No amount of cold water, deep breathing, or clenched fists could fix the heat under your skin, in your blood: relentless, primal. Normally, you’d be gone by now. But this time it hit early. And Sam is here. He’s down the hall. And that alone is enough to make you press your forehead to the cool metal door, eyes squeezed shut as you try to block out how good he smells. You can hear him moving around the kitchen. You pray he doesn’t come close. “Hey, you okay?”

You freeze. “Sam,” your voice is rough. “Please. Don’t come in here.” You think maybe he’ll listen. But the door creaks open anyway. You whip around, chest heaving, “What the hell are you doing?”

He stops cold when he sees you: sweat-slicked, skin flushed, hair stuck to your face, pupils blown wide. “I know what this is,” he says evenly. “Your heat. I’ve read enough about transgenics to know it’s why you leave normally.”

You stumble back. “You have no idea.”

“Then tell me.”

Your whole body shakes. “I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe without smelling you, everything hurts, I want to tear into you, Sam. I want to take and bite and ruin. You shouldn’t-“

“I’m not scared of you.” You blink, stunned.

“You should be.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not.”

“You don’t get it,” you breathe. “This isn’t sexy. My body is trying to rewrite itself around you.“

“Then don’t,” he says quietly. “Stop trying to fight this on your own.” Sam takes a slow step forward. “You’ve spent years protecting us. Fighting beside us.“

“Even now,” you ask, voice barely audible. “When all I can think about is what you taste like?” His throat bobs with a swallow, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours.

“Yeah,” he says.

You’re trembling from head to toe. “If I touch you-if I start-I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

He steps even closer, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off of him. “Then don’t,” he says, voice low. “Not if it’s what you want.”

You stare at him, “it’s overwhelming.”

He nods, grounding and calm, “So let me carry it with you. Let me help you through it.”