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Jack’s mother always said he was special. 


It made sense then, the air full with sugar from the cookies she was making, his small greedy fingers reaching out for the batter covered spoon. 


Even when he was soaring through Richmond on his bicycle, causing a general ruckus with the other local lads she still said it. 




Jack’s chest warmed every time she said it- even though he was then tall enough to see the sour disappointment in his father’s eyes. 


Then school came, and along with it puberty. And Jack found out what ‘special’ really meant.




Jack takes a sip of whiskey, flipping through his officer's notes. He normally doesn’t drink on the job. But it’s September, and he needs something to take his eyes off the way the days are ticking down to the inevitable. 


Usually he’d be grateful for the way the alcohol is burning down his throat- typical chilly Melbourne weather. But tonight he’s chasing the feeling rather than anything else. 


Jack fingers the knot of his tie for the hundredth time, his coat and blazer long since discarded. The flush on his cheeks had flared up long before he made a start on the bottle. 


The front door of the station swings open and closed. Jack’s eyes flutter shut. 


A year ago he would have assumed it was an officer bringing in a perpetrator. Or perhaps Colin’s forgetting something at his desk. But now it could only be one person. 


If the heady scent of French perfume wasn’t the give away, the confident clop of high heels definitely was. 


“Good evening, Miss Fisher,” Jack tilts back his head to finish off the last dregs of his glass before she’s even had a chance to swing open the door. 


It’s a delight to see her, as always. But he really can’t afford to be around her right now. 


“Jack!” Phryne trills happily, sauntering into his office like she owns it. As her familiar scent brightens up his room, Jack can’t help but think she probably does. 


Phryne deposits herself onto his desk in a bundle of furs, sinking into them like a cat in the sun. She’s shivering, a rare occurrence, so it must be more than freezing. Jack honestly can’t tell. 


Her gloved hand is sitting right next to his pen, tempting him as per usual. 


Take her hand. So strong, so soft. Ours to warm up’


Jack grinds his teeth, trying to pretend his discomfort is from her surprised visit and not the idiotic horny voice trailing through his mind. Each word louder than the last, making him feel more than insane. 


“What do I owe the pleasure?” Jack asks, threading his own fingers together instead.


It’s becoming more and more usual for her to come visiting, even if, like now, they don’t have a case to work on together. Normally it’s just for Phryne to invite him to dinner the next night (which he always graciously accepts), or out drinking in the wee hours (Which he always ruefully declines). 


Phryne smiles down at him, and Jack presses his knees together hoping it wasn’t obvious his breath caught in his throat.


This close to his heat every second next to her- every gesture, every compliment she pays- makes him tremble. Jack was already too close to the edge of tumbling into her bed, and now his subconscious wants her to have him, right here on his desk. 


“Just stopping by,” Phryne explains glibly, leaning backwards as if he wasn’t already admiring her breasts behind the beads of her dress, “Mac and I were going dancing,” 


Were?” Jack repeats casually, although his pulse is racing at his neck. 


He’s never been one for dancing. At least not after 1918. And not at the places Phryne visits often. 


But alone in her parlour perhaps…It must be the pheromones taking over him, but god he couldn’t think of anything better right now. Phryne in his arms- he’d waltz her, he loves a good waltz. Straight and steady. He’s sure she’d figure out a way to spice things up; he’d look forward to it in fact. 


And perhaps if he played his cards right she would let him rest his nose in her neck. Breathe her in. Jack feels his mouth grow dry. From here he can clearly admire the lean line of her throat- the long loop of diamonds brushing against her scent glands he longs to lick. 


Alpha,’ The amorous voice inside him moans appreciatively, ‘Beautiful, special, mine,’


She’s nobodies, Jack argues back inwardly, pouring himself another drink. 


“Mac has found a lovely lady to spend the night with,” Phryne batters her eyelashes coquettishly down at him- damn her, “And I’m all alone,”


Jack can’t help but smile a little at her shameless flirting. He stares up at her purposefully. She should know what he’s going to say. He should know. 


And yet.  


“So I thought I’d ask if you’d like to join me,” Her blue eyes sparkling under his dim desk light. 


Jack swallows thickly, extremely glad for the desk-top in front of him. His unruly mind can’t help but drift to his most recent of fantasies. 


Phryne laid out on her couch, or even closer, on the chair he’s sitting on. In something lacy like what Rosie before the war- he can’t deny lingerie is not his forte. But her nipples would be budded pink, and her heels hooked around his shoulders. Her thighs would be cool against his hot forehead- her cunt silky and sweet. 


The voice of his Omega inside him purrs contentedly, as arousal pours through him, warming his blood.


“For a night-cap, of course,” Phryne corrects herself, her voice drenched in innocence. 


He’s long since abandoned the thought he’s mistaking the desire echoing in her own gaze.


Jack is sure she’s thinking about the exact same thing. 


But his Omega, always greedy, wants more. Wants to set up a nest- a home- in Phryne’s bed. To lie in her arms, snoozing while she threads her long fingers through his hair. Coffee in the morning, and old-fashions at night, while they compare classic literature quotes. 


Not a fuck to let go of some of the tension constantly bubbling around them. And Jack can’t deny, for once, he agrees with his alter ego. 


He has too much pride to fall on his knees and beg her for even just one more night, which is surely what would happen. And w ith his heat so close, Jack knows he will plead for everything. 


Phryne, always so in tune with him, must catch the expression on his face, because her brilliant smile falters. 


“You’re not free tonight,” She guesses correctly. Jack squirms uncomfortably under her soft gaze. 


