To say that Tristan hadn’t had an inkling as to what was going on as Myrick frantically scrambled out of his office would have been a bold lie, one that he needn’t bother telling. Oh, he could have certainly taken a guess that his boss was caught up in a heat he hadn’t been prepared for, if the sudden rush of heady pheromone scent that had assaulted his senses and lingered in his nose for the rest of the day hadn’t been a dead giveaway. Myrick’s scent had overwhelmed him, and even still it clung to his nostrils; it was heady with a hint of spice—almost akin to a freshly cracked cinnamon stick that was being toasted. Still, he’d been wrong about an Omega going into heat before—sometimes it had simply been something else, or another Omega in the room. While the chance of that was astonishingly slim, he debated messaging Myrick to see how he was doing when he received the message that Myrick was going to be taking a few days off. As he took his lunch break in his office and bit into an apple from the lunch he’d packed, he contemplated how to respond to the message. It was vague enough to make him curious, make him ponder what it was that had ailed his boss. Regardless of what was wrong with Myrick, he should check in on him.

It was the polite, courteous thing to do, he’d reasoned as he pulled up the CEO’s number and pressed the call button. He had been glad that they had exchanged contact information when they went out for a meal—easier communication between partners was never a bad thing, after all—though he vaguely wondered if this was overstepping bounds. He would be lying if he made the claim that his motives weren’t at least a little ulterior; he was genuinely concerned for his boss, sure, but if he was in heat…

Well. He’d helped out several Omega friends of his in the past.

Sex, even the act of knotting, in and of themselves, were not inherently sacred acts performed only by bonded mates—that came later, with a pretty, little bite mark on the side of an Omega’s neck as a message, a warning: ‘approach at your own peril.’ So, whenever he had Omega friends that had no mate to lean on in times of immense heat, when they needed protection and reassurance and a good hard dick inside of them, he had always been happy to oblige, though only if they had asked it of him—he had better control than that, for God’s sake, and he would never want to take advantage of someone vulnerable.

His reverie was cut off when Myrick had answered the phone, a shaky voice trying not to make his breath shudder his greeting. He forced a smile on his face; a smile does wonders for a brighter voice in a phone conversation, after all.

“Tristan?” Myrick had greeted questioningly from the other end of the phone, his voice giving away how very little he had been prepared for whatever it was that had taken him over.

“Hey there, Mister Thomas,” he kept his tone unassuming and conversational, though he hadn’t realized he lowered his tone into a rumbly base until he felt it in his chest. “Just checked my phone and saw your text. I figured I’d call you on my lunch, see if you’re doing all right.” He leaned back in his chair and took a bite of his sandwich—a soft enough food that it wouldn’t loudly and rudely crunch into the phone’s receiver. He chewed thoughtfully as he heard Myrick shifting and holding in noises, his ears suddenly hyper-trained on everything that the phone could pick up. He couldn’t even taste his chicken salad, so focused was he on listening and opted on just not eating while he was on the phone altogether because of it; no sense in it if he was finding something entirely more enjoyable to shift his attention to. “You didn’t look good when you left.”

“Yeah.” It was likely because Myrick was an Omega, but Tristan couldn’t help but find the stammer in his voice cute. “I came down with a bad fever, and I didn’t want it to, uh,” there was more shifting on Myrick’s end, and he faintly heard a strained noise come from his boss. “I didn’t want it to spread.” Of its own accord, his eyebrow raised, and an entirely inappropriate image of his boss spreading his legs sprang forth in his mind. He took a calming breath and reminded himself that he could be wrong about what was going on—it could genuinely just be the flu or something.

Unlikely as it was.

“Good for you, thinking of the team that way.” He opted for neutrality, always neutrality; last thing he needed was to give his boss the impression he was some predator or something. He was working with the man, for goodness sake, making things weird this early in the relationship wouldn’t help either of them. “Sorry to hear that you’re going through that, though. Anything I can do to help?” There, an open offer; if all that was debilitating Myrick was a sickness, he’d be happy to drop off some soup, or some medicine, whatever he needed—he knew of a great Japanese place with miso soup he was convinced had cold medicine cooked into the broth for how quickly it would clear him up every time he got it—and that would be the end of that. If he needed something more…it would hardly be the first time he’d offered such a service.

He felt his cock twitch, and he barely bit back a growl. ‘Down, boy,’ he chided himself; it had been awhile since he had felt an Omega writhing beneath him, but that was hardly a reason for him to act like a newly presented teenager all over again. Especially not in his office of all places. He had more control than that, and he wasn’t a sex crazed Alpha looking for someone to prey on.

“That’s all right,” Myrick’s voice came out almost shrill through the speaker, and it all but confirmed what he was suspecting was going on. “I’ve, ah, got stuff here, so don’t worry about a thing!” He was a touch worried still; Omegas without a mate, if left unchecked or unsupervised, could sometimes develop hypertension or injure themselves while in heat, overeager and not being worn out in the same way as Omegas that had mates—even those who had Betas as a lover were able to get more relief than those that were without one.

“Sounds like a bad fever,” Tristan said, opting to let Myrick slip out of the conversation gracefully; he wasn’t aiming to humiliate the man, after all. He got his answer, no sense in making the poor man suffer. “I won’t keep you. Just make sure you’re resting plenty. And we wouldn’t want you to be thirsty, so uh,” he debated just saying something innocuous, a ‘take care of yourself,’ but his inability to resist poking fun won out, and he opted to end with, “make sure you get…plenty of fluids in you.” He barely held back a chuckle. “Take care, now.” He ended the call, and though he managed to polish off the last of his lunch without thinking about Myrick suffering in the midst of his heat, when he started to work on the next set of reports, he couldn’t help but feel a little bad at having a laugh at his expense.

