Ah.
That complication.
Calder straightens, attention laser-focused on Dr. Winters with intensity that suggests this information carries personal significance.
"She never had heat with the other pack," he states flatly, delivering information like a bomb he's been waiting to detonate.
The silence that follows is profound.
What?
Bear voices the collective disbelief.
"That's not possible. Omegas in pack situations automatically cycle unless actively suppressed, and you just said she was taking medication?—"
"I'm being completely serious," Calder interrupts, jaw set with stubborn certainty. "Wendolyn hasn't experienced heat with a pack. Not because she didn't want to, or because she was avoiding it. It simply never happened."
Dr. Winters leans forward, professional interest clearly piqued.
"That suggests biological incompatibility with her previous pack," she observes, already typing notes. "Pheromonal mismatch preventing the hormonal cascade necessary for heat initiation. It's rare but not unheard of—essentially her body recognized on an instinctive level that those Alphas weren't suitable mates, refused to enter a vulnerable state around them."
Protective mechanism.
Biological wisdom overriding conscious choice.
"If you're compatible with her," Dr. Winters continues, addressing all four of us collectively, "her body will respond very differently. Can you describe your reactions to her scent?"
The question hangs there, an invitation to reveal vulnerability none of us are comfortable admitting.
Aidric speaks first, his voice carrying a rough edge.
"Captivating. Like cedar and vanilla shouldn't work together, but somehow create something that makes rational thought nearly impossible."
Bear nods in agreement.
"First time I've ever reacted to an Omega. Usually their scents are pleasant but ignorable—hers makes me want to bury my face in her hair and just breathe for hours."
Calder's admission is quieter, more personal.
"Like home. Like everything safe and dangerous combined into a single perfect combination that I'd kill to protect."
They all turn to me, waiting for my contribution to this increasingly uncomfortable conversation.
Fine.
"Intoxicating," I admit carefully. "Her scent bypasses conscious thought, speaks directly to instincts I didn't realize I possessed. The medical term is pheromonal compatibility…our bodies recognize each other as suitable on a biological level that transcends logic or choice."
Dr. Winters smiles—genuine, warm, carrying the satisfaction of a medical professional whose hypothesis has just received confirmation.
"Then yes, you're almost certainly compatible. Which means accepting her as pack Omega, even temporarily, will likely trigger a heat cycle. Possibly within weeks rather than months, given her current hormonal instability."
Complicated.
Extremely complicated.
But manageable if we're all adults about biological inevitability.
The silence stretches while everyone processes implications, calculates personal comfort levels with potential intimacy, weighs needs against wants against what's best for Omega who's somehow become central to all our considerations.