Her scent- like a foreboding thunderstorm and a sudden splash of furious sea spray- fills his nostrils. It begs him to change his mind. 


Alpha upset, must please her, tell her you’ll do anything she says,’ Jack’s Omega mewls pathetically.


The awful thing is, if Jack had had a few more drinks, he might’ve given in to it. 


“Unfortunately,” Jack’s smile in wan, “I’m having dinner with Rosie,” 


At the mention of his ex-wife, Phryne’s face goes carefully blank. Her scent gets sharper however, leaving no mistake of what she’s currently feeling. 


‘Alpha upset!’ His Omega relates unnecessarily. 


“But of course I’ll try to pop by,” Jack adds weakly. Honestly he’s exhausted- dehydrated and twitchy. All signs he should be sleeping right now. Preferably in her lap. 


It’s worth him saying it though, just to see Phryne brighten up again. 


“I hope there will be,” She says the flirtation in her voice ebbing, leaving sincerity in its wake and Jack knows he would drag himself over hot coals to see her be happy. 


A calm floods over Jack at her contented expression, his emotions tied to hers. It’s not right- dangerous even. He’s never had Alpha friends for this exact reason. And Phryne is so much more than that. 


Thankfully for his nerves she finally hops off his desk, the blue beads on her dress clinking as she moves. 


Jack relaxes into his chair, slumping slightly, sending a quick prayer up to every god he can think of. 


Female Alpha’s are about as rare as male Omegas. Ever since they met, Jack has felt like a simple brown moth being drawn to a fierce flame. 


He watches lovingly as Phryne twirls happily, always drink on life, her skirts flying up to show a hint of white garter and shiny new stockings Jack wants to take off with his teeth. 


“Wait- you’re all disheveled,” Phryne leans over, her deft fingers knotting up his tie before he can protest otherwise. 


Jack's entire body feels like a live wire. He usually feels buzzed around her. But it’s different now. More intense. He feels like a young boy who has seen a girl's breasts for the first time- fluttery and helplessly aroused.


Phryne fiddles with his collar and Jack barely resists a moan. Her fingers are just brushing against his throat, and yet his cock is already half hard in his pants. 


“God Jack, are you sick?” Phryne asks, her voice dropping into a tone of worry, “You feel feverish,” One of her dainty hands moves from his neck to his forehead and then down his cheek. 


Jack leans into her touch immediately as her thumb brushes over his cheekbone. Ever since they arrested George and Sidney their flirting has felt a little more dangerous.  And the way Phryne is watching him now seems more raw than anything he’s seen from her before. 


“You really don’t look right,” Phryne cocks her head, a slither of hair falling with her movement, “Do you want me to drive you home? I’m sure Miss Sanderson will understand,” 


Home, yes our home,’ His Omega agrees immediately. But it’s not his small shack with the fading furniture and threadbare carpet he’s thinking of. Instead it’s her parlour, warm and bright, with his armchair waiting for him.


“I want-” Jack begins all of a sudden, and stops just as quickly. 


Phryne looks like she wants to devour him, and drive him to the hospital all at once. 


Jack pulls himself away from her hand before he makes even more of a fool of himself. Or he loses his wits altogether. 


“To go to Rosie's- I made her a promise,” Jack’s conscience twinges with the lie, but he'd rather hide the truth than confess, “But please forgive me if I end up in bed instead of tasting your whiskey,” 


Phryne takes two large steps away, the tops of her cheeks are pink like he’s slapped her. 


By the time it takes Jack's muddled brain to work out what it sounded like he meant, she’s disappeared in a flurry of skirts.


Jack is left to sit in regret, with a dwindling erection and her name on his lips.  

Chapter Text

Jack has had rules all his life. He even grew up to like them. Eventually. Sometimes.


Never walk alone at night. Just in case.


Always have an Alpha sergeant. Collin’s is an excellent example. Young, innocent, but with an undeniable scent that scares the punters off.


Marry young. Look how well that turned out. 


Jack pulls up at Rosie’s current residence, her sister’s place and their first home generously provided to them by George Sanderson. Taken away of course once it was clear their relationship wasn’t going to offer the Sanderson line any grandchildren. 


He made Rosie swear on her life that both Val and her husband and children are out of state, ensuring they will be alone. 


He has no choice but to trust her because he’s still hard and twitchy and pretty sure he’s going to stay that way. 


Fucking heat. 


Fucking Phryne. 


No, he really shouldn’t think like that right now.  


An Omega knows an Alpha from the moment they meet one- yet Jack had never met one like Phryne before. 


For one stereotypically Alpha’s are men, and secondly within a few days of them meeting Jack had already seen her wet and wearing only a towel. On her knees. Looking up at him through her eyelashes. 


It was the most female flesh he’d seen in months. And she smelt amazing. Like sex come to life. Then she just happened to become one of the best detectives he’s ever met in his life.


Did he ever truly stand a chance?  


Jack pats the slight bump hidden in his inside coat pocket. A lifelong habit. The small bottle is still there. Of course. It's never moved. 


Male Omega’s get pills. Jack can’t even remember how long he’s been taking them. It dulls everything- his mood, libido, and most importantly his scent.  It supposedly makes you more masculine. With them Jack can pass for a regular beta except for his yearly heat. 


The price for masculinity is damn depressing however. Jack has been walking around in a fog for years. A fog of war, of loss, of a stupid green pull every morning taken with his burning black coffee.


At least it was, until a certain Miss Fisher blew his fog away. His depression ebbing away in the cocktail glasses Mr Butler hands out to him. Long talks by her fireplace about the mud in France, and the Melbourne of their childhood. 


