their tongues.

Andy is off the rig first, radio already clipped to her shoulder, voice sharp and calm as she takes command. “We’ve got active flames visible from the second floor, southeast quadrant. Ben, Dean, Sullivan—hoses on the south side. Jack, Theo, grab med kits and triage the residents. Maya, Travis—entry team, sweep the interior.”

“Yes, Cap,” Maya calls, already adjusting her helmet.

The building is a squat, aging duplex, the kind that looks like it’s been patched together one pay stub at a time. Windows are blown out, smoke pouring from the broken glass.

Maya and Travis move like clockwork.

She shoulders the door open while Travis sweeps the threshold with the thermal cam. “Two heat signatures, second floor, both moving slow.”

“Go,” Maya barks, adrenaline overriding the dull throb in her core.

Inside, the heat slams into her like a wall. Smoke clouds the stairwell. She takes the lead, low and fast, instincts sharpening every nerve in her body.

One breath.

One step.

This—this is where she thrives. The fire doesn’t care that she’s about to rut. Doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask. Just demands her full attention.

Outside, Andy paces the scene perimeter, giving constant updates. “Flame spread stable. Defensive line holding.”

Jack kneels next to an elderly woman wrapped in a soot-stained blanket, Theo beside him checking vitals. “Two kids still inside,” the woman whispers hoarsely. “Second floor.”

Andy keys her mic. “Maya, you’ve got minors on two. Confirm visual?”

Maya’s voice crackles back. “Confirmed. Two kids, closet near the stairwell. Scared but uninjured. Extracting now.”

Travis wraps a blanket around one and hoists her into his arms. Maya lifts the other—little boy, trembling, clinging to her neck like a lifeline. His heartbeat is fast against her chest, tiny fingers digging into her collar.

They descend the stairs as the ceiling creaks ominously overhead.

Travis shouts, “Go! Go! We’ve got five seconds!”

They burst through the threshold just as part of the upper floor collapses behind them in a roar of flame and debris.

Dean and Sullivan douse it instantly, Ben hauling extra hose over his shoulder with a grunt. The water steam-hisses against the scorched wood. Controlled.

Efficient.

Maya sets the boy down gently near the med tent, handing him off to a paramedic. Her gear is soaked in sweat and smoke, her muscles humming with residual tension.

Andy appears beside her, gripping her shoulder. “Nice work.”

Maya just nods, panting, every inch of her body on fire. Not from the heat—but from the intensity. The restraint.

Vic jogs over, eyes bright. “Okay, I take it back. Maybe this is what you need. That was hot.”

“Literally,” Travis adds, wiping soot from his cheek.

“Shut up,” Maya says, but there’s no bite to it.

Inside, something’s still simmering. Her blood still sings from the proximity to danger, to adrenaline, to control barely held.

The engines pull back into the bay with a low groan, brakes sighing as the team climbs out. There’s laughter, loose and satisfied from a job well done, soot-streaked faces grinning under helmets.

Maya, though, moves differently.

Still coiled tight. Still burning under the skin.

She peels off her turnout jacket and lets the cool air hit her sweat-soaked undershirt. It helps. A little.

“Nice save in there,” Andy says from behind, clapping her on the back before heading upstairs toward the captain’s office.

Maya nods, but doesn’t follow—at least not right away.

She strips off the last of her gear, hangs it with practiced efficiency, and decides to check in with Andy before beginning to break down the gear cleaning it for the next call. Her instincts and sensations are all over the place today and she decides to find Andy, her anchor when things get weird, and tonight feels… off-kilter.

But when she gets to the captain’s office door, she pauses.

It’s locked.

She frowns. That’s unusual.

And then—she smells it.

Low and warm and undeniably beta—Andy’s. Familiar. Anchoring.

But beneath it, threaded through with something heavier—alpha musk. Rich. Possessive. More feral but deficiently Sullivan’s scent.

Her eyes narrow.

Andy and Sullivan?

Maya blinks, breath catching. Her alpha senses sharpen involuntarily, nostrils flaring before she can even try to dial it back.

She backs away from the door slowly, confused more than anything.

Sullivan had told her his ruts were handled—that he had a partner, someone who could “take it” when the edge got too sharp. Maya had assumed it was some faceless omega from a hookup app. Not… Andy.

Andy, who always rolled her eyes at rut stories, who joked about alpha testosterone fog like it was some alien state of mind.

Maya presses her lips together.

She shouldn’t be surprised. Andy’s strong enough to handle an alpha in full rut. Grounded enough. And Sullivan—beneath the rigidity—carries a quiet desperation Maya knows all too well.

Still, it’s strange. Not because she disapproves, but because she’s never smelled Andy like this. Slick and salt and arousal so strong it curls around the doorframe like steam.

It makes something deep in Maya’s belly twist.

Jealousy?

No. Not of them.

Just of what they’re getting.

Release. Relief. Satisfaction.

Her thoughts spiral, and she’s so distracted she nearly slams straight into Travis coming out of the kitchen with a protein bar in hand.

“Whoa there, Captain Tunnel-Vision,” he laughs, steadying her with a hand on her arm. “You okay?”

Maya blinks. “Yeah. Fine. Sorry. Just… thinking.”

Travis arches a brow. “You? Thinking? Must be serious.”

Maya forces a grin. “Just burned too much energy on the call. Need to cool off.”

He gives her a once-over. “You look… intense. Like, weirdly blissed out but also murdery. It’s a vibe.”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Thanks, that’s comforting. I’m heading to the showers.”

The shower door hisses shut behind her, steam already blooming thick in the tiled room. Maya braces her hands against the cool wall for a second, breathing hard, trying to will her body into obedience.

It doesn’t listen.

Her cock is fully hard now, undeviating, aching against the fabric of her uniform pants like it’s trying to claw its way free. The faint alpha musk trapped in the gear only makes it worse—her own scent, recycled back into her senses until it’s all she can smell.

“Fuck,” she mutters.

She strips fast, movements all sharp impatience, and steps under the spray. Hot water slams into her shoulders and rolls down her spine, tracing over muscle and tension and straight between her thighs.

Her hand wraps around herself without hesitation.

Thick. Rigid. Hot in her grip.

The relief is immediate—but thin, barely scratching the surface of the need coiled tight in her belly. She pumps herself hard, fast, water slicking her fist as her breath turns ragged, echoing loud in the empty room.

Her mind does what it always does.

Catalogs.

Scent memories rise unbidden—soft beta sweetness from past hookups, the warm, pliant give of bodies that could take her, but never answer her. Flashes of skin under dim bar lights. Moans caught in throats. The sharp, constant barrier she always holds between her teeth and someone else’s neck.

Her hips buck into her hand as frustration bleeds into heat.

She wants slick.
Wants scent flooding her lungs until it rewrites her.
Wants someone who can take her full weight, her full force, her full rut—

She groans, low and broken, and her come hits fast and hard, thick and hot against the tile, the water carrying it instantly down the drain. Her whole body shudders as the orgasm tears through her, muscles locking, breath stalling in her chest.

For a split second, there’s quiet.

Relief.

Then her cock stays hard in her hand.

Still aching. Still demanding.

“Jesus,” she exhales, forehead dropping to the tile.

Round two comes faster—her body already primed, already desperate. This time she slows, dragging it out just long enough for the edge to turn sharp again. Her grip tightens, strokes turning bruising, almost angry as she imagines what it would feel like to finally thrust into a body that wants to be bred.

Her second release hits deeper, heavier, a full-body tremor that leaves her shaking under the spray. When it finally ebbs, she’s panting, sweat and water indistinguishable, her body limp with spent tension.

This time, the edge dulls.

Not gone.

Just… manageable.

Maya shuts off the water and stands there for a moment, chest heaving, the familiar ache of frustration settling back into her bones like a companion she never quite shakes.

She dries off briskly, redresses with practiced efficiency, and tucks herself back into her uniform pants while she’s still half-hard—careful, controlled, used to the discomfort. It throbs against the seam, sensitive and insistent, but she ignores it.

Control.

Always control.

Maya leans against the locker, her cock is finally soft again.

But the pressure in her chest—that hasn’t gone anywhere.

She knows the signs. The tightness in her ribs. The heat creeping up the back of her neck. The barely-there tremble in her fingertips when she’s not gripping something, or someone. She’s circling the edge.

If she doesn’t find relief tonight, the rut will hit her full force.

And that’s never good. Not without a partner. Not without someone who understands what she needs when words are gone and instinct takes over.

She’s been through it before. A few times.

It nearly broke her.

The broken doorframe. The torn sheets. The way the omega—a stranger from an app—had looked at her afterward, more awed than afraid, but still a little too quiet. That memory never leaves her. She’d given consent, enthusiastic consent, but Maya hadn’t liked who she’d become in those hours.

So she learned to manage.

Control. Discipline. Regular release.

Beta partners—safe, reliable, uncomplicated. No pheromone wars. No bond risks. No sharp-edged instincts screaming at her to fill, to mark, to claim.

She even has a system. A few trusted betas in her rotation—hookups who know the drill, who don’t ask for more. Who don’t need her to be more than an alpha on the edge.

But tonight, her body isn’t buying it.

The usual strategy won’t cut it. Not with how her scent’s been changing, darkening, thickening. Not with how her thoughts keep stalling on the idea of a scent that actually matches hers—something deeper, something ripe.

Omega.

She hasn’t touched one in a good bit.

But tonight…

Maya grabs her phone from her locker, thumb hovering over the screen. The omega app is still installed. She tells herself it’s for emergencies only—like now. Her rut’s not scheduled, but her body clearly has other plans.

Her thumb swipes across the familiar interface. It’s discreet, filtered by compatibility, preferences, safety ratings. She’s used it before. Never twice with the same omega. Never allowed herself to bond.

She scrolls through a few profiles, the faint trail of aroused omega pheromones almost phantom against her tongue, memory-triggered. Her cock stirs again.

Maya shuts her phone off shoving it in her pocket.

Maya exhales slowly and unlocks her phone again.

This is an emergency.

If she lets the rut take her without preparation, she’ll lose at least a week—pulled off shift, quarantined in her apartment, riding the waves of it until her body burns itself out. That’s not an option. Not for a lieutenant actively pursuing a captain position. Not for someone who prides herself on never letting biology dictate her career.

She opens the omega app.

The interface glows softly in the dim locker room, sterile and efficient. Profiles scroll past—scents described in careful, coded language. Submissive. Eager. Nest-ready. Looking for an alpha to assist them through heat.

Her jaw tightens.

She filters quickly. Availability: Tonight. Distance: Five miles. Experience with alphas in rut: Yes.

One profile catches her eye.

Pretty enough. Soft smile. Wide eyes that promise obedience without being afraid of it. Omega. Twenty-six. Heat approaching. Looking for a “steady, respectful alpha to ride it out with.”

Maya’s thumb hovers.

She reminds herself this is mutual need. Controlled. Temporary. No bonding. No claiming.

She swipes.

Match confirmed.

Almost instantly, a message pings.

Hi, Maya. Your profile says tonight is urgent. I’m free.

Her jaw flexes.

Efficient. Good.

She sends the location without preamble.

Joe’s Bar. 9 PM. I’ll buy you a drink and dinner. We’ll talk first.

The reply comes quickly.

Thank you, Alpha. I’ll be there.

That single word—Alpha—slides down her spine like a matchstick.

Maya locks her phone and straightens, shoulders back, spine rigid.

She may be a slave to instinct tonight, but she’s not a brute.

She’ll wine and dine her omega. Make sure consent is crystal clear. Make sure they understand exactly what they’re agreeing to when they take her home.

Only then will she let herself become what her body is demanding.

Chapter Text

Driving to Joe’s, the city feels sharper. Every scent through the open window hits harder—perfume, sweat, cigarettes, sex lingering in the air like a challenge. Her hands grip the wheel too tight, knuckles whitening.

She keeps picturing it.

The omega kneeling.The scent of fresh slick blooming under her nose.The way an omega’s body invites an alpha to fill it, to leave something behind.

She groans quietly and shifts in her seat, the pressure relentless again.

At Joe’s, she arrives early, claims a booth near the back where the light is low and the noise is muted.

She orders water first. Then whiskey. Then another water.

Nine sharp, the door opens again.

Maya’s head lifts instantly.

She smells the omega before she sees her—sweet and nervous and just beginning to turn fertile, heat hovering like a promise under the surface. The woman scans the room, locks eyes with Maya, and something in her posture changes immediately.

Submission.

Recognition.

Maya stands.

The omega approaches slowly, carefully, eyes dropping as she reaches the table. “Lieutenant Bishop.”

“Maya,” she corrects. “Sit. I’ll order you a drink and food. You look like you skipped dinner.”

The omega’s lips part in a faint, surprised smile as she obeys. “Yes, Alpha.”

Maya’s cock stirs instantly at the sound.

Cultured. Controlled. Courteous.

For now.

The booth is too small.

Or maybe she’s too big—too full—for the space between them. Maya’s legs are spread wide under the table, trying not to brush the omega’s knees, trying not to think about how close Sophie smells.

Sweet. Ripe. Right on the cusp of heat.

It takes everything in Maya not to lean in and scent her—bury her nose at the omega’s throat, behind her ear, under her jaw, anywhere. Her cock is hard again, pushing against the zipper of her pants, and she knows Sophie can smell her arousal just as clearly.

Sophie sips from her drink with trembling hands, pupils dilated, lips parted just slightly. She doesn’t speak much, doesn’t need to. Her body does the talking—legs crossed tightly, chest rising fast, eyes darting up to Maya’s before quickly lowering again.

Food arrives, hot and perfunctory, but they barely touch it.

Maya forces herself to chew, to drink water, to keep her hands on the table. But every second they sit there, her restraint stretches thinner. Sophie’s scent is deepening—warming—coating the air with something sticky and invitational.

By the time Maya leans in, her voice is a low growl.

“I need to go over terms.”

Sophie nods quickly. “Yes, Alpha.”

Maya takes a slow breath through her nose.

“My rut is coming on fast. If I don’t ride it out tonight, it’ll hit full by morning and I’ll be useless for a week. That’s why I matched. I won’t bond. I won’t bite. But I will knot. I’ll fill you as many times as it takes until the urges stop. And I’ll need you to be able to take it.”

Sophie’s breath catches. Her thighs shift under the table. “Yes, I can. That’s what I want.”

“I won’t mark you,” Maya continues. “No scenting. No claiming. But I will fuck you until I can’t move.”

Sophie exhales shakily. “Good.”

Maya studies her. “Your rules?”

The omega licks her lips. “No choking. No slapping. Pull my hair if you want. I can take rough—I want rough—but I don’t want to feel like prey.”

Maya nods. “Noted.”

“And… no overstimulation unless I ask. After the first two rounds, I get really sensitive.”

“I’ll watch for it.”

They stare at each other. Something silent and feral passes between them.

Then Maya throws down a twenty, stands, and growls, “Let’s go.”

Sophie follows, shaky on her feet.

The drive is a blur.

Maya’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, her jaw clenched so tight it aches. Sophie sits beside her, thighs pressed together, scent fogging up the damn car with every exhale.

By the time Maya slams her front door shut, she’s shaking.

Sophie turns to her, eyes wide and hungry.

“Clothes off,” Maya commands, voice like gravel. “I need to see you.”

Sophie obeys instantly.

She shrugs off her jacket, fingers trembling with eagerness, eyes never leaving Maya’s as she peels away her clothes—top, bra, jeans, panties. All of it hits the floor in a soft heap.

Naked, she stands in the soft lighting of Maya’s apartment, bare and flushed, the scent of slick and heat rolling off her in thick waves.

Maya’s jaw clenches.

She yanks off her own shirt, then kicks out of her boots and uniform pants, letting her cock spring free—already hard again, flushed dark at the tip, veins pulsing. She hisses as cool air hits it, the hunger rising so fast it feels like vertigo.

Sophie moans under her breath.

“Present,” Maya growls.

Sophie turns without hesitation, bends at the waist, spreads her legs just enough to expose the glistening folds of her pussy—already soaked, already swollen. She pulls her ass cheeks apart, tilting slightly to give Maya the full view.

Maya’s pupils blow wide.

The scent hits her like fire.

She steps forward, close enough to run her hand down Sophie’s spine, watching the omega shiver under her palm. She doesn’t touch her pussy—yet. She just breathes deep. Fills her lungs.

God, it’s perfect. Warm, wet, thick with promise. The kind of scent that would drive any alpha mad.

“You’re fertile,” Maya says darkly, her voice almost reverent.

“Yes, Alpha,” Sophie whispers, still holding her position.

“I’m going to fuck this hole full until you can’t remember your own name,” Maya says, dragging a single fingertip through the slickness. “But first—mouth.”

She steps back, drops into the armchair behind her—legs spread, cock resting heavy against her thigh.

Sophie turns, eyes wide with want, and crawls forward on hands and knees. Her movements are fluid, practiced but eager, thighs shining with slick.

She kneels between Maya’s legs and looks up, waiting.

Maya cups the base of her cock, thick and flushed and aching. “Open.”

Sophie does. Wide. Obedient. Wet tongue flat, jaw relaxed.

Maya guides herself in slowly, groaning as the heat of Sophie’s mouth wraps around her. “Fuck, that’s it…”

Sophie moans as her lips seal around Maya’s shaft, taking her inch by inch. Her tongue works instinctively, slick and patient, and Maya’s hips twitch as she hits the back of her throat.

“Good girl,” Maya grunts, threading a hand through Sophie’s hair. “Don’t stop until I say.”

Sophie nods as best she can, then settles into a rhythm—head bobbing, cheeks hollowing, saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth as she works.

Maya’s eyes flutter closed for a second, her free hand gripping the arm of the chair. She’s still holding back—barely—but her cock is throbbing, hips beginning to roll forward on instinct.

Each wet, hungry suck sends sparks up her spine.

She lets herself enjoy it. The power. The obedience. The pure, perfect submission of a fertile omega on her knees, taking her cock like she was made for it.

Sophie’s mouth is heaven.

Hot, wet, tight—her lips glide up and down Maya’s shaft with growing eagerness, tongue swirling as if she’s desperate to taste every inch of her Alpha. Maya’s hips twitch with every suck, her cock pulsing thick in Sophie’s throat.

She’s close. Too close.

Her fingers tighten in Sophie’s hair, but instead of thrusting deeper, she pulls her back—gently but firmly.

Sophie blinks up at her, mouth slick, chin wet with spit, lips swollen and parted.

Maya exhales, sharp and ragged. “Stop.”

Sophie obeys instantly, breath shallow, chest rising and falling.

Maya strokes her own cock slowly, just to keep from spilling right there. “You keep going, I’m going to come, and if I come—I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve bred you raw.”

Sophie licks her lips. “That’s what I want.”

Maya reaches out, brushing damp hair from her face. Despite the arousal fogging every corner of her mind, she forces herself to ask—because she has to.

“Are you ready for this? For me? It won’t be sweet. It won’t be soft.”

Sophie swallows and nods, eyes bright with want.

“Yes, Alpha. I’m ready.”

Maya’s voice drops. “Bedroom.”

Sophie leads her, legs trembling, and Maya follows like a storm behind her.

The second the door clicks shut, Maya pounces—hands gripping Sophie’s hips, lifting her effortlessly onto the bed, turning her over with one smooth motion. Sophie goes willingly, breath catching as she positions herself on all fours, ass high, thighs spread.

Maya kneels behind her, her body buzzing with instinct.

The scent is everywhere now—Sophie’s slick pooling on the sheets, her body open and wet and begging for it. Maya strokes herself once, guiding her cock to that swollen, glistening entrance.

She doesn’t tease.

She drives forward.

The first thrust punches a sharp cry from Sophie’s lips—half pleasure, half shock—and Maya growls low in her throat, hips snapping forward again as her cock slides deep, thick and unforgiving.

Slick squelches obscenely as she bottoms out.

“Fuck,” Maya pants, gripping Sophie’s hips so hard her fingers leave bruises. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Sophie moans, back arching. “Please—don’t hold back—”

Maya doesn’t.

She pounds into her, fast and rough, rut taking over now with full force. Her rhythm is brutal, hips slamming into Sophie’s ass with every thrust, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room.

Sophie takes it—beautiful and obedient and loud, crying out with every stroke, her cunt milking Maya’s cock like it was made for her knot.

Maya snarls, eyes rolling back at the feel of her omega’s body sucking her in, squeezing tighter with every thrust.

Her knot’s swelling.

Maya feels it before it fully happens—the thick, sudden swell at the base of her cock, the deep, inevitable pull of the knot forming. Her breath stutters as instinct surges hot and overwhelming through her veins.

“Fuck—Sophie,” she growls, voice breaking as her hips slam forward one last brutal time.

The knot locks inside her with a wet, stretching drag that tears a sharp cry from Sophie’s throat. Her whole body jolts as she’s forced wide around it, the pressure overwhelming, cunt clenching reflexively around the thickest part of Maya buried inside her.

“Oh—oh god,” Sophie sobs, shaking. “Alpha—Alpha—”

Maya’s hands clamp down on her hips, holding her steady as her body takes over completely. Her cock pulses hard inside Sophie, each violent twitch flooding her with come, hot and relentless, filling her until it spills around the seal of the knot.

She groans, teeth bared, forehead dropping between Sophie’s shoulder blades as wave after wave rips through her.

This—this is what an omega is made to take.

To be filled. Claimed. Used until they’re dripping with proof of it.

Sophie is undone beneath her, sobbing and shaking, her body wrung out on every pulse. Pleasure overwhelms her in crashing, unstoppable waves—her slick pouring freely, thighs trembling as orgasm after orgasm tears through her without mercy.

Maya stays locked inside her, rut roaring loud in her ears, breath thick and broken. The world narrows to heat and scent and the tight, perfect grip of Sophie’s body around her knot.

For a few moments, instinct is everything.

And yet—buried deep beneath all that raw satisfaction—there’s a hollow echo.

Because even as Sophie’s body clenches around her like she was born for it, even as her seed sinks warm and heavy inside an omega built to take it, something inside Maya stays unanswered.

No answering pull.
No imprint.
No bond.

Just flesh.

Eventually, the knot softens.

Maya shifts carefully, easing her weight back as she begins to slip free. The separation is slow and slick and obscene, Sophie whimpering softly at the empty stretch as Maya finally pulls out, her cock still thick and wet and aching.

Come leaks freely from Sophie, a clear, messy proof of what just happened.

Maya watches it for one heavy second.

Then instinct snarls again.

She grabs Sophie’s hips and drives back in—no knot this time, no pause, just thrust after thrust, fast and punishing, rut demanding more friction, more surrender, more sound.

Sophie cries out, the overstimulation almost unbearable, pleasure tipping into a maddening, trembling haze as Maya fucks her harder, deeper, again and again.

“Yes—yes—please—” Sophie sobs, words breaking apart into incoherent sounds as she comes yet again, her body shuddering violently beneath Maya’s relentless rhythm.

Maya’s breath comes in harsh growls. Her instincts are fully unleashed now—alpha hunger roaring unchecked as she takes what’s offered to her without restraint.

And still—

In the middle of it—

She feels it.

That empty space.

Because Sophie is warm and willing and perfect in the way any omega can be. Her body fits. Her scent feeds Maya’s instincts. But her soul doesn’t answer back.

There is no click. No deep, bone-level certainty.

Just need.

And need, no matter how intense, is not the same as home.

Maya thrusts harder, chasing completion she knows she won’t fully find here, rut driving her to wring every drop of pleasure from this body beneath hers because it’s all she has tonight.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, beneath the roar of blood and instinct and sweat—Maya Bishop is still alone.

Sophie lays flat on her stomach, flushed and wrecked, thighs twitching against the soaked sheets. Her body rises and falls with every shallow breath, glistening with sweat, inner thighs sticky with a mess that keeps leaking from her used, swollen cunt.

Maya watches her from the doorway, still naked, still hard—her cock refusing to relent even after flooding Sophie twice. She hands over a cold bottle of water, their fingertips brushing.

Sophie turns her head and smiles weakly, blinking through the haze. “Thanks.”

Maya sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to let her weight shift too close. Her control is still frayed. One wrong movement and instinct could take the wheel again.

“You good?” Maya asks, voice hoarse but grounded.

Sophie nods, sips, then sets the bottle down on the nightstand. “Better than good. You’re intense, but… safe.”

That word snaps something in Maya.

Safe.

It’s what she clings to. What she has to be. Even in rut. Especially in rut. She can’t afford to be the alpha that loses herself completely. She can’t afford to hurt anyone, not even by accident.

Still, she hears the edge in Sophie’s voice. A tremble, not from fear—but from expectation.

Want.

Sophie turns her head again, eyes flicking down.

Maya follows her gaze—and sees it.

The slick trail of come dripping out of her, slowly, inching down the crease of her thigh. The bed is soaked beneath her, her folds still parted slightly, still glistening, red and stretched from the knot that had held her open.

Maya’s cock twitches violently.

“Fuck,” she mutters, standing so fast the bed shifts beneath Sophie.

Sophie gasps as Maya climbs back onto the mattress, straddling her thighs, grabbing her hips with renewed hunger. “Alpha—”

“I’m not done with you,” Maya growls, voice darker now. “You’re still leaking. You need more.”

Sophie lets out a sharp, needy whimper, nodding quickly and burying her face into the pillow.

Maya lines herself up, one hand spreading Sophie’s ass cheeks, the other guiding her cock straight back into the soaked, used heat of her omega’s body.

She sinks in hard.

The slap of hips to ass is sharp, wet, relentless.

Sophie cries out, her voice muffled against the sheets as Maya drives into her from behind—prone, helpless beneath her, pinned between Alpha and mattress with nowhere to go.

Maya sets a brutal rhythm, one hand planted against Sophie’s lower back, the other gripping her hip like a handle. Her body is pure instinct now—fucking for release, for dominance, for completion.

Sophie moans, breath broken. “Yes—yes, Alpha—fill me again, please—”

“You want more?” Maya snarls, bending low until her chest is flush against Sophie’s back. “You want to feel me dripping out of you for days?”

“Yes—fuck—please—!”

Maya’s cock hits deep with every thrust, the slick heat of Sophie’s cunt still milking her greedily. The previous loads only make it wetter, messier, easier—and the scent of it, the sheer fertility in the air, makes Maya’s head spin.

She’s close again.

So is Sophie, her body quaking under Maya’s weight, pushed flat into the sheets as she sobs with pleasure, overstimulated and wide open, but begging for every brutal thrust.

“Gonna fill you again,” Maya pants, biting back the roar building in her chest. “Take it. Fucking take it—”

With a final, violent snap of her hips, Maya buries herself as deep as she can go, cock swelling again, thick and pulsing as another wave of come floods Sophie’s womb.

Sophie screams—pleasure, pain, everything all at once—and Maya doesn’t stop. She stays there, locked inside, trembling with the force of it, her own body shaking as her knot swells once more.

Even with all this…

Even with Sophie wrung out beneath her, dripping and full and perfectly used…

That hollow ache remains.

By late the next morning, the animal edge had dulled.

Maya stood in the shower again, this time with more awareness, less need. Her body ached in the best ways—shoulders loose, thighs sore, her cock finally resting, no longer screaming to knot or fill.

She’d spent the night in motion.

