I finish cleaning her legs, grab a towel, and slide it under her hips.
I try to ignore the hardness in my jeans. I try to ignore the throbbing ache in my teeth.
“How long has she been like this?” I ask Clara. My voice sounds wrecked.
“An hour,” she says. “Maybe two. The fever spiked right after the injection.”
I nod and stand up. My knees pop.
I turn to Clara. “You need to go.”
Clara blinks. “What?”
“Go to the main house,” I say. “Eat something. Rest for a little bit. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I can’t leave her,” Clara insists. “Billy, she’s my best friend. She’s scared.”
“I know,” I say. “But you can’t help her right now. You’re exhausted. And if you stay…”
I trail off. I don’t need to explain. If she stays, she witnesses this. She sees the Alpha and the Omega in the room. She sees the war I’m losing.
“I will take care of her,” I promise. “I won’t leave her side.”
Clara looks at me. She searches my face. She sees the sweat on my brow, the tension in my shoulders. She sees the restraint I’m holding onto by a thread.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Take your time,” I say. “Drink some coffee. Talk to Seth.”
She nods. She grabs her jacket and slips out the door.
The lock clicks.
We’re alone.
I stand there for a moment. The silence of the room is broken only by Sedona’s harsh breathing.
I turn back to the bed. She’s thrashing now, her head tossing from side to side.
“Billy,” she moans. “Don’t go.”
I walk back to the bed and sit on the edge. The mattress dips under my weight.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
I reach out to brush her hair back again. She grabs my hand. Her grip is surprisingly strong.
She pulls my hand to her cheek. She nuzzles into my palm. Her tongue darts out, licking the pad of my thumb.
A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. My cock twitches.
“You don’t have to stay,” she whimpers. Her eyes are open now, big and green and swimming with fever. “I know you hate me. You shouldn’t see me like this.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say. It’s the truth. I hate what she did. I hate that she left. But I don’t hate her. I could never hate her.
“It’s disgusting,” she whispers. “I can’t stop it. My body…”
“Don’t say that,” I say. “It’s not disgusting.”
