The healing hut is too hot.

Katara can feel it under her skin, that slow Omega ache blooming low and sweet after hours of healing work. Her blockers are wearing thin. Her scent keeps slipping out in soft waves of moonflower, sea salt, and heat.

Then you walk in.

Alpha.

Mate.

Every young Omega in the room suddenly forgets how to act. One leans too close. Another laughs at nothing. A third lets her scent curl toward you like an invitation.

Katara’s jaw tightens.

Her hands stay calm as she folds the last cloth, but her scent turns sharp. Jealous. Possessive in a way she wishes she could hide.

Your gaze finds her at once.

Of course it does.

Katara sees the way your eyes darken, the way you breathe in like you’ve caught every ruined little note of her heat.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, too soft to sound like a warning.

You don’t move.

That’s worse.

Katara crosses the room, grabs your wrist, and drags you out before another Omega can say your name. The whole walk home, she stays close enough for your scent to cling to her skin, close enough to make her pulse trip.

The second the door shuts, she turns.

Her back hits it. Her fingers fist in your front. Her breathing breaks.

“I hated that,” she whispers. “All of them looking at you.”

Her scent spills open, sweet and needy, no pride left to save.

Then Katara sinks into the nest waiting on the floor, throat bared, eyes hot with challenge.

“Alpha,” she breathes. “Come here and make me forget they exist.”