Fucking Sophie over and over and over, rut pulling her into every angle, every noise, every drop of slick and breathless plea. Sophie had taken all of it. Willingly. Greedily. She’d begged for more until her voice gave out.

It should have satisfied Maya.

It should have been enough.

But there was no bond. No imprint. No mate.

Just an empty apartment and a sticky set of sheets, and the memory of her own groans echoing too loud in the quiet moments between.

After a quiet breakfast and a last long drink of water, Maya drove Sophie back to her car at Joe’s.

The omega was wobbly-legged but smiling, hair tied up, oversized hoodie hiding the bruises on her hips. She’d been kind. Clear-headed. Grateful.

They’d stuck to the rules.

Maya parked, engine idling, and turned toward her.

“You good?”

Sophie nodded. “Yeah. More than good. You’re… disciplined. It helped.”

Maya didn’t smile, but she dipped her chin in a respectful nod.

Sophie added, “I’ll follow protocol. Morning-after shot. Hormone flush. And a check-in with my doc, just in case.”

Maya kept her expression neutral. “Good.”

“You?”

“Testing at Grey Sloan later today. I’ll file the record with the app.”

“Perfect.”

They were both quiet for a second.

No one reached for a number. No longing glances. No pretense of something lasting.

Just two dynamics doing what they were made to do—and walking away clean.

Sophie opened the door. “Thanks again, Maya.”

“Be safe,” Maya replied, watching her go.

Back at her apartment, Maya stripped the sheets and dumped them in the wash. Disinfected surfaces. Ate protein. Showered again. All part of the ritual. All part of what kept this from becoming something reckless or dangerous.

Chapter Text

Carina DeLuca adjusted the hem of her pencil skirt, glanced at the projection screen, and took a deep breath through her nose. Lavender oil. Discreetly dabbed on her wrist. It calmed the mind.

Even an omega’s.

The conference room at Grey Sloan was already filling with bodies—attending physicians, interns, nurses, researchers, even a few board members. Her audience today was mixed-dynamic, mostly beta, with a few curious alphas lingering near the coffee table, trying not to scent too obviously.

She could feel the attention on her.

Of course she could. She had presence. Poise. But more than that—she was an omega standing at the front of a lecture hall, commanding attention with a slideshow titled:

"Neural Mapping and Reproductive Response: Alpha-Omega Synergy in Medical Contexts."

This lecture wasn’t optional.

Grey Sloan had agreed to fund her research on the condition she offered quarterly educational seminars—ostensibly to “destigmatize omega health issues in clinical environments.” Carina knew the subtext. She was here to prove she could handle herself in a mixed-dynamic hospital without distraction.

So far, she had.

She clicked to the first slide and cleared her throat, slipping easily into her polished, accented English.

“I moved to Seattle five months ago, and since then, I’ve seen both the best and worst of our dynamic culture in medical settings. Today’s lecture will focus on the physiological differences between orgasmic response in betas and omegas—specifically, the data I’ve collected through neural imaging at the peak of omega stimulation.”

There were some raised brows. A stifled cough. But no one interrupted.

Carina smiled slightly. Good. They’re listening.

Her research was controversial, even in progressive circles.

But her data didn’t lie.

In her studies, she had discovered that omega orgasms activated deep regions of the brain—particularly those associated with pain modulation, emotional regulation, and trust response. Areas that remained largely dormant in beta climaxes. The areas of beta brains that did light up were not nearly as bright as that of omegas.

She changed slides.

A fMRI scan appeared on the screen. Vivid, multicolored, undeniably alive.

“This,” she said, “is the brain of a twenty-eight-year-old omega during a non-penetrative climax. You can see activation not just in the hypothalamus and amygdala, but in the periaqueductal gray—an area linked to pain management. This reaction is ten times more potent than what we see with morphine.”

The room was dead silent.

Carina clicked again, showing comparison images—betas, alphas, omegas side by side.

“I believe the omega orgasm is not only a reproductive imperative, but a neurologically significant event. It offers insight into how dynamics process pain, how they form bonds, how they heal.”

She paused.

“What I want to understand… is if that kind of depth, that neural euphoria, can ever be replicated in betas or alphas.”

This was the core of her theory.

And her curse.

Because even though she spoke with clinical detachment, Carina DeLuca was an omega who had never felt that kind of pleasure herself.

Because she only slept with betas.

Because she took daily blockers.

Because she refused to let her status interfere with her work—or define her in a hospital where her very presence still raised eyebrows.

Her eyes flicked toward the back of the room.

No Andrew yet. He was likely buried in the pit doing an appendectomy, or chasing after Bailey with a clipboard. That was fine. She didn’t need her little brother watching this lecture about orgasmic neurology.

But still… she missed him. He was the reason she’d come to Seattle in the first place. That, and the opportunity to study dynamic patterns in a North American population. Italy had been progressive, yes—but American medicine came with its own chaotic brand of hierarchy and hormones.

And Seattle?

Seattle was crawling with unmatched alphas.

Frustrated, unsatisfied alphas.

She could smell them at every fundraiser, every staff party, every clinic rotation.

Sometimes it made her ache.

Sometimes it made her wet.

But she never stopped taking her blockers.

Because if she did—if she let her body call out for what it wanted—she wasn’t sure she could put the genie back in the bottle.

Carina clicked to the final slide.

It was simple: white background, three words in soft gray serif text.

“Pain. Pleasure. Possibility.”

She turned back to the room.

“What we’re exploring isn’t erotic fantasy,” she said, voice clear and controlled. “It’s a new frontier of medicine. If we can map and eventually harness the neurological intensity of omega orgasm—if we can understand how it modulates pain, stabilizes cortisol, and impacts hormone regulation—we may be able to replicate it therapeutically.”

She let that sit.

“The implications are enormous. We’re not just talking about omega care. We’re talking about a future where alpha and beta pain response might also be modulated using dynamic-based neural therapy. But we have to study it in its purest form first. And yes—sometimes that means sex. That means bond chemistry. That means heat.”

There was a long silence.

Then, from the second row, a young attending raised his hand. Dr. Patel—cardiology.

“Do you think this will ever become standard? Using orgasm as a treatment protocol?”

Carina tilted her head. “I believe it should. But whether or not it will… depends on how quickly the medical world evolves past its discomfort.”

A few quiet chuckles followed. She smiled politely, but didn’t soften her tone.

Another hand rose. An older woman, OB/GYN, beta. Respectable. Calm. “Do you foresee legal or ethical issues with prescribing dynamic-based orgasm therapy to patients in distress—especially if they’re bonded, or presenting?”

Carina nodded. “Absolutely. Which is why my protocols focus first on neural mapping, not on prescribing sex. But eventually, we may need to rewrite policy to include the realities of dynamic biology instead of pretending it’s not medical.”

Even in a city like Seattle, even at a hospital like Grey Sloan—dynamic medicine was still taboo. The idea that biology could dictate not just attraction but treatment plans was controversial. That an orgasm could heal? That it might work better than a pill?

Too intimate.

Too animal.

Too real.

But Carina had seen it.

She had watched omega subjects—under careful, ethical study—come under stimulation and watched their pain centers shut off like a switch. Saw migraines vanish. Cramping subside. Emotional trauma melt into euphoria. All without a single drug.

That kind of power couldn’t be ignored.

Not forever.

As the room emptied, a few doctors lingered.

No one was inappropriate. No one smirked or asked thinly-veiled questions about her personal life. These were professionals. But still—their curiosity hummed just under the surface. Like they didn’t know whether to be fascinated… or afraid.

Carina handled them all with poise.

“Do you have a registry for your neural volunteers?”
“Yes, though it’s currently full.”
“Have you published anything peer-reviewed yet?”
“Three studies in European journals. I’m submitting my first U.S. paper this winter.”

After ten minutes, they left her alone.

She finally exhaled.

The room finally emptied, and Carina sat back in her chair, reaching into her tote bag.

Her fingers found the familiar cool cylinder—discreet, compact, matte white.

She twisted the cap and let the small scent blocker tab dissolve under her tongue. The chemical tingle was instantaneous, a bitter echo sliding down her throat as the neutralizing agents got to work. It was the second one today—precautionary, strategic.

This time of the month, her body got louder. Her scent thickened, ripened. Noticeable, even with the blockers in place at some points in the faintest degree. Her body was approaching the edge of cycle, and she couldn’t afford to distract the very people she needed to take her seriously.

There were too many alphas at Grey Sloan who tried to hide how their pupils dilated when she passed by.

And one or two omegas who held her gaze too long, searching for pack.

Carina didn’t have time for pack.

The door creaked open behind her, and before Carina could turn, familiar lips pressed to her cheek.

“Ciao, bella. You were brilliant.”

Carina smiled, even if her body didn’t react the way it once did. “Arizona.”

The pediatric surgeon smiled brightly, her beta scent easy and inoffensive, her eyes soft with warmth as she slid into the seat next to Carina. “You made half the intern row blush and the other half rethink their career plans. That’s impact.”

Carina chuckled softly. “It’s always the second orgasm slide.”

Arizona leaned in, eyes glinting. “The one with the full neural firestorm?”

“Exactly.”

They kissed—light, routine. Familiar in a way that felt more polite than passionate.

Arizona had been one of the first faces Carina connected with when she’d arrived in Seattle. Bright. Bubbly. Open. They’d fallen into bed after three conversations and a bottle of wine, and it had been fun at first—flirtatious, exotic.

Beta partners had always been easy for Carina. Safe. No scent wars. No dominance tangle. Just skin and laughter and fingers.

Arizona was good in bed.

Carina liked her.

But lately…

Lately it had turned vanilla. Rhythmic. Sweet, but shallow. Like their bodies knew the motions but had forgotten the urgency.

And Arizona traveled. A lot.

The last three weekends, Carina had spent alone—research spread across her bed, vibrator gathering dust on the nightstand, heat suppressed by synthetic hormones and the sound of her own sighs.

Arizona reached over now and squeezed her hand. “We should celebrate tonight.”

Carina blinked. “Tonight?”

“I’m home. For two nights, anyway. Let’s go out. I’ll take you somewhere nice. Unless you have a study subject lined up?”

Carina hesitated.

Her body… wasn’t hungry.

Not for Arizona.

Not anymore.

But saying that out loud would make it real. Would undo the easy illusion she’d built to protect herself from a deeper, more frightening truth:

Arizona wasn’t her match.

Had never been.

She didn’t light up Carina’s brain like her research described. Her scent didn’t pull Carina into a spiral. Her hands never made Carina shatter the way her data said omegas could.

Still, Carina nodded. “Dinner sounds nice.”

Arizona beamed, kissed her again, and started scrolling through her phone for reservations.

Carina watched her and tried to feel something.

Tried to stop her body from whispering the truth she already knew:

She was loved.
She was respected.
She was safe.

But she was not satisfied.

Arizona followed as Carina walked back to her office, they walked in silence with Carina in her thought and Arizona playing with her phone.

Carina barely had time to close her office door before Arizona was on her.

Lips crashing against hers, eager hands sliding around her waist, fingers already tugging at the buttons of her blouse with practiced ease.

“Mm—Arizona,” Carina murmured, half-laughing as she stumbled backward into her desk.

Arizona grinned against her neck. “Sorry, I just—God, that lecture. Watching you up there, all confident and sexy and commanding…” She pressed her mouth to Carina’s throat, biting softly. “I couldn’t wait.”

Carina’s breath caught.

The scent of beta arousal filled the small space—warm, gentle, not overpowering. Arizona’s energy was playful, affectionate. Familiar.

Carina let herself respond—her hands threading into Arizona’s hair, thighs parting instinctively as she leaned back against the desk.

Arizona’s hand slid up her skirt, and Carina gasped when fingers brushed against her panties.

“So wet,” Arizona whispered, surprised and delighted. “You’re already soaked…”

Carina stilled for a heartbeat.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not this early. Not from this.

She should’ve been dry—calm. Her second blocker hadn’t even peaked yet. She wasn’t due for a spike in scent or slick. But her body was responding anyway, wetter than usual, open, like it had been waiting for something all morning.

Fuck.

She realized instantly—she should’ve started the double-dose protocol two days ago. Her cycle was creeping closer than she’d tracked. Her scent was getting stronger, and soon, it wouldn’t matter how many layers of professionalism or suppressants she wrapped herself in—her body would demand.

Still, she smiled, voice light. “You do that to me.”

Arizona grinned and slid her hand inside Carina’s panties.

Carina let her.

She wanted to want this.

And in some ways, she did. Arizona’s fingers were clever. Attentive. Her touch was just firm enough, curling at the perfect angle, sliding through the flood of slick that betrayed just how far gone Carina’s body already was.

Arizona kissed her again, tongue stroking lazily into her mouth as her fingers began to thrust.

Arizona’s fingers worked with the precision that made her a surgical legend, fluttering, coaxing, then holding steady once she found the rhythm that made Carina’s hips chase. There was no power struggle, only Arizona’s irresistible cheerfulness—her “Good girl, that’s it,” whispered while she nuzzled under Carina’s ear. Carina braced herself on the edge of the desk, the cool laminate digging into her palms. It helped keep her present, kept her anchored, as Arizona’s knuckle curled, stroked, and pressed up against the slick, insistent ache that lived just below her hipbones.

Carina moaned softly, head falling back.

She knew this pleasure. Knew how to follow it. Knew exactly how to arch her hips, when to grind down, when to breathe deeper and let the climax rise.

It didn’t take long.

Orgasm took her with a quick, efficient rush—her muscles tightening, slick gushing around Arizona’s hand as she gasped and clung to the edge of the desk.

It was good.

Familiar.

Satisfying enough.

But even as her body pulsed through it, as she panted and trembled and let Arizona kiss her through the aftershocks—Carina knew it wasn’t the orgasm her research described.

Not the kind that cracked open the soul.
Not the kind that shut off pain receptors.
Not the kind that rewrote the brain.

This one was localized. Measured. Contained.

Just like her relationship.

Arizona gently withdrew her hand, smiling like she’d given Carina the world.

“You needed that,” she said, proud and sweet.

Carina nodded, still catching her breath. “I did.”

And she meant it.

She just didn’t say out loud that her body had needed something else entirely—and was getting closer to asking for it, louder.

She made a mental note to grab the double-dose suppressors the moment Arizona left.

Because if she didn’t…

Soon, someone—some alpha—might smell her.

Carina waited until Arizona disappeared down the hall—cheerful, breezy, already texting someone about a new case—before she moved.

She crossed the room quickly, still barefoot, still flushed from the orgasm that had left her only technically satisfied, and dug into her purse.

Her fingers found the slim, black heat suppressor case tucked beneath her tablet and notebook.

She popped it open with shaking hands.

The double-dose was stronger. Designed to stall a looming heat cycle if taken in time. The taste was bitter, more metallic than the daily blocker. She downed it without water, swallowing hard as the pill scraped her throat.

Her body was already humming, traitorous and warm, and she didn’t trust it.

She reached for her scent marker next—unscrewing the cap and rolling the neutralizer along her throat, behind her ears, down the center of her chest. The chemical scent was sterile and subtle, designed to neutralize, not cover. It dulled the sweetness of her omega profile almost instantly, smoothing her scent down to beta-flat.

Carina breathed.

In. Out.

Professional. Composed. Unavailable.

Just the way she had to be.

Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed again—sleek dress shirt tucked into high-waisted slacks, hair pinned neatly back, tablet under her arm. Her heels clicked down the corridor as she made her way toward the maternity wing.

Arizona had vanished, predictably, with a kiss and a promise to text.

Carina didn’t mind. It made it easier not to dwell.

She stopped at the nurse’s station and greeted Jo, who was flipping through a patient chart with a tired, amused expression.

“Ciao,” Carina greeted. “How’s our favorite set of twins behaving?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Better than their mother. She’s insisting on a water birth in a room that is extremely small and the husband is afraid because he says he can’t swim.”

Carina smiled gently. “Let’s at least confirm the position of the first baby before we worry about water.”

Jo handed her the chart. “I told her if you said no, I’d back you up. She said you’d never say no to a omega and favorite patient.”

Carina raised a brow. “Studying omegas doesn’t make me a miracle worker.”

“But it does make you calming as hell when they’re in labor,” Jo said, smiling. “Even the alphas listen to you.”

Carina shrugged, flipping through the chart. “They should. I know more about their hormones than they do.”

Chapter Text

The restaurant was softly lit, all warm wood tones and flickering candlelight. Intimate. Romantic. The kind of place that assumed the people sitting across from each other were falling, or already in love.

Carina smiled at the maître d’, murmured something in Italian that made him blush, and followed Arizona to a quiet corner booth. She slid in across from her, legs crossed, back straight, posture effortlessly elegant.

Her phone sat screen-down beside her wine glass.

On call.

Always on call.

Arizona unfolded her napkin and smiled. “You know I don’t mind,” she said gently, before Carina could say it herself.

Carina tilted her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

Arizona’s smile flickered. “You didn’t have to.”

Carina looked at her carefully. Arizona was good at masking things. She made jokes when she was uncomfortable. She praised the chaos when she wanted calm.

“I do try to separate work and home,” Carina said softly.

“I know.” Arizona traced the rim of her glass. “And I know your work is important. I just miss you sometimes. Even when we’re sitting right here.”

Carina blinked, caught off guard.

“I’m sorry.”

Arizona shook her head. “Don’t be. Just… talk to me. Tell me about your day.”

Carina softened. “All right.”

She reached for her water, fingers curling gently around the stem.

“I had an omega patient give birth this afternoon,” she said. “Twins. Both healthy. It was textbook, but beautiful. She wanted to feel everything, so no pain medication. Just breathing and pacing and instinct.”

Arizona’s lips curved into a more genuine smile. “That’s your favorite kind of birth, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Carina’s eyes lit up with quiet passion. “And Jo was with me. Afterward, she said the most amusing thing. She told me that even the alphas listen to me when they won’t listen to anyone else.”

Arizona laughed. “I believe that. You’ve got that… thing. That voice. Makes you sound like you already know everything, so people just go with it.”

Carina raised a brow, half teasing. “I don’t know everything. But I do want to learn everything I can to better help my patients.”

Arizona grinned. “Well you definitely give off a vibe that you act like you know everything.”

Carina frowned, she hoped that’s not how she came across to her patients. She always tried to make sure to hear them out and meet them at whatever level they were on.

They were halfway through dinner when Arizona set down her fork and tilted her head, eyes playful—but sharp beneath the surface.

“You know,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass, “sometimes I think we’re lucky. That neither of us has to deal with the whole alpha-omega dynamic mess.”

Carina blinked.

Arizona smiled. “I mean, it just complicates everything. All the pheromones and heats and ruts. Honestly, I’m glad we’re both betas.”

Carina stilled.

She forced her expression to remain neutral, even as her body coiled in quiet protest. She felt the heat suppressant still pulsing through her bloodstream—flattening her scent, muting the low ache that had been building all week.

“Is that so?” Carina asked softly.

Arizona shrugged. “I mean, look at your research. I get that it’s fascinating, and I support you—I do—but sometimes I wonder… do we really need to treat alphas and omegas that differently? Isn’t it just basic physiology? They need orgasms, sure, but that doesn’t make it medical.”

Carina’s jaw tightened.

Arizona didn’t notice.

She went on, flippant and breezy. “Like, do we really need to map their brains during sex to prove that it feels good? Isn’t that kind of… obvious?”

Carina set her fork down with precision.

“You know my research is about far more than pleasure,” she said, voice even. “It’s about neurological data. About pain reduction. Hormonal response. Recovery. Emotional regulation. And yes—pleasure. Because it matters. Because it’s different for them. And if we ignore those differences, we fail patients.”

Arizona leaned back slightly. “I’m not saying it’s not interesting, Carina, but I just… I don’t think it’s that different. People are people.”

Carina felt her throat close.

People are people.

But not all people present. Not all people get put into scent-controlled rooms. Not all people have to fight to be taken seriously when their body is wired to submit—even if their mind never will.

She could feel her scent pushing at the edges of its suppression—an unconscious flare of defiance.

“I think,” she said tightly, “if you saw what I saw in my clinic, you’d understand why we need specificity. Why a one-size-fits-all model does not work. Why alphas in rut and omegas in heat are not simply ‘people’ who can be treated like betas with a cough.”

Arizona frowned. “Carina, I didn’t mean to insult—”

“You do it all the time,” Carina said, quietly but firmly.

Arizona paused.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Of course you didn’t, Carina thought.

Because Carina had never told her.

Because Carina had never said the one thing that would have made Arizona stop talking like this.

I’m an omega.

But the words stayed locked in her throat. She couldn’t say them—not to someone who believed it was a relief not to be one.

Not to someone who would see her differently after.

So instead, she breathed.

In. Out.

“Let’s just… finish dinner,” she said finally, reaching for her wine. “Before the hospital calls.”

Arizona nodded, but her smile didn’t quite return.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

The tension still hovered—unspoken, but close enough to taste. Carina picked at the corner of her napkin, smoothing the linen over and over while the last of her fish cooled on the plate.

Arizona cleared her throat.

“So… I’m flying out tomorrow morning.”

Carina looked up.

“Boston?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Arizona nodded, trying for a light tone. “Yeah. Sofia’s got a science fair, and Callie said she really wants me to be there this time. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

Carina gave a soft, patient nod. “Of course.”

She meant it.

She always meant it.

Because she understood. Sofia was a child. A daughter. Living across the country with a new life, a new school, a blended family that was trying its best. Carina had never asked Arizona to choose—never expected her to prioritize a relationship over motherhood.

But still.

She wanted to be chosen sometimes.

Just once, she wanted Arizona to look at her and see her. Not as a lover. Not as a project. Not as someone fascinating or foreign or charming.

But as hers.

As someone worth anchoring to.

Arizona smiled. “You know I hate traveling so much.”

Carina returned the smile. “It’s important.”

“It is,” Arizona agreed. “And I miss her every time. I miss you too.”

Carina nodded, swallowing the ache.

But missing wasn’t the same as showing up.

The sharp buzz of her pager broke the silence.

Carina’s heart skipped—ER.

She didn’t hesitate.

Carina jumped up, giving Arizona a half kiss as she headed towards her car.

By the time she arrived at Grey Sloan, the ER was pulsing with activity. Monitors beeping, trauma carts rolling, nurses moving fast and tight.

The scent hit her first.

Sharp. Dense. Alpha.

Owen.

Carina’s nostrils flared before she could stop herself. The man had never moderated his scent. He didn’t have to. He was a trauma surgeon, a decorated vet, a leader—and every inch of him reeked of alpha aggression, even when he wasn’t posturing.

Most omegas found his scent comforting. Reassuring.

Carina found it claustrophobic.

Not because he was a bad man—he wasn’t. But because his scent didn’t click. It curled around her brain in a way that made her skin itch, her body tense. Her instincts responded—but not with arousal.

With rejection.

She pushed through it, jaw tight, and met him at the trauma bay.

“Dr. DeLuca,” Owen said with a curt nod. “Thanks for coming down. We’ve got a pregnant omega, twenty-eight weeks. Car crash. Seatbelt bruising across the lower abdomen. BP’s borderline. We’re having trouble finding a steady fetal heartbeat.”

Carina’s stomach dropped. “Any contractions?”

“No,” Owen said. “Vitals are holding, but she’s scared. Panicking. She keeps saying she can’t feel the baby.”

Carina moved without another word, pulling on gloves as she followed Owen through the curtains. The scent of omega distress hit her instantly—sharp, sour, frantic.

The patient was small, dark-haired, covered in road dust and tears. Her hands clutched her belly protectively, her breath short and erratic.

“I’m Dr. DeLuca,” Carina said gently, switching into fluent, low-tone Omega-speak—steady, soothing, safe. “I’m here to help. We’re going to check everything. I promise, you’re not alone.”

She felt the tension in the woman’s shoulders ease just slightly.

Owen hovered behind her. Close. Scent-heavy.

Too close.

Carina’s blocker was still active, but even so, her body reacted—wanting to pull back, wanting space. His presence made it harder to focus, harder to access the quiet part of her mind where instinct and intellect met in perfect rhythm.

“I need a portable ultrasound,” Carina said crisply. “Now.”

A nurse rolled it in.

Carina gelled the patient’s belly, moving the wand with practiced precision. Her eyes narrowed, heart stuttering.

There it was.

A flicker. Faint. Too slow.

“Found it,” she said quietly. “But decelerated. I need OB trauma protocol. Push fluids. Prep the OR in case we have to move to emergency C-section.”

Owen looked at her. “You think we’ll need to?”

Carina didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she met the patient’s eyes, softening her voice again. “You’re doing so well. I just want to be ready for everything. We’ll stay with you. We’ll protect your baby.”

The woman nodded, tears streaking her face.

Carina stepped out of the trauma bay, stripping off her gloves and tossing them into the bin as she made her way toward the locker room to change into clean scrubs.

She was halfway down the hall, mind already ticking through OR prep protocols, when it hit her.

The scent.

Not omega. Not beta. Definitely not Owen.

It was alpha—but nothing like she’d ever experienced.

Not heavy or suffocating like Owen’s presence. This scent was clean, sharp with dominance but threaded through with something deeper—like heat in the distance, like the aftershock of fire on skin. It struck low in her belly and made her knees stutter for half a step.

She froze.

Her breath caught, mouth slightly parted.

It hit again—faint but unmistakable.

It wrapped around her, brushing the edges of her scent suppressor like wind through a cracked window. Her nipples peaked beneath her blouse, a fresh trickle of slick pooling between her thighs.

Carina gasped—barely audible—and turned slowly, eyes scanning the ER.

But the hallway was empty. The scent was fading, scattered beneath antiseptic, blood, sweat, and machinery. No one definitive. Just… traces.

Like someone had been there.

Had moved through.

And her body, despite the blocker dulling it, was starving for more.

She blinked fast and turned on her heel, breath coming quicker now, retreating into the locker room before anyone could see her.

She opened her purse with shaking fingers.

Another heat suppressor. Under her tongue.

Another roll of scent blocker, quickly swiped behind her ears, throat, wrists.

She leaned into the locker for a moment, heart hammering, thighs clenching.

She couldn’t afford this. Not here. Not now.

Not with a patient in distress. Not when she’d just argued with Arizona.

And yet…

Her body had responded. Instantly. Viscerally.

Something in her—something ancient and omega-deep—had whispered:

Alpha. Mine.

She clenched her jaw.

No.
Not possible.

She hadn’t seen anyone. No alpha had even looked at her.

It had to be a mistake. A hormonal fluctuation. Nothing more.

Still… her hands trembled as she changed into her scrubs.

— — —

Maya pulled into the Grey Sloan parking garage just past 10pm.

After driving Sophie home, she’d showered, downed half a liter of electrolyte mix, and thrown on the cleanest hoodie she could find. Spent the day cleaning her apartment and washing her sheets, a few times, Her body was still sore—cock sensitive, thighs aching—but the knotting urge had finally passed.

It had been a successful rut, if nothing else.

Efficient. Necessary.

And clean.

She always was.

Maya walked through the emergency room entrance and gave a tight nod to the nurse at the check-in desk. “Addison Forbes,” she said, low and casual. “She’s expecting me.”

The nurse gave her a knowing look and motioned her toward the back.

Addison was already prepping the small exam room when Maya stepped in.

"Rough night, Lieutenant Bishop?" Addison asked, smiling with the kind of polite detachment only a seasoned omega could carry when a fully-rutted alpha walked in for their STD panel.

