Adam's hand clenches mine. "Am I actually mated?" he says. The words come out so quietly I barely catch them. “I mean, both my alphas mated me a few years ago, but they re-mated me during my heat. Both of them at the same time,” he rambles. “But do either one of them count? Am I capable?—”
"You are mated," Dr. Osei says, cutting Adam off. "Two times over." She smiles at Adam before looking between Cliff and Raff. "The left gland is definitely marked. However, the right gland is the underdeveloped one. A mating bite deep enough to reach it would carry significant risk." She holds their gazes. "I would not recommend attempting it."
"We won't," Cliff says immediately.
Adam absorbs all of this in silence, his eyes on the middle distance.
"Then why…” he says finally. “Why don't I have a mental bond with Raff?" He looks up at the doctor. "If I'm actually mated."
Dr. Osei tilts her head. "When exactly did the re-mating occur?"
Everyone looks at Perrin.
Perrin straightens slightly under the collective attention. "It lasted for three days,” Perrin holds up his hand, like he’s counting. “And it ended a few days ago. So he was bitten five days ago. After he was mated." Perrin pauses, choosing his words carefully. "He drifted in and out of consciousness for most of it."
Dr. Osei nods slowly, like she’s not surprised. "That's very common in a first heat, particularly one as prolonged and intense as your omega’s appears to have been. Their system can become so overwhelmed during their first cycle that they lose consciousness and remain that way through the majority of it." She looks at Adam. "Your body was managing an enormous amount. A fifteen-year hormonal suppression lifting all at once, a full transition, a mating, two knots." She pauses. "The bond is there, Mr. Durrant. It's simply still settling. Give it time."
Adam nods. Then he stares at his knees again, and I can only guess what must be going through his head. I squeeze his hand, letting him know he isn’t alone.
Dr. Osei makes a few notes on her tablet, gives us a referral for a follow-up in two weeks, and tells Adam she'll have a nurse bring in some literature on male omega care before she leaves. She shakes everyone's hands with the brisk efficiency of someone with a full waiting room, and then the door clicks shut behind her.
The room breathes.
Adam sits on the exam table in his paper gown and stares at the referral sheet in his hand for a long moment.
"I can have babies," he says.
Nobody says anything.
"Children," he says. "That will shoot out of my ass." He looks up. "Babies. From my ass."
I mash my lips together, but end up failing completely.
A laugh escapes me before I can catch it, loud and completely undignified, and Adam points at me like I've betrayed him, which only makes it worse.
"It's not funny," he says, but the corner of his mouth is doing something he's clearly trying to stop.
"It's a little funny," I manage.
"It is absolutely not?—"
"Adam." Perrin cuts him off, his voice carrying the long-suffering patience of a man who has put up with Adam’s shit his whole life. "Stop being a big baby about it."
Adam stares at him. "I just found out I can give birth, Perrin."
"You also," Perrin says, crossing his arms, "now have a biological, medically documented excuse to lie around and be pampered for the rest of your life." He raises his eyebrows. "Think about that for a second."
Adam opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Then his eyes go slightly distant, like he's running calculations.
"The pack has to take care of me," he says slowly. "Like. It's required."
"It's basically mandatory," Perrin confirms.
Something shifts in Adam's expression. The panic and the shock and the flat, stunned disbelief cycling through something that looks dangerously close to interest.
