“No, I mean he wanted me to find you. All the way here, he kept saying the Meridian Omega Clinic and butterfly. I thought he was delirious.”
“Okay,” I say grudgingly, because at least he listened enough to get Wings here. “I’ve got him now. You can leave.”
“What? I’m not going anywhere…”
I glance at Goldie, the security guard who followed them in. He’s watching the Iron Flyer closely, his six-foot-six frame ready to spring into action, so I turn my attention back to the stretcher. “Wings? Do you know where you are?”
“Abbie?” His eyes are glazed with what I can only assume is a mixture of confusion and fear. “I feel like shit. I keep puking and my skin is burning. You shouldn’t get close to me, in case you catch it.”
He rocks back again, like he’s going to roll off the bed, and the nurses lay their firm hands on him, holding him still. “I’m fine,” I say in a soothing voice, “and I’m going to fix you up in no time. Do you consent to treatment?”
His gaze has drifted around the room, but now it snaps back to me. “What? Yeah, anything you think I need-.” He jolts hard, almost knocking me over, and the nurse on my left shoots me a concerned look as I steady myself against the edge of the stretcher. Wings catches the look, his face flushing a deep red. “Fuck, I'm sorry, Abbie. I feel like… I want to claw my skin off.” He sucks in a sharp breath and stares down at his crotch in horror. “Shit, I think I wet myself.”
“It’s okay,” I croon, rubbing his chest to draw his attention back to my face. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“No, it’s fucking bad...” He watches with wide eyes as the nurse fills a syringe and passes it to me. “Wait? What's happening?” His gaze swings to the Flyer in the corner and he flinches like he’s been slapped. The horror in his eyes deepens, making my heart clench in sympathy. “Am I... presenting?”
I lean closer to him, smiling despite the rigid muscles in my cheeks. “Yes, beautiful. We’ll run tests, but I believe you’re in a fever from an abrupt designation change. It’s perfectly normal, so I don’t want you to be alarmed. We have the medicine right here to help you through it.”
I show him the syringe, but his gaze is locked on mine. His hand snakes out, hot and clammy where it grips my fingers. “I’m sorry, Abbie. I didn’t know.”
“You couldn't.” I push his sweaty hair back off his forehead. “And you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. This is just nature taking its course. But now I’m going to step in and make things a little easier, okay?”
Tears fill his eyes, until they’re awash with grief and shame. With a shaking hand, he brings my knuckles up to his mouth, hisbreath hot and bitter as he kisses them. “I love you, butterfly. I’m sorry I ruined things.”
I urge the nurses back with a jerk of my head. They don’t look happy, but they retreat a step and I lean forward to kiss Wings’ clammy brow. His sunshine scent is still there, but it’s overwhelmed by something darker and sweeter. “Nothing's ruined, beautiful,” I murmur softly, my words just for him. “You're perfect, and you're mine. Close your eyes and let me make you feel better.”
He nods, his lashes finally fluttering closed, and I nod for the nurses to return. I quickly dose him with the sedative, and they continue checking his vitals, his heart rate slowing as the drug takes effect. As soon as he’s breathing normally, I swing around to confront the Iron Flyer. “Come with me.”
We only go a few steps away, since I want to keep Wings in my line of sight. The fever will burn the meds off in half an hour and then we’ll set up his treatment plan. But first, I need to know what the fuck this guy did to him.
“It just happened,” he says as we come to a stop. “He woke up and he was in heat...”
“That’s not heat,” I say shortly. “It’s a hormonal fever. It’s an omega state of distress.”
If Wings was younger, his fever would’ve been like mine, and it would’ve felt like a bad case of the flu. But he’s nearly twenty-three and has lived for the last five years as a latent alpha. The change isn’t just affecting him physically but is also rewiring his psyche.
The Flyer runs a hand over his mouth. Up close, I can see the tension in his eyes and smell the guilt in his sweat. “Is he gonna be okay?”
“You bit him.”
He grimaces, but when he nods, it’s like he’s punched me in the stomach. It takes every atom of my professionalism notto hit him back, and I know he must sense my rage. I’m on blockers, but I’m almost vibrating I’m so angry, and my scent rises between us in a sour mist. “Tell me what happened.”
“We were at a motel outside Williamstown. It wasn’t meant to be an overnighter, but Wings got sick on the road. He spent the day in bed, but then he woke up in the middle of the night, moaning and stumbling around. I thought it was just his gut ache, but then the smell hit me. Sickly sweet. I got out of bed, asked if he needed anything, and he looked at me in a total panic. Next second, he shot out the motel door and bolted across the parking lot, nearly getting himself pancaked by an 18-wheeler on the highway. I tackled him, banging him up a bit, and he belted me in the jaw....” He rubs it, but more out of confusion than pain. “I don’t know what the fuck happened. He was getting all scraped up on the gravel, so I wrestled him onto his back and... Shit. Ibithim. I was just trying to calm him down, but I fucked up.”
As much as I want to lash out -because he bit what’s mine- his story is sadly familiar to me, and there’s real contrition in his face.
“It’s a calming bite,” I tell him with a sigh. “You missed his scent gland, so it wasn’t like you were trying to claim him. It’s instinctive for some alphas when their omega is distressed.” I bite the edge of my tongue, wishing I could swallow back the words. I don’t care who he is or how big his teeth are.Wings is mine.
“He’s not my omega,” he says slowly, because of course he didn’t miss that slip of the tongue. “He’s yours, right? You two are together.” He doesn’t wait for me to deny it, his eyes narrowing. “He called you Abbie. Does that mean you're Abigail Taylor, Crater's daughter?”
Of course he knows my father, even though he’s been dead since I was twelve. This guy is an Iron Flyer, and mygrandfather’s pack started the damn club. “Who I am outside this clinic is none of your business.”
“I’m not trying to cause trouble.” He holds his hands up, surrender style. “I just want to help. Make amends.” He bows his head, blowing out a breath. “Shit. I’m Wings’ buddy. He’s probably the best one I’ve got. So, if I can do anything, just tell me.”
I feel a burn in my chest. Maybe it’s jealousy at hearing him call himself Wings’ best friend. I’ve never heard of the guy, of course, since club business is off limits between us, but now I wonder how much of himself Wings has to hide from me. How much does he have to carry in silence, just so he can keep the peace?
“For now, you can wait in the pack room.” I manage to keep the flinch out of my voice through sheer willpower. “I’ll come and get you once we make him comfortable.”