Maya smirked. “I’ve had worse.”

Addison snapped on gloves and opened a sterile swab kit. “I assume this is post-match testing?”

“Yeah. Same as usual. You’ve got the app QR?”

“Right here,” Addison said, tapping the tablet. “Let’s get this done.”

The process was quick and clinical.

Swab the urethra. A small blood draw. No questions about who. No judgment. Just protocol.

Maya appreciated that about Addison. She understood the stakes—how the app’s system worked, how important it was to keep it discreet, respectful. And she never treated Maya like she was something to be impressed or intimidated by.

Just an alpha following the rules.

“Everything looked normal last time,” Addison said as she labeled the samples. “I assume this time will be the same?”

Maya nodded. “I’m not reckless.”

As Maya left the exam room, she adjusted her hoodie and stepped into the corridor.

And that’s when it happened.

She smelled something.

Not the sterile sharpness of the ER.

Not the omega musk Addison always wore, nor the adrenaline-soaked scent of trauma in the air.

This was something new.

Delicate. Sweet.

Her cock twitched.

She stopped walking, nostrils flaring, turning her head subtly, trying not to be obvious. She didn’t see anyone—but her body did. Somewhere in this building was the faintest scent of something she had never smelled before, and it hit her like lightning in her spine.

— — —

Carina barely had time to peel off her surgical gown before her pager buzzed again.

ER. Room 3. OB consult. Urgent.

She cursed softly in Italian, wiped the sweat from her brow, and headed back down to the emergency wing. Her scrubs were damp from the C-section she'd just finished, the adrenaline still fading in her system.

When she pushed through the ER doors, Owen was already there—hovering awkwardly outside one of the private patient rooms.

He straightened as she approached, but there was something… strange in the way he looked at her.

“Dr. DeLuca,” he said, then cleared his throat. “There’s an omega in Room 3. She asked for a specialist, and we figured—given your focus—”

Carina arched a brow. “What exactly does she need?”

Owen opened his mouth. Then closed it again. “She… uh… she was recently bred. She said there’s a medical protocol required. Something about post-match procedures.”

“Bred?” Carina repeated, blinking. “You mean, as in—”

“Through an app, apparently. She said she needs documentation and contraceptive protocol.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

Carina brushed past him. “I’ll handle it.”

Inside the room, the scent was faint but unmistakable: slick, sperm, and sweat. Alpha release, but aged slightly—twenty-four hours old, maybe less.

The omega on the bed looked familiar. Flushed cheeks, tired eyes, hair pulled into a messy knot.

Carina's nose flared slightly.

And there it was.

That scent again.

Only traces now, clinging to Sophie’s skin, embedded in the sheets around her. The same one from the corridor earlier. The same one that had stolen Carina’s breath.

Not Sophie.

Someone inside her.

“Hi,” Carina said gently. “I’m Dr. DeLuca. You requested an OB consult?”

Sophie smiled, looking sheepish but relaxed. “Yes, thanks for coming. I’ve just… done this before. I figured talking to OB would be easier than walking the ER through it.”

Carina pulled up the stool. “Walk me through it. I’m not sure what ‘this’ is, exactly.”

Sophie blinked. “You’ve never heard of the Match app?”

Carina shook her head slowly. “No.”

“It’s an alpha-omega regulated hookup platform,” Sophie explained. “For unmanaged ruts or heats. You sign up, verify your health data and scent profile, consent to unbonded intercourse, and agree to post-encounter medical protocols.”

Carina’s brows lifted. “Regulated?”

“Absolutely. It’s safer this way. Anonymous, consensual, tracked. No claiming. No risk of surprise bonds.” Sophie shifted slightly. “When a match ends in confirmed breeding, both parties have to report for testing. I’m here for the omega portion—morning-after contraceptive flush, STI panel, and fertility status verification.”

Carina blinked, stunned—but also impressed.

“And the alpha?”

“Gets tested within 24 hours too. STI and blood panel. It’s all reported to the app so they can make sure nothing is spreading and breedings don’t occur. Keeps everyone healthy.” Sophie paused, watching her. “You really haven’t heard of it?”

“I’ve studied dynamic interaction across cultures,” Carina said, still processing. “But this level of infrastructure—”

“It’s only in certain cities,” Sophie said. “Seattle’s one of them. High dynamic population density.”

Carina nodded slowly, scribbling a few notes into the chart.

But her brain wasn’t on the app anymore, she was having a hard time focusing on anything right now.

It was on that scent. Still clinging to Sophie like an echo.

Alpha.

Familiar.

Dangerous.

She pushed the thought down violently.

“Let’s start with a physical exam,” she said calmly, snapping on gloves. “Then I’ll get the nurse with your prescription kit.”

Her legs are drawn up, a sheet draped over her waist, but the room is saturated with scent—slick and Alpha, knot and seed, the kind of aftermath that takes hours to fade, no matter how good the ventilation.

Sophie relaxed against the pillow. “Thanks, doc.”

Carina nods, gloves snapping on. "You're doing the right thing, Sophie. Let's start with the panel and get you comfortable before the flush."

She moves with clinical precision, but inside, everything is unmoored. Her blockers should make this easier. Should keep her grounded. But the Alpha’s scent is potent, brutal in its virility. Even secondhand, it coils into her lungs and settles low in her abdomen, stirring instincts she has worked years to silence.

She wonders, distantly, if this Alpha knows what they are walking around carrying. Some signature in his pheromones feels... tuned. Like it was crafted to break through walls. To find omegas who think they’re safe. Her mouth waters.

As she works, she tries to keep her mind from slipping. But the Alpha’s scent is under her gloves, in her skin, coiled in her thoughts. There’s something about it—steady, anchored, primal but focused. Most rut-scented omegas come in marked and delirious. Sophie is bruised, yes, but glowing. Like she’s still floating in the aftershock of something she didn’t expect to enjoy that much.

Carina clears her throat. “You mentioned the alpha was in rut. Did you meet them through an app?”

“Yeah. Match.” Sophie exhales dreamily. “It filters by cycle timing—heat or rut. She’d already passed the scent compatibility test. She had a few notes from over the years about being more controlled in the reviews. Controlled. But still…” A lazy smile curves her lips. “Potent.”

Sophie hums. “She was incredible. Said she’d wait, and she did. Didn’t touch me until I begged. She… I don’t know. It was like she saw right through me. And when the rut hit, she held me down and just—” Sophie’s thighs press together instinctively. “I’ve never been bred like that. Not even close.”

Carina’s mouth is dry.

“How long ago was the breeding?”

“Twelve hours. Maybe Fourteen.” Sophie sighs, her eyelids fluttering. “She knotted me five times. The last one was… god. I didn’t want it to stop. I cried when she pulled out.”

Carina breathes out slowly through her nose, double-checking the settings on the flush kit as she steps between Sophie’s parted legs. The sheet is folded back, revealing the slick sheen of residual arousal still clinging to soft, swollen skin. The Alpha’s mark is invisible but everywhere—ghosted along Sophie’s inner thighs, soaked into the scent still rising from her center like steam.

“I'm going to begin the exam now,” Carina says, voice low but steady. “Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”

Sophie nods, relaxed in that blissful, boneless state that only comes after being thoroughly, possessively knotted. Her legs part wider at the nudge of Carina’s gloved hands, hips obedient on the table.

Carina adjusts the light, eyes narrowing as she begins the visual inspection. There’s minor bruising on the inner thighs, faint impressions of fingertips—claiming, but not cruel. The Omega’s entrance is puffy and slightly red, still stretched from repeated knots. There’s visible pooling of semen at the base, thick and viscous. Alpha-grade. High potency.

And undeniably fertile.

Carina swallows hard, her nostrils flaring despite herself. The scent hits her again—deeper now, more primal up close. Maya’s rut lingers, clinging to Sophie’s skin like perfume, sharp and wet and deeply embedded. It sinks into Carina’s bloodstream like a drug, her own slick trying to break through beneath her blockers, even as she fights to stay detached.

“Still tender?” she asks quietly, gently parting Sophie with two fingers to inspect for tearing.

Sophie’s breath catches, more from memory than pain. “A little. She was so deep, and when the third knot came… I couldn’t stop shaking.”

Carina hums noncommittally, pressing her lips into a thin line as she inserts the speculum with practiced ease. Sophie sighs at the intrusion, body yielding instantly, and Carina locks her jaw tight as her gaze sharpens.

The cervix is high, the canal slick with remnants of Alpha seed. No trauma. No tearing. No blood. Just the unmistakable glow of a recently bred omega still swimming in post-knot haze.

She retracts the speculum slightly, beginning the internal rinse. The saline flows in, warm and steady, and Sophie shudders. Not in discomfort—but in echo. Carina can feel it. The tremble of muscle memory. Of being held down, filled, owned.

“She really knew what she was doing,” Sophie murmurs, her voice a little far away. “Like she’d memorized my body before we even touched.”

Carina’s hand trembles. She stills it instantly.

It’s not jealousy. It can’t be. She doesn’t even know this Alpha.

Except… her body does. Every molecule seems to. Her scent glands itch.

Carina has always marveled—quietly, clinically—at the volume of seed an Alpha can produce during rut. She’s seen enough post-breeding flushes to know it isn’t rare, but this…

This is something else.

She’s on her third rinse, and Maya’s cum is still pulling from Sophie’s womb like it’s endless. Viscous, opalescent, rich with Alpha scent, it pools into the waste tray in slow, lazy spirals. Carina watches it drip from the speculum's edge, heart hammering in her throat, her gloves slick with saline and slick and rut-born seed.

The scent is stronger now, not fresher—just more exposed. Warmed by the flush, it’s blooming in the air, curling through the room like smoke.

She’s mid-flush, jaw locked, face impassive, when the knock comes.

Three raps. Pause. One more.

Her eyes narrow. She already knows who it is.

“Dr. DeLuca?” Owen’s voice floats through the door, chipper in that clumsy, boyish way he reserves for bothering her at the worst times. “Just wondering if you got the updated forms for the intake desk? They sent another memo, but I think it got missed…”

Carina grits her teeth.

“Occupied, Owen,” she calls out, voice sharper than she intends. She doesn’t look away from Sophie, who flinches only slightly.

Owen’s still talking. “Right, yeah, sorry. It’s just—they said it was time-sensitive, and I figured if I caught you between—”

“Not now.”

There’s a pause. She imagines him frowning, confused, maybe shrugging as he steps away. He always lingers too long when a bred omega is involved. Never inappropriate. Just curious. Too curious. And somehow, he always manages to find his way to the hallway during procedures like this—when the Alpha isn’t present. When the air is thick with claim but no one to defend it.

Carina hates that about him. The subtle way he hovers. The way he tries not to react to the scent but always does.

The door finally goes quiet. She exhales, hard.

“Sorry,” she says quietly to Sophie. “He’s got a gift for bad timing.”

Sophie laughs softly, still dreamy. “No worries. I barely noticed.”

Carina refocuses. The flush is still drawing seed—less now, but thick enough to pool again. She adjusts the angle, watching it spiral out of Sophie’s slick heat.

Carina readies the final step with the care of ritual—steady hands, quiet breath, precise angle of insertion. The syringe is capped with a narrow, flexible catheter, already loaded with the thick, bioresistant gel that will line Sophie’s womb and neutralize any remaining live sperm cells.

A barrier. A final, preventative.

She leans forward between Sophie’s parted thighs again. “Now I’m going to insert the fertility-blocking agent directly into your uterus. It might cramp a little, but I’ll go slow. Just breathe through it.”

Sophie nods, lashes fluttering, still glossy-eyed. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

With one gloved hand, she gently repositions the speculum, then guides the catheter through Sophie’s slick entrance, carefully angling up and in past the cervix. The first push of the gel is met with a low hiss from Sophie’s throat.

“Yeah,” Sophie exhales, voice shaky. “That burns a little.”

“It's normal,” Carina murmurs, her focus narrowed to the insertion. “You’re doing well. I’m going to coat the full cavity, so there might be a few more cramps.”

She applies gentle pressure on the syringe, watching as the gel deploys. The thickness of it adheres like honey to the inner walls—designed to linger, to coat every inch with molecular resistance. The Alpha’s seed is still being displaced, small residual threads pushed aside as the medication claims space.

Carina adjusts the catheter tip, angling it toward the left uterine horn.

Sophie winces, her hands tightening on the sides of the table. “Fuck. That one pinched.”

“Sorry,” Carina breathes. “Almost done.”

She pulls the catheter back a centimeter, redirects, then finishes the injection with one final, slow press. When she withdraws, there’s a soft, wet sound—like the body mourning the loss of something it had accepted. Carina doesn’t let herself flinch.

She moves quickly now, removing the speculum and reaching for the vaginal ultrasound probe. The condom slides over it with a snap, gel smeared expertly at the tip.

“I want to make sure the coating distributed evenly and that your uterus looks calm. Any fluid buildup, I’ll catch here.”

Sophie just nods, chest still rising and falling with the remnants of cramping.

Carina presses the probe inside gently, and the screen lights up with grayscale. The uterus is slightly contracted but intact—no signs of trauma, no abnormal pooling.

Sophie watches the monitor through half-lidded eyes. “That’s me?”

Carina nods, voice softer now. “That’s you. It looks good. The medication’s in place. You should be protected.”

“God,” Sophie exhales. “Thank you. I know it was probably a lot.”

Carina withdraws the probe and sets it aside, tugging her gloves off with two efficient snaps. “It’s not the first intense rut aftermath I’ve seen.”

But it is the first that’s made her question the integrity of her blockers.

Carina peels off her gloves with a snap, letting the used pair drop neatly into the bin. Her expression is composed—barely—but her body thrums with a quiet, seething energy that feels entirely wrong under fluorescent lights and antiseptic air.

“I’m going to step out while the nurse draws your blood,” she says, smoothing her coat. “They’ll run the STI panel and confirm no hormonal spikes consistent with conception. You’ll be notified by morning.”

Sophie nods, cheeks still flushed. “Thanks again. For everything.”

Carina offers a tight smile, almost convincing, then turns and slips out into the corridor before her instincts can betray her.

The door swings shut behind her with a soft click.

She exhales sharply and presses her back against the cool wall, eyes closed for a moment. The air outside the room is cleaner—bare, sterile—but the scent still lingers behind her eyes, behind her skin, like it tattooed itself into her bloodstream just from proximity.

Chapter Text

The buzz of the station was low and lazy—a slow Tuesday with no alarms, no smoke, no chaos.

Maya was in the bay, crouched beside Ben as he wrapped gauze around an older gentleman’s hand, the faint scent of antiseptic rising into the air. The man had taken a nasty slice from a broken glass while washing dishes, but he was charming about it—smiling and telling them stories from his Navy days while Ben stitched the wound with practiced ease.

“You’re all too kind,” the man said, flexing his fingers slightly. “Didn’t want to wait hours in an ER for this. You guys are faster, and probably gentler.”

Ben chuckled. “We do our best.”

Maya offered a small smile and handed Ben the last sterile strip. “Besides, we’re better looking than most hospitals.”

The man laughed, eyes twinkling. “That’s definitely true.”

Once the man had left, freshly bandaged and waving goodbye with the other hand, the crew gathered near the kitchen.

Andy leaned back against the counter, arms folded. “That’s, what… like fifty people this month who’s shown up for basic care?”

Jack nodded, sipping from his protein shake. “People trust us more than hospitals. Less sterile, less overwhelming. We’re part of the neighborhood. It makes sense.”

“Also,” Vic chimed in, “Ben’s basically a sexy doctor-firefighter unicorn. That helps.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, I think?”

Maya leaned back in a chair, a rare softness in her shoulders.

She was more relaxed than she’d been in days—still a little sore from the previous night, but the pressure had ebbed. Her instincts were quieter, her mind clearer.

Vic gave her a once-over and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re unusually chill today,” she said, mock-suspicious. “Less growl. Less glare. What gives?”

Maya smirked. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

“Or maybe,” Vic said dramatically, “you finally got laid.”

Maya’s grin widened. “Let’s just say… I found some release.”

Andy groaned and covered her ears. “Don’t need the details, thanks.”

Jack raised a brow. “Whatever it was, you should do it more often. You’re almost human.”

Maya rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Because the truth was—she did feel better.

Her rut had been intense, but Sophie had taken it all. And more importantly, Maya had stayed in control. No bond. No biting. No broken promises.

But even as she sipped her coffee and laughed at Vic’s jokes, a small thought lingered in the back of her mind.

That scent.

The one she’d caught at Grey Sloan.

The bell over the front door jingled again.

Maya looked up from her clipboard just in time to see a teenage girl limping across the bay floor, her ankle swollen and already starting to bruise.

Ben was beside her in a second. “Hey there, what happened?”

The girl winced. “Skateboard. Curb. Bad combo.”

Maya crouched beside her as Ben helped her onto one of the med chairs. “Let’s take a look.”

They moved instinctively, assessing for fracture, testing range of motion, wrapping the joint in a compression bandage. Maya worked quietly, efficiently, letting Ben lead the medical questions while she iced the ankle.

The girl relaxed under their care, just the warm, open station and two calm responders who treated her like a person, not a chart.

Once she was settled with water and a cooling pack, Ben stood and stretched.

“You know,” he said, voice low as they cleaned up, “I’ve been thinking about pitching Andy the idea of a regular community clinic.”

Maya looked up. “Yeah?”

“Once or twice a month,” Ben said. “Basic care. First aid. Resource access. For people like this—folks who don’t need an ER, but still need someone.”

Maya nodded slowly.

It made sense. More and more people were showing up. Not emergencies. Just needs.

“And we already have the space,” Ben added. “The trust. They’re walking in on their own.”

Maya raised a brow. “You think Andy will go for it?”

“I think,” Ben said, “if we loop in Grey Sloan and get a few docs on board? She’d have a hard time saying no.”

Maya tossed the used bandage wrappers into the trash and leaned back against the counter beside Ben, wiping her hands.

"You should talk to Andy," she said. "Seriously. That clinic idea—it’s solid. We’ve got the space. We are already supplying the medical help when people ask so why not make it official?"

Ben smiled, but before he could answer, Sullivan’s voice came from the open doorway.

“Alphas and omegas especially,” he added, stepping into the barn. “They’re more likely to come here than to a hospital.”

Maya glanced at him.

Sullivan nodded, folding his arms. “Too many still feel judged. Like walking into an ER with heat or rut symptoms makes them a liability. But here? We don’t look at them sideways. We treat. We move on.”

“That’s true,” Maya said, her voice thoughtful. “Hospitals have protocols, scent containment zones, too much red tape. Here, we handle people like people.”

Ben chimed in. “Exactly. We already know how to be calm around presenting dynamics. We don’t make them feel like walking hormone bombs.”

Just then, Andy walked into the barn, a clipboard in hand, raising an eyebrow as she caught the tail end of the conversation.

“Are we calling someone a hormone bomb, or is this a new nickname for Vic?”

Maya smirked. “We’re talking about a community clinic. Ben’s thinking we could host one a couple times a month. Help the neighborhood. Keep it low-pressure.”

Andy blinked, pausing in the doorway.

Ben jumped in. “Nothing big. First aid, dynamic care, basic exams. Maybe loop in Grey Sloan, get a doc or two to volunteer. People are coming here anyway.”

Sullivan added, “It would help a lot of folks who’d otherwise avoid care altogether—especially presenting patients.”

Andy looked at them all, thoughtful. “So what, we start handing out flu shots between fire calls?”

Maya shrugged. “Or we save someone from infection because they came here instead of waiting five hours in a hospital queue.”

Andy exhaled. “Okay. Talk to me more. Write it up. I want logistics. Coverage plans. Approval from the department. And yes—Grey Sloan backing.”

Ben’s smile spread. “Already working on it.”

— — —

Grey Sloan’s ER was humming with its usual controlled chaos by the time Ben wheeled his patient to intake.

The elderly man had collapsed from dehydration at his local bus stop—nothing life-threatening, just neglected care and no one nearby to catch it sooner.

Ben gave his hand a squeeze before transferring care to the triage nurse, then stepped away to log the call and wash up.

As he turned from the sink, he nearly ran into Miranda Bailey.

“You just keep bringing me broken old men,” she teased, one eyebrow raised.

Ben grinned. “Only the lovable ones.”

Miranda crossed her arms. “What’s that look? You’ve got something brewing.”

Ben lowered his voice. “Actually… yeah. I wanted to run something by you.”

They stepped into an empty consult room for privacy.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ben said, “about starting a community clinic through Station 19. Once or twice a month. Nothing huge—just basic triage, non-emergency care, wellness checks.”

Miranda nodded slowly. “Smart. People trust firehouses. They don’t feel as judged.”

“Exactly,” Ben said. “Especially presenting dynamics. We’re seeing more alphas and omegas show up at the station lately. I think they’re avoiding hospitals.”

Miranda hummed. “They are. Too much stigma. Especially for unbonded omegas in heat, or alphas post-rut. No one wants to be treated like a problem.”

Ben nodded. “So I want to make sure we have someone on staff who understands those dynamics. Someone trained.”

Miranda smiled knowingly. “You want a doctor who can handle alpha-omega dynamics and reproductive health along with regular medicine?”

Ben’s brow lifted. “That obvious?”

“I’ll say one name,” Miranda said. “Dr. Carina DeLuca.”

Ben leaned back. “You know, I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve seen some of her research summaries on patient response under dynamic stress. Impressive stuff.”

“She’s not just smart,” Miranda added. “She’s warm. Thorough. Omegas love her. And she doesn’t let anyone get away with treating her work like it’s fringe.”

Ben smiled. “Perfect. I’ll talk to Andy, get the paperwork through the department, and then I’ll reach out to Dr. DeLuca.”

Miranda stepped closer, cupping his jaw with one hand. “This is a very good idea.”

Ben kissed her softly. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

Back at the station, Ben sat at the long table in the barn, fingers moving fast over his tablet keyboard.

He’d typed up everything—proposed clinic dates, staffing needs, basic supply inventory, and a preliminary partnership outline with Grey Sloan. He even included ideas for a private scent-neutral treatment room, a nod to the more vulnerable dynamic cases.

Andy walked in just as he hit send.

“You look like a man about to change the world,” she teased, leaning over his shoulder.

Ben grinned. “Maybe just the neighborhood.”

He turned the tablet toward her.

Andy scrolled, eyes narrowing slightly in thought, then widening in realization. “You’ve already talked to Bailey?”

“She suggested Dr. Carina DeLuca for the clinical lead,” Ben said. “She’s OB/GYN. Dynamic-specialized. Her research is solid. She’ll know how to handle presenting patients, pregnant omegas, and everything in between.”

Andy looked impressed. “You’re not half-assing this.”

“Would I ever?”

Andy gave a short laugh. “No. You’re a pain in the ass about doing things right.”

She set the tablet down.

“Okay. If Dr. DeLuca agrees? You’ve got the green light.”

Ben smiled, satisfaction humming under his skin. “Then I’ll reach out today.”

Ben practically buzzed with energy as he grabbed the keys to the aid car. "Come on, Vic—you’re with me.”

Vic looked up from her lunch. “Where we going?”

“To Grey Sloan,” he said, already heading for the bay. “We’re going to go officially recruit Dr. Carina DeLuca.”

Vic narrowed her eyes. “The sexy Italian one with the sharp heels and even sharper stare?”

Ben grinned. “The very one.”

They pulled up to Grey Sloan thirty minutes later and made their way through the hospital, Vic carrying a to-go coffee carrier like an offering to the gods of clinical cooperation.

Carina’s office was tucked neatly beside the OB wing—clean lines, soft lighting, and a subtle calming scent diffused in the air. Vic whistled low under her breath.

“Fancy.”

Ben knocked once, then opened the door when Carina called, “Avanti!”

She looked up from her desk, eyes sharp beneath her dark lashes. Her white coat was unbuttoned over a wine-colored blouse, and her hair was twisted up with careless elegance.

“Dr. DeLuca,” Ben said warmly. “Hope we’re not interrupting?”

Carina rose to greet them, offering a polite smile. “Not at all. What can I do for Seattle’s finest?”

Ben offered a folder. “We’ve got a pitch for you. Something I think you’ll want to be part of.”

Carina arched a brow and gestured for them to sit.

Ben launched into it smoothly, outlining the idea for a community clinic hosted at Station 19—basic care, wellness checks, presenting-patient support. He spoke of the people walking into the firehouse already, of the trust they’d built, and how Grey Sloan’s support could transform it into something sustainable.

Carina listened, fingers steepled, head tilted slightly.

When he finished, Vic leaned forward. “We’ve had everything from sprained ankles to dehydrated elderly folks showing up lately. But more than that—we’ve had alphas and omegas who don’t feel safe at hospitals. Especially unbonded ones.”

Ben nodded. “We’re trained, but we’re not specialists. We need someone who understands dynamic medicine. Someone like you.”

Carina was quiet for a beat. Then: “You want me to be your clinic lead.”

“We do,” Ben said. “You’d be in control. We’d adjust to your schedule. Just one or two weekends a month to start.”

Vic grinned. “Also, there’s a couch and excellent coffee.”

Carina’s expression twitched slightly at that last part—but she smiled.

“I’d need time to structure it,” she said. “Protocols. Supplies. Scent-neutral zones.”

Ben nodded eagerly. “Of course. You’d have full say.”

Carina looked down at the folder, flipping through the neatly typed pages.

And there it was again.

A faint twinge low in her body. The memory of that scent she couldn’t forget. She had no idea why it came to her now—but it did.

Fire. Smoke. Salt.

Alpha.

And something inside her whispered:

Go.

She looked up.

“I’ll do it.”

Chapter Text

Carina stepped into Station 19’s bay, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

It smelled like smoke and sweat and metal—like adrenaline pressed into the walls.

And then it hit her.

That scent.

Not strong, but unmistakable. The same one she’d caught in the ER hallway. The scent that was all over Sophie that night. The one that had haunted her senses ever since.

Alpha.

But not just any alpha.

That alpha.

Her eyes widened slightly as her body warmed from the inside out. Heat prickled beneath her skin even through two layers of scent suppressors. Her womb ached—sharply and involuntarily—like it recognized something her mind couldn’t yet place.

“Dr. DeLuca!” Travis greeted, snapping her attention back. “Hi! I’m Travis. Welcome to the wildest family in Seattle.”

Carina smiled politely, shaking his hand. “Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“I’ll give you the tour,” he said, leading her through the open bay toward the kitchen and bunk rooms. “We’ve cleared out the north side of the barn—we thought that might be a good spot for your clinic setup.”

As she followed him, the scent grew stronger.

Her body tightened, involuntary slick teasing her thighs even under her blockers.

She tried to school her face into professional calm.

It was impossible to tell who it belonged to.

Not Ben—he was already coming down the stairs, waving.

“Carina!” Ben beamed. “Glad you’re here. Come meet the crew.”

Maya stood near the back of the kitchen, half-listening to Vic talk about someone’s bad Tinder date when Ben called out the name.

“Dr. Carina DeLuca.”

Maya turned.

And stopped.

She couldn’t even explain what hit her—but something in her body jolted like she’d just been dropped from a ladder. The woman walking across the barn was—Tall. Elegant.

Eyes dark like secrets and sex and something old.

Maya’s mouth went dry.

