Chapter 4 — Heat

Dominic POV

I watched Theo's suppressants fail less than twenty minutes after we arrived, and seeing it happen in real time felt worse than I expected.

The changes were subtle at first. His breathing shifted, slower and heavier beneath the quiet apartment while faint color spread gradually across his skin. Then his scent sharpened into something sweeter and heavier, enough to make tension lock through my entire body without permission. Not long after that, his hands started shaking.

Theo sat curled inward on the couch with dark hair falling across his forehead, his hockey jersey hanging open where blood had soaked through the fabric near his ribs. Every passing minute made his scent stronger until the penthouse no longer smelled like my home. It smelled like him. Warm and sweet in a way that made concentration almost impossible.

I reached for my phone.

Theo noticed immediately. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Calling a doctor," I replied.

He straightened so fast that pain flashed across his face. "No."

"You need medical help," I insisted.

"No strangers," he whispered.

The desperation underneath those two words landed harder than if he had shouted them. I looked down at the phone in my hand without dialing.

His reaction was not irrational. It was survival. A stranger meant questions, questions created records, and records led back to tonight. Once records existed, exposure became inevitable. And exposure would destroy him.

Slowly, I set the phone down.

Theo exhaled shakily, some of the panic easing from his expression. "Thank you," he murmured.

Something unpleasant twisted through my chest because he should not have sounded relieved that someone simply respected a boundary. Anger hit suddenly and hard, directed squarely at the league that had forced him into surviving like this for years.

Theo tried to stand a moment later. His knees buckled underneath him.

I crossed the room and caught him before he could fall. The moment my hands closed around his waist, he trembled hard against me, and I realized immediately that it was not fear shaking through him. It was heat. I felt it instantly, radiating through his jersey and straight into my bloodstream.

Theo grabbed my wrist. His fingers felt warm and unsteady. "Please," he whispered.

I did not know whether he meant the doctor, the heat, or the way my hands were still holding him. Maybe all of it. Carefully, I helped him sit back down, and this time he did not shift away.

I crouched in front of him slowly. "I'll help you, okay?" I promised.

Something fragile crossed his face, gone quickly enough that I almost missed it. But he nodded.

I worked carefully, removing the damaged chest protector without letting myself think too hard about how warm his body felt or how badly his scent was affecting my control. Theo hissed sharply when I lifted the gear from his ribs.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"It's fine," he said.

It was absolutely not fine. I reached for the hem of his shirt, and Theo went completely still beneath my hands. His pulse jumped visibly in his throat.

"You can keep the lights low," I said quietly. "I'm not staring."

Theo laughed once, dry and exhausted. "You literally are," he countered.

I helped him pull the ruined shirt carefully over his head. Then I forgot how to breathe.

Hockey had made him strong,lean muscle, scars earned through years on the ice. But without the layers of gear hiding him, Theo looked softer too, in ways nobody else had probably ever been allowed to see. Freckles scattered lightly across his shoulders and collarbones while his chest rose unevenly with every breath.

He was beautiful. I had not meant to think it. The thought arrived anyway.

Theo noticed me looking immediately. "Don't look at me like that," he snapped.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like you feel sorry for me."

Sorry was nowhere near what I felt. Furious, maybe. At the league. At the fact that Theo had survived this alone for so long while nobody bothered protecting him.

"I don't feel sorry for you," I said finally, reaching for the medical kit.

***

The apartment had become saturated with his scent by the time I finished cleaning the cut, thick enough to make concentration difficult. Theo kept leaning subtly toward me every time I touched him, small unconscious movements his body made without permission. My instincts reacted to every single one.

I sat beside him slowly. Almost immediately, his breathing steadied and tension eased from his shoulders.

"I hate this," he admitted after a while.

"The heat?" I asked.

Theo shook his head. "All of it. The suppressants. The hiding." His voice lowered. "Feeling weak."

"You're not weak," I told him.

He laughed softly, hollow enough to make something twist in my chest. "You didn't see me twenty minutes ago."

"I saw enough." I turned toward him fully. "I've never seen anyone hold themselves together the way you do."

His expression shifted at that, something cracking open just slightly behind his eyes before he looked away.

"I've never told anyone," he admitted. "About what I am. No relationships. No hookups. Nothing."

The simplicity of the words made the weight behind them feel heavier.

"How long?" I asked.

Theo gave a tired curve of his mouth. "Six years. Carefully."

Something inside me went still. No one should have to survive untouched because trust had become too dangerous.

***

Theo curled forward suddenly as pain crossed sharply over his face. I reached for him without thinking.

The moment my hands touched him, Theo turned directly into me and buried his face against my throat. Everything inside me stopped.

His breath felt warm against my skin while his body trembled faintly against my chest. One hand closed loosely against my shirt like he needed something steady to hold onto. Every Alpha instinct inside me surged at once.

Protect him. Keep him close. Do not let him go.

My hands settled carefully against his back, and slowly, Theo went still beneath them. His breathing steadied first. The trembling eased after it. Rain blurred softly against the windows while silence stretched around us, warm and dangerously intimate.

Then Theo exhaled against my throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" I asked.

"This," he muttered. "You shouldn't have to deal with me."

I lowered my head until my mouth brushed near his hair. "Don't say that again," I commanded softly.

He went quiet after that. I thought he had finally fallen asleep when he spoke again, so softly I almost missed it.

"I noticed you first," he said.

I went completely still.

"Three years ago," he continued. "Before you ever looked at me. I just got really good at making sure you couldn't tell."

The confession landed somewhere deep enough that I could not respond. Against my chest, Theo's breathing softened as exhaustion finally dragged him under. His grip loosened gradually against my shirt until sleep pulled him down completely, the kind of deep exhaustion that made it obvious he had not truly rested in years.

I stayed exactly where I was, afraid moving might wake him. Then, quietly enough that only I heard it, I whispered against the top of his hair.

"Please stay."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Theo did not answer. He was already asleep. But even asleep, his fingers still held onto my shirt like some part of him already knew he was going to run.