Page 136 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Dr. Cole’s voice sharpens. “Ms. Sage, describe the pain.”

Scarlet closes her eyes. “It’s too fast. Heavy. Low. It rolls through, backs off, then returns stronger.”

“Any nausea? Confusion? Visual distortion? Trouble recognizing either man’s scent?”

“No.” Her answer comes without hesitation.

Relief moves through me so hard, my knees weaken.

Dr. Cole glances offscreen, reading results. “Your first blood panel shows low-level carrier exposure. It’s present, but the concentration is below what we saw in Maribel’s sample. Your hormone profile also indicates legtimate heat onset.”

“Did the exposure trigger it?” Roman asks.

“It may have accelerated the cycle. Stress can do the same. I can’t separate those variables tonight.”

Scarlet’s fingers flex against my chest. “Can I stay here?”

“Yes, with monitoring. Temperature every hour. Fluids. No more suppressants. This heat is already breaking through. If you experience scent-recognition changes, confusion, vomiting, fainting, or a temperature above one hundred three, you go to the hospital.”

Scarlet shifts against me. “I’ve always handled my heats alone.”

Dr. Cole’s voice gentles. “Then keep the routine your body already recognizes. Use your own supplies and build the nest the way you normally would. Add their scents and touch gradually instead of changing everything because they’re here.”

Roman nods. “We follow her system.”

“Send temperature and pulse readings through the encrypted case portal you’ve been using for the lab results. I’ll review the second panel when it finishes.”

The call ends.

Scarlet remains curled against me, breathing through the fading edge of a cramp.

“Where are your supplies?” Roman asks.

She points toward the closet. “Back wall. The blue bins.”

He opens the door and disappears inside.

I stroke my hand down Scarlet’s back. Her dress is damp between her shoulder blades.

“Do you want it off?”

She nods against me.

I undo the buttons slowly, easing the fabric from her shoulders without making her release my shirt. She lifts enough for me to draw it away. Her skin is flushed from her throat to her breasts, and the scent pouring from her makes my teeth ache.

No permanent bite yet. The rule has never felt more necessary. Or more brutal.

Roman returns carrying two lidded bins and a canvas bag. He sets them on the floor before opening the first. Inside are soft blankets, cooling packs, electrolyte powder, washcloths, bottled water, a thermometer, and several oversized shirts worn thin from years of use. The second bin contains toys in cloth pouches, lubricant, wipes, spare batteries, and folded waterproof pads.

Scarlet sees where I’m looking. “I told you I had supplies.”

“You prepared well.”

“I had to.” There is no sarcasm in it. Only painful truth.

Roman lifts one of the old shirts from the bin. “Which pieces belong in the nest?”

“All of them.”