Her instincts surged—but it didn’t make sense. The doctor—Carina—was a beta. She had no scent. Maya’s alpha instincts were attuned to dynamics like a tuning fork. Betas didn’t do this to her.

And yet…

She found herself tilting slightly forward. Sniffing.

Nothing.

Her brows furrowed.

Her dick stirred in her pants.

Something was off.

Ben gestured to the group. “Everyone—this is Dr. DeLuca. She’ll be leading our new community clinic. Carina, this is the best damn fire crew in the city.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Carina said, her voice warm and confident, her accent a slow curl in the air.

Maya’s eyes locked with hers—and her stomach flipped.

Carina held her gaze for half a second too long before looking away.

Maya shifted her weight, throat dry, skin prickling under her uniform.

She didn’t understand it.

Didn’t know why her alpha instincts were roaring inside her like she’d found a heat trail.

When Ben introduced her to Maya Bishop, Carina turned, extended her hand—

And her body locked.

The scent hit her full force the moment their palms touched.

Alpha. Smoke. Fire. Salt. Clean.

Hers.

Her pupils dilated, heat prickling behind her knees. She swallowed, kept her expression composed, but it was a near thing.

So it was her.

Maya.

Vic, leaning nearby with her ever-present smirk, offered a teasing grin. “Careful, Dr. DeLuca—Maya’s all growl and no bite.”

Carina smiled faintly. “We’ll see about that.”

Maya blinked, clearly dazed. Her handshake lingered a second too long before she abruptly let go.

Maya’s skin was buzzing.

What the hell was that?

There was no scent. Nothing she could register. She’d sniffed subtly—she knew how to tell. But the second she touched Carina, her whole body went tight. Blood roared south, and her cock was already half-hard in her pants.

She took two steps back before anyone could notice.

Ben had already started walking Carina toward the setup zone, and Maya stood frozen in place, dazed.

Then turned sharply on her heel and walked out into the cool afternoon air.

Outside the barn, Maya pressed her hands against her hips and exhaled hard. Her dick was straining again.

She couldn’t even finish the thought.

She heard footsteps behind her.

Andy.

Of course.

Maya didn’t turn around.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered.

Andy came to stand beside her, arms crossed, eyebrows already raised.

“She shook your hand, and I swear I thought you were going to rut right there.”

Maya groaned. “Don’t start.”

Andy laughed. “I haven’t seen you like this since the last time an omega flirted with you and you pretended it was about ‘mutual respect’.”

“She’s a beta,” Maya snapped.

Andy gave her a long look.

“You sure about that?”

Maya paused.

Her mind tried to deny it. No scent. No flare of presenting hormones. Nothing that would signal an omega.

Just desire.

And something beneath it—something feral.

Maya shoved a hand through her hair. “There’s no way. She’s too controlled. Too calm. No omega has that much restraint.”

Andy grinned. “If you say so.”

Meanwhile, inside, Carina was pretending to focus on layout logistics as Ben showed her the supply corner and suggested portable screens for privacy.

She nodded. Agreed. Even offered two small edits.

But her heart was pounding.

Because now, with the mystery scent revealed, her body knew.

The alpha she’d smelled in the ER, the one who’d bred Sophie, the one who left that scent trail that still clung to her dreams—

Was now standing twenty feet away with a hard-on she couldn’t control.

Carina should’ve been listening.

Ben was walking her through proposed shifts, volunteer rosters, first-aid kit storage—but her thoughts were miles from medical logistics.

Because Maya Bishop had just walked away from her, body taut and bulge straining obviously beneath her uniform pants, and Carina couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She’d clocked it the moment Maya stood in front of her.

She couldn’t not.

Thick. Heavy. The kind of cock that wasn’t satisfied until it had knotted deep and bred something raw.

Carina’s thighs clenched under her fitted slacks, a bead of slick escaping despite the suppressors.

And worse—her mind betrayed her.

Bending over the folding table. Maya’s hands gripping her hips. That cock sliding in, thick and relentless. The possessive snarl she imagined Maya would make while claiming her. The stretch, the fullness—

“Dr. DeLuca?”

Carina blinked.

Ben looked at her, kind but curious.

She smiled too quickly. “Sorry, yes. The shift coverage—weekends would be optimal. I agree.”

Ben nodded, satisfied, flipping to the next page.

Carina reached into her bag discreetly, pulled out another blocker tab, and popped it under her tongue.

It was probably too soon.

But Maya was standing twenty feet away with a hard-on that screamed Alpha without a mate, and Carina had spent her entire career keeping her omega biology out of her work.

She couldn’t afford to let her body betray her now.

Even if her scent control was holding, her mind was rapidly unraveling.

Because nothing—no one—had ever made her feel like this.

Maya barely made it into the locker room before the pressure became unbearable.

She shoved the bathroom door shut, locked it, and braced her hands on the sink, breathing hard like she’d just come off a rescue instead of shaking Dr. Carina DeLuca’s hand.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” she muttered.

This wasn’t normal.

She had just ridden a rut all the way through. Knotted through it. Emptied herself into an omega until her instincts were supposed to be quiet, satisfied, dormant.

She should be calm right now.

She was anything but.

She popped the button on her uniform pants with shaking fingers and dragged them down just enough for her cock to spring free—thick, flushed, painfully hard. It throbbed against her stomach like it had a mind of its own.

And her mind?

Full of Carina.

Dark eyes. Soft mouth. The curve of her hips in tailored slacks. That faint, wrongly absent scent that had confused every part of Maya’s alpha instincts but still lit her up like she’d found a trail to follow.

“She’s a beta,” Maya growled. “She has to be.”

But her body didn’t believe it.

Her hand wrapped around herself, stroking hard and fast as the image of Carina bent over that folding table ripped through her thoughts—pants pulled down, thighs spread, gasping as Maya drove into her from behind.

She groaned, hips jerking forward.

“Fuck—Carina—”

The sound of her name on Maya’s lips shocked her almost as much as the pleasure spiking through her. She pumped faster, breath breaking apart as instinct layered over fantasy.

Her orgasm hit hard and sudden, come splattering across the tiled floor and sink in thick, messy ropes. Her whole body locked as she spilled, teeth clenched to keep from roaring.

For a second, there was quiet.

Her cock softened just a fraction in her grip.

Maya exhaled shakily.

Then it surged back to full hardness.

Her eyes widened.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”

Post-rut refractory didn’t do this.

Not unless—

Unless the trigger wasn’t rut.

Unless it was mate-response.

Her hand stilled on her shaft as that thought slammed into her.

Mate.

Her chest tightened painfully.

Because she didn’t have a mate.

She’d never even come close.

And yet here she was—hard again after coming, body demanding more at the mere thought of a woman she swore was just a beta doctor.

Maya dragged a hand down her face, staring at herself in the mirror—eyes blown dark, cheeks flushed, control hanging by a thread.

Whatever Dr. Carina DeLuca was—She wasn’t normal.

Carina said her goodbyes with professional grace, thanked Ben for the tour, offered Vic a warm smile, and slipped out of Station 19 with her clipboard hugged tightly to her chest.

Maya was nowhere in sight.

She didn’t ask.

Couldn’t.

Because if she so much as caught another flicker of that scent, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold herself together.

Her scent blockers were losing the battle. She could feel it in the sharp pulse between her legs, the wetness soaking into her lace panties, the ache that throbbed low in her belly like she was already being fucked.

She climbed into her car, hands shaking as she turned the ignition.

But she didn’t drive home.

Two blocks away, Carina pulled into a side street, turned off the engine, and practically ripped open her pants.

Her hand was inside her panties before she even leaned the seat back—fingers finding slick and heat and need so deep it made her gasp. She slid two fingers inside herself, hard and fast, and nearly cried out at how ready her body was.

It was her.

That alpha.

That scent.

Maya Bishop.

Carina’s thighs shook as she pumped her fingers faster, her other hand clenching the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. Her mind flooded with images—Maya’s jaw, the veins on her arms, the imprint of her cock pushing against her pants like she was always half-erect and trying to behave.

Carina whimpered, hips rolling into her palm.

Her first orgasm broke like a wave, sharp and fast, her mouth dropping open in a silent moan as she clenched around her fingers. Her body quaked, her scent bleeding into the air despite the blockers. It wasn’t enough.

She didn’t even stop.

Her hand kept moving, slicker now, rougher, her breath breaking apart into choked, helpless sounds.

“Maya,” she gasped, for the first time out loud.

The second orgasm hit harder.

Blinding.

Full-body.

Deeper than anything she’d ever had with Arizona—deeper than anyone had ever made her feel. Her entire pelvis spasmed, her thighs trembling, her clit throbbing with every desperate grind of her palm.

And through it all, Maya’s scent lingered in her memory like it had soaked into her cells.

Carina collapsed back into the seat, chest heaving, fingers wet and twitching between her legs.

It should have scared her.

Should have shamed her.

But all she could think was—

She wanted more.

The door to her apartment clicks shut behind her, and Carina barely makes it past the threshold before the mask cracks.

Her keys fall to the floor. Her coat is gone by the time she hits the hallway. She kicks off her shoes with uneven grace, heat blooming beneath her skin like wildfire—fast and mean, like it was waiting for permission.

And maybe it was. Maybe the only thing she’d needed was that moment.

The handshake.

Maya Bishop’s hand had been warm and firm, her palm wide, the brief clasp electric. Nothing out of place. Nothing overt. But her scent had hit Carina like a freight train. Not even strong—muted, likely post-rut. But it lingered, even under her clean uniform and cool exterior.

Cedar and smoke. The same scent she’d flushed from Sophie’s womb.

Carina hadn’t needed confirmation. The second Maya opened her mouth and laughed—low, slightly raspy, confident—her body had known. And the worst part was that Maya hadn’t done a damn thing but exist. Smile. Talk about community health partnerships. Stand a little too close while showing her around Engine 19’s spotless, steel-bright bays.

Carina had nodded. Smiled. Held her clipboard with both hands so no one would see them shaking.

And now?

Now she’s tearing off her blouse, ripping open the drawer next to her bed, fingers closing around silicone like it’s the only tether she has left to this version of herself.

She doesn’t even bother with the lube.

She drops onto the mattress, knees falling open, her panties already soaked. The scent is thick between her thighs—hers, not Maya’s, but layered with memory. Her blockers are still in effect, but they’re no match for what her body was doing with Maya’s scent.

Carina shoves the toy inside herself hard—no warmup, no tease. She hisses at the stretch, her body more than ready, slick pooling instantly around the base. She presses deeper, one leg trembling, and lets the image of Maya fill her mind completely.

Maya’s hands. The slight curve of her smirk. The way her eyes had caught Carina’s for one long, quiet second.

Carina moans, sharp and high, pumping the dildo hard and fast, like her body’s been starved for weeks. Her hips buck off the bed, chasing every inch, her thighs slick with sweat. She imagines Maya pushing her down, holding her there, voice low in her ear.

“You smell like mine.”

The words never happened. But Carina hears them anyway.

She twists the toy inside her, angling deep, desperate, her other hand clutching her breast, her nails biting into her own skin. The tension coils hard and fast, slick dripping down her ass, her whole body burning with need. Not clinical. Not safe. Instinctive.

Her eyes flutter shut and she sees it—Maya between her legs, flushed from rut, chest rising hard under a sweat-darkened tank top. Her voice, gravelly and sweet, whispering filth while her knot presses deep.

“You begged for this,” the phantom Maya breathes.

Carina comes with a strangled cry, her whole body locking around the toy, waves crashing through her in quick, brutal succession. Her legs shake. Her hand goes still. Her chest heaves.

Because this shouldn’t have happened. Maya is a stranger. An Alpha who ruined Carina’s composure without touching her, without even knowing her.

And Carina’s never let herself want anything like this.

Chapter Text

Maya had already run five miles before the sun came up.

Another two after breakfast.

And still, her cock had twitched the second she stepped into the barn.

The space had been transformed. Folding dividers created three makeshift exam areas, including one fully enclosed room for more sensitive visits. The scent of fresh coffee wafted through the air. Vic had even brought a vase of flowers to "soften the vibe," and Travis had laminated the check-in forms like a proud camp counselor.

It looked good.

Professional. Welcoming.

And Maya?

Maya was one deep breath away from exploding out of her skin.

She’d spent the last seven days convincing herself she wasn’t obsessing over Dr. Carina DeLuca.

Except she’d jerked off to the image of her every night—sometimes twice.

The memory of her scent, her rather odorless beta scent, was embedded in Maya’s brain like an imprint. Her face. Her voice. The slight smirk when they’d shaken hands. Maya could practically hear it when she came.

And every time Vic or Andy teased her—“So, still thinking about your hot doctor?”—she’d just rolled her eyes and made a sarcastic comment.

But this morning?

Her cock had been so hard she couldn’t zip her pants without wincing. She’d run herself into the ground trying to drain the tension, hoping it would dull her reaction before she had to stand in the same room as Carina again.

It hadn’t helped.

Not even a little.

She shifted in place, adjusting herself subtly as she checked the supply table for the fourth time. Bandages, gloves, saline, extra pens—anything to focus her mind.

Ben walked past and clapped her on the shoulder. “You good?”

“Great,” she said too fast. “Totally great.”

Vic wandered in with her coffee and shot her a knowing glance. “You’re vibrating.”

Maya didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating.”

“I ran this morning.” Maya murmured as she continued to stock supplies.

The door opened.

Maya didn’t need to look.

She felt it—like a shift in gravity.

Then came the sound of heels against concrete, the rustle of a long coat, and the warm, sugary scent of—

Pastries.

Maya sniffed again, subtly, just to make sure.

Only sugar. Coffee. Something floral.

Maya’s jaw flexed.

She adjusted her pants, which were already tightening, her cock thickening at just the memory of what was missing. A low, involuntary growl rumbled in her throat before she could stop it.

Vic glanced over with a grin.

Maya ignored her and walked straight toward the doctor with a practiced swagger she didn’t feel.

Carina looked up from the box in her arms—and smiled.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, eyes dark and knowing. “I brought sweets.”

Maya took the box from her hands without breaking eye contact. “Trying to win us over?”

Carina’s smile didn’t falter. “Would it work?”

Maya held the gaze. “Maybe.”

Carina followed Maya’s retreat toward the coffee station, her own heart hammering behind her breastbone. The triple dose of scent and heat suppressants she’d taken that morning made her light-headed. She needed all the protection she could get.

From proximity.

From the way Maya’s eyes tracked her like prey.

From the fact that even with every blocker in place, her body still responded to this alpha.

She could barely focus as she greeted the others, nodding through introductions, thanking Vic for the flowers, checking on the supply layout with Ben.

Because every time she turned her head, she felt Maya watching.

Not openly.

Just present.

Heavy. Controlled.

Tempting.

This was going to be a very long day.

And Carina had never been more excited to start.

The clinic buzzed steadily by mid-morning.

Forms were being filled. Coffee was flowing. Vic charmed every patient at the door, while Ben handled logistics like a one-man hospital admin team.

But Carina?

She couldn’t stop watching Maya Bishop.

The way she moved—efficient, fluid, strong. The way her uniform stretched across her back when she bent to restock a cabinet. The slight scowl she wore when focusing, that only deepened when someone flirted with her.

Carina could almost convince herself it was all observational.

Clinical.

Until Maya turned to speak with Jack, and Carina’s gaze dropped.

There it was again.

The bulge.

Subtle—barely visible unless you were looking for it. Maya was disciplined, trained. But Carina had memorized her shape in her dreams. She knew what lay behind the fabric.

Even now, clearly trying to hide it, Maya’s cock pressed thick against the front of her pants.

Hard again.

Carina swallowed hard and crossed her legs under the folding table.

She tried to focus on the clipboard in front of her, but her body kept pulsing, responding like Maya had her on a leash neither of them could see.

Suppressants be damned.

The door opened again.

An alpha stepped inside—sweaty, flushed, and walking stiffly.

Ben stepped up. “Hey, what brings you in?”

The alpha grimaced. “Rutted last week. Everything calmed down… except my balls. Still swollen. Still ache. Can’t sleep. Not sure if something’s wrong or I just overdid it.”

Carina looked up instinctively, already assessing—but Maya and Sullivan were on it in seconds.

“Let’s get you into the private room,” Sullivan said.

Maya was already at the door, opening it quietly.

The moment the alpha passed her, something changed in her posture. Her shoulders squared. Her jaw ticked. Her scent flared just enough—contained, but responding.

Carina watched, pulse racing.

Of course Maya would respond to another alpha in distress. It was instinct. Duty. Biology.

But Carina hated it anyway.

She hated the idea of anyone else being near her.

Near what was hers.

The thought slapped her across the brain.

Yours?

She stared at the closed door of the private room.

Fingers clenched her pen.

Suppressants only went so far.

The private room smelled like heat residue and fading rut—nothing fresh, but still enough to stir Maya’s instincts slightly.

She kept it tight. Neutral.

Professional.

The alpha on the table—early 30s, lean build, military-cut hair—winced as he sat, cupping himself awkwardly through his jeans.

Maya pulled on gloves and clicked her pen. “Let’s get a full picture.”

She took his history—last rut, presenting partner, duration, hydration, supplements, post-rut symptoms. Everything textbook.

“Were you around other alphas during rut?”

The man nodded. “A couple. We’re housed together. Scent was thick. Tension high.”

Maya nodded. “That can intensify symptoms. Shared space between dominant dynamics can prolong gland pressure. Especially without scent-neutraling.”

The alpha exhaled slowly, visibly more relaxed just having someone speak his language without flinching.

Maya finished her notes and set the tablet down.

And then the door opened.

Carina.

She stepped inside like a vision—lab coat open, blouse fitted, that faint clinical scent that still couldn’t mask the way she pulled Maya’s body to attention.

Maya barely held back a curse as her cock twitched to life again.

Carina offered the alpha a gentle smile. “Mind if I take a look?”

The man shook his head, standing and undoing his belt.

Maya swallowed.

She didn’t care. It wasn’t about him.

But Carina’s attention shifted with such quiet authority—so easily slipping into her role, her hands calm, voice soothing—that Maya suddenly wanted to rip the guy off the table and tell him to get out.

The alpha lowered his jeans, exposing heavy, red testicles—clearly inflamed.

Carina knelt in front of him, gloved hands lifting carefully.

“Pain here?” she asked, pressing gently.

The alpha hissed. “Yeah. That side more.”

Maya stood frozen just behind her, jaw clenched, arms crossed too tightly.

She wasn’t looking at the alpha.

She was looking at Carina.

At the way her fingers worked. The slight part in her lips as she hummed thoughtfully. The imagined version of those same hands cupping her balls, that same mouth lowering over her cock.

Carina glanced up at her briefly—just a flicker—and Maya felt seen.

Like Carina knew.

Like she’d caught every feral thought Maya had just had.

And liked it.

Maya stood close, hands on her hips, willing herself to stay focused. Professional. Not possessive.

Every time Carina’s gloved hands touched the alpha’s swollen skin, a growl coiled low in Maya’s chest. She suppressed it. Focused instead on the task.

“Could you grab the lubricant and the portable light?” Carina asked calmly, not looking at Maya.

Her voice—low, even—still did something to Maya’s blood pressure.

Maya nodded, turned toward the supply drawer, and retrieved what was needed.

“Thanks,” Carina said, taking the items from her hand with the briefest brush of fingers. Electric. She didn’t even glance up—but Maya saw her nostrils flare, just slightly, like she’d caught something she wasn’t supposed to.

They worked in tight coordination, the alpha relaxing further under their care.

“You’re both great,” the man muttered. “Seriously… most places don’t even let me in if I say I rutted recently.”

Maya nodded. “That’s why we started this place. You’re not the only one.”

Carina, still kneeling beside the exam table, looked up gently. “May I ask—when was your last full check-up?”

The alpha shrugged. “Can’t remember. Hospitals don’t get it. I tell them I’ve got residual ache, and they treat me like I’m a threat. Like I’m about to knot a nurse if I don’t get sedated.”

Carina’s expression softened. “I believe you.”

She shifted her posture. “Would you be comfortable with a rectal exam? I’d like to check your prostate. Alpha prostates can sometimes swell or become inflamed post-rut. The hormonal load, especially after multiple ejaculations, can cause congestion. If we catch it early, we can ease it.”

The man blinked, clearly surprised by her lack of judgment.

“You think that’s what’s causing the ache?”

“Could be,” she said. “Betas have similar issues, but in alphas, it often goes untreated because of assumptions about aggression or sexuality.”

Maya stood silently behind her, watching Carina take control with grace, dominance, care—and all Maya could think about was her fingers inside her instead.

The alpha nodded. “Yeah. Do it. I trust you.”

Carina nodded, pulling on fresh gloves.

Maya stepped back, giving her room, but not leaving.

Maya offered quietly, “I can step out, give you space—”

But the alpha on the table shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I trust you both.”

Carina nodded, voice calm. “Alright, I’m going to have you turn over for me.”

He shifted obediently onto his stomach, spreading slightly at the thighs when Carina gently guided his positioning with a touch to his hip.

Maya stepped back again, silent.

Carina snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and applied a generous amount of lubricant. She leaned in, her fingers steady as she parted the alpha’s cheeks and pressed against the tight ring of muscle.

“This may be a bit uncomfortable at first,” she said smoothly. “Try to breathe through it.”

Maya’s jaw locked the moment Carina began the exam.

The alpha gasped and let out a low groan as Carina slid a finger in, expertly finding the swollen gland. He shuddered, hips twitching slightly, and—

The scent hit the room like rot.

Hot, ripe alpha arousal. Sharp with frustration. Fermented with weeks of unresolved heat.

Maya felt her stomach twist.

She’d been around alphas in rut. Had endured the scent of competitors, of dominant displays in bunkrooms when instincts flared.

But this?

This was wrong.

Her cock, already barely under control, didn’t so much as twitch.

Because while the alpha was hard now—dripping precome with each pulse of stimulation—Maya’s body was preparing herself.

Because this scent wasn’t hers.

And Carina—kneeling, focused, her brow furrowed—was inches away from it.

“Do you feel that tenderness?” she asked the patient, her tone composed.

He groaned. “God, yeah. Feels—intense. Never knew that spot did so much.”

Carina nodded, still working. “It’s your prostate. Alphas tend to experience more concentrated gland swelling post-rut due to hormonal saturation. Beta prostates can respond similarly, but they don’t tie pleasure and instinct so closely. Your system’s been in overdrive.”

Maya pressed a hand to the back of her neck, the urge to pace overwhelming. She clenched her jaw and stared at the ceiling, anything to keep from letting her instincts scream out loud.

Because the longer this went on, the more her entire body cried mine—not about the patient, but about the woman doing the exam.

And being forced to smell another alpha’s arousal coating her gloves—

It was driving Maya mad.

Carina finished the exam with quiet efficiency, withdrawing her fingers and slipping off the gloves with a practiced snap.

“The swelling is noticeable,” she said, tone professional. “But not dangerous. I recommend icing twice a day, over your clothes—don’t apply directly to the skin. Take an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory. I’m also prescribing you a short course of an arousal suppressant. It’ll reduce blood flow to the prostate and help things settle without stimulation.”

The alpha was still flushed, breath heavy, but clearly relieved.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and grateful. “I’ve never had anyone talk to me about this like it’s normal.”

Carina smiled, kind and warm. “It is normal. You’re not broken, you’re just still healing.”

He stood, pulling his pants back up, then turned to Maya.

“Thank you too,” he said, offering a hand. “I know it’s weird to have another alpha in the room for that, but… it helped. I didn’t feel like I had to be embarrassed.”

Maya forced a smile and took the handshake.

Firm. Respectful. Equal.

But inside, something snarled.

Her instincts were still raw. The scent of his arousal clung faintly to the room—and worse, to Carina. Maya could smell it on her gloves, on the wrist of her coat where it had brushed him.

Her cock was standing tall in her pants ready to mark her territory.

It had nothing to do with arousal.

Everything to do with territory.

She let go of the handshake and nodded. “Glad we could help.”

The next hour passed in a blur of manageable cases.

A teenager came in with a badly wrapped wrist from a fall on a city skateboard ramp. Vic cleaned the wound, Maya did the wrapping, and Carina confirmed a mild sprain. The boy left with an anti-inflammatory prescription and an amused warning from Maya about not trying to ollie off mailboxes.

A tired beta woman arrived with her young child, complaining of recurring headaches. Jack took vitals while Carina asked quiet, intuitive questions that had the woman relaxed in under five minutes. Maya watched the whole thing silently from the corner, jaw tight. She hated how good Carina was at her job. Hated how she smiled at everyone but never like she had at her.

By noon, a beta man with an infected tattoo needed a quick round of antibiotics and some careful cleaning. Maya worked the irrigation line while Carina explained aftercare instructions in a smooth rhythm of Italian-tinged empathy.

The station had settled into a steady flow—patients moving in and out, conversations laced with laughter, tension from the alpha exam earlier fading into the background..

Maya watched Carina more than she meant to. The way her fingers moved. The casual tuck of hair behind her ear. The way her hips swayed beneath the curve of her coat when she turned too quickly. Her scent was still gone, but Maya felt her presence like it clung to every molecule of air she breathed.

And if Carina noticed?

She didn’t show it.

The man who came in was sweating—not from injury, but anxiety.

“My daughter,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “She’s in the car outside. She’s not herself. Hot, flushed, says her skin hurts, can’t sit still. I thought maybe a fever but—she’s eighteen, she’s never—”

Maya listened for five seconds before she knew.

Not fever.

Not the flu.

Heat.

The early signs were textbook.

The father, clearly a beta, had no idea.

Maya’s hand dropped from her belt and curled into a fist at her side. Her instincts wanted to react, to respond to the scent that was barely starting to seep through the open door—but she kept her distance. Her discipline, even now, was steel.

“I’ll handle it,” Carina said softly.

Maya nodded, already stepping back. “She’s gonna need quiet. Privacy. You want help—?”

“No,” Carina said gently. “I think if it’s just me, she’ll come easier.”

Maya watched her walk out toward the car, her coat catching the winter breeze, hair pulled back but already loosened from the day’s effort.

Carina leaned into the car, spoke low, soothing words, body language open and warm. After a few minutes, the door opened. The girl—pale, eyes glazed, shifting awkwardly in her seat—allowed herself to be led inside.

Maya felt the hormonal shift ripple across the barn.

It wasn’t strong yet. Still suppressed. But if this girl presented in heat for the first time in a mixed environment, it could trigger unintended responses.

Maya caught Sullivan’s eye.

He nodded once.

Without a word, they both grabbed their jackets and quietly slipped out—a strategic retreat.

The farther they were from that room, the safer it was for the girl.

“We’ll grab food,” Maya called over her shoulder. “Anyone want anything?”

Vic, already slipping gloves on, raised her hand. “Something covered in cheese.”

Maya offered a small smile and vanished with Sullivan out the back, her cock finally softening again.

Carina closed the door gently behind her, dimming the overhead light before she turned back to the girl seated awkwardly on the exam table. She was flushed, eyes glassy, fingers twitching in her lap. The girl looked terrified.

Vic stood to the side, quietly observant, giving Carina space to lead.

Carina approached slowly, her voice a balm.

“My name is Dr. Carina DeLuca,” she said gently, kneeling so they were at eye level. “I know your body probably feels… unfamiliar right now. It’s okay. You’re not sick. You’re not broken.”

The girl blinked quickly. “It feels like I’m burning. But not feverish.”

