"I don't think I can do this." The words come out in a rush, barely above a whisper. "I'm too close to my heat and I can't... everything is so sensitive, Carter."
It's true, but it's not the whole truth. I don't bother mentioning that all the scents backstage are overwhelming me, and the distinct musk of Alphas is making my knees weak and my body respond in ways I can't control. Every time I catch a whiff of Alpha pheromones, something primitive in my brain screams at me to submit, to present, to make myself available. The biological programming is getting stronger by the hour, and I'm terrified of what might happen if I lose control on stage.
I've been holding off on calling Xavier for help, telling myself I can handle this, that I'm stronger than my biology. But standing here now, trembling with need and barely coherent, I realize I was lying to myself.
A predatory smile widens across Carter’s face. "Angel-Boy, this is going to be the performance of your life."
Everyone in the business knows what "the performance of your life" means. It's code for "last performance," the final show before an Omega is claimed and retired from public view. Which means Ryker has been planning this, probably timing it perfectly with my heat cycle. This weekend isn't just about finally consummating our relationship—it's about ending my career on his terms.
The realization makes my stomach drop. "I don't want to dance right now."
Carter's grin turns even more evil if that’s even possible. "You don't really have much of a choice, do you?"
I don't have a choice. I never had a choice. Every decision about my career and my future has been made by other people while I smiled and performed and pretended to be grateful for the scraps of agency they threw my way.
But suddenly, standing here in this ridiculous outfit while Carter looks at me like I'm his trophy, something snaps inside me. The fog of pre-heat hormones clears just enough for me to think. I reach over to the small table beside us and grab my phone before dialing Ryker’s number, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He picks up on the second ring. "What do you need, Omega?"
The casual dismissal in his voice gives me the strength I need. "I don't want you. I don't want this. I'm not going on that stage like this. They're all going to smell me."
There's a pause, and I can practically hear Ryker's calculating mind processing what I've just said. Then he snorts, the sound dripping with disdain. "What shit has my brother been putting in your head?"
"This isn't about that, Ryker—"
But before I can finish my sentence, Ryker's voice turns dangerous, carrying the full weight of Alpha authority that makes every Omega instinct I have snap to attention.
A threatening growl billows through the earpiece, every ounce of his voice full of his Alpha bark. "You'll go on that damn stage and make it the best performance of your entire goddamn life because it will be your last one. And then you're going to wait at home like a good little Omega until I get there."
I let out an involuntary whine as my body betrays me completely. Biologically, I can't disobey a direct command from my scent match. Even if I mentally don’t want to, in this state, I’m not strong enough to just pull away and go home.
A tear slips down my cheek as the phone goes dead, Carter reaching around me to pull my phone from my hands. “Time’s up, Angel. Let’s make this a performance they won’t forget, shall we?” The tears come faster now, no doubt smearing my makeup, Carter seemingly excited at the prospect. “Oh, you’re a beautiful mess, Angel-boy. Make this performance count.”
Then he shoves me through the curtain. I stumble onto the stage and fall to my knees, my heart pounding in my chest as the crowd's roar fills my ears. He steps onto the stage behind me, waving his hands to get some semblance of order before announcing that this will be my last performance.
There’s a mixture of anger, despair, and sadness that sweeps through the crowd—mostly boo’s and awws that I am not in the right headspace to appreciate. But it’s what Carter says next that has my heart in my stomach.
“Tonight, Angel-Boy is giving a once-in-a-lifetime performance! Just a day or two before his heat, he wanted to give you a little peek into that needy, ready-for-his-alpha persona. And bonus? You’ll get the full sweetened scent of an Omega in heat!”
Carter leans down over my back and rips off the little patch, my scent blooming through the small club. The myriad of Alpha scents in this place strengthen, my body trying to prepare for one of them to come fuck me. My back arches slightly, my asspushing higher into the air as slick floods the bottom half of my outfit. My cock strains against the fabric, steadily leaking, my body on the edge of an orgasm.
“Now, no touching but tips are greatly appreciated!” Carter finishes before leaning down over my back again. “Get up, Angel-Boy. They’re here for you.”
I already knew Carter was a greedy son-of-a-bitch, but he always still looked out for me. He was never trulynastyor overbearing. I take that all back now. He truly is in it for the money.
When I don’t move, Carter wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me to my feet before pushing me farther onto the stage. My wobbly legs barely keep me upright, especially with the heels. Fuck, I should have gone barefoot. More slick coats the inside of my legs as I start up my routine, the haze of my heat slowly taking over.
Everything is uncoordinated and sluggish, but the crowd goes wild anyway, everyone entranced by my scent. It’s like everyone is hyped on my drug, ignoring my pain and need. Another whine tears from my throat, echoing across the stage. The sound is amplified by the speakers along the edges, my distress on display.
But they all think it’s a game.
I thrust my hips forward in tune with the music, just as my body spasms, cum flooding my panties and mixing with the slick pooling in the fabric. I’ve never been so goddamn embarrassed in my entire life. I twist around to head behind the curtain only to see Carter there, his arms folded across his chest as he mouths the word ‘dance’. I shake my head, wrapping my arms around me as I take a few steps toward him.
“Dance, Angel-Boy, or neither of us gets what we want.Dance.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but his Alpha bark isthere, just like Ryker’s was, my body obeying immediately, even if I don’t want to.
A sob tears from my chest as I start up my routine again, hating that I can’t even control my own movements. I try to remove myself from this catastrophe, imagining myself in my nest with Xavier rather than on stage for everyone to see my demise.
I come again a second time, my sloppy hole squeezing around nothing as the craving for a knot grows exponentially. Xavier’s name slips through my lips several times, the song seemingly longer than any performance I’ve put on before. I don’t even know how long I continue twirling around with sluggish movements and moans and whines before my legs finally give out.