If only she’d be down on her knees right now perhaps he could stop thinking about the pink bow of her lips. 


Mate,’ His omega croons hopefully, ‘Our Mate,’ 


Jack slams his car's door shut with a purpose, his gut twisting. 


No. He can’t. She wouldn’t. He won’t let her. 


His knocks on Rosie’s door are hard and heavy. He can immediately hear her hurried steps to reach him. He’s late- must have took a wrong turn somewhere. The fact that Jack can’t remember means he knows he’s fucked. 


“Jack,” Rosie opens the door in her dressing gown, her doe eyes wide and anxious, “You look awful,” 


Jack pushes past her, unsteady on his feet. On what used to be his armchair she has everything prepared. Wet flannels for his neck and face, a cup of cold tea and mercifully what looks like a bottle of gin. 


“Thank you,” Jack collapses into the pillows shivering from the fever slowly wrecking his body. 


Rosie stands over him, her brow furrowed. With his parents dead, she’s the only person alive who knows. 


Your son being an Omega isn’t something you celebrated in Richmond. Not unless you wanted your family hounded for bringing up something so unnatural. Or worse- a woman with a painted smile knocking on your door asking for a good price to sell you to a brothel. 


Jack's father warned him with a hard stare to never tell anyone. Not even his wife. But he had been young and in love. And lonely.  Rosie may have been a Beta, but she always looked after him during periods like his. She was sweet and understanding. She sent him supplies when he was at the front. 


It was only when things turned sour when Jack felt that Rosie began to hold it against him.  Blamed his presentation on his lack of ambition. His withdrawal a confirmation that she was never going to compare to the draw an Alpha could have over him. 


“Is it her?” Rosie asks stiffly, her bottom lip wobbling. 


Jack says nothing, throwing one of her cool soggy towels over his sizzling face.


Rosie had said exactly the same thing before. A rare dinner together, their last failed attempt to patch their beaten relationship. 


Jack could still taste Phryne’s tongue on his lips.  Her wild blue eyes from Café Replique haunted him when he closed his eyes. She was incredible. Strong. Magnificent. Her scent hung around him like a cloud, so thick he swore even Rosie could pick up on it with her weaker nose. 


He’s been tempted before. Irrationally so because he’s almost certain he’s not into men. But when biology calls… Alphas and Omega’s. It’s basic chemistry, or so they say.


With Phryne it felt different- even back then. Biology was there. She was and Alpha through and through, the way she banged about like she was God’s very gift to earth. Her will, as strong as brass. Her ability to protect- to draw people under her wing was astounding.  


Her pack was the most well loved group of people he knew.  A real family, despite the lack of bloodlines.  Without asking Jack if he even needed one suddenly he found himself standing beside her side at parties, hanging on her every word.  He could be blind, but Jack believed Phryne had begun to lean on him too. 


'Partners' as she called them. 


Partner is such a simple term for what their relationship is to him.


It’s not just the fact that she’s irresistible and knows it. She’s whip smart. Endlessly interesting. And she makes him laugh. Jack at one point thought he’d never be able to laugh honestly again. 


Jack doesn’t know when he started thinking of himself as her Omega. For longer than he realised and definitely longer than he should’ve. 


Phryne is not his Alpha. 


She’ll never be anyone's Alpha. 


Which is why he’s staring through fabric up at his ex wife’s ceiling instead of worshipping Phryne’s beautiful breasts. 


He’s tortured enough in her presence. He’s got too much pride to kill himself over her rejection. 


“I told her I was coming here,” Jack pulls down the already lukewarm hand towel to replace it with another round his neck. 


“So?” Rosie asks, her lips turned up into a smug smile, her tone sardonic, “You come to her beck and call at the mere batter of her eyelashes,” 


“Rosie,” Jack snaps, his fists clenched, “Don’t,” Except it’s not exactly an unfair statement. Phryne doesn’t even have to bat anything these days- he’s always right behind her. 


“She doesn’t want to help you,” Rosie’s face is curled up in disbelief. 


Jack’s Omega starts at the accusation. Unconsciously he feels his lip pull upwards into a growl. As if his Alpha had anything to do with his situation. 


But against his better judgement, memories of Phryne chatting happily beside him come roaring back to him, the scent of some other Omega all over her that wasn’t him- her eyes tired and sated looking.


The jealous monster inside his head, one he thought had died with age and the war, once again rears it’s ugly head. It seems to be doing that more and more lately. 


Phryne is an Alpha who loves the finer things in life,


It makes him want to die. But her sexual freedom, so different to Rosie and Concetta, is also one of the many reasons why he loves her. 


He promised her once he’d never change her, and he means to keep it. 


“She doesn’t know,” Jack admits, his pride over Phryne getting the better of him. 


He knows how people talk about her. About him and her. Even if they don’t know their designations. He sees the way his officers have begun to titter about him. 


Detective Robinson and his less than 'Honourable' heiress. 


Or more likely Miss Fisher and the horny divorced Jack Robinson. 


Rosie probably thinks he’d fallen into her bed months ago. 


“Jack,” Just as he expected, Rosie looks flabbergasted, wrapping her arms tightly around her, “How?” 


Jack doesn’t even have the energy in him to shrug, his body floppy against the soft fabric of his armchair. 


How? For the same reason hundreds of Beta men and women wear Alpha cologne, and Omega perfume. 


Honestly it would be more likely for Phryne to figure it out than Jack to tell her willingly. 