“You’re presenting,” Carina said softly. “You’re beginning your first heat.”

The girl’s lips parted, confusion giving way to fear. “But I thought that wouldn’t happen. My mom was a beta. My dad too. They always said I probably would be…”

Carina nodded with understanding. “Sometimes dynamic traits skip generations, especially when mixed. But you are an omega. This—what you’re feeling—it’s the beginning of that.”

The girl glanced toward the door. “My dad doesn’t even know what that means.”

Carina placed a hand lightly over hers. “He brought you here. That matters.”

“But I feel like…” The girl’s cheeks flushed deeper. “I feel like I need… something. I don’t know what.”

Vic chimed in quietly, her voice kind but firm. “That’s just biology. You’re safe here. You don’t have to figure it out all at once.”

Carina smiled gratefully at Vic, then looked back at the girl.

“I’m going to help regulate your system. There are suppressants we can give you that will ease this transition. If you don’t want to go through heat right now, we can delay it some. I know this is all so new but you will need to go through your first heat soon and then once that happens you can start bonkers if you choose long term.”

The girl nodded quickly, eyes brimming with relief. “Please. I don’t want this. Not like this.”

Carina stood, keeping her tone steady. “Alright. I’ll get the injections and stay with you while they take effect. You’ll feel calmer in about twenty minutes.”

The girl’s hands trembled again. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Carina said, soft but serious. “It’s your body. Your choice. I’m just here to help you understand it.”

As she turned to retrieve the suppressants, Carina felt Vic watching her. There was something reverent in her expression—like she was witnessing something sacred.

Carina returned to the private room with a small tray in her hands: two preloaded suppressive hormone injections and a sealed applicator for the topical medication.

The girl was curled in on herself slightly, hugging a pillow Vic had quietly brought in. Her scent had grown warmer—still not full-blown heat, but enough to make the air subtly hum with omega tension.

Carina sat on the rolling stool and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I have two things for you,” she said gently, showing the girl each item without breaking eye contact. “The first is an intramuscular injection—this will begin lowering your hormonal spikes systemically within twenty minutes. The second is a topical vaginal medication that helps soothe local tissue and reduce sensitivity.”

The girl nodded quickly. “Okay. Yeah. I just… I want this to stop.”

“I understand,” Carina said softly. “And I’ll ask for permission every step of the way. You’re in control.”

She prepped the first injection and gently swabbed the girl’s thigh.

“You’ll feel a sharp pinch.”

The girl flinched but didn’t cry out as the injection went in.

Carina withdrew the needle, disposed of it, then set the applicator gently in front of her.

“Would you like to insert this yourself?” she asked kindly. “Or would you prefer I do it for you?”

The girl hesitated, clearly overwhelmed, then shook her head. “Can you… please do it? I don’t want to mess it up.”

Carina nodded. “Of course. May I touch you?”

“Yes,” the girl whispered, voice shaky.

Carina moved carefully—every motion slow, deliberate. She helped the girl recline slightly, knees bent, legs relaxed but covered with a modesty sheet. When her gloved fingers brushed the girl’s inner thigh, the omega gasped and instinctively arched toward the contact.

Carina’s voice remained calm. “That’s completely normal. Your body is sensitive right now. That doesn’t mean anything is wrong.”

The girl whimpered quietly but didn’t pull away.

Carina gently parted her folds and inserted the applicator with clinical precision. The gel medication began coating the inner walls immediately, a cool, calming sensation designed to ease swelling and overstimulation.

“There we go,” Carina murmured, withdrawing the applicator and wiping the area with a warm, damp cloth. “This will help with the edge while the injection begins working. You did very well.”

The girl let out a shaky breath, tears brimming—not from pain, but relief.

“I didn’t think anyone would understand,” she whispered.

Carina took her hand. “You’re not alone. You’re just beginning. And we’re here for you. I am going to give you the name for a social worker and therapist, they can both assist you through this first heat. Do seek them out soon because while the medications I just gave will buy you some time, your first heat is practically unstoppable.”

The girl had stopped fidgeting.

Her breathing was even again, the flush across her cheeks beginning to fade as the medication took effect.

Carina watched the change closely—how her shoulders relaxed, how her legs no longer trembled beneath the modesty sheet. The hormonal storm had quieted just enough for thought to return.

“I feel… better,” the girl whispered.

Carina offered a soft smile. “That’s the medication starting to regulate your system. You’ll feel more like yourself within the hour.”

She pulled out her prescription pad and wrote carefully, her handwriting neat and fluid. When she finished, she handed the slip to the girl.

“These are heat suppressors,” she explained. “There are different types. This one is mild enough for short-term use but strong enough to hold your body in neutral while you decide how you want to proceed.”

The girl looked down at the paper. “Are they safe?”

“They’re safe,” Carina said, nodding. “But not always perfect. Some people experience side effects—fatigue, nausea, sometimes emotional flatness. That’s why I want you to be monitored. Reach out for some help.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small card.

“This is me. If you ever feel unsure or need help finding the right doctors, I can connect you.”

The girl took the card like it was made of gold.

Carina squeezed her hand gently. “Being an omega doesn’t mean you lose control. This is still your body. These decisions belong to you.”

Tears welled again, but this time they weren’t panic—they were relief.

“I didn’t think anyone would say that,” the girl said.

Carina’s smile turned sad for just a second. “More of us should.”

Carina helped the girl get dressed, walked her to the waiting room where her father stood nervously, and gave him a brief but compassionate summary. He looked stunned, then grateful, then overwhelmed—but he nodded and thanked her.

Once they were gone, Carina turned back toward the barn and took a long breath.

And in the distance—she smelled it.

The faintest edge of alpha.

Familiar.

Smokey.

Sharp.

Maya.

Chapter Text

The barn had been stripped of the clinic setup, folding tables stacked neatly in the corner, medical crates restocked and closed.

The first clinic day was over.

Andy had called it a success—declared it loud enough over lunch that even Ben had blushed. Plans were set for the next one in two weeks. The entire crew had buzzed with pride.

Everyone but Maya.

Because Carina DeLuca hadn’t returned.

Not the next day.

Not the one after that.

No call. No follow-up. No scent lingering on a glove or clipboard. Just a silence that made Maya’s chest feel hollow.

By the third morning, Maya had stopped going to the gym.

She barely touched her protein shake. Didn’t yell at Jack for stealing the last energy bar. Her cock hadn’t been fully hard in days—but her body still throbbed. Still ached for something it couldn’t name.

It was like her instincts were hungry for a scent that didn’t exist anymore.

Just a beta, she kept telling herself.

Just a beautiful, brilliant, maddening beta who looked at her like she saw everything Maya wanted to keep hidden.

And it was driving her insane.

Sullivan found her sitting outside the station, legs stretched out on the concrete, jacket zipped tight against the Seattle chill.

“Didn’t peg you for the brooding type,” he said, offering her a protein bar.

Maya took it wordlessly. Unwrapped it. Didn’t eat it.

Sullivan sat beside her with a grunt. “You’ve been off.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re never fine when you say it like that.”

Maya stared out at the street, jaw tight.

Sullivan gave her a moment. Then:

“This about Dr. DeLuca?”

Maya flinched. “What? No.”

Sullivan raised an eyebrow.

Maya looked away. “I just… I don’t get it. She’s a beta. There’s no scent, no hormonal imprint, no… bond. And yet—”

“You’re still hard for her every morning?” he offered.

Maya shot him a glare, but didn’t deny it.

Sullivan leaned back, folding his arms. “It can happen.”

“She’s not even presenting.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “Not when it’s the real thing.”

Maya scoffed. “You sound like you’ve been there.”

“I am there.”

Maya blinked.

Sullivan gave a half-smile. “Andy.”

“No way.”

He shrugged. “How do you think I keep my rut under control all of a sudden?”

Maya let that sink in, heart thudding.

“You don’t always get to choose what your body—or your instincts—know first,” Sullivan said. “Sometimes, they’re just… ahead of you. Sometimes that involves betas. ”

— — —

Carina stared at the schedule on her tablet, scrolling through the names one by one.

Another omega in early heat.

Another alpha couple seeking fertility consults.

Another post-rut hormonal imbalance case.

It had become a pattern in the weeks since the Station 19 clinic.

Her name was spreading—quietly, through whispers between patients in waiting rooms and late-night group chats—but it was spreading. And she knew why.

She understood dynamics.

She treated omega bodies with reverence, not shame. She didn’t flinch when alphas used words like “knot pressure” or “breeding instinct.” She explained anatomy with diagrams and diagrams with compassion.

Word had gotten around.

But with it came risk.

The more alphas and omegas she saw, the harder it became to keep her own presentation hidden. To sit in those small exam rooms without letting the faintest pulse of her own suppressed scent slip through.

Carina had always been meticulous.

Daily blockers. Double scent shields. Suppressor patches near her glands.

But this past week?

Her vibrator had needed to be charged over and over.

She’d woken in the middle of the night, sweating, hand between her thighs, moaning a name she wouldn’t dare say out loud.

Maya.

The image came fast and mercilessly—Maya’s body between her legs, those strong hands holding her open, that cock filling her just right while she came so hard her vision blanked out.

It was insane.

It was dangerous.

And yet… it was real.

Thankfully Arizona was traveling yet again. Surely Arizona would have noticed Carina’s new urges and her almost constant masturbation.

Carina had been suppressing her instincts for years.

She reached for her tablet again, fingers hesitating over the schedule.

She had a free hour before her next patient.

Just enough time for a quick release.

Again.

And still—it wouldn’t be enough.

Because it wasn’t just about sex.

It was about the only alpha who had ever made her body hum even through three layers of blockers.

Carina was going to lock the office door.

Just unzipped her pants.

She was on the edge of slipping her hand between her thighs when the office handle rattled.

Then the door opened.

"Seriously?" Arizona’s voice called as she strode in. “You wouldn’t believe the couple in the OB lobby right now.”

Carina yanked her pants closed.

Arizona didn’t seem to notice.

“I think it’s an alpha and an omega—both men. The alpha’s pacing like he’s about to fuck the omega right in the lobby, and the omega looks like he wants to crawl into his lap and start humping. Right there. In the waiting room. I mean, come on. Restraint?”

Carina took a breath. Then another.

She didn’t want to snap.

She really, really didn’t want to snap.

But she was so tired of pretending.

“Maybe they’re scared,” she said tightly. “Maybe they’re new parents who didn’t know where else to go. Maybe they’re just trying to stay regulated in a public space designed for everyone but them.”

Arizona blinked. “Okay, whoa. I was just saying—”

“No, you weren’t just saying, Arizona. You were judging. Again. You always do.”

Arizona folded her arms. “It’s not judgment if it’s true. There’s a time and a place.”

Carina’s eyes flared. “And who gets to decide that? You? A beta with a superiority complex who thinks instincts are dirty and messy and beneath her?”

The words were out before she could pull them back.

Arizona’s face tightened. “Excuse me?”

Carina didn’t back down. “You always do this. You dismiss my research. You belittle my patients. You act like alpha-omega dynamics are a kink, not a reality. But they are real. And complex. And worthy of care.”

“You think I don’t care?” Arizona snapped. “I’ve been supportive.”

“You’ve been condescending,” Carina said sharply. “You touch me like I’m breakable. You ask questions like you don’t believe the answers. And you only show up when it’s convenient for you.”

Arizona scoffed. “This again. I have a daughter. A life. I travel because I have responsibilities.”

“And I’m not one of them,” Carina whispered.

Silence.

“Vai via!” Carina shouted, voice sharp and broken. “Go stay somewhere else tonight. You can’t be here.”

Arizona stood her ground, arms crossed tightly. “I came here because I miss my girlfriend. Because we haven’t had sex in weeks and I thought maybe we could actually connect—”

“I’m not having sex with you,” Carina snapped, louder now. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

Her voice echoed off the walls. Her hands were shaking. Her body, aching.

And then—

Knock knock.

Both women froze.

Carina turned slowly.

Her heart dropped.

And spiked.

She opened the door.

And there stood Maya, holding two coffees.

One in each hand.

Her expression unreadable—until her eyes flicked past Carina’s shoulder and landed on Arizona.

Tension crackled like static.

Arizona let out a bitter breath and muttered, “Of course.”

“Of course, what?” Carina asked tightly.

Arizona’s smile twisted. “Seems like you found company for when I am gone.”

Maya flinched.

Carina’s vision tunneled in red.

“Get. Out.”

Arizona stared at her for a long, tense second, then snatched her bag and brushed past Maya, muttering something sharp under her breath.

The hallway was silent again.

Maya stepped inside slowly, gaze flicking toward Carina’s face, her jaw, her trembling hands.

“I brought coffee,” she said softly.

Carina shut the door behind her.

Carina fought to keep her expression neutral.

She didn’t want to snap—not at Maya. Not after what just happened.

But her nerves were frayed, her body still humming, and the insult Arizona had left behind clung like ash in her lungs.

Still, she kept her voice steady. “What brings you to my office, Maya?”

Maya blinked. “Are you okay?”

Carina didn’t answer that. Not directly.

Instead, she raised an eyebrow. “You said you brought coffee. But why?”

Maya looked… thrown.

Not hurt, but suddenly off-balance in a way Carina had never seen before.

“I—uh.” Maya cleared her throat. “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about… something. Kind of clinic-related. But I don’t know if now’s a good time—”

Carina folded her arms. “Now is fine.”

Maya shifted on her feet, rubbing the back of her neck. “Okay, so—during the clinic, I was thinking… should I be using scent suppressors?”

Carina blinked. “Pardon?”

Maya took a breath and rambled, words tumbling in quick succession. “I mean—I know I don’t normally. On calls, on fires, it’s all adrenaline and chaos, so it doesn’t really matter if I smell like an alpha, because we’re all focused on saving people. But during the clinic, it’s more delicate, right? People are vulnerable, and we’re close, and I just—” she gestured vaguely, “I don’t want someone to come in and then not get help because I smell too strong, or wrong, or—I don’t know.”

Carina watched her, stunned.

Not because the question was ridiculous.

But because Maya Bishop—alpha firefighter, coiled energy and dominance on two legs—was stumbling over herself trying to be considerate.

Trying to make the clinic feel safe.

Trying to make her patients feel safe.

A smile tugged at Carina’s mouth, soft and involuntary.

She sat down at last, the weight of the earlier fight slowly ebbing.

“Maya,” she said gently. “That is… incredibly thoughtful.”

Maya scratched at her jaw. “So it’s not dumb?”

Carina shook her head. “No. It’s not dumb. It’s kind. And it’s exactly the kind of care we need in that space.”

Maya relaxed slightly.

And Carina could feel something else shifting, too.

Because for all Maya’s confidence and control—

Right now?

She just wanted to do right.

And that made Carina’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with instincts.

Maya sat awkwardly in the chair opposite Carina’s desk, legs spread, posture casual—but her eyes kept flicking toward Carina like she was waiting to be corrected. Or maybe dismissed.

“I have no idea what products I’d even use,” she admitted. “I didn’t even know there were options.”

Carina relaxed into her seat, her fingers curling around the still-warm cup Maya had brought her.

“There are several,” she said, voice naturally softening. “You can use oral suppressors that slightly mute your natural scent without interfering with your hormones. There are scent-neutralizing patches—worn over your glands, here and here—” she reached up and touched the curves of her own neck and inner wrist, “—and there’s a low-strength masking spray you can use like deodorant. Unscented. Subtle.”

Maya nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Okay. That actually helps.”

Carina exhaled. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding her breath until this moment.

Because now that Maya was sitting here, her voice low, her scent strong and unfiltered…

Everything else faded.

Arizona’s words.

Her frustration.

Her ache.

The very rage that had burned through her fifteen minutes ago was gone.

Completely.

The scent of Maya—warm, woodsmoke and something wild—settled around Carina like a weighted blanket. She shouldn’t have even been able to register it fully, not with the blockers she wore daily.

But her body knew.

Her nerves knew.

Her omega knew.

And instead of stewing, instead of spiraling in her head and replaying the fight—Carina just sat there, calm. Centered.

Because Maya Bishop was close enough to breathe.

And for the first time all day—

She felt okay.

Carina scribbled the last note on the prescription pad and tore the paper free, sliding it across the desk toward Maya. “This should give you a starting point. The clinic pharmacy can fill most of it, and I’ll have some samples brought in next time if you want to test different products.”

Maya nodded and took the paper carefully, like it might break in her hands.

She hesitated. Looked down.

Then back up.

“I have another question.”

Carina tilted her head. “Okay.”

Maya rubbed her palms on her thighs, then laughed awkwardly. “This is going to sound dumb.”

“I don’t believe in dumb questions.”

Maya exhaled slowly. “Do you think… I should get a checkup?”

Carina blinked.

“A checkup,” she repeated gently.

Maya quickly clarified. “I mean, I feel fine. Everything works. My last rut was… manageable. But when you were talking to that guy at the clinic about alpha prostates and hormone cycles and all that—” Maya broke off, eyes dropping to her lap. “I realized I haven’t been to a doctor. Not for this stuff. Not since I was a teenager.”

Carina’s chest softened.

Not in pity.

In recognition.

Because she’d seen this before—the quiet embarrassment, the shame tangled with bravado, the way alphas were often conditioned to ignore their own care until something broke.

“You’re not alone in that,” she said gently. “Most alphas your age don’t get regular checkups unless they’re in relationships where it’s expected. Or unless they’ve had a scare.”

“I haven’t,” Maya said quickly. “Had a scare.”

Carina nodded. “That’s good. But you should still come in. Let someone take a full workup. Hormones, gland health, sexual function. Nothing invasive unless it needs to be.”

Maya looked up. “You do all that?”

Carina gave a soft smile. “I do. Every day.”

There was something vulnerable in Maya’s eyes now.

Not physical.

Not aroused.

But open.

And Carina felt that thread between them tighten.

“You’re not broken, Maya,” she said quietly. “And you deserve care.”

Maya swallowed. “Would you… do it? The checkup?”

And Carina’s heart didn’t flutter.

It roared.

Carina smiled gently, already reaching for her tablet. “I would be happy to do the exam myself, but unfortunately my schedule is booked for the rest of the day. I have a delivery at five, consults until then, and then… chaos, probably.”

Maya nodded, shifting her weight. “It’s okay. I’ll call and schedule with the front desk.”

She stood, cup of coffee in hand, hesitation briefly tugging at her movements like a tether.

Carina rose too. “Maya.”

The alpha paused, hand on the door.

“Thank you,” Carina said softly, “for being thoughtful. For asking about scent suppressors. For… trusting me with your questions.”

Maya looked down, then up—shoulders square, but eyes soft.

“Thank you,” she said. “For not making me feel stupid. And for giving a shit. About people like me. Like all of us.”

Maya stepped out of Carina’s office and into the hallway — the coffee cup in her hand felt like a weight, but the tightness in her jeans was heavier. The air was quiet, hospital‑soft, but every step echoed in her mind. Her cock was unforgiving — rock hard, straining. The memory of Carina’s scent, her breath, the soft curve of her lips when she said “thank you” reverberated inside Maya’s skull.

She didn’t trust herself to head straight back to the firehouse like that.

So she ducked into the nearest bathroom — a small single‑stall women’s/visitor bathroom borrowed for the minute — locked the door. The fluorescent light flickered low. She unzipped her pants violently, fingers fumbling; almost clumsy. She braced herself against the wall, hips tilting back and grabbing herself not with the careful control she usually forced after a rut, but with a need thick and greedy.

Her hand clenched around her cock, harsh strokes, hard and fast. Images flooded — Carina’s eyes wide and dark, her throat arching, vivid inside Maya’s memory. Heaving breath, slick fingers, a sharp burn low in her balls — the mating gland responding like it hadn’t in years.

It came hot and heavy, a drowning wave of soundless release that splattered across the mirror and tiled wall. Her body shook. When it ended, her breath was ragged, her cock still pressing firm. She sat on the cold toilet seat, head against the wall.

The air reeked of her — sweat, slick, salt, desperate alpha pheromones. The scent seeped from pores, slick pooled beneath her, and she let her eyes flutter closed.

A long moment passed. She exhaled. Forced herself to stand, hurriedly cleaned up, washed off, zipping her pants as her pulse finally began to settle.

She tucked herself back into her pants and cleaned up the mess.

Carina closed her office door behind her and pressed a hand to her chest. The anger from Arizona’s accusations still flickered under her skin, sticky and burning. But then the lingering scent of Maya — softer now, but undeniably present — filled the air, grounding her.

At the far end of the hallway, a young male omega sat on the edge of an exam bed, trembling lightly. Behind him, his alpha partner paced the room — eyes dark, agitated, muscles coiled. The tension between them was thick enough Carina could taste it even before she entered.

She knocked lightly, stepped in with a calm presence, gloves ready, voice soft.

“Good afternoon,” she said gently. “I’m Dr. DeLuca. You mentioned today you and your partner are hoping to breed successfully— is that right?”

The omega nodded quickly, shifting, sweat high on his forehead. “Yes, doctor. He’s been… tense. I—I’m ready. I need help. I want to make sure I can catch for him. we have had all unsuccessfully matings so far.”

Carina gave a reassuring nod. “You’re in the right place. We’ll do a full exam, make sure you’re healthy and ready. I’ll walk you through everything.”

The alpha stepped back to the window, arms crossed. Carina sensed his unease but didn’t flinch. She guided the omega through vitals, hormone panel requisitions, general condition — appetite, hydration, gland pressure, previous cycling if any. She kept her tone calm, even, clinical.

In and out of the cramped, scent-heavy room, she moved like water — steady, gentle, professional. The alpha’s scent hung low but insistent; the omega’s nervous energy bright and nervous-high. She placed a hand on the omega’s shoulder when he flinched during a palpation. “Relax. Think of my voice as a calm soothing wave. I know this is all uncomfortable but I am only here to help.”

The patient was already draped and positioned when Carina returned to the room, gloved hands held respectfully above the sterile field. Vic from the clinic would have joked that stirrups always looked intimidating, but Carina knew they were a necessary tool — especially when an omega was this close to presenting, trying to get bred, and needed evaluation for receptivity and gland readiness.

“Okay, you’re going to feel some pressure,” Carina said softly, checking the lighting as she moved to sit on the rolling stool between the patient’s spread thighs.

The omega nodded. He was young, clearly nervous, but trying to stay still. His alpha stood near the head of the bed, arms crossed, anxiety masked poorly by attempts to look calm.

Carina gently parted the folds and visually examined the outer anatomy first — noting a healthy amount of lubrication, slightly flushed inner walls, and a clear responsiveness to even subtle touch.

“Everything looks normal externally,” she said reassuringly. “You’re naturally lubricating well, which is a good sign. No irritation or scarring.”

She applied a small amount of lubricant to her gloved fingers and carefully inserted two fingers. The omega tensed slightly, then relaxed as she murmured softly for him to breathe. Inside, she palpated along the posterior wall, tracing gently until she found the omega’s mating valve — soft but firm, closed and pulsing gently.

Carina had just adjusted her position, fingers still gently inside the omega’s rectum as she palpated the posterior wall, when a low growl rolled through the exam room.

Not loud.

Not aggressive.

But sharp enough to cut through the sterile air like a blade.

Carina’s body reacted before her brain did — her muscles stiffening, her heart skipping once, twice. The kind of moment her instincts recognized even if her medical mind didn’t want to name it.

She looked up, hand still steady.

The alpha’s jaw was tight, his nostrils flared. His eyes flicked down toward where Carina’s hand had just been—then quickly over to his omega, who was flushed and blinking hard, clearly riding a fine edge between discomfort and arousal.

The alpha exhaled and stepped back, pressing two fingers against his temple.

“I—I need a second,” he muttered, forcing himself to look at his mate. “Is it okay if I step out?”

The omega looked alarmed at first, then nodded quickly, whispering, “Yeah. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

The alpha turned toward Carina, eyes wide now with guilt. “I didn’t mean to—”

Carina cut him off gently, sliding off her gloves. “You don’t have to explain. It’s a perfectly natural reaction. Your scent responded to perceived vulnerability. It’s instinct, not aggression.”

She spoke as calmly as she would explain a medication dosage.

The alpha blinked, visibly relieved. “Thank you.”

He stepped out of the room.

The omega looked at Carina, a little sheepish. “He’s never like that. He just gets protective, especially around heats. I told him you were a doctor.”

Carina gave a soft smile. “I am. And I understand.”

“Your mating valve is intact and well-positioned,” she said calmly, noting it in the chart. “I’m going to check above now.”

She adjusted her angle, then carefully guided a small, thin uterine sound upward to assess depth and position. She did this with practiced ease, noting the slight resistance that gave way to healthy elasticity.

“Uterine position is anteverted,” she said aloud, more for the chart than the room. “No fibroids, no obstruction. You’re within normal range for receptivity.”

She removed the instrument carefully and withdrew her fingers, changing gloves immediately and covering the patient again.

“All done,” she said, standing. “You’re physically ready. I’d still like to monitor your hormone levels a bit more closely over the next few days. Once we confirm ovulation and confirm hormones, I’d be comfortable giving you clearance for a timed insemination—or a natural attempt.”

The omega let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Thank you, doctor,” the omega said quietly.

Carina smiled softly, checking her chart. “You’re welcome. And remember, just because you can breed doesn’t mean you have to rush. Reproductive health is physical, hormonal… and emotional. We’ll move at the pace that feels right for you.”

Carina left the patient room and filed the chart away at the nurses station. Carina didn’t even realize where she was walking until she pushed open the bathroom door.

Her body moved on instinct.

Down the hallway, past the nurses’ station, left at the second turn. She wasn’t even thinking about what she needed—until the scent hit her like a sudden, warm tide.

Alpha.

Sharp. Smokey. Feral.

But not just any alpha.

Maya.

The moment she stepped inside, her breath caught. The air in the small bathroom was thick with it—Maya’s scent clung to the walls, to the mirror, to the very oxygen itself. Faint traces of arousal still hung in the air, just enough to make Carina’s thighs clench involuntarily.

She reached back, locked the door.

Her hand went to her chest.

Why did it feel so good?

Not overwhelming. Not invasive.

Comforting. Grounding.

Her nose flared. Her omega instincts surged, cooed. Her body knew this scent. Not just as an alpha, but as hers. The reaction was too deep, too specific, to be coincidence.

Her suppressors fought to deaden the response—but they were losing. She had taken too many, too often, for too long. Her receptors were starving.

Carina leaned against the sink, closing her eyes, letting herself just breathe it in. Slowly. Deeply. Her body softened, unwound. She didn’t touch herself. She didn’t moan. She simply… stood in it.

Immersed in Maya.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed.

Now, it was Friday morning, and the barn at Station 19 was already humming with activity. Folding tables were set up, privacy dividers assembled, medical boxes unpacked and stocked. The firehouse moved with choreographed ease, each firefighter sliding into their role like it was another call.

This time, Maya and Sullivan had made a quiet decision between them—to wear scent-blocking patches for the duration of the clinic. Neither of them were big on words, but they shared a nod over coffee that morning as they pressed the dull beige disks to the inside of their wrists and necks. They weren’t full suppressors, but they masked enough.

For Maya, it wasn’t about hiding.

It was about control.

And—maybe—comfort.

She didn’t want another patient flinching or freezing because of her presence.