The man seemed clearly unused to having to deal with what he was going through, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He made no assumptions about Myrick and his personal life, though from what Isabelle had vaguely hinted at while she was showing him around his new position, he could guess that intimacy of any nature—sexual or otherwise—didn’t come easily to his boss. The worry that he might harm himself—even as slightly as overusing a muscle—nagged in the back of his mind, so he figured he could at least pass on a helpful tip, something he had remembered an old Omega roommate of his asking him to get for him when he went through a particularly bad heat. Not wanting to call the man when he was likely in an even more compromising situation than when he had first called, he instead opted to send him a text.

‘I’ve heard taking muscle relaxers or pain meds helps.’ Again, it was vague enough that he could play the fool—say that he meant it would help him sleep through whatever illness he had without having to suffer unduly. Message dutifully sent, he went back to his work, trying incredibly hard not to think about the possibility of his boss, nestled in a little bed nest, rutting himself into a coma.

It was better that way, even if the hours ticked by slower for it.

Still, his day was productive, and he even managed to open negotiations for potential clientele that Myrick could review and approve upon his return. Though he only had a few hours after his lunch break, he helped the leads of a few departments looking for guidance. By the time he was heading out to his car, he had a spring in his step, his day fulfilling and satisfying.

Mostly, some insidious part of Tristan whispered, a petty part of him that still ached with the knowledge of what Myrick was going through. He grimaced, stepping into his car and turning the engine on. While he would never force himself on anyone, such intrusive thoughts were still an issue that he had to grapple with, and the thought always unnerved him. It was the one feeling he hated most: uncertainty, imbalance, and inner discord. Anything that made him feel like he wasn’t in control of himself or his feelings made his skin crawl. There was an instinctive part of him that demanded things of others in such a way, in such a dehumanizing, brutal way never sat well with him, and he’d fought against the preconception of Alphas ever since he presented as one.

It had been a journey filled with prejudice, though masked prejudice for the most part; he, as well as other Alphas, were often looked to for leadership, or for guardianship, though the whispers of them being rapists, monsters that were more instinct than human, were never quiet enough for him to not hear. So he swore to himself that he would be better, that he would hold other Alphas accountable wherever he saw them even remotely act up, because they had to be better than the stigma. He had to believe that. He had to.

My, he noted bitterly to himself as he rolled to a stop at a red light, his thoughts had grown rather melancholic, hadn’t they? And here he had had such a good day leading up to this, too. His mood had soured ever so slightly, though he refused to let it sit there. When the light changed and he could leave, he changed his destination from home to the gym—he always liked sweating out the negative things that clouded his thoughts, and he could think clearer when he was working out because there was nothing else to focus on but what he was doing to better himself.

Thankfully, the gym was closer but on the same path as home, so he made it there in no time. He kept his gym bag in his car for this reason; whenever he would have a rough or stressful day, he would work it all out at the gym. Considering he helped run the marketing department of one of the biggest companies in the state, it was hardly surprising that he was as muscled and athletic as he was, with how often he was here, he thought wryly as he shrugged his suit coat off and left it in his passenger seat. He already felt a little lighter, a little cooler as he stepped into the gym, swiped his membership card, and went to change in the locker room.

Tristan changed out of the rest of his suit, folding it carefully in his locker and setting his shoes beside his clothes. His basketball shorts and loose shirt felt cool and light on his skin, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he locked his locker and pocketed the key. He opted to keep his phone on him, in the event of an emergency but mostly to listen to his music as he worked out. The warm-up room was sparsely occupied, thankfully, and he was able to do his stretches in peace, though he tried not to glare at the other men in the cardio room that gave him a wide berth; some of them were Betas, though he spotted the odd Alpha, too preoccupied to care about him. Just as well, he thought. Stepping onto one of the vacant treadmills and turning on some of his favorite music, he started off at a light jog, an easy warm-up that would get his blood pumping.

Once he was sufficiently sweaty, he opted to lift weights, working on his shoulders and arms. Rather than try to build even more muscle on his massive frame, he decided to just lift lighter weights, just heavy enough to keep him fighting fit without straining him. It didn’t take long for him to settle into a rhythm with his workout rotation, and he felt the tension of the day bleed out of him as time passed. It was gratifying, to be able to loosen himself up in such a way that wasn’t destructive.

Tristan was ripped out of his tempo when his music cut off, the ringtone of his phone overpowering it and filling his earbuds so suddenly that he damn near dropped the weight he was lifting. With a grunt, he set his weight down and pulled his phone out, curious as to who was calling him.

“Myrick?” He was surprised—if the Omega was as occupied as he thought he was, what on earth was he doing calling him? Still, he answered. “Hello?”

“Tristan!” Something deep and instinctual clenched at the way he heard his name ripped from Myrick’s voice in a sob. “I—I opened a window—it was so hot—and—” There was a loud, thunderous pounding, the sound of someone throwing their weight against a door. Fear and restlessness grappled for dominance in Tristan’s gut, and the warring emotions made him feel vaguely ill. “There’s someone—I locked the door, but—”

“Is there somewhere you can lock yourself in?”

Tristan’s whole world closed in until it was just him and Myrick, out of his reach, but in desperate need of his help. He felt desperate to get to him, already running to his locker to grab his things. He swallowed and forced the fear that began to bubble to the surface back down; Myrick needed him focused and at his best. He could panic later, when Myrick was safe.

“Y-yeah,” Myrick sniffled, and it was clear that he was in need of direction—panic was closing in on the Omega, but he needed to act fast to protect himself until Tristan could get there.

“Hide. Now. I’m on my way.” Tristan didn’t need anything else—his boss was in danger and that was more important than anything in that moment.