“I can’t,” Jack croaks, a wave of heat soaking the of his neck, “Trap Phryne when I’m like this,” 


He’d be irresistible to her like this. 


It’s already bad enough when they’re on cases together. He knows Phryne won’t be shy when she discovers why he is helpless to saying no to her. To learn why his eyes follow her unconsciously. Why he’s memorised the scent of her perfume and the curves of her legs. 


Best case scenario they’d have incredible sex, he’d say something truly embarrassing like ‘I love you,’ and things would never be the same between them again. 


Worst case scenario, he somehow convinces Phryne to bite the mating gland currently throbbing at his neck and they’d be bonded for life and Jack will have caught her in something more permanent than marriage. 


“Good luck trapping that woman to do anything,” Rosie mutters under her breath. 


Jack shifts awkwardly in his trousers which have not gotten any less tight. The idea of Phryne’s hot breath on his neck is only getting him going. 


“I’d beg her for everything,” Jack talks more to himself than anything, “Things she doesn’t want, more than sex-,” 


“I understand Jack, thank you,” Rosie interrupts briskly, looking irritated, “Do you really want that though?” 


Yes fucking please,’ Jacks Omega howls their consent. 


He didn’t know how much until he thought she’d died in that damn motor car. Didn’t know it was more than attraction until he realised not only does he not want to live without her- but that he can’t. 


Which is why Jack is never going to tell her he’s an Omega. 


“No,” Jack says resolutely, no matter how much it hurts him, shaking his head numbly, “Not for her,” 


“You love her,” Rosie says flatly, her eyes wet with disappointment. 


“Of course,” Jack replies simply. 


The kind of love that didn’t have him questioning if it was worth a man’s blood on his hands to save her. 


Jack shot Sidney Fletcher without thought for her, and he’d do it again. Although knowing Phryne end up saving him far more than he’ll do for her. 


“I think… she wants you more than you realise,” Rosie offers up, patting the air around his shoulder. 


Jack would laugh if he found it funny. 


“Phryne,” Jack wets his dry lips, “She wants the world,” 


She is his world. His Alpha. 


But he’s certainly not hers. 


“She wants you, Jack Robinson,” Rosie without knowing perfectly repeats what Phryne told him only a few weeks before, “She practically bit my head off when I implied she wasn’t good enough for you,” 


Jack’s heart suddenly feels suspiciously full. 


Alpha wants us,’ His Omega feels a little too hopeful for Jack's battered nerves. 


In fact he knows he’d be on the way to Wardlow right now if he thought he could make it to his car.


“I don’t-” Jack shudders with need, “Need to hear that right now,” He can’t deny there’s a part of him that doesn’t believe her. 


Phryne doesn’t get jealous. She wouldn’t. Not for the sake of him. 


Rosie’s face slides into a sympathetic smile. She rubs the bridge of her nose, an anxious habit.


“Take your medicine,” She points at the glass of whiskey sat next to him, “And we’ll get you to bed,


Jack likes rules.


 He takes the drink. Then he has another for good measure. 


Rosie helps him into a standing position, and he folds against her.


“I’m pathetic,” Jack moans, feeling boneless and lightheaded at the sudden change of gravity. Perhaps he shouldn’t have drunk so much at the office.


“You’re talking to the woman whose father and fiancé are rotting in a jail cell,” Rosie quips, sounding more like her youthful snarky eighteen year old self than she has in years. 


The pair slowly shift towards the bedroom in quiet comradery and Jack attempts to pretend that this is going to be enough for him. 


He should have kissed Phryne. Pressed her against her staircase. 


Damn her Aunt. Damn his heart. 


Except if he really believed that he’d be in her bedroom right now. 


Rosie helps him take off his clothes, just leaving him in his pants and shirt. Perhaps it should have felt intimate, but it really only felt like she was his mother and he was a struggling toddler. 


Jack collapses onto his mattress. His lack of clothes makes him feel a little better, but not by much. 


He’s still unbearably hot, and his cock unbearably hard.


“I appreciate this Rosie,” Jack slurs, his words coming out less than lucid, “After everything,” His fingers are already playing with his buttons. He’s got to get cool.


It’s nothing his ex-wife hasn’t seen before, but she still turns away, her cheeks rather pink. 


“Get some sleep Jack,” Rosie nods by the doorframe, sounding tired, “I’ll see you in the morning,” Finally she shuts the door with a click.


Jack immediately falls into the pillow, his hot face squashing against the cool fabric. 


Rosie used to sit with him in their early days of marriage. Even helped him sometimes, although it was never enough.  Eventually her visits became merely perfunctory, until they weren’t there at all.


J ack was too much for her, and too little all at once. 


The bed smells musty and vaguely of flowers that have been sitting in water too long. Rosie must have changed her sheets because there’s barely a whiff of her on them. 


“Thank god,” Jack breathes, leaning down to swipe something out of the secret pocket in his coat hidden next to his pills. 


A simple white handkerchief, embroidered with red thread with the letters ‘PF’. Left on his desk- on purpose or on accident- he has no idea.


Jack buries his nose into it. If he shuts his eyes, he can almost picture her next to him. 


“Phryne,” Jack whispers. 


Her black hair mused across her face. Would she suck a love bite to his neck- would she dare get close to the mating gland throbbing at his throat?


Jack palms his cock, which is aching for attention. Her attention.   


 Phryne would. She’d take the risk. Jack can’t even begin to imagine all the things she could probably do with her tongue. 


Jack shifts, pressing his pelvis against the sheets. He moans again, louder this time. He hides his face deeper into her handkerchief and allows himself to fall into oblivion.  