At 8:43 AM, Carina walked in carrying a box of pastries from the same bakery as last time.

She wore dark slacks and a pale blue blouse rolled to her elbows. Her hair was swept up, reading more professor than doctor, and Maya—halfway through unwrapping blood pressure cuffs—froze when she saw her.

The air didn’t shift like last time.

There was no rush of pheromones. No collision of heat and scent.

Carina smelled…

Neutral. Still.

Too neutral.

Maya’s gut twitched.

She blinked and turned back to her task.

Carina, for her part, smiled as she entered, her voice bright as she called out, “Good morning!”

The crew greeted her with warmth—Travis was already eyeing the pastry box like he hadn’t eaten since last night. Vic waved from across the room. Ben emerged from the back and walked over to take the box from her, offering an enthusiastic update on the supply layout and patient list.

Carina smiled, nodded—and scanned the room until her eyes landed on Maya.

And she paused.

Because something felt… off.

Muted.

Last time, Maya’s scent had hit her like a thunderclap through glass.

Now?

She could barely smell her.

Carina’s stomach twisted—not with panic, not even disappointment. But with a strange, unexpected longing.

Still, she walked over.

“Hi,” she said, voice even.

Maya turned, her smile small but steady. “Hey.”

Carina moved closer, offering a soft smile. At this distance—finally—she caught it.

Faint.

But there.

Maya.

Woodsmoke and skin. Burnt pine and heat barely restrained. The patch dulled it, but it couldn’t erase it. Not entirely. Not to her.

Carina’s gaze flicked downward.

There—just under the collar of Maya’s black t-shirt, peeking out above her clavicle—was a dull beige scent patch. She tilted her head and spotted another on Maya’s inner wrist, exposed just where she’d pushed her sleeve up mid-prep.

Maya followed her gaze.

With a small shrug, she held her arm out and turned it slightly. “Sullivan and I figured we’d wear them today,” she explained. “Just to make sure nobody’s thrown off. You know—keep things balanced.”

Carina smiled softly, the warmth of the gesture surprising even her. “That’s… thoughtful. Thank you.”

Then, without thinking—truly without thinking—Carina stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Maya in a hug.

Not quick.

Not distant.

Full-body.

Instinctive.

Maya froze for half a second, arms hovering—then wrapped them around Carina with slow, deliberate pressure. Her palms found the curve of Carina’s lower back. The press of her chest against Carina’s smaller frame was too warm—too full of something she couldn’t name.

It wasn’t sexual.

Not directly.

But it curled under her skin, beneath the surface.

A pulse.

A claim.

Carina felt it in her glands.

Felt it in her thighs.

Maya’s breath hitched—and for one wild second, she thought she smelled Carina.

“Vic,” Travis hissed from across the room. “Look.”

Vic turned from a folding clipboard. Her grin stretched wide.

“Ohhh,” she whispered, nudging Travis.

Travis blinked. “Is that a hug hug?”

“It’s definitely a hug hug.”

They watched as Carina slowly pulled away, smiling but clearly affected. Her cheeks were tinged pink. Maya, for her part, looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let’s go,” Vic whispered to Travis, dragging him to the other end of the barn.

Carina stayed in Maya’s arms because the moment their bodies meet, the breath froze in her lungs.

It’s not just warmth. Not just muscle or comfort.

It’s there.

Hard. Subtle, but unmistakable. Pressed against her hip, through Maya’s uniform slacks. A distinct, weighted pressure that says one thing, clear as day:

Maya’s cock.

Carina’s brain stalls.

Maya stiffens for a fraction of a second—just enough to feel it too—then finishes the hug smoothly, as if nothing happened.

Carina pulls back slowly, carefully. Her cheeks are warm, but she forces her expression to stay neutral. Professional. Her eyes flicker up to Maya’s, and Maya’s gaze is steady. Too steady.

Neither of them says anything about it.

Not the pressure. Not the heat.

Not the way Carina’s inner omega flared so suddenly she nearly gasped—just from a brief, fully-clothed press against the Alpha’s cock.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Carina says lightly, stepping back with practiced ease.

Maya shrugs, smiling. “The firehouse is the place to find me if you are looking.”

“Well. Let’s get started then.”

Maya gestures toward the clinic doors. “After you.”

Carina walks ahead, spine straight, pulse wrecked.

The first patients started to arrive just after 9 AM.

Ben greeted them at the door, clipboard in hand, his calm voice setting the tone as he directed people to triage and waiting areas. “We’re running three exam stations today. Please check in here. Water and snacks to the right—thank you for coming.”

A small line formed almost immediately.

Maya stood at Station Two, back straight, boots planted like she was prepping for a call. Her body still buzzed from the hug with Carina, but she tucked it deep beneath layers of routine and professionalism.

She had a job to do.

Ben had warned them: eighty people had signed up this time. Word had gotten out—about the discretion, the empathy, the fact that alphas and omegas weren’t shamed here for asking real questions or seeking treatment for things most clinics dismissed.

Sullivan took the first patient—a pregnant beta woman worried about pre-term labor signs.

Maya took the second—a male beta in his fifties with high blood pressure and a limp from an old factory injury. She smiled softly, gentle but efficient, logging vitals and gathering history while Vic worked next to her wrapping a teenager’s dislocated finger.

Carina, poised and focused, moved from Station One to Station Three and back again, rotating between consults and exams.

She stayed professional.

But she felt Maya.

It was like her body recognized Maya’s rhythm—the stillness before her movements, the quiet way she listened, the soft edge in her voice when she addressed older patients. Carina didn’t seek her out. Not overtly.

But every time she passed Station Two?

She looked.

And every time she looked?

Maya was already watching her.

The clinic pulsed with life.

Alphas. Betas. A few brave omegas. People came for everything—sprains, hormone consults, reproductive questions, old injuries, checkups long delayed. It was organized chaos, and the Station 19 crew moved like a machine built for this very purpose.

The door to the barn’s private room shut quietly behind them as Carina moved with calm urgency.

The pregnant male omega lay on the exam table, shaking slightly. Sweat had already begun to bead at his temples. His scent was thick—fear, confusion, embarrassment threaded into it—and Maya could feel the press of it even through her patch.

Carina snapped on gloves with smooth efficiency and placed a gentle hand on the omega’s arm. “Hi. I’m Dr. DeLuca. You’re safe here. We’re going to take this one step at a time.”

The omega nodded tightly, trying not to cry.

“I didn’t know it was this close. I thought I had more time,” he whispered. “I—I don’t have anyone to call.”

Maya was kneeling near his side, checking vitals, listening, heart twisting at the quiet panic in his voice. “It’s okay,” she said, softly. “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

He met her eyes for a moment. A flicker of trust passed between them.

Carina positioned herself at the foot of the table. “I’m going to check your dilation, okay? I’ll be gentle.”

She guided his legs into position and began the pelvic exam, her voice low and steady as she worked. “You’re nearly fully dilated. This baby is coming whether we plan it or not.”

The omega whimpered, one hand clutching the sheet.

Carina smiled gently. “Looks like this little pup’s made the decision for you.”

He let out a short, tearful laugh.

“Do you want to stay here for a natural birth?” she asked, eyes kind but serious. “We can make it safe. Or I can have you transferred to Grey Sloan for a surgical delivery if that’s what you need.”

The omega hesitated. “I don’t want to be alone in a cold hospital.”

Maya leaned in. “Then we’ll stay. Right here.”

Carina nodded, snapping into action. “Maya, I need your help.”

Maya stood instantly, stepping to her side.

“I need you to gently lift and support his penis and scrotum as I prep for the crowning,” Carina said, clinically. “It’ll help reduce pressure and keep the area clear during delivery.”

Maya’s throat tightened slightly. This was trust, raw and immediate.

She slipped on gloves and moved carefully, kneeling at the side. “Okay,” she said softly to the omega. “I’ve got you.”

He nodded, squeezing her arm as a fresh contraction rocked through him.

Carina worked quickly, gathering supplies, monitoring signs, her focus absolute. But every so often, her eyes flicked to Maya—who held the trembling omega with a kind of quiet reverence.

The omega’s body trembled with the force of the final push.

Carina crouched at the foot of the table, her eyes focused, voice steady. “That’s it, just like that. You’re doing beautifully. Almost there…”

Maya knelt nearby, still holding the omega’s shaft and scrotum gently out of the way, supporting him through the pressure. His hand clutched her forearm, slick with sweat, as he gasped through the contraction.

And then—

A loud cry split the air.

The pup arrived.

Carina moved quickly, lifting the slick, wriggling newborn into her hands. “It’s a boy,” she said softly, smiling as she wrapped him in the small blanket they had ready. The baby’s tiny limbs kicked, his lungs strong. His cry was sharp and insistent, already demanding his place in the world.

The omega broke down—shoulders shaking, lips parted in disbelief and awe. “Oh my god. Oh… my god, he’s perfect.”

“He is,” Carina said gently, laying the baby against the omega’s chest. “You did so well.”

Maya watched the scene with a quiet smile tugging at her lips. The pup squirmed and wailed, but the omega—now crying softly himself—held him tight, instinct taking over, body relaxing.

A second team had arrived from another station with a medical transport unit—ready to escort the father and newborn to Grey Sloan for neonatal checkups and postnatal support. They waited quietly outside the room, respectful.

Carina stayed with the omega, gloved hands still working. “I’m going to help deliver the placenta now,” she said, voice low and calm. “Just a few more moments.”

The omega nodded, barely hearing her as he gazed at his son.

Maya watched Carina work—not just as a doctor, but as something almost divine. She soothed and explained every movement as she worked, checking for bleeding, assisting the body through the final stage of birth.

Her tone was soft, her focus absolute.

Empathy and skill wrapped into one.

Maya couldn’t look away.

When Carina looked up—glancing at her just for a second—Maya smiled.

And Carina… smiled back.

Before Maya could even open her mouth to say something—to acknowledge the miracle they’d just shared—Carina was already stepping out of the room, stripping off her gloves and snapping a fresh pair on with practiced speed.

The omega and his newborn pup were being gently loaded into the aid car by the second station’s medics. The father cradled his son to his chest, overwhelmed and exhausted but glowing in that primal, untouchable way only fresh parents ever did.

Carina gave him a soft nod before turning down the hall.

Maya stood there for a second—rooted in place, hands still gloved, throat dry.

The room smelled of birth, of pheromones, of life.

She blinked, exhaled, and turned back to the space.

She moved on muscle memory—cleaning, resetting the table, stripping linens, checking the supplies. It was meditative. It helped. She focused on the rhythm of preparation, the quiet swipe of disinfectant, the weight of soaked cloths in

Maya pulled the fresh sheet tight over the table and smoothed it down and emerged from the private room just as another patient stepped into her station—an alpha in his late thirties with a clenched jaw and a hard stare. His file was short, but the notes flagged “mating dysfunction,” and Maya could already feel the tension before the man sat down.

“I’m Maya Bishop. I’ll be asking you a few questions to start.”

The alpha crossed his arms. “I don’t need a damn form. I know what’s wrong.”

Maya kept her voice low and professional. “Still helps to walk through it. Duration of dysfunction? Any pain during attempted intercourse?”

He snapped, “I said I know what it is. I can’t stay hard when my mate presents. It’s like my instincts shut down.”

A few heads turned at his rising volume.

Maya made a split-second decision. “Let’s talk in the main building,” she said, already rising.

She walked with quiet strength, guiding him out of the barn, across the lot and into the quiet of the firehouse’s lounge. The shift in space helped—the barn’s air, heavy with scent and vulnerability, had made him defensive. Inside the station, it was quieter. Cooler.

Sullivan followed them in, sensing the weight of the moment.

“We’re not here to embarrass you,” Sullivan said calmly, stepping beside Maya. “We’re alphas too. We get what it feels like when something isn’t working the way it’s supposed to.”

The man’s fists slowly loosened.

“I used to be fine,” he muttered. “Now I can’t… I can’t respond. My omega thinks it’s her. But it’s not. It’s me.”

Maya nodded. “It’s more common than you think. But it’s not something we can diagnose from symptoms alone. Dr. DeLuca is one of the best—she can help. She’s going to need to examine you.”

The man’s brows furrowed again, jaw tightening.

“She’s a woman.”

“She’s a doctor,” Maya said, not blinking. “And you’re going to respect that. No aggression. No posturing. You want help, we’re offering it. But this isn’t a place for dominance.”

The alpha held her gaze. Then slowly—slowly—nodded.

“I’ll go.”

Maya walked him back toward the barn and quietly directed him to the private room to change and prepare. She turned to fetch Carina.

Carina met her halfway, eyes sharp, lips parted slightly.

“I saw,” she said quietly.

“He’s stable now. Defensive, but not violent. I explained the exam and set expectations. Just—watch for flare-ups. He wants to fix this. But he’s ashamed.”

Carina gave a small nod. “Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

And for a moment—just a flicker—she reached out and touched Maya’s arm. Gentle. Grateful.

Maya stepped into the private room just behind Carina, the door closing quietly behind her as Sullivan stationed himself just outside—a subtle reinforcement, just in case the patient’s temper returned.

Carina walked to the exam table with clinical calm. “We’ll begin with a physical evaluation,” she said, donning gloves. “Standard exam of the genitals, followed by rectal assessment of the prostate, glands and ducts and gland sensitivity.”

The alpha, now changed into a medical gown and sitting on the edge of the exam table, smirked. “Didn’t think a pretty little thing would be the one handling my cock today.”

Maya’s eyes flashed.

Before Carina could even respond, Maya’s voice cut through the air—sharp and low. “You’re here for help. Show her respect, or we’re done.”

The alpha swallowed hard. He may have been taller, bulkier—but it was clear: Maya was the more dangerous creature in the room.

He nodded stiffly. “Sorry. I just… it’s been hard.”

Carina, unfazed, continued. “I’m examining now. You may feel some discomfort.”

She gently parted his legs and examined his genitals, palpating carefully, watching for reactions. Maya remained silent but alert—her body tensed in subtle ways, her instincts keyed to every small twitch of discomfort or dominance.

Then came the rectal portion.

Carina applied lubricant and asked the alpha to relax.

“I’m inserting now.”

The moment her gloved finger slid inside, the man flinched—and came, hard and fast, his body jerking on the table.

He gasped.

Then panic set in.

“What the hell—why did that happen—what’s wrong with me?!”

His voice began to rise.

But Maya stepped forward, slowly, and locked eyes with him.

No growl.

No words.

Just the unshakable calm of an alpha in control.

The man’s chest heaved—then slowed.

He blinked, body sagging with sudden relief. “Sorry. I—I didn’t mean to…”

Carina stayed calm and clinical as the alpha's body spasmed in response to her touch. His face was flushed, more from shame than pleasure, and his hands gripped the edges of the exam table like he was holding himself together by force.

“I’m palpating your prostate,” Carina explained gently. “Some of the glandular ducts appear to be blocked, which could be contributing to your symptoms. The release you’re experiencing is involuntary and not uncommon in cases like this.”

The man groaned softly—not out of pleasure, but frustration. “It’s not stopping…”

Carina shifted slightly, adjusting pressure with practiced precision. “I know. I’ll finish the exam quickly. We may need to refer you for glandular massage therapy or medication if this continues.”

Maya stood to the side, arms crossed tightly, her jaw set.

She wasn’t angry.

But her instincts were flaring.

The smell was strong. Wrong. Foreign. It filled the room like heat from a grease fire—cloying, sticky, overpowering. Her patch dulled it, but not enough. It wasn't arousal—it was territory, and it made her body ache to assert something she didn’t even fully understand.

But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

She kept her gaze on Carina.

Not the patient.

Carina finished the internal exam, careful and composed, her gloved hands steady even as the alpha released again in spurts he couldn’t control. She noted everything without judgment. “I’m done,” she said softly, withdrawing.

Carina removed her gloves with a quiet snap, tossing them into the bin before reaching for a tissue and wiping her hands. She kept her tone measured, her expression calm. The alpha sat hunched over, still reeling—not just from the involuntary release, but from the vulnerability of it all.

“Based on what I found,” Carina said, her voice clinical but kind, “you’re dealing with a buildup in your prostatic ducts. The best treatment is regular prostate massage to stimulate proper drainage and ease inflammation.”

The alpha looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. “You mean someone’s gonna keep doing that?”

Carina nodded. “Yes. It’s a form of therapeutic intervention. If left untreated, the congestion could lead to chronic discomfort, erectile dysfunction, or—”

“My omega can’t do that.”

Carina paused. “Can’t? Or not allowed?”

He looked away. “She knows her place. She doesn’t go near me like that.”

Maya’s jaw twitched.

Carina didn’t flinch. “This isn’t about dominance,” she said gently. “It’s about health. It’s a medical procedure, not a sexual act. There are licensed therapists trained to perform it—discreetly, professionally.”

He was quiet for a moment, absorbing that.

“I’ll write you a referral,” Carina continued. “You can meet with someone, discuss the procedure in more detail, and decide from there. It doesn’t have to be invasive or shameful. You’re not broken. But you do need care.”

Maya watched him from the corner, her arms folded, her gaze cool but not cold.

He nodded slowly.

“All right,” he muttered. “If it helps, I’ll try.”

Carina handed him a clean towel and stepped back. “You’re not alone. And you’re not weak for needing help.”

He gave her a hesitant, almost sheepish glance. “Thanks, doc.”

Carina turned, her eyes brushing briefly over Maya.

Maya cracked the window open as wide as it would go, then propped the door to the private exam room open with a box of gloves. She stepped back and blew out a slow breath through her nose—like that would do anything to clear the air.

It wouldn’t.

The smell lingered—sticky, raw, and sour. It clung to her nostrils like oil to a pan.

She turned just as Sullivan walked in, sniffing once and then immediately covering his mouth with a groan. “Oh my god.That’s rancid.”

Maya didn’t laugh.

She grabbed the disinfectant and started spraying the room with more vigor than strictly necessary. “You weren’t the one standing next to him when he started coming all over the table.”

Sullivan grimaced, half amused, half horrified. “Poor guy.”

Maya shot him a look. “He’s lucky Carina’s a goddamn professional. Because if I had to watch one more ungrateful alpha jizz on her fingers while looking offended that a woman knew what she was doing, I was going to lose my damn mind.”

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Maya didn’t answer at first.

She sprayed the counter.

Wiped hard.

Paused.

Then muttered, “No. I’m not okay. I’ve been hard since she walked in this morning and I’ve jerked off so many times this week I’m surprised I can still walk straight. And now I get to watch omegas and assholes come on her like she’s not—like she’s not—”

Sullivan held up his hands, chuckling under his breath. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

Maya clenched her jaw, tossing the towel in the bin. “She’s not even an alpha. She’s not even—”

She didn’t finish.

Because deep down, she wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

The clinic continued at a steady pace—check-ups, screenings, minor injuries, and a surprising number of younger alphas and omegas coming in not for treatment, but for screening. One after another, they quietly requested physical evaluations, blood panels, and scent marker verification for Match—the regulated hookup app known for pairing partners during rut or heat.

Carina noted it all.

She saw the tension in their shoulders when they asked.

Saw the relief when no one judged them.

After finishing a form, Carina stepped away and found herself walking alongside Sullivan, who had just handed off a folder to Ben.

“You’re popular today,” she said, falling into step beside him. “You and Maya seem to be everyone’s preferred exam assistants.”

Sullivan smiled wryly. “Alphas tend to respond better to other alphas, especially when things get vulnerable. We’re like emotional bouncers.”

Carina chuckled, then grew thoughtful. “The Match app. How does it work exactly?”

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Carina admitted. “But I’m more used to medical databanks than matchmaking ones.”

He snorted. “Match is less ‘dating,’ more ‘instinct relief.’ You submit your dynamic, your preferences, get screened, and when a rut or heat is coming, the algorithm pairs you with someone compatible who’s opted in for that window.”

“So it’s all regulated? Medical checks, aftercare options?”

“Mandatory,” Sullivan confirmed. “Especially for breeding attempts. Bloodwork, scent confirmation, health clearance. If you breed without protection, post-care is logged. You get flagged if you don’t follow up.”

Carina nodded, clearly absorbing every word.

“And it works?” she asked softly.

Sullivan glanced sideways. “For what it is—yes. It’s safe. It’s honest. And it’s clean. You get your needs met without pretending it’s more.”

Carina’s lips twitched. “Spoken like someone who’s used it.”

“Once,” he admitted. “Years ago. Before Andy.”

She smiled.

Then paused.

“Do you think an alpha can be satisfied that way? Just… routine relief? With someone who isn’t their mate?”

Sullivan stopped walking, his brow lifting slightly at the question.

“Maybe for a while,” he said. “But not forever. Instinct knows the difference.”

And Carina?

She didn’t say anything.

Chapter Text

The last of the folding tables were stacked, the private room wiped down and reset, and the scent of antiseptic just barely won out over the lingering traces of pheromones. The clinic had ended, and the barn was echoing with the familiar sounds of laughter and relief as Shift A buzzed with the energy of a job well done.

“Joes?” Andy called out, already pulling off her turnout pants and slipping into jeans.

“Hell yes,” Vic grinned. “If I don’t get fries in my mouth in ten minutes, I’m going to riot.”

Ben high-fived Travis on the way to his locker, and Sullivan started texting Andy on the sly with a little smirk.

Someone turned to Carina.

“You coming, Doc?”

She hesitated. Still in her coat, holding her keys like a shield. “I don’t know… I should probably—”

Her eyes flicked sideways.

Maya was standing just across the barn, stripping off her clinic layer. Her fingers found the patch at her neck—and peeled it off in one smooth motion.

And just like that—

Carina’s world tilted.

The scent hit her like a wave—rich, sharp, sun-warmed cedar with a twist of smoke and clean sweat. The kind of scent that wrapped around your spine and stayed there.

It was Maya.

Unfiltered.

Undeniably Alpha.

Carina blinked. Swallowed. Her knees felt soft.

“I’ll come,” she said suddenly, louder than she meant to.

Everyone cheered, dragging her out of her hesitation.

They piled into their cars and headed to Joe’s—claiming their usual booth, loud and messy and familiar. Vic shoved in first, Travis next, then Ben and Sullivan. Maya slid in last—until she saw Carina lingering near the edge.

Without a word, she grabbed a spare chair, pulled it up right beside her, and tapped the seat.

Carina sat.

Close.

Too close.

And the scent of Maya’s skin—her gland freshly unblocked, her heat under control but still present—wrapped around Carina like gravity.

She reached for her water and missed the glass entirely.

Maya smiled sideways.

“Long day?”

Carina blinked up at her, cheeks flushed. “You could say that.”

Their drinks had arrived, food following close behind—burgers, fries, and whatever questionable cocktail Vic had convinced the bartender to mix on a dare. Laughter swelled from the booth, and Joe’s buzzed with that easy Station 19 rhythm of release after a long shift.

Ben raised his glass.

“To the clinic,” he said, grinning. “To showing the city how a firehouse and a doctor can do more than just put out fires.”

Everyone clinked glasses—some with beer, others with soda, a few with whiskey.

Andy turned to Ben. “Seriously, thank you. That was a brilliant idea. And Carina—” she turned toward her “—we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Carina smiled, eyes soft. “It was an honor.”

“Okay, okay,” Vic leaned in, grinning like a devil. “Time for the real questions.”

Maya groaned. “Vic…”

Vic ignored her. “Carina. You’ve been in Seattle how long now?”

“About four months,” Carina answered, taking a sip of her drink.

“And already the city’s most sought-after doctor for A/O dynamics,” Travis chimed in.

Carina smiled, a little shy. “That’s flattering. But I just… do my job.”

Vic leaned in closer. “Okay, but—are you seeing anyone?”

Carina blinked. “That’s… direct.”

Vic held up her hands. “We’re firehouse family. No such thing as subtle here.”

Carina’s blush crept in, delicate but noticeable.

Across from her, Maya stayed quiet—watching, not speaking, but very much there. Her scent lingered in Carina’s space like a second skin—subtle but warm, grounding. Comforting.

“No,” Carina said at last. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

Andy arched a brow. “No one?”

Carina hesitated. Her hand went instinctively to her bag, where a fresh dose of suppressors waited. “It’s… complicated. I’ve been very focused on my work.”

Vic made a face. “That’s a no-fun answer.”

Carina shrugged. “Fun is… complicated too.”

But then Maya leaned in, just slightly—not touching, not crowding, but close enough that Carina could feel her heat. That steady, silent presence. That Alpha.

And suddenly, she felt… protected.

Seen and safe.

Carina took a longer sip of her drink, lips brushing the rim of the glass a little slower than usual. Her gaze was soft, her voice quieter when she spoke again.

“I actually… just ended something. A relationship. So no—” she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes “—not so much fun right now.”

There was a brief silence around the table.

“Ahh,” Travis said, nodding with all the fake solemnity of a gossip in mourning. “The tragic timing of heartbreak.”

Vic leaned in dramatically. “Do we hate her?”

“No,” Carina laughed. “She’s not a bad person. Just… not my person.”

That hit something in Maya’s chest.

Before she could say anything, Travis turned the spotlight like a floodlight.

“Anyway—Maya’s been hopelessly single forever.”

Maya shot him a look, biting the inside of her cheek. “Thanks, Trav.”

“What?” he grinned. “You are. What was it, the beta with the sailboat, or the omega who wouldn’t stop quoting poetry mid—”

“Okay,” Maya cut in sharply, but not unkindly. “I just haven’t found my person either.”

She didn’t mean to look at Carina.

But she did.

And Carina looked back.

And for a second, it was too quiet between them—until Carina broke it with a question, her voice more playful now.

“All right. My turn. Can I ask you something?”

Maya arched a brow. “Sure.”

Carina looked around the table at the others. “How many of you joined Station 19 because you were adrenaline junkies… and how many joined because you secretly wanted to help people?”

The table erupted into laughter, half mock-offended, half amused.

“Oh, we’re definitely junkies,” Vic grinned.

“I just like running into burning buildings,” Jack shrugged.

“Helping is the adrenaline,” Sullivan added.

But Maya?

Maya held Carina’s gaze and said, without a trace of irony, “The whole job. That’s the high.”

Sullivan’s eyes flicked toward the bar where Andy stood, waiting for drinks. His expression sharpened instantly, nostrils flaring just slightly. A man—beta, a little too confident—had leaned in too close, gesturing with his hand and angling his body to cut off her exit.

Without a word, Sullivan stood and made his way over.

Maya watched, amused. She leaned in toward Carina, keeping her voice low, warm, close to her ear.

“For your information,” she said, lips curling slightly, “Sullivan and I are the only alphas at Station 19. The rest of the crew’s beta.”

Carina’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly—whether from the words or the nearness of Maya’s voice, she couldn’t say.

Sullivan returned moments later, Andy beside him with a tray of drinks and an eyebrow arched.

“Problem?” Theo asked, grinning like a kid who’d just watched someone poke a bear.

“Let’s just say if that beta keeps pushing his luck,” Sullivan said mildly, “he’s going to regret it.”

Andy smacked his arm. “Leave it, caveman.”

Everyone laughed.

Carina leaned subtly toward Maya again, eyes sparkling now.

“Are they…?” she whispered, tilting her head toward Andy and Sullivan.

Maya nodded. “Yeah. It’s new-ish, but serious.”

Carina’s gaze shifted. “And Vic and Theo?”

