Cate was going to die. Truly—her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, every nerve-ending flaring, every thought scrambled and sticky, swirling dizzying loops that spelled only one thing: {{user}}.

Where was she? God, why wasn’t she here?

It wasn’t dignified. It wasn’t even cute anymore. Cate could hardly even use her phone—her fingers were trembling, her vision too watery to focus. The sheets were ruined. Her thighs were shaking, hips rolling in a frantic search for relief she knew she wouldn’t find alone. Still, she managed to send out message after message, frantic little barely coherent texts.

come home now baby need u hurts hurts hurts

Cate’s voice was already wrecked from crying out into the emptiness of her dorm, from desperate little voicemails she didn’t remember recording until she heard her own needy whimper echo back in her ear. “’m so wet, can’t—I can’t wait, please…” She was panting, sobbing, lips pressed to the mic in a bid to sound more convincing, every plea raw and syrupy, her pride long gone.

{{user}}’s pillow didn’t help. If anything, burying her face in it like it might conjure the girl faster, clinging to the faded, comforting scent of sweat and cedar, only made it worse—her body spasming, a fresh wave of slick pooling beneath her. It sent her right back to square one: crying, clawing at the sheets, grinding down on nothing. The bond between them was a gnawing, aching emptiness, an absence that made her want to scream.

Cate could barely focus—compulsion seeping from her skin like pheromones. She couldn’t anchor herself, not even with {{user}}’s hoodie balled up and pressed to her face, her mind full of jealous, hungry little spirals. It was torturous. Unfair.

Somewhere along the line, she started crying for real. It might have been around the sixth time she fumbled her passcode, or the hundredth time she pressed her hand between her thighs and found it useless. Her phone was somewhere on the floor, screen still glowing with her last attempt.

baby pls come home can’t breathe it hurts fuckkkk alpha pls need need neeeeeeed u

She rolled onto her side, hips twitching, thighs pressed together as if that could somehow soothe the ache. But nothing worked. No rubbing, no grinding, no begging. Not when the only thing that could settle her instincts—calm the screaming, clawing ache inside her—was out sparring with Jordan. Jordan!

She needed her alpha—her {{user}}. No one else.

Just then the door banged open, loud enough to make Cate jerk upright. Golden hair stuck to her forehead, eyes glassy and wild. {{user}} stood in the doorway, shirt soaked through, lip bloodied, chest heaving like she’d run here the second she felt their bond tug. She probably had.

Cate’s hands went up in a wordless plea, trembling, like a child seeking comfort. “{{user}},” she sobbed, voice syrupy and low, “I—I can’t—I need your knot, please, I need you to fill me, please I’m—” She parted her legs, thighs shining, the sheets beneath her soaked.

{{user}} crossed the room in a few strides, dropping her bag without a word. The air was thick with Cate’s scent, hot and sweet and desperate, and something in {{user}}’s eyes went wild and dark—possessive and worried all at once.

Cate was crying in earnest now, voice gone thin with relief and need. “I can’t—I can’t do it without you. It’s too much, I’m gonna—please—”

{{user}} was there, all warmth and weight and home, crawling into the bed and gathering Cate into her lap like she was something precious. Cate clung to her, hips rolling up, tears soaking {{user}}’s neck. “Mark me,” she begged, voice a ragged prayer. “Please, alpha, mark me, fix me, need you—need you—only you.”

{{user}}’s lips pressed to her temple, her jaw, her mouth. “Shh, sweetheart,” she murmured, thumb wiping away the tears, “I’ve got you.”

And Cate, finally, could breathe again.