Phryne running her sharp nails through his hair. Her breasts rubbing against his chest. Even better- his tongue pressed flat against her nipple, plucking at the hard bud until she keens. 


He begins to rut against the mattress. Jack can’t help it. He’s had her breast in his mouth before. It was so soft. She was soft. They would fit perfectly into his hands. 


Naked. He needs to be naked. 


He needs to see her- naked. Lying out beneath him. On top of him. Wherever. As long as she’s with him. 


Jack is making little choking noises in the back of his throat. He can’t help it. He doesn’t even have his hand around himself but it feels so good. 


Not as good as his dick would feel sliding into Phryne’s cunt. When that happens he will probably die from pleasure, and he will enjoy every sweet second. 


Here’s no time to think about how he’s humping his ex-wife’s mattress pretending it’s the woman he’s in love with. 


It’s worse knowing he can picture her perfectly. That he’s seen that thatch of hair between her thighs. On oil paint, but it doesn’t matter. He’s seen. 


And that’s exactly where he’s going to bury his face into. It’s going to smell ever better than the faint tang of French perfume exuding from her handkerchief. Sweet and tart, and all over his tongue. 


She can almost hear her voice, that way she can purr. Sexy and sultry. 




“Phryne,” Jack shudders as he spills into his underwear. 


He’s breathing hard, feeling sticky and sore. Wet and uncomfortable. And still fucking aroused. 


Jack sighs, turning back round so he can strip off his ruined pants. This is just the beginning.

Chapter Text

Phryne wakes from a restless sleep by Dot drawing open her curtains. She can tell it’s later than when she usually asks to be woken. No doubt her companion noticed how much she drank last night and to what time. 

Or perhaps it’s just the fact her heels are still on that gives her away.

“Good morning Miss,” Dot says, her voice sounding falsely bright to her hangover. 

“Morning,” Phryne attempts to force the same amount of pep into her voice. 

Because nothing is wrong. Why would anything be wrong? 

Jack is probably waking up in his ex-wife’s bed. Naked. His hair mused. His large long fingers sliding up her waist to eagerly grasp Rosie’s breast. 

Or, somehow worse, they’re probably cuddling . Simple intimacy. Clothes still on. Jack will be whispering sweet words of adoration in Rosie’s ear, while she smiles. 

Phryne’s stomach curdles with displeasure as she turns over to meet her companion's apprehensive gaze. 

Jack is the most honourable man she knows. And honourable men, in her experience, like nice stable things. Like pin ties, or strict speed limits while driving. And marriage. 

“Mac and one of her friends are downstairs, if you want some company,” Dot offers, tearing Phryne away from her memory of the wedding band tan that is still inlaid on Jack’s finger. 

Yes, because that’s exactly what she needs right now. 

A happy couple who definitely had sex last night. 

But if she doesn’t go downstairs then Mac is certainly going to come up. And Phryne’s headache right now is too piercing to talk about her love life. 

Except no- not love life. 

Her life with Jack. 

Wait no-

“That would be lovely, thank you Dottie,” Phryne replies faintly. 

The young woman leaves with a slightly sympathetic smile. No doubt her scent is giving herself completely away to her Omega companion. 

Phryne waits until the door clicks behind her to bury her face in her hands.  

What the hell is happening to her? 

If only she was back asleep. Everything was easier in her dream. 

Jack had accepted her offer of going back to her place. Phryne felt no fear, only excitement when he professed his love for her. Then it was a blur of clothes and lips, as they magically transported from her parlour to her bedroom, and Phryne proceeded to give the Beta the best night of his life. 

Of their life.  

But dreams are only dreams, and not necessarily always answered.

Phryne feels slightly more than hung over as she makes her way slowly down stairs. Her head is not just heavy, but feels stuffed with cotton balls. 

She’s solved murders with more alcohol in her system, but this morning she doesn’t feel like she could complete a crossword. Perhaps she’s caught that sickness that Jack seemed to be suffering from last night- his forehead was as hot as a furnace.  

A sort of wisp of a dream falls over Phryne at the idea of taking care of him; making him drink bits of pieces of Mr Butler's homemade chicken soup, and placing buttered toast between his lips. Nursing him in her own bed until he’s all well. 


Phryne shakes her head, dismissing the strange thought. Well not strange. Of course she’d look after Jack. 

But the intense need to do it. That’s odd. 

“Good morning,” Mac eyes her off suspiciously as Phryne rounds the corner and into her parlour, “Big night?” 

“Hardly,” Phryne mutters. 

Mr Butler- bless him- places a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She thanks him ardently before taking a sip, hardly noticing when it burns her tongue. 

Mac gives her a look, like she doesn’t quite believe her. Luckily Phryne can tell she’s more interested in entertaining the young lady beside her than she is with investigating her.

She is lovely. Soft looking, with pink cheeks and green eyes. By the looks of her dress, she comes from a bit of money, and when she turns her head to the side Phryne can see the love bite beginning to bruise on the side of her throat. 

“Josie Brecker- please meet my oldest friend- Miss Phryne Fisher,” The dark haired girl grins up at her sheepishly, her hand held tightly in Mac’s own.  Her under eyes are dark, but her face has the sated look of someone who's not had much sleep the night before.

Mac gives her a smirk. 

She told Phryne once that she’s a Beta who fucks like an Alpha. Fully inebriated naturally, and too drunk for Phryne to take her up on it at the time.  Clearly it’s true, the way Josie is gazing up at her friend says everything. She’s certain the two are tipping towards a relationship. 