Maya let out a soft chuckle. “Good guess. That one’s still in the fun stage. Lots of sneaking around, pretending we can’t all smell them.”

Carina flushed lightly, smiling at her own observational accuracy.

Then Travis’s phone buzzed on the table. He checked it, lit up, and stood with a dramatic sigh. “That’s my cue. The boyfriend is waiting, and I do not keep him waiting.”

“Tell Emmett we say hi!” Vic called.

“Bring him next time,” Ben added.

Travis winked, grabbed his coat, and was gone in a blur of city chill.

The night had thinned out—laughter quieter, the bar’s crowd tapering off to locals and last-call regulars. The crew at Station 19 said their goodbyes in waves: hugs, handshakes, a few mock shoves. Ben offered to give Carina a ride, but she shook her head, already holding her keys.

“I’m parked just over there,” she said.

“I’ll walk you,” Maya offered, the words out before she’d thought them through.

Carina looked at her, lips twitching into a smile. “That’s very… alpha of you.”

Maya smirked. “And here I thought I was being polite.”

They stepped out into the cool night, the air crisp enough to cut through the warmth lingering in Maya’s skin. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, but every step beside Carina ratcheted up the pressure in her pants.

At her car, she turned to face Maya, light from a streetlamp catching on her hair, her eyes bright but unreadable.

“Did you ever schedule that exam?” she asked, voice casual but soft.

Maya nodded once. “Yeah. It’s this week.”

Carina smiled. “Good.”

She turned, opening the driver’s side door.

“I’ll see you soon,” she added, glancing back at Maya one last time.

And then she was gone, the car pulling into the road, tail lights shrinking into red smears.

Maya stood in the parking lot, motionless.

Every nerve in her body buzzed. Her dick twitched sharply, her jeans suddenly too tight, too hot. She adjusted herself, teeth clenched.

This wasn’t lust.

It was need.

And it was getting harder to ignore.

— — —

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and lavender diffuser oil—neutral, calming. But Maya’s skin itched under her clothes, her cock pressing hard and thick against her zipper. She’d considered canceling.

She hadn’t.

Because the thought of Carina touching her—even professionally—was too much to resist.

She checked in, gave her name, and tried to sit still. But her hips shifted every few seconds, adjusting. Her dick had been semi-hard all day, but now—knowing what was coming—it was fully erect, throbbing with restrained instinct.

The nurse called her name with a pleasant smile. “Maya Bishop? Right this way.”

Maya followed her into a private exam room. The lights were low, soft. Neutral taupe walls, warm wood cabinetry. The nurse gestured to the paper-covered exam table.

“You can undress completely. Dr. DeLuca will be in shortly.”

“Sure,” Maya managed.

As the door closed, she peeled off her shirt, her pants. Her cock slapped against her thigh, heavy and already leaking. She tried to ignore it, wiping at the droplet that clung to the tip, but it kept coming. By the time she sat on the table, it was obvious—a wet circle blooming on the paper beneath her.

Fuck.

She didn’t have time to do anything about it.

The door clicked open.

And Carina walked in.

Hair tied back, white coat over soft navy scrubs, eyes immediately scanning the room—and landing on her.

Maya gave a sheepish, crooked smile, one hand sliding instinctively down to cover herself.

“Hey.”

Carina didn’t blink.

She didn’t look away, either.

“Hi, Maya,” she said gently, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. “You’re early.”

Maya swallowed. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t sure how traffic would be and...”

Carina moved closer, pulling on gloves. “You don’t need to apologize. I know unmated alphas sometimes come to appointments already… aroused.”

Maya’s ears burned.

Her hand stayed over her cock, which twitched beneath her palm, a thick drop gathering at the tip again.

Carina stepped up beside her. “I’m going to start with a basic exam. Blood pressure, gland check, then we’ll move to the rest. You okay?”

Maya nodded.

But her voice came out rough: “Yeah. Just… embarrassed.”

Carina’s eyes met hers.

“Don’t be,” she said softly.

And Maya’s hand trembled as she slowly let it fall away.

Carina sat down on the stool across from the exam table, a digital tablet in her hand and her eyes—God, those eyes—briefly scanning the screen before flicking back up to Maya.

She shouldn’t look. She tried not to. But the medical gown was cut loose and thin, with a crease at the hem where Maya’s dick pointed a clear tent, already leaking onto the paper. It took up half the space between Maya’s thighs, a flushed, urgent red; Carina tried to keep her face composed, mind retreating automatically to textbook clinical phrases—natural, unmated, persistent arousal. But it didn’t help. The scent was so much worse now, woodsmoke and need curling at the back of her nose, her own skin prickling despite every dose of suppressors and ingrained self-control.

She set the tablet down. No need to write ‘huge erection’ in the chart.

She looked at Maya’s face instead, and saw the effort it took to hold still, the way her jaw worked. It made the blush on her cheeks all the more arresting: this woman ran into burning buildings, and here she was, undone by a routine medical.

“Blood pressure first,” Carina said, her voice as even as she could make it. She tugged the old-school cuff from the hook and wrapped it around Maya’s arm, fingers skimming bare skin. Maya tensed slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. The numbers popped up on the automatic readout—high, but not dangerous, just the normal detritus of anticipation and maybe embarrassment. Carina made a note. If she let herself, she could probably count Maya’s breaths, could feel the heat rolling off her skin, could climb inside the humming, charged bubble that filled the exam room.

“I decided to complete all parts of your exam myself,” she said, voice even but softer than usual. “You’re more comfortable with me, and I’d rather keep this consistent.”

Before Maya could respond, a quiet knock sounded at the door. The nurse.

“I’ve got it,” Carina called without looking. “Thank you.”

Footsteps retreated. The door stayed shut.

They were alone.

Carina tapped something on her screen and began, her voice turning brisk, clinical. “Let’s start with history. Any changes to your general health?”

Maya exhaled, her hands on her thighs, still holding herself together. “No. I run, eat clean. Maybe too much caffeine, but… nothing new.”

“Good. Last full physical?”

Maya laughed under her breath. “When I was sixteen. My mom made me. But I get a basic physical every year for the firehouse.”

Carina didn’t scold—just nodded and typed. “Okay. Frequency of rut?”

Maya shifted. “Suppressed, mostly. Self-regulated. Last full rut that was was… two years ago. But I do have 24 hours ones pretty frequently.”

“Unassisted?”

“Hookup app,” Maya answered. “Omegas only. Screened.”

Carina’s jaw twitched slightly. Not jealousy. Not exactly.

She nodded again, but her next question was slower.

“Do you find… satisfaction in those encounters?”

Maya blinked. “That’s medical?”

Carina didn’t flinch. “Sexual satisfaction and emotional regulation are biologically linked in alpha behavior. Especially when mating drives are unmet.”

Maya licked her lips, still flushed. Her cock throbbed against her thigh.

“No,” she said at last. “They get me through the worst of it. But it’s not…” She hesitated. “It doesn’t scratch whatever’s underneath.”

Carina was silent for a beat.

Then nodded. “Do you experience knotting pain?”

“Sometimes. Depends on the omega. Or how long I hold back.”

“Prolonged erections?”

Maya laughed dryly. “Right now?”

Carina smiled but didn’t look away. “Yes. Right now.”

Maya’s voice dropped, hoarse. “Yeah. Since last night.”

Carina didn’t stop typing.

But the next question came slower.

“Have you… recently imprinted? Or felt an instinctive attraction you can’t explain?”

Maya shakes her head no.

Carina’s fingers moved lightly across the screen as she logged Maya’s answers—efficient, practiced. But her eyes kept drifting from the tablet back to Maya’s face, then to her body.

And Maya… sat still.

Her legs slightly spread on the paper-lined table, her cock hard and leaking, a slow glisten pooling beneath her. Every answer she gave was honest. Blunt. There was no pretense left between them.

Carina cleared her throat gently and asked, “Do you self-pleasure regularly?”

Maya blinked, but didn’t flinch. “Daily. Sometimes more. Lately… yeah. More.”

“Is it effective in reducing symptoms?”

“Not really,” Maya admitted. “It takes the edge off, but it doesn’t stop the burn. I feel… unsatisfied after. Like my body’s still waiting for something else.”

Carina nodded once, her voice quieter. “That’s not uncommon in unmated alphas.”

Another question.

“Have you ever experienced a partial bond? Or a false bond?”

“No,” Maya said immediately. “Close, maybe once. But it wasn’t real.”

“Do you scent-mark?”

“Rarely. It’s hard to stop once I start.”

“Do you allow yourself to be scent-marked?”

Maya hesitated.

“No.”

Carina’s brows lifted just slightly, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she asked, “Do you ever have violent or aggressive impulses during rut?”

“Only when I can’t come,” Maya said. “Or when I’m interrupted. But never at a person. Never uncontrolled.”

Another pause.

Carina tilted her head just slightly. Her next words came out more gently, almost hesitant.

Then she said softly, “Thank you for being honest.”

Maya nodded once, jaw tight.

“Always,” she whispered.

Carina stood slowly from her stool and slipping on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I’m going to begin the physical exam now,” she said, her voice calm—soothing in its professionalism. But her body betrayed none of the sharp attention beneath her skin, none of the ache building as she stepped closer to Maya, who sat still and waiting, nodded, saying nothing.

Carina started at Maya’s neck, fingers brushing against the skin just below her jaw—gland check first. The subtle bulge of scent glands beneath skin responded to touch, and Carina pressed gently.

“Any irritation here?”

Maya’s voice was low. “No. Just sensitive lately.”

Carina’s touch drifted lower, her thumb brushing along the mating gland—that vulnerable patch at the base of Maya’s neck where the skin was slightly warmer, richer with scent.

Maya sucked in a breath.

Carina noted the tension, the way the gland seemed to pulse beneath her gloved fingers.

“Still unmarked,” Carina murmured, half to herself. “But active.”

Maya gave a breathy laugh. “Is that your clinical way of saying I’m backed up and single?”

Carina smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

She stepped between Maya’s knees, kneeling slightly to come eye-level with her pelvis.

“I’m going to examine your genitals now. You’re… fully erect, so I’ll proceed carefully.”

Maya groaned softly, almost in apology. “It’s not stopping anytime soon.”

“That’s okay,” Carina said gently, already reaching.

She took Maya’s cock in hand—thick, hard, hot, veins prominent, tip flushed dark red and leaking freely. Carina held it steady, rotating slowly, checking for any abnormalities. She pressed carefully at the base, then along the shaft, feeling for glandular swelling.

“You’re engorged,” she murmured, more to note it than anything.

“Really?” Maya breathed. “Couldn’t tell.”

Carina let a small smile out. Her focus was sharp. Her gloved fingers slid lower, cupping Maya’s balls, lifting and palpating. The heaviness was obvious—alpha glands swollen, clearly ready to release, but not yet in full rut.

“Pain here?”

“No,” Maya said, but her jaw was tight. “But if you keep touching me like that, I’m gonna come.”

Carina moved her testicle back and fourth, her eyes flicking up to Maya’s face before she moved back between her legs.

“I need to palpate your ducts and check the internal glands,” she said softly. “It may be intense. You’re close to the edge already.”

Maya’s cock twitched visibly, precum still steadily leaking in a slow drip down the flushed head.

Carina paused, then added with a gentleness that felt almost intimate, “If you come… it’s okay. It’s normal during this part of the exam.”

Maya gave a breathless laugh, trying to keep it together. “Thanks for the warning.”

Carina smiled—just barely. “You wouldn’t believe how many knots and full orgasms I see in a week. Occupational hazard.”

Maya’s eyes widened slightly.

Carina raised a brow. “Not from pleasure. From overstimulation, usually. Blocked glands. Excessive build-up. But yes… I’m very familiar with alpha anatomy.”

Maya muttered, “Yeah, I can tell.”

Then Carina reached for her again.

This time, her fingers pressed at the base of Maya’s shaft, finding the knot—still not fully swollen, but thickening. She gently palpated around it, carefully circling the engorged tissue, pressing into the underlying ducts.

Maya moaned low in her throat, hips jerking slightly.

“I know,” Carina murmured. “Deep breath.”

Her gloved fingers slid lower, cupping the swollen testicles again, then moving behind them, pressing up beneath the perineum to feel the gland lines that traced toward the prostate. The moment she found the center of one duct, Maya twitched hard—a thick rope of precum spurting out, smearing across her thigh and the table beneath.

“Sorry,” Maya breathed, jaw tight.

“No need,” Carina said smoothly. “This confirms sensitivity. Possibly some congestion in the duct line, but nothing severe.”

She shifted slightly, continuing her palpation—slow, precise, methodical.

Maya gripped the sides of the table, leaking constantly now, her whole body tense with restraint.

Another pass, and a wet sound echoed beneath them as more precum spilled freely.

Carina’s fingers shifted slightly—still deliberate, still confident—as she pressed into the opposite duct line, her thumb bracing gently against the base of Maya’s shaft to angle it upward as she palpated behind the swollen gland.

Maya’s breath stuttered.

And then—

A guttural groan tore from her throat as her hips jerked forward, cock pulsing violently in Carina’s hand.

Thick ropes of cum spurted out, painting her belly, her chest, the table, pooling against the crinkled paper in wet, sticky arcs.

Carina didn’t flinch.

She reached calmly to the counter beside her, grabbing a handful of tissues, and handed them to Maya with one gloved hand while continuing to palpate gently with the other.

“I’m still checking the line,” she said softly, as another twitch wracked Maya’s body and more cum spilled out, thick and hot and endless.

Maya’s legs trembled against the table.

“I—fuck—I can’t stop,” she gasped.

Carina’s eyes flicked up, warm and patient. “It’s okay. It’s just your ducts releasing fully. You needed this.”

Maya groaned again, gripping the edge of the table as another burst of fluid spilled down her shaft and over her clenched abs.

The room smelled like alpha now—raw, sharp, powerful.

Carina kept her hand steady, her voice low and even.

“You’re alright, Maya. Just let it happen.”

By the time Maya’s orgasm tapered, her breathing was ragged and her cock still twitched weakly with every aftershock.

She blinked up at the ceiling, sweat clinging to her temples, chest heaving.

Carina pulled on another pair of gloves—slightly thicker this time, designed for internal gland palpation. Her tone remained even, but her eyes lingered on Maya’s slick-covered body, the mess that had soaked through the table paper and onto the vinyl beneath.

“I’m going to check your knotting gland now,” she said. “It may hurt. I need you to lay on your side and pull one leg up towards your head.There may be some inflammation.”

Maya groaned. “Can’t wait.”

Carina didn’t wait long. She stepped closer, her gloved fingers slick with lube as she eased two inside—deep, slow, precise. Maya’s body tensed, muscles tightening, cock still half-hard despite the long, intense orgasm.

And then—

Carina’s fingers found it.

She applied gentle pressure, rolling against the gland tucked just behind the swollen knot root.

Maya cried out, back arching as a fresh stream of cum erupted, spilling over her abs and across her thighs.

“Jesus—fuck—”

Carina didn’t stop. “I’m sorry, I have to fully evaluate the gland. It’s extremely backed up.”

Maya gasped, arms shaking. “I haven’t come this much since—ever. What the hell.”

Carina’s fingers moved with steady rhythm, triggering another pulse—more cum, hot and thick, running down Maya’s side and dripping to the floor.

“How much do you typically ejaculate when you masturbate?” Carina asked, calmly.

Maya panted, trying to catch her breath. “Not—not this. Not even close.”

Carina nodded, still pressing, rotating her fingers slowly. “Then you’re not fully draining the ducts. That can lead to pressure buildup, pain, even infection. You may need… a more effective form of release.”

Maya gave a short, wet laugh between groans. “Like what—milking appointments?”

Carina smiled faintly, still focused on her work. “Ideally? A bonded omega who can scent and regulate you. But failing that—yes, a medical release protocol can help. Or a partner who knows how to handle an alpha.”

Maya tilted her head back, eyes closed, another gush of fluid escaping her as Carina’s fingers found a final pocket of pressure.

“Jesus,” Maya muttered. “You sure I am going to have any come left in my body?”

Carina actually laughed at that, soft and warm, the tension breaking just slightly.

“Yes,” she said, trying not to aggravate the gland further. “Just a very responsive alpha with unresolved instinctual tension.”

Maya exhaled hard, still twitching.

“Yeah. That tracks.”

Carina’s fingers adjusted again, searching gently around the swollen knotting gland, tracing the final perimeter. But then—she paused.

Maya heard it in her voice first. The way it shifted slightly. More focused. Concerned.

“Hold still,” Carina murmured.

Maya tensed again, the sweat cooling along her spine. “That didn’t sound promising.”

Carina pressed deeper. Her touch changed—more careful now, more deliberate. Her fingers swept across the firm tissue at the back wall of the gland, then curled again, tapping lightly.

Maya groaned as more cum spilled out, this time thinner, the release involuntary out of her soft cock.

Maya blinked down at her. “What?”

Carina looked up at her with a half-smile, cheeks flushed. “Nothing. Your gland was… extremely full. I thought I felt a mass. But it’s just another pocket of backed-up fluid.”

Maya exhaled, body sagging slightly. “You had me worried.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss anything without imaging if needed. But I’m confident it’s benign. Just a high-yield alpha with nowhere to put it.”

Maya gave a tired laugh. “So polite.”

Finally, her cock, twitching less now, the flow slowing to a steady drip. Her skin was slick with cum, thighs damp, stomach shiny with it. The smell in the room was thick—ripe with alpha release and pheromonal heat.

Carina peeled off her gloves again and handed Maya a fresh stack of tissues.

“You’re magic,” Maya muttered, catching her breath, wiping herself slowly. “No one’s ever made me come like that with just their hands.”

Carina gave a wry smile. “I’m just a good medical doctor.”

Maya looked down at her, exhausted but glowing. “You’re dangerous.”

Carina turned slightly toward the counter, reaching for her chart.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to examine, if you’re still okay.”

Maya nodded. “Sure. What?”

“A breast exam,” Carina said, her voice returning to gentle professionalism. “Just standard. But with your hormone profile and suppressed rut pattern, I’d like to check for nodular density.”

Maya gave a little smirk. “You want to touch my tits now?”

Carina didn’t flinch.

“If you’re consenting—yes.”

Maya leaned back slightly, wiping at her chest, then looked at Carina through lowered lashes.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m consenting.”

Carina moved back toward the exam table, her gloves fresh again, voice even. But Maya could see the flush in her cheeks now—how the heat under her skin wasn’t just clinical exertion.

“I’m going to start the breast exam now,” Carina said, stepping close again.

Maya leaned back slightly, letting her arms rest at her sides, still bare from the waist up. Her skin still glistened in places, the musky alpha scent thick in the room—smoky, hot, grounding, and Carina could feel her suppressants starting to slip.

She pushed it down.

Gently, she began the palpation—her hands firm but tender, methodical as they pressed over Maya’s chest. She moved in concentric circles, checking each quadrant, watching Maya for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re clear,” she said finally, stepping back.

Maya exhaled, visibly relaxing. “Thanks, doc.”

But Carina didn’t answer right away. The scent—God, the scent was intoxicating now, that smoky, charred-cedar thread wrapped around her senses like a hand at her throat. Her head felt light, her core clenched tight with a pulse that was not about concern for Maya’s health anymore.

She cleared her throat.

“A nurse will be in shortly to take your blood samples,” she said, already stepping away, already ungloving.

Maya tilted her head, watching her. “You okay?”

Carina nodded too quickly. “Yes. Just… I have another patient.”

It was a lie, and Maya could probably smell it—but she let her go.

Carina turned fast, walking out of the exam room with her heels clicking down the hall. She bypassed the charting station, ignoring the nurses.

The moment she hit her office, she locked the door.

Pressed her back against it.

And inhaled.

Maya’s scent clung to her skin, her coat, her blouse. Her suppressors had less than thirty minutes left at triple dose, and already her thighs were trembling, her pupils dilating, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

She slid down to the floor.

Breathing Maya in.

Trying to resist what she wanted more than anything.

Chapter Text

Maya walked into the firehouse with a bounce in her step, coffee in hand, uniform clinging to her just right. Her usual edge was still there, but it was looser—less strained. For the first time in what felt like months, her body wasn’t humming with the weight of unshed rut tension, and it showed.

Sullivan clocked it instantly.

“Damn, Bishop,” he said from the table, a protein bar halfway to his mouth. “You’re practically glowing.”

Maya smirked. “It’s called being well-adjusted, Robert. You should try it sometime.”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Well-adjusted or medically relieved?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed, and she dropped into the seat beside him. “Don’t knock it. You have no idea how much cum was clogging my ducts.”

Sullivan almost choked on his bite. “Jesus, Maya—”

“I’m serious!” she said, laughing, but also not kidding. “Carina had to palpate everything. My knotting gland was so backed up, I came like five times before she even finished the exam.”

Sullivan blinked at her, jaw slack.

Maya took a sip of her coffee. “So yeah. I feel great today. Like I’m walking on air. All that retention? Gone. My hips don’t ache, my lower back isn’t tight, and I’m not barking at people for breathing too loud.”

Sullivan shook his head slowly, setting down his protein bar. “I swear, if I say any of this to Andy, she’s gonna tell me to book my own damn appointment.”

Maya grinned. “You should book an appointment with Jo or another doctor there Sullivan. Or, you know…” She gave him a pointed look. “Have Andy do it.”

Sullivan gave a dramatic sigh. “I would, but I don’t think she has the… clinical detachment.”

Maya burst out laughing. “I don’t think anyone would if they had to milk your overgrown ass.”

He leaned back with a smug smile. “Hey, I feel like that every time I fuck Andy. Maybe you’re just late to the party.”

Maya groaned, standing with her coffee. “And just like that, this conversation is over.”

“Hey,” he called after her. “You started it!”

She flipped him off over her shoulder without breaking stride, but even that had less bite than usual.

Maya felt lighter. Clearer. And no matter how awkward it had been to come buckets in front of a literal goddess.

She’d needed it.

Badly.

The sirens howled as the rig cut through traffic, sunlight streaking across the windshield. Maya sat beside Vic, gloved up, hair already tied tight, her knee bouncing with anticipation.

Vic grinned over at her. “So… when’s your next check-up with Dr. DeLuca?”

Maya groaned. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Vic shot back. “Especially not after you walked in here yesterday like someone had vacuumed the aggression out of your glands.”

Maya rolled her eyes but smirked. “Apparently, backing up cum for months isn’t ideal for alpha health. Who knew?”

Vic laughed. “So what’s the plan next time rut hits? Gonna call Carina and have her glove up again?”

Maya huffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I mean… maybe. My usual method of either pounding into betas or cautiously fucking an omega I can’t fully knot with apparently isn’t cutting it.”

Vic made an exaggerated oof sound. “Yeah, girl, that sounds… spiritually unfulfilling.”

“Physically unfulfilling,” Maya muttered.

They both chuckled as the rig slowed, turning the corner and pulling up to the scene—a nasty two-car collision at the edge of an intersection. Glass scattered. One vehicle upside down, smoke rising.

Andy’s voice crackled over the comms from the other engine. “I’m taking command. Vic, Maya—take the first car. Travis, Theo—second. Let’s move.”

They jumped out in unison, boots hitting pavement, adrenaline switching on like muscle memory.

The scent of blood and scorched metal hit hard.

And just like that, Maya’s flirty mood evaporated.

She was all fire, focus, and command.

But under it all—beneath her turnout gear, beneath the tactical movements—Carina still lingered. The memory of her voice, her hands, her scent tangled up in the center of Maya’s chest.

— — —

Carina moved briskly from exam room to exam room, chart in hand, white coat pristine as always—but everything underneath was fraying. Her scent blockers were active, suppressors at triple dose, and yet…

Maya’s scent was gone.

And that should have made things easier. It should have brought relief.

Instead, it felt like losing oxygen.

Every time she stepped into a new room, every alpha patient she treated, she waited—expected—that spark of smoky, primal, grounding scent… and each absence made her skin itch worse.

It had been less than 24 hours since Maya’s exam, since Carina had locked herself in her office, legs shaking, thighs soaked, chasing orgasm after orgasm on the floor.

She hadn’t stopped.

Not last night.

Not this morning.

Until her vibrator battery gave out and left her on her knees in the shower, unsatisfied and aching.

The phantom scent of Maya still lived in her nose. In her nerve endings. Like a claim that had never been made.

At the nurses’ station, Carina was halfway through updating a high-risk patient’s chart when Dr. Finn, the new beta cardiology resident, leaned in too close.

"Hey," he said, smiling. “I know we’re co-managing that alpha-omega case. I was thinking maybe we could go over labs over dinner sometime?”

Carina froze.

Every cell in her body screamed: Mine. Taken. No.

Her lip curled—an actual snarl escaping before she could stop it. Her shoulders squared. The possessive wave of fury and repulsion hit her so hard she knocked her pen off the counter.

The poor beta took a step back, startled.

Carina snapped out of it instantly, hands trembling.

“I—I’m sorry,” she breathed, eyes wide. “That was… uncalled for. I apologize.”

He gave a confused, nervous laugh. “No worries, Dr. DeLuca… I guess that’s a no?”

Carina offered a tight smile and nodded, cheeks burning.

He left, and she gripped the counter, breath shaky.

This isn’t normal.

She knew what that reaction had been.

It wasn’t just overstimulation.

It was a territorial omega response—the kind she’d only read about. The kind that happened when an unmated omega’s body began bonding—even without intention, even without consent.

Even without Maya knowing.

Carina closed her eyes.

Carina’s day had started badly and only gotten worse. Her scrubs were damp at the shoulder from where she’d spilled her morning coffee, she was behind on charting, and the heat radiating from between her thighs was not due to ambient temperature.

Maya’s absence was a silent ache, and now…

Now she had this appointment.

A red-flagged, volatile alpha flagged for unpredictable behavior and scent spikes during previous visits. She had followed protocol: notified security, ensured a male nurse—John, one of their most trusted staff—would accompany her in the room, and prepped for the worst.

But nothing could have quite prepared her for the moment she walked in.

The alpha was already pacing, wide shoulders tense, pheromones spiking in hot waves of frustration and unmet instinct. The air was heavy with the bitter, sour tang of alpha rage—something primal and sharp, grating against every one of Carina’s suppressed omega instincts.

She kept her face calm.

“Good morning,” she said evenly. “I’m Dr. DeLuca. This is Nurse John.”

The alpha didn’t greet her. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, eyes red-rimmed. His scent was chaotic, scent glands overactive, rutting gland swollen visibly under his scrubs.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” she said gently. “I understand you had a failed breeding attempt last night?”

The alpha growled low, teeth flashing. “She ran. Said she couldn’t handle it. Said it was too much.”

Carina exchanged a quick glance with John, then stepped closer to the chart station.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “It can be very destabilizing to have a disrupted rut cycle. But we have a few medical options that can help stabilize your system and reduce the risk of aggressive outbursts.”

“I don’t want fucking meds,” he snapped. “I want a mate that won’t run.”

Carina’s gut tightened, but she stayed composed.

“Right now,” she said carefully, “your body is stuck in an extended rut response. That kind of pressure—hormonally, physically—can cause complications. You’re experiencing glandular swelling, and your scent profile is overwhelming your rational regulation.”

He glared. “So you’re saying I’m broken?”

Carina moved slowly, keeping her tone neutral but firm. “No. I’m saying you’re out of balance—and we can help.”

