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Summary
"Help me," Jax begged.
Jax didn't beg. Didn't plead.
Lifting heavy lids he looked up at Zooble, hardly anything to his eyes but black, pupils blown huge.
Silently swearing Zooble closed their eyes and gathered what little patience they could manage. "How bad?"
Jax shuddered, the scent redoubling.
Bad, Zooble supplied.
Or, Jax goes into heat in the circus. Too bad the only person who can help kind of hates him.