Not that she's envious. Not at all. 

“Nice to meet you,” Phryne says honestly with a genuine smile, before collapsing into a chair.

Jack’s chair.

It still smells like him round the edges. Not that his scent is particularly strong. It’s weak- even for Beta standards.  At the beginning of their acquaintance Phryne found it strange. Not many men go through life wanting to go so unnoticed by potential mates.

No doubt it’s something he’s had to face constant teasing over- especially in the Police Force. Some Alpha’s consider those with weaker scents, Beta's especially, lesser men. They are lucky Phryne has never been in the presence of their mockery, because she would pull her gun on each and every one of them. 

It’s not like Jack smells bad. Honestly, it’s attractive. Like honey whiskey and pen ink. It makes Phryne wet just to think about it, and one of the reasons she likes to lean so close to him in the middle of an investigation.


Phryne leans back in her seat, letting it run over her. Something she associates with just Jack. If she closes her eyes she can almost imagine his gentle smirk


“Breakfast Miss?” Mr Butler clears his throat, getting her attention. 

“That sounds perfect Mr B,” Phryne says thankfully, pretending she isn’t currently squirming in her seat. 

 “All the trimmings if you would Mr Butler,” Mac agrees before barely covering a yawn with the back of her hand. 

Phryne raises an eyebrow at her. Jesus, did they get any sleep at all?  

“Not for me please,” Josie pipes up shyly, her sweet scent strong. Very strong if Phryne is honest. 

“Are you alright?” Phryne asks, concerned, “You look flushed,”  

“I’m fine, really,” Josie waves her worries away without meeting her eye. But if it’s possible her cheeks grow even redder, til she’s almost strawberry in colour. 

Phryne leans forward, not believing her in the slightest. 

“Are you sure?” Phryne pushes, “I’ve heard something is going round,” Something about Josie’s hot cheeks reminds her of Jack last night. So does the way her eyes look restlessly around, not focusing on anything in particular. 

“I’m the doctor Phryne,” Mac frowns, but leans out anyway to put her hand on her girlfriend's cheek. 

“My doctor,” Josie swoons under her touch. 

Phryne is reminded fervently of last night, when she tried the same thing and Jack brushed her aside.

She feels her forehead crinkle, and hides her dejected expression in her cup. 

Is something going round Miss?” Dottie asks in concern, accidentally taking a sip of coffee out of her own cup and wincing at the taste, “We should let Mary know- she’s got a new baby and all,” 

“I’m not sure,” Phryne crosses one leg over the other, wondering, “Jack was very warm last night,” 

“Was he now,” Mac muses innocently, with a shared look with Dot Phryne doesn’t fancy very much. 

As if they’ve been talking about her and her own damn feelings behind her back again.  

“Yes,” Phryne says curtly, shooting the pair of them a glare, “He was going to have dinner with Rosie, so I hope she doesn’t catch whatever he’s got,”

There’s a slight venom in her voice at the idea. Of Rosie tending to Jack when she isn’t. Of her being her shoulder to lean on for him.   

“He can’t catch what I have,” Josie says soothingly, clearly uncomfortable with the energy in the room, “My heats coming is all,”

Phryne blinks. 

Her heat. 

Flushed. Warm.

Wasn’t Jack without a coat last night even though it was freezing?

Her scent- so strong.

But Jack barely has one- a Beta through and through. 

Unless… that’s the point? 

“What did you say?” Phryne stands above Josie, her hands on her hips. Her brain is ticking over too quickly to be polite. 

“Phryne!” Mac exclaims as Josie stutters, clearly flustered. 

Phryne ignores her friends' astonished faces and rushes into her entrance hall, ringing City South Police station so quickly her fingers cramp up.  

“Hugh!” Phryne barks down the phone as soon as she hears someone pick up. 

“Hello Miss-” Hugh says brightly. 

“Is the inspector in?” Phryne quickly cuts him off- If what she thinks is true she has no time to bother with pleasantries. 

“No Miss,” Hugh says immediately, and Phryne’s blood runs cold, then burning hot, “He’s taking the day off,” 

“The whole day?” Phryne asks, her eyebrows rising up to her hairline. 

The last time Jack took the whole day off, was never. That she knew about anyway. 

The last half day he took, was to deal with his divorce. 

“Yes Miss,” Hugh confirms her suspicions, “His wife, sorry, his ex-wife, called in for him an hour ago,”

What else was so serious that Jack would call in?  And not even himself- get someone else to do so. 

His wife. His ex-wife. Who clearly knows exactly what Jack is going through. And not her. 

The woman Jack stayed back to embrace after their last case- while Phryne went home alone. 

And why wouldn’t Jack pick the classic, perfect woman he’d chosen to settle down with before. They’d been married for Christ's sake. 

Jack had already turned her down once because she was too much trouble for him. Perhaps she was still. 

Perhaps he had decided that Rosie was a better fit. 

“She did,” Phryne growls unhappily, hot jealousy hardening her veins like candle wax. . 

“He never calls in, he must be really ill,” Hugh comments innocently, apparently unaware of her temper. .  

“I think it must be,” Phryne agrees darkly, “Thank you Hugh,” 

She hangs up the phone with a clang, her breathing ragged.

Jack- not at work. Rosie- with him. At least knowing. Knowing more than Phryne does.  

And if there’s anything Phryne hates more than anything, it’s not knowing. 

Phryne doesn’t think. Her coat is floating around her shoulders. Mr Butler, bless him, passes her her hat. 