The alpha sat heavily on the edge of the table, shoulders shaking. “I couldn’t even come. I got close and then—nothing. It just shut off.”

John shifted subtly toward the door, just in case.

“That’s not uncommon after a failed bond,” Carina said softly. “There’s a physical block when your instincts are interrupted like that. But there are medical releases we can do—prostatic massage, glandular drainage, or we can refer you to a bonded medical surrogate if that’s something you’d be open to discussing.”

The alpha looked up at her then—eyes wild, but pleading.

Carina stepped a little closer, and though her suppressants held, her body felt every flicker of his pain. Of the rage barely cloaking the loneliness beneath.

“I just want it to stop,” he muttered. “I feel like I’m burning from the inside.”

Carina nodded slowly.

“Let’s cool the fire, then.”

She reached for gloves, John watching her like a hawk.

— — —

The car wreck had been light—mostly bruises, some glass in a shoulder, nothing Maya hadn’t handled a hundred times. But the moment she stepped into the ER air, something shifted.

It wasn’t a scent, exactly. Not at first. More like a pulse through her chest—like her mating gland hummed, suddenly alert, like a sonar ping bouncing back.

She handed off vitals to the trauma nurse, watching the patient get wheeled into a bay. Andy passed her a clipboard, then paused, seeing the way Maya wasn’t really there.

“You good?” Andy asked, squinting at her.

Maya blinked, glancing down at her groin. Her dick wasn’t hard, but her stomach was tight, her breath shallow. Something was building—not arousal, not quite. Need.

“I don’t know,” Maya muttered. “I think… I think I need to go upstairs.”

Andy tilted her head knowingly. “OB?”

Maya hesitated. “Yeah. It’s weird.”

Andy smirked and waved her off. “Go take five. Say hi to your favorite doctor.”

Maya smiled faintly, then turned and headed for the elevator. But by the time the doors closed, her heart was pounding.

By the time she stepped off on the OB/GYN floor, she could smell it.

Not like before—not masked or blocked or faint like at the clinic.

This was feral, sharp-sweet and rich. Her entire alpha system stood at attention, lungs swelling with the scent she couldn’t name but knew.

Her feet moved on their own.

She followed it—past nurses, past open rooms. The corridor narrowed. She could feel her body locking into focus, a low growl in her chest unbidden.

The door burst open with a bang.

A nurse screamed, scrambling backward, and chaos flooded the hallway.

Maya turned the corner just in time to see it: a naked alpha, swollen with rut, his hand wrapped around Carina’s wrist, dragging her toward the table, scent raging hot and sour in the air.

For a second, everyone froze—even security, uncertain, intimidated by the sheer weight of the alpha’s hormones and the way his eyes had gone wild, past reason.

But Maya wasn’t.

Her body moved before thought could.

She surged forward, shoving past the useless security guard. “Move.”

Her voice was a growl.

The alpha turned toward her, half-snarl, his glands flared wide and dripping. But he didn’t expect what came next—

Maya’s knee cracked straight into his balls, and the sound he made was inhuman—somewhere between a scream and a whimper.

He dropped.

Collapsed to his side in a curled heap.

Carina staggered backward as the man released her.

“Out—get her out of here,” Maya barked, eyes not leaving the downed alpha.

Two nurses rushed in, pulling Carina from the room. She looked over her shoulder, stunned—her eyes locking with Maya’s.

And in that second, something broke open.

Maya’s chest was heaving. Her alpha pheromones were surging now, crashing over everything in the room, reasserting dominance, authority, safety.

The other alpha was done—crying now, curled up and muttering apologies. Security finally found their courage, cuffing him and dragging him out.

Maya didn’t move until he was gone.

Then slowly, her jaw unclenched. Her hands fell to her sides. Her instincts were still screaming, but not from the fight.

From the fact that Carina had been in danger.

And Maya had felt it—from floors away.

Maya knocked gently, the back of her fingers brushing the door like a whisper. It creaked open under her touch.

Inside, Carina was sitting on the edge of the couch, trembling, cheeks wet with tears she wasn’t trying to hide. The bravado was gone—so was the clinical calm. She looked small, raw and real in her grief, her fear, her confusion.

The moment she saw Maya, she stood.

Not in fear.

But like her body recognized something older than language—something carved into her very instincts.

Maya stepped forward and opened her arms, and Carina fell into them like a wave crashing back into the sea.

Maya wrapped herself tight around her, one hand on the back of Carina’s head, the other across her lower back, holding her firm, anchoring her. Her mouth was right over Carina’s scent gland—and when Carina exhaled, trembling, her natural scent broke through the weak wall of suppressants like water through cracked stone.

And Maya froze.

Her entire system went still.

That was the scent. That was the scent. The one she’d hunted without knowing it, the one that haunted her during every release, every sleepless night, every half-finished orgasm. It was Carina.

Her brain stuttered, but her body knew.

Maya buried her nose deeper, inhaling hard. The smell wrapped around her like silk and basil and earth. She made a low, involuntary sound in her throat—a growl, not of aggression, but of recognition.

Carina gasped softly, her body jolting like it felt the same truth bloom.

Maya didn’t let go.

She gently walked them backward to the sofa, still locked around each other, and sat down, pulling Carina onto her lap, holding her like she might disappear if Maya didn’t keep her close enough.

No words.

No questions.

Just the sound of their breathing leveling out together.

Because something had shifted—something irreversible.

Maya’s phone had been vibrating insistently against her hip—calls, texts, alerts she knew were probably from the station. But she couldn’t let go. Not yet.

Not until Carina was calm. Not until her omega was safe.

Only when Carina’s breathing slowed—her tears drying in faint salty streaks on her cheeks, her shoulders no longer shaking—did Maya reach down, gently shifting Carina off her lap and onto the sofa cushions beside her.

She fished out her phone with one hand, the other still resting lightly on Carina’s thigh.

A text from Andy blinked at the top.

Andy: Where’d you disappear to? We’re headed back to the house.

Maya typed quickly.

Maya: Carina had an emergency. I’m taking a personal day.

Three dots.

Then:

Andy: Copy that. Take care of her.

Maya stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Then locked it and dropped the phone onto the coffee table.

She turned toward Carina.

Neither of them said anything.

They just sat there—quiet, surrounded by the scent of each other, not masked, not suppressed, not filtered through polite professionalism.

Maya studied her. The dark lashes still damp. The way her lips were parted, like she was holding a question behind them. The strength it took to survive what she just had—and the vulnerability she had allowed Maya to see.

Maya could feel the shift inside her like a low rumble: This is my omega.

But she didn’t speak the words. Not yet.

Chapter Text

The knock was soft but not tentative.

Jo stepped into Carina’s office, her brow furrowed until she caught sight of them—Maya and Carina, still sitting close on the couch, quiet but composed. Maya’s arm rested along the back of the cushions, just barely brushing Carina’s shoulder. Protective, without crowding her.

Jo scanned the scene and exhaled gently.

“Hey,” she said, voice low, soft as cotton. “You okay?”

Carina nodded, eyes steady now. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Jo walked in a little farther, checking the energy in the room. She looked to Maya, who offered a faint nod of acknowledgment but didn’t speak.

“I’ve already talked to the nurse and flagged the chart,” Jo said. “Security’s going to file a report. I also told the chief you’re off rotation for the rest of the day.”

Carina let out a tired breath. “Thank you, Jo.”

Jo smiled. “You’ve done the same for me. We’ve all had those days.”

Carina sat up straighter, brushing a hand through her curls. “This isn’t… typical. I hope you won’t use today’s situation as a model for how alpha/omega clients behave. This man was deeply dysregulated. It’s not representative of the dynamic as a whole.”

Jo’s smile grew a little.

“Carina, you’re the one teaching us that. One rough patient doesn’t erase everything you’ve built here. Besides—every once in a while, we all get one that escalates. Sometimes we call psych. Sometimes we call the police.”

She shrugged, lighthearted. “Today, we called Maya Bishop. Worked just fine.”

Carina flushed, glancing sideways at Maya—who was now staring quietly at her, no trace of apology in her gaze.

“Go home,” Jo said. “Rest. Process.”

Carina nodded once, then again, the second time more softly. “Grazie.”

When Carina stood, Maya did too—mirroring her perfectly, her body synced in step and breath. Carina leaned in again, and Maya caught her, arms strong and certain, and this time neither of them hesitated.

Carina’s head rested on Maya’s shoulder just a beat longer than before, her hands soft against Maya’s back. She didn’t shake this time. Her body simply gave in—to the moment, to Maya’s scent, to the unspoken understanding blooming between them like something sacred.

Then she pulled back, slowly, just enough to reach into her bag. Her fingers found her keys, and she handed them to Maya without a word.

Maya took them gently, her palm brushing Carina’s.

She didn’t ask why.

She didn’t need to.

Whatever this was between them—it moved deeper than thought, deeper than anything Maya had ever trusted before. And she followed it.

They walked through the hospital corridors side by side, Carina’s shoulder brushing Maya’s arm, still silent.

In the elevator, Maya stood close.

Grounding.

Protecting.

Carina exhaled, slowly, her fingers brushing Maya’s again as the doors slid open.

In the parking lot, Maya unlocked the Porsche with a click, opened the driver’s side, and slid in. Carina didn’t pause—she slipped into the passenger seat, graceful as ever, but there was a slight tremble in her hand as she reached for the screen and punched in her address.

The moment her fingers fell away, she reached for Maya’s hand.

And Maya gave it without hesitation.

Their fingers laced together as if they’d always belonged that way.

The car pulled onto the road, Seattle sliding by outside the windows, but inside the Porsche, it was stillness, quiet but alive with heat. Maya’s thumb brushed slowly over Carina’s knuckles. Carina’s body tilted slightly toward her in her seat.

Neither spoke.

They didn’t need to.

They were already saying everything.

Carina’s apartment was quiet. Dim, warm light filtering in through gauzy curtains. Books on shelves, plants thriving in corners. It felt lived-in. Safe. Hers.

Maya stepped in behind her, locking the door automatically. She toed off her boots near the door, eyes flicking around the space as Carina moved fluidly—like she’d done this a hundred times, even if her hands trembled slightly as she hung her coat.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just walked to the kitchen.

Then, finally—the first words since the attack:

“Tea?”

Maya blinked, the softness of the question catching her off-guard. She nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah. Please.”

Carina moved automatically, pulling down mugs, setting the kettle to boil. But she didn’t realize Maya had walked right up behind her until she felt the heat at her back.

Maya didn’t grab her. Didn’t cage her in. She just stood there—close enough to feel, close enough to catch.

Carina exhaled once, then let herself fall back—leaning fully into Maya’s body, her spine meeting muscle and breath and something more. Maya caught her around the waist, arms looping gently, supportively, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Maya leaned down and inhaled, right where Carina’s scent gland pulsed under her skin.

The smell was sharper now—stronger, purer. Less filtered. Less fake.

Maya groaned softly, involuntarily, and Carina shivered.

“I…” Carina whispered, voice cracking slightly, “I tripled the dose today. But…”

She turned her head slightly, looking up and back at Maya.

“They’re going to wear off soon.”

The kettle began to whistle.

Carina poured the tea slowly, hands a little steadier now with Maya close, anchoring her even in silence. She added just the right amount of honey to each mug, then passed one to Maya with a soft glance that held more than words.

Maya followed her to the sofa, tea in hand, and sat down.

The space between them was barely an inch.

Carina wrapped both hands around her mug and stared into it for a long moment. Steam curled up into the soft light. Her jaw tensed. Then loosened. Her voice came quiet—but steady.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Maya looked over, eyes calm. Present.

“You don’t have to,” she said gently. “Not if it’s—”

“I want to.”

Carina looked at her then. Really looked.

“This... this whole time, I’ve been hiding something. Not just from you. From almost everyone.”

Maya didn’t interrupt.

“I’m an omega.”

The words came fast, like ripping off a bandage. And still, Carina felt the burn of them across her chest. Her throat tight. Her fingers curling tighter around the mug.

“I’ve been taking suppressants for years. I started during med school—it made research easier, kept people’s assumptions at bay. Then I started scent blockers, too. I told myself it was for professionalism. For safety. For control.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “But really, it was fear.”

Maya was silent beside her. Still, unmoving.

Carina swallowed.

“I haven’t let myself feel like an omega in so long, I forgot what it meant to want... more. To need. And when I met you…”

She trailed off. Her breath hitched.

“You felt like a threat. But not because I was afraid of you. Because I wasn’t. Not even for a second. And that scared me more.”

Maya finally moved.

She set her tea down.

Turned toward Carina slowly, fully, and reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice low.

Carina’s lips parted as Maya’s forehead rested gently against hers, the heat of her breath brushing Carina’s skin. The closeness didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like safety. Like home, even if that word felt too big to say out loud yet.

Carina closed her eyes, letting the contact ground her.

“When I first caught your scent,” she whispered, “it… it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I was focused, and then—there you were. Or at least, your scent was. And I thought I was going crazy.”

Maya let out a breathy laugh, leaning back just slightly to look her in the eyes.

“I think I smelled you too,” she murmured, adjusting slightly on the couch as the pressure in her pants became impossible to ignore. “But everything about you said ‘beta.’ My brain was confused as hell, but my body didn’t care.”

Carina’s cheeks flushed. “That’s the thing,” she continued softly, “even with triple blockers… your scent still cuts through. And mine… it’s starting to get harder to hide.”

Maya shifted again, eyes darkening as she adjusted herself discreetly, her bulge pressing obscenely against her jeans now.

Carina’s gaze dropped—just for a second. Enough to see the outline of the strain beneath Maya’s fly. Her lips parted, breath catching.

“I’ve never reacted like this before,” she admitted, voice trembling slightly.

Maya’s eyes searched hers. “You sure this isn’t just instinct?” she asked, not with fear, but honesty. “I’m not… I don’t want to be some biological reaction.”

Carina reached forward and took Maya’s hand.

“No,” she said, firmly. “It started as scent. As instinct. But now… it’s you. The way you carry yourself. The way you looked at me in that exam room like I wasn’t broken. Like I was worth protecting. Worth knowing.”

Maya swallowed hard.

Her other hand twitched at her thigh. “Carina…”

“I want you to know the truth before anything else happens,” Carina said, softer now. “If I stop taking suppressors, my next heat will come fast in a week or so. And it won’t be subtle. I’ll need…”

Maya exhaled roughly. Her cock twitched at the word need.

“You’ll have me,” Maya said. “If that’s what you want. You’ll have every part of me.”

Carina didn’t speak.

“What do you want?”

The question hit Carina like a blow to the chest.

She blinked.

“What?”

Maya reached up, brushing her fingers down Carina’s cheek, cupping her jaw with reverence. “I know what I want. I know what my instincts are screaming for. But I need to know what you want. Not your research. Not your reputation. You.”

Carina swallowed, visibly shaken—not by fear, but by the gravity of being asked something she’d never been asked before.

“I…” She hesitated, heart thudding in her chest. “No one’s ever… asked me that.”

Maya waited.

Carina took a breath.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Not completely. I’ve spent so long studying heat and rut and dynamics, I know the data. I know the brain chemistry. But knowing something clinically is very different than feeling it—like this.” Her voice softened. “With you.”

Maya nodded, slow, patient.

“And the blockers?” she asked gently. “Is continuing to take them… better for you? Safer?”

Carina looked away for a moment, lips pressing together.

“I’m not sure.” She turned back, eyes searching Maya’s. “From what I know, if I were mated—bonded—my scent wouldn’t be as overwhelming to unmated alphas or omegas. It might actually stabilize. But…”

She looked down into her cold tea.

“I’m scared. About my practice. My research. About how I can treat patients during heat without affecting them. Or being affected.”

Maya let that sit. Then reached for both of Carina’s hands.

“I’ll support whatever you decide,” she said. “Even if that means never doing more than this.” Her thumb brushed Carina’s knuckles. “I’ll still show up and work with you at every clinic. I’ll still hold you when you’re scared. I’ll still want you every second of every day.”

Carina looked at her.

Eyes soft. Voice barely a whisper.

“Breed me now.”

Maya froze for only a second.

Just long enough for the words to sink in.

“Breed me now.”

Carina’s voice trembled, but her eyes were steady—lit with heat, with certainty, with something deeper. Before Maya could speak, Carina added, “The blockers… they’ll make it unlikely to catch. But I need to feel it. I need to know.”

Maya’s entire body thrummed. Her cock pulsed, straining in her jeans so hard it hurt. But her eyes never left Carina’s face. Still asking. Still checking.

“Are you sure?”

Carina reached up and cupped Maya’s face, thumb dragging along her cheek. “I’m sure. If I wait, I’ll never stop second-guessing. And I trust you.”

That last line landed low in Maya’s gut like an anchor.

A growl started in her chest—deep, possessive, primal—and this time she didn’t hold it back. Her body moved before she even meant to, yanking Carina into her arms and crashing their lips together, hands roaming, possessive, desperate.

Carina melted into it, opening for her, arching against her like she belonged there, like she’d been made for Maya to hold and fuck and protect. Maya’s hands were under her shirt, fingers splaying against soft skin and hot curves.

To say: You’re mine, if you want to be.

Clothes were torn off piece by piece, stumbling toward the bedroom, mouths never parting for more than a gasp.

By the time Maya had Carina on her back in bed, her body was vibrating with restraint. Her knot was already growing, throbbing in anticipation.

Carina laid back on the bed, flushed and trembling, legs spread wide and slick already dripping down her thighs. Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, pupils blown wide with instinct and need. She was open for Maya in every way—body, scent, trust.

Maya dropped to her knees between Carina’s legs, her cock painfully hard, leaking steadily. The moment her face was level with Carina’s heat, Maya inhaled—and almost choked on the intensity. No hesitation. Just Carina.

Silky, sweet, arousing in a way that punched through every layer of Maya’s control.

She dipped her head and tasted her.

Carina’s hips jolted as Maya’s tongue dragged up through her folds, slow and claiming. The omega moaned, hands threading through Maya’s hair, pulling gently.

“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking with need.

Maya growled softly, tongue moving again, deeper, more deliberate. Slick coated her mouth, and she licked it up greedily—until Carina was gasping, shaking, her thighs clenching around Maya’s head.

Then Carina rolled.

Onto her stomach. Onto her knees. Presented.

Her swollen folds glistened, dripping, begging to be filled.

Maya rose behind her, instincts roaring in her ears. She placed one hand at Carina’s hip, the other guiding her cock through her folds. The heat was unbearable—hot, wet, pulsing.

With a deep groan, Maya pushed in.

Carina gasped, spine arching, her body stretching around Maya’s thick cock. Inch by inch, Maya sank deeper, until she bottomed out—balls pressed against Carina’s soaked pussy, knot swelling in warning.

“Carina,” she growled, voice thick. “You feel—fuck.”

Maya’s grip on Carina’s hips tightened, fingers digging into soft skin, anchoring her as she slammed into her omega again and again and again. She was fucking Carina relentlessly, all control burned away in the white-hot fire of instinct.

Carina was wrecked beneath her.

Her face pressed into the pillow, her arms barely holding her up anymore as Maya pounded into her from behind, thick cock coated in slick, gliding with obscene ease in and out of her overstimulated, soaked cunt.

Every thrust shoved a cry from Carina’s throat—not pain. Just pleasure. Again. And again.

Her walls fluttered and clenched, orgasming around Maya’s cock so many times she lost count, every nerve in her body overloaded, her scent wild and raw, pure omega and heat and satisfaction.

“F-fuck, you’re—” Maya gasped, barely holding on to speech. “You’re taking me so well. So fucking tight—so wet.”

Carina could only moan in response, shaking, thighs trembling. She was spread open, ass arched high, pussy swallowing Maya’s cock with every thrust, so deep she swore she could feel her in her throat.

Maya grunted, hips snapping harder, faster, like her body was chasing something it had never known before. Slick coated her thighs, her cock, dripping down onto the sheets beneath them, flooding the air with a scent so thick Maya was drunk on it.

“Good omega,” Maya growled, voice guttural, primal. “Mine.”

Carina cried out again—another orgasm cresting, crashing over her. She didn’t even recognize her own voice anymore, gasping, begging without words as Maya took her, every thrust shoving her deeper into bliss she’d only ever imagined in her research.

This wasn’t a theory.

This was real.

This was her alpha.

And Maya—Maya could feel Carina’s body milking her, greedy, desperate, pulling every drop of cum from her, slick mixing with seed as she thrust in her over and over, not caring if the blockers worked or not.

Nothing else existed outside this moment—just heat, scent, skin, and the bond building between them.

And Maya—still hard, still leaking, still moving—wasn’t close to done.

Maya’s breath caught in her throat, her vision blurred as the pressure at the base of her cock surged. Her knot was swelling, rapidly, uncontrollably—driven by Carina’s cries, her trembling body, the unrelenting tightness around her cock.

“Fuck—Carina—” Maya groaned, hips locking forward with one final, devastating thrust.

Her knot slammed inside and locked.

Carina screamed from the sheer force of pleasure—as Maya’s cock swelled inside her, stretching her impossibly full, locking their bodies together in the most primal bond of their dynamics.

And then—

Maya came.

Hard.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled from her, deep into Carina’s womb, pulse after pulse after pulse, her hips twitching involuntarily with each one. She was buried to the hilt, knot lodged tight, and her body had no choice but to release everything.

Carina came with her—again.

Her cunt clenched, milking every drop, and she cried out Maya’s name like it was the only word she knew. Her body writhed beneath her alpha, pinned and spread, trembling with the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm of her life.

Maya collapsed forward, chest pressed to Carina’s back, still coming, still twitching inside her. The heat between them was unbearable and perfect—sticky, slick, drenched in scent and sweat and instinct.

Then Maya found it—Carina’s mating gland.

She didn’t bite.

But she leaned in, parted her lips, and sucked.

Gently. Rhythmically. Like a lullaby only an alpha could give.

Carina’s body shattered. Her back arched, a ragged, broken cry escaping her lips as her omega instincts surged—another orgasm crashing through her, full-body and electrifying, legs giving out completely as Maya held her in place, lips latched to her gland.

Maya could feel every ripple of Carina’s pleasure around her cock.

Her knot throbbed.

Another wave of cum surged out, forced deeper with every clench of Carina’s slick, swollen cunt.

And still—they stayed locked together, Maya whispering something low and primal into Carina’s neck, her hand slipping over Carina’s stomach, covering her womb, protective, possessive.

Maya grunted softly as she tried to shift her hips back—still deeply lodged inside Carina, her knot stubbornly swollen, locked in place. The pressure was intense, not painful, but complete.

“Fuck,” Maya chuckled, forehead resting between Carina’s shoulder blades. “This is officially the longest I’ve ever been knotted. Usually I can pull back out after a few minutes.”

Carina moaned, her voice barely above a whisper, “I can still feel you coming…”

And Maya orgasmed again gripping tightly around Carina’s body with each spurt.

Her cock was twitching again, smaller pulses this time, still leaking into Carina, warm and thick. The heat between their bodies was suffocating, delicious.

“Let me roll us?” Maya murmured against her neck. “You’ve taken enough weight, I don’t want to crush you.”

Carina nodded, pliant, boneless in the afterglow.

They moved slowly, carefully, and Maya rolled onto her back, bringing Carina with her—still joined, Carina’s body now sprawled over her chest, legs spread wide across Maya’s hips, her slick dripping onto Maya’s thighs.

And Maya’s hands—they found Carina’s breasts.

Swollen.

Responsive.

“Oh—fuck,” Carina gasped when Maya’s palms cupped them, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks. Her body jerked in response, the stimulation setting off smaller, involuntary trembles through her core.

“Your breast got the message of me knotting you,” Maya whispered, more reverent than surprised. “Your body knows you were bred.”

Carina bit her lip, head dropping to Maya’s shoulder as her alpha continued touching her—slow, adoring strokes, not driven by lust now but something deeper. Her nipples were flushed, tight, aching, and Maya couldn’t stop rolling them between her fingers, watching Carina twitch and squirm on her still-knotted cock.

“You’re so sensitive,” Maya murmured, kissing the curve of Carina’s jaw. “So fucking perfect.”

Carina moaned again, unable to speak—lost to every touch, her body alive and electric under Maya’s hands. One of Maya’s palms stayed on her breast while the other skimmed her belly again, fingers grazing just above her pubic bone, where her womb had begun to pulse from the stimulation.

They lay there for a while, tangled, quiet, breathing in rhythm. Carina’s body still stretched and filled, molded around Maya’s cock, both of them slick with sweat and release.

Then—Maya’s knot began to shrink.

The pressure between them eased, and Maya slowly slid free with a soft groan. The moment her cock slipped out, a rush of thick cum spilled from Carina, wetting her thighs, the sheets, the inside of Maya’s own legs.

Maya froze.

The scent hit her instantly.

Her cum. Carina’s heat. Her omega, dripping, used, leaking, still pulsing around nothing.

Something primal surged up again—stronger than before.

Without thought, without words, Maya growled, deep and feral, grabbing Carina’s waist and flipping her onto her back. Carina gasped, already trembling again, her legs falling open instinctively, glistening with Maya’s release.

“Maya—oh God,” she panted, voice barely there.

Maya climbed over her, body shaking with fresh arousal, her cock already stiffening again. Her instincts screamed fill her, mark her, own her.

She slid back in with one smooth thrust—no resistance—Carina’s body welcoming her back, sucking her in greedily. The omega’s head dropped back against the pillows, and she cried out, loud and raw.

“Maya—fuck—I’m coming again!”

Maya didn’t stop.

She pounded into her, hips snapping, slick squelching loud and obscene between them, her cock rock-hard and pulsing again, already thickening.

“Please,” Carina sobbed, clutching Maya’s arms. “Please knot me again. I need it—I need it—”

Maya groaned, burying her face in Carina’s neck. “Fuck—you want it again? You want to be bred?”

Carina nodded, whimpering, completely open beneath her. “Yes. Please. Alpha, please.”

And Maya could feel it happening—her knot swelling again, her hips bucking harder, chasing that second release, that second claim.

Maya thrust once more—deep and final—and her knot swelled, locking them together again. Carina screamed, her voice breaking as another orgasm exploded through her, her body arching beneath Maya’s, hips trembling uncontrollably as she was filled, sealed, claimed.

Maya groaned, the sound torn from her chest as thick, hot cum surged from her again, deeper this time, pushed straight through her knot. Rope after rope, Maya bred her omega, her whole body shaking from the force of it.

But she wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Still panting, body trembling with overstimulated need, Maya moved up Carina’s body, her face burying in her neck. She rubbed her cheek against Carina’s gland, her scent glands igniting with the act.

Then her mouth.

Then her chest.

Her hands, soaked with slick and cum, slid over Carina’s breasts, her thighs, her stomach. Everywhere Maya could touch, she did—rubbing her scent into her, covering her omega in alpha claim, as if the knot wasn’t enough.

Carina was wrecked—still begging.

“More,” she moaned, voice shaking. “Maya, please—scent me, use me—”

Maya growled, low and possessive. “You’re mine.”

Her hips jerked forward again, cum still leaking, still coming, and she couldn’t stop it. The scent in the room was feral—slick and sweat and smoke mixed with sweet silky and basil and something ancient and sacred.

Carina came again—helpless.

Sobbing as her body convulsed, nipples sensitive, cunt pulsing, locked tight around Maya’s knot.