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Vee stops in the middle of the path and turns to look up at me. Her hand coming to rest on my forearm makes me stop, too. She waits to make sure she has my full attention before she says crisply, “I am not dying.”
“But you said you have a wasting disease.”
She shakes her head and sunlight glints over her bleached blond hair, the darker roots. “I said it’s like a wasting disease. Not that I have one.”
I can’t keep from touching her, and she touched me first, so I slide my hands into the hair at her temples, tucking it behind her ears before cradling her jaw. “Tell me. Please.”
Her eyes scan my face, and I can see that gorgeous brain of hers working, weighing the pros and cons of being truthful or brushing off my concerns, drawing a line in the sand and telling me to stay on my side.
Finally she says, “Rejected Mate Disorder.”
The three words hit me like a ton of bricks. The realization of what she’s saying cuts me off at the knees and I stumble back, taking her with me because my hands are still on her face.
“What?” I gasp out, fingers tightening on her. “But that’s not… That’s not a real thing, Vee. Tell me that’s not real.”
She smacks my hands away from her and then presses her palm to her forehead like she’s just remembered something. “Oh, my gosh. You’re absolutely right. There’s no such thing as Rejected Mate Disorder. I guess all the doctors I’ve seen in the last seven fucking years are wrong and I’m just imagining things. Thank you, Davis. You cured me with your fucking disbelief. I’m all better now.”
She rolls her eyes at me and spins on her heel, heading back the way we came. And like the idiot I am, I don’t follow.
“How’d it go?” Jackson asks as soon as he walks in the door. He drops his suit jacket onto the back of the barstool next to me and eyes the island that I’ve covered in medical texts and printouts of articles from scientific journals. I’ve already read and highlighted the important parts and I’m currently combining all of my research into a handy document I’ll be able to hand out to my pack. “What’s all this?”
“Research,” I mutter, not looking away from my screen as my fingers fly over my keyboard.
“So it went that well, huh?” Jackson sounds disappointed as hell, but he has no fucking clue. None of them do. None of us had a single inkling of just exactly how much we fucked up when we followed our dads’ orders.
I finish the last sentence of the document and hit save, and then print five copies before looking up at him. “We’ll talk about it when everyone else is here and then we need to work on a plan. She needs us. She can’t stay away from us, Jacks. It’ll kill her.”
Alarm flares in his eyes and I see him take in the books with a keener eyes, running over the titles. Omega Physiology. Alpha and Omega Mating Bonds. Bonding for Dummies. It’s enough to spike his anxiety, and it’s probably a good thing that he can’t see the titles of most of the medical journals I’ve pulled. All of them have to do with the study of Rejected Mate Disorder.
He nods slowly, even though I can tell he wants to argue with me. I push to my feet and start stacking all of my research material. “Why don’t you start on dinner and I’ll put all of this away? When the pack gets here, I’ll explain what happened. Okay?”
My brother nods again, even as his jaw ticks. He’s our prime alpha, and I don’t blame him for being upset with me. I’m definitely keeping something from him, something he needs to know.
By the time I’ve safely stowed all of my materials in my room and scooped up the printouts, the rest of the pack has arrived. They’re all in the kitchen, Topher helping Jackson with what smells like spaghetti and garlic bread. Asher is pouring wine and Ford is brooding. As soon as I enter, he pushes back from the island and glares at me.
“What did she say?”
I hesitate, tapping the stack of papers on my open palm. All of us are on edge and it’s only going to get worse once I tell them what I found out. “Let me start by saying that we can’t overreact.”
Topher chuckles, but there is very little humor in it. “You say that to a room full of alphas like it’ll actually help.”
I look at all of them, meeting their eyes. “I know. But we can’t fuck this up. I cannot stress to you how important it is.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Ford growls. “We know how important Vee is. She’s the only thing that matters.”
I shake my head. “No… It’s worse than we thought.”
Asher straightens. “How much worse?”
“So much fucking worse,” I whisper, my heart clenching, remembering everything I’ve learned today about Vee’s affliction. “And if we handle it wrong… If we do this wrong, it could literally kill her. So everyone, promise me we’ll make a plan before anyone does anything.”
“Tell us,” Jackson’s alpha command rolls over me, making my skin prickle and my mouth opens before I can fight it.
“She has RMD. Rejected Mate Disorder.” I level my brother with a glare. “And you’re a fucking dick.” I move farther into the kitchen and start passing out the packets I put together for us. A run down of the disorder, the symptoms, the severity, the pain that our girl has been living with for years. There’s a list of things to avoid and a list of things we need to do to heal her, make her better.
“Rejected Mate Disorder happens when a fated mate is rejected by their pack. It can be an alpha, beta, or omega, but most often omegas experience the disorder.”
Ford stares down at the packet, at Vee’s medical records at the top, the ones that prove she was, in fact, diagnosed with this. “But she hadn’t even presented when we…”