“Miss!” Dot calls out, the concern in her voice evident, “Where are you going?”

Phryne meets Mac’s intense knowing gaze. There's no doubt in her mind they’re thinking the exact same thing.

That Jack is an Omega, and for some reason, none of them knew. 

“To see if I’m right,” Phryne murmurs dangerously, before swinging out the door. 

Phryne drives like a madwoman. Which is saying something because usually her driving is perfectly safe. 

She pulls up in front of Jack’s house with a screeching halt, her neck almost snapping with the recoil. 

She’s never actually been inside- Jack has always been careful to never explicitly invite her. But what kind of detective would she be if she didn’t know where her partner in crime lived? 

Phryne climbs out of her vehicle, her green coat swinging behind her. His garden is as beautiful as she’s always suspected, but Phryne barely throws it a second glance as she takes his front steps two at a time. 

“Jack!” Phryne trills out, knocking hard on the door. 

It’s fine. He’s probably inside nursing a cold. Perhaps he’s just finished breakfast, and he could offer her a cup of tea and they could spend the morning together. 

Phryne waits impatiently but t here’s no reply. 

“Jack!” Phryne calls again, peering through the front windows. She can barely see a movement. 

That’s not to say he’s not in though. Jack could be in the backyard, tinkering with something, or reading a book in the morning sun. 

Phryne worries at her bottom lip. 

If Jack is an Omega close to heat she’s going to have a new murder to solve because she’s going to kill him, because how dare he not tell her? She considers him the closest person to her heart, and yet he’s hiding this from her?? After all they’ve been through?

And if Jack is an Omega and he’s in the midst of heat well…  

Her lock picks make quick work on Jack’s front door. 

It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. That’s what Phryne tries to tell herself anyway. 

What if Jack is really sick and needs urgent medical attention? 

What if he’s moaning on his mattress, calling out for her? 

Phryne’s inner Alpha perk ups up her nose hesitantly. 

Her fingers slip a little around his doorknob. Phryne has never been with an Omega in a heat before. 

Omegas, yes. Betas, naturally. 

One Alpha. 

And that will never be happening again. Rene made sure of that. 

Phryne swallows thickly. Helping an Omega with their  heat is serious. A commitment. The possibility of a mating bond- of forever.

Of everything Phryne has always said she’d never want.  Until him. 

The door swings open with a creak. Phryne sways hesitantly on the doorstep. 

Immediately the most lovely scent fills her nostrils, making her stomach warm. 


Led by her nose, Phryne walks in on heavy legs. 

It’s small. Neat. A bookshelf in one corner is at risk of collapse with how many novels he’s kept stacked on it. Clearly he’s not a fan of doing his dishes. 

Phryne hugs her arms around herself, taking it all in. 

Jack’s home. 

None of us ,’ Her Alpha sniffs indelicately, ‘Not right,’ She’s clearly not impressed. 

We’ve never been here before , Phryne attempts to placate her, of course it doesn’t smell like us. But she can’t deny the unsettled feeling roaring through her body. 

Jack is a familiar person in her parlour. In fact Phryne can’t remember the last time they didn’t spend a Friday evening together- his soft voice filling her ears, his fingers tinkling at her piano. Even his goddamn office smells like her. 

Phryne has forgotten what it was like, to walk into a space that is so obviously Jacks, and to find nothing of her inside it. 

Not good enough, not good enough for him ,’ Her Alpha growls unhappily, causing an unhappy rumble to squeeze out of Phryne’s lips, ‘ Bad Alpha, ’ . 

That’s crazy, Phryne tries to fight the thoughts. But why has he never invited her into his private home? 

Phryne sighs.

She has an answer to that as well. It’s the very reason Jack always leaves her house at a scandalous hour without staying the night. Why Phryne has never had the pleasure of having him in her boudoir. 

It’s her. 

The reason why she’s not in his bed right now. It’s because of her. 


Because Phryne is frightened of taking the next step. 

Of being someone’s something. 

‘Bad Alpha, ’ Her Alpha’s hackles are raised. P hryne frowns, her fists clenching.

No wonder Jack hasn’t told her anything. She has no right to be here. At all.

They’re friends. Not even ‘old friends’- a technical definition of hers.

Just friends. Not lovers. Not anything really but close crime solving partners. 

They could be- Jack has made that resoundingly clear. That he loves her.

It’s Phryne that’s put their relationship on standstill. Her, that’s continuing to pretend that they’re both content with midnight drinks, and flirtatious one-liners. 

The dark truth is Phryne is not- she's not content with that. And she knows Jack isn't either. But she’s still too much of a coward to say anything. 

Her heels click loudly through the halls, as Phryne takes out her self loathing of Jack’s carpet.  She squeezes her fingers over the tip of her nose, trying to get a hold of herself, to keep the nose out of the picture. Her ridiculous pheromones to dampen.  

Yes, Jack’s scent is stronger here. But it’s his home, of course it would be. 

Yes, Rosie is probably with him, taking care of him. But they were married- it makes sense that Jack would want something familiar, especially if he is in heat.

No, Jack didn’t ask her to help him. But that’s fine. 

It’s fine. 

She’s fine.

He’s fine. 

Fine, fine, fine

Phryne halts in front of the only room she hasn’t investigated yet. It smells of Jack strongest here. Phryne rests her head against the door, attempting to contain herself. This isn’t right. She shouldn’t do this. She’s already broken into Jack’s home, the least she can do is give him the dignity of not invading his bedroom. 

She opens the door.

Phryne’s mouth goes slack.  

