Chapter 48 Heat
Lyanna
I had known bad luck before.
I had lived through betrayal, exile, loss sharp enough to hollow something deep inside me—but this?
This felt almost laughable.
Heat.
Now. Here.
Of all the cursed, ill-timed—
I pressed my lips together, teeth sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to ground me in the sting. This could not be happening. Not in a caravan full of alphas. Not when I was already barely holding myself together.
My fingers clenched in the folds of Elias’s cloak draped around my shoulders, the fabric heavy, warmed by my body—carrying his scent in a way that made my stomach twist.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that my body would betray me like this—reducing me to something instinct-driven, something needy, something I had spent years learning to control.
At least…
At least he had noticed.
My gaze flickered toward where Elias rode alongside the wagon.
Straight-backed. Composed. Untouchable. As if nothing ever reached him.
Sensible.
He had been sensible. Seen the signs before anyone else. Acted quickly. Decisively.
Scenting me. Masking it. Protecting me.
My grip tightened on the cloak.
That was the problem.
Because now my body knew. Now it believed there was an alpha close.
Available.
My breath hitched, shallow and sharp, and I turned my face away as if that alone could escape the thought.
No.
My jaw tightened as heat pooled low in my belly, slow and insistent, spreading like something molten beneath my skin. Every jolt of the wagon sent traitorous ripples through me, forcing me to go still—to keep my expression empty.
Mira.
The name scraped across my thoughts again. Foreign. Wrong.
Not mine.
And yet it was the only one they used. The only one they saw.
My throat tightened. I lowered my head, letting my veil fall forward as a shield while I forced my breathing into something slow and controlled.
It didn’t help.
Because beneath the scent of dust, leather, sweat, and too many bodies—
There was him.
Elias.
His scent clung to the cloak, steady and grounding in a way that should have comforted me.
And it did.
That was the problem.
My fingers curled tighter.
No.
I refused to let my body twist something as simple as protection into—
A memory rose, unbidden.
His hand at the back of my neck. Warm. Careful. The way he had leaned in—not claiming, not taking—just enough to shield me without crossing that line.
Restraint.
Always restraint.
My breath caught. Heat flared sharper.
This was ridiculous.
Shame burned hot and suffocating in my chest. I was not some desperate omega chasing the nearest alpha.
I had—
My chest tightened.
Rubin.
The name came like a lifeline, and I clung to it. Forced myself to.
But when I tried to picture him—his voice, his hands, the way he had looked at me—
It blurred.
Not gone. Never gone. But distant. Fading at the edges.
And in its place—
No.
My hand jerked beneath the cloak as if burned.
Disgust flooded me, sharp and immediate.
What was wrong with me?
My stomach twisted violently, and I pressed my fingers briefly against my abdomen beneath the cloak.
A reminder.
I was already carrying a child. Already bound.
This—this heat—should not feel like this. Should not twist my thoughts into something so shameless.
A broken sound caught in my throat before I forced it down.
Silent. Always silent.
I ignored the look Elias gave me and curled in on myself, careful not to draw attention even as another wave rolled through me—slower this time, heavier, settling deep.
My thighs pressed together instinctively.
I stilled immediately.
No. Not here.
My gaze flicked toward the other omega, then back toward the edge of the wagon.
Toward him.
I couldn’t see him fully—just fragments. The line of his shoulders. The steady grip on the reins. The subtle way he positioned himself to block the wind.
Protecting. Containing.
My stomach twisted again, but not from nausea.
I looked away sharply.
This was a mistake.
All of it. The cloak. The scent. Him.
And yet—
I didn’t let go.
Voices drifted from outside. Guards. Careless. Loud.
“…waste of space if you ask me.”
My fingers tightened.
“That one, huh? Can’t hear, can’t speak—what good is she?”
A scoff. “Pretty enough, I suppose.”
“Talking about that Mira?”
Heat flared—different now. Sharper. Colder.
My jaw clenched.
Mira.
That name again.
My chest ached—quiet and hollow.
If I stayed silent long enough… if I let them keep calling me that…
Would I forget?
The thought made something cold coil in my stomach.
The wagon jolted. Voices shifted.
And then—
“She answers when addressed properly.”
Elias.
His voice cut cleanly through the air. Calm—but edged with something sharp enough to quiet them instantly.
I blinked.
He hadn’t said my name.
And yet—
He had corrected them.
Defended me.
My chest tightened again, but this time it was different.
Warmer.
More dangerous.
Because it made something in me soften that had no business softening.
My fingers curled deeper into the cloak.
It smelled like him.
That was becoming a problem.
By the time the sun dipped low, bleeding gold into bruised purple, I felt like I was unraveling from the inside out.
Everything was heavier. Slower. Slipping.
My body felt wrong. Too warm. Too sensitive. Too aware.
The brush of fabric against my skin was too much—
And not enough.
Never enough.
I hated it.
Hated the way my thoughts drifted when I didn’t force them still. Hated the way my body responded to things it shouldn’t.
I shifted again, using the cloak to shield myself as I pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the restless ache coiling low in my belly.
My breath hitched.
I bit down hard on my lip, forcing it back.
Focus.
Think.
Rubin.
I tried again.
His voice. His hands.
The image wavered.
Blurred.
And something else pressed at the edges.
My eyes snapped open.
No.
That was wrong.
Disgust twisted through me again. I turned my face into the cloak, breathing in despite myself.
The scent grounded me. Calmed the sharpest edge of the heat.
Which only made it worse.