Some of Jack’s clothes are folded neatly on his chair. There’s a well read Zane Grey novel on his side table, and there’s a vase of well cared for flowers on his dresser. But that’s not what has caught her attention. 

His bed is covered in the softest blankets, and is decorated with more pillows than Phryne’s own. 

A nest.

An Omega’s nest. 

Soft, safe, a place for them to return to.

To sleep in. To be fucked in.  

Hot wet slick begins to pool in Phryne’s lingerie. His scent. Honey whiskey, pen ink, and earth . Like something warm and alive. 

Mine ,’ Something deep and primal within her whispers. 

Phryne falls to the floor, burying her nose into his blankets. It’s unbearable. How much she wants him. Arousal licks up her spine. Just spending a minute in his room… it’s almost enough to send her into a rut. 

Omega, ’ Her Alpha purrs contently, ‘ Omega, need Omega, ’ 

“Jack,” Phryne moans into the blankets, her fingers stretching out, attempting to grasp as much of the blankets, of him, as possible. 

Her beautiful, darling Jack. An Omega. Her Omega. 

Phryne sits up, her nose twitching angrily. 

He’s not here.

He’s not here- he’s with her. 

Jack’s phone is in his kitchen. Phryne’s sure there’s a proper address somewhere written down in this house, but right now she can’t look. She can barely remember her own damn number. 

Phryne wants Jack. She needs Jack. 


“Hello,” Dottie’s sweet voice filters through the line, “Miss Fishers residence, how can-” 

“Dot,” Phryne interrupts, her nails tapping irately on her lap, “Get me the current address of Rosie Sanderson- now if you please,” 

She hears Dot’s quick intake of breath. No doubt her tone of voice is a little too irritable, too needy to be mistakable. 

Phryne can smell it on herself- the rise of her scent in the air, so obviously aroused. It mixes with Jack’s perfectly, like lemonade on a hot summer’s day, and Phryne is going to slap him across the face and then fuck his brains out. 

“Are you sure that’s wise Miss?” Dottie asks tentatively. 

Phryne takes a trembling breath, trying to quell her burgeoning rage at her honestly very brave companion. 

It takes a certain kind of guts to attempt to step between an Alpha going after an Omega as the risk of getting ripped to pieces. 

Phryne reminds herself that she is not in the right state of mind, and Dottie is as sweet as sugar and her friend, and it would be rude of her to threaten someone she loves over the telephone. 

But Jack’s scent is heavy in the air, and slick has begun to drip down her thighs. 

“Now Dot,” Phryne snarls in a tone that burgeons no argument, and her companion rushes to fulfil her mistresses orders. 

To drive to get to him takes far longer than Phryne wanted, and far longer than her Alpha could stand. 

In an ideal world her Omega would be in her bed, hard and waiting for her to get home. His nest would be in her house, and there would be no damn question about who Jack was spending his heat with.

Mine ,’ Her Alpha growls. 

Phryne’s fingers tap on her steering wheel as she pushes her Hispano to go faster.   

Jack would be beautiful and naked and hers. 

He will be. 


Ours, ’ Her Alpha sings, urging her on, ‘ Omega is ours, claim Omega ,’ 

Phryne’s clit is throbbing. She’s so wet, she swears it's begun to sink through to her skirts. And that’s just from his scent and her vivid imagination. 

Rosie’s place is nice. But not as nice as hers. Phryne can’t help but preen a bit at the knowledge that this isn't even her own home- it’s Rosie’s sisters. At least that’s what Dottie warned her.  

She, meanwhile, is an Alpha. His Alpha. An Alpha with a nice home, and money she’s more than willing to spend on her Omega. An Alpha who can provide for her Jack.  Phryne is trembling. The rough voice in her head has never been so loud before. So all-consuming. 

Jack’s car is parked awkwardly out the front. As if he wasn’t in the right mind when he parked it. 

She lost her hat somewhere on the wild drive, but Phryne couldn’t care less. She’s in front of Rosie’s front door, no doubt disheveled. She feels crazed- addicted to something she hasn’t even had a taste of yet. 

She can scent him already through the wood. Jack. Warm and heady. 

Phryne slams her fist on her front door, and doesn’t stop until it opens. 

“Miss Fisher?” Rosie asks, a deep frown on her sleep deprived face. She’s still in her nightgown, a silky robe drawn haphazardly around her waist. 

Phryne sneers at the sight. 

“Where is he?” She asks brusquely, pushing past her and into the house.

Jack is nowhere to be seen. But he’s here.  

Phryne knows it. Knows it in her soul, like his own is calling out to her. 

‘Omega,’ Her Alpha roars in her chest, her heart trembling beneath her rib cage. 

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Rosie states defiantly. 

Anger, anger like Phryne has never felt before, rages through her like wildfire.

She pushes the other woman up against the wall, despite their differences in height, and leers up at her threateningly. 

How dare a Beta tell her what to do. A Beta who let Jack Robinson slip through her fingers. 

“Like hell he doesn’t,” Phryne bares her teeth, her voice lowering dangerously, “He’s mine, Jack is mine , do you hear me?”

There’s a creak of a door opening, and Phryne sees someone appear in the hall out of the corner of her eye. 

“Alpha?” Jack’s voice is soft and broken round the edges, “Phryne?”   

Phryne turns to see her Omega naked in nothing but a sheet round his waist, his hair curled  and wild across his forehead, his cheeks pink and sweat stained. 

Her breath hitches in her throat. 

Mine, ’ Phryne’s Alpha sighs in relief at the sight of him, ‘ Home,