Page 58 of Glitterati Omega

Eleven

R

upert groaned as someone shook him,violently whispering his name in his ear. At first, it sounded like Thomas, and he shuddered and turned over, clawing at the blankets. The hand on his shoulder squeezed harder, digging in, and he tried to push them away, tried to mumble something, but it was all a horrible jumble. He moaned again and peeled open his eyes to look at Winston, who was glaring at him.

“I was gone for ten minutes,” the alpha said, and Rupert was lifted into a sitting position. He let his head loll across his chest; it was too heavy to even think about lifting. “Rupert.”

“What?” The word was heavy on his lips.

“What did youdo?”

He gestured clumsily, then dropped his hand, dragging across the floor. He giggled, lifting his other hand and touching Winston’s smooth cheek. It was hard to keep his eyes open. He supposed the lolly had kicked in at last. He felt … wonderful.

Winston shook him again. “Rupert, please.”

“Just … just the one,” he murmured. He pointed to the floor again, trying to draw a circle with his hand. He knew, vaguely, that the lolly had fallen out of his mouth; that was how they were designed. It was next to impossible to overdose on just one.

Winston let him collapse onto the tiny mattress that passed as a bed. He curled up and watched the alpha scrabble around. “This?” he asked finally.

Rupert nodded numbly. Winston stared at the wrapper, then turned it over. “How much is this?” he asked.

Rupert blinked at him, then closed his eyes. He listened to Winston scrabbling around, maybe digging in his case.

He heard musical voices, and he dreamed of sirens. “Probably not fatal,” one of them said.

“Not enough for that,” said another. “He didn’t even finish it.”

“I was gone for ten minutes,” Winston said somewhere above him, pain lacing his tone, and Rupert wanted to reach out, but his arm, his body was very heavy.

He dozed. When he woke up again, his head was pounding, the pungent aroma of spice in the air made him feel like he was going to puke, and he was covered in blood again.

“You woke up,” Thandiwe said dryly, and he was very glad the mattress wasn’t very high off the ground, because he rolled right off it.

He peered over the edge of it. She lifted a brow at him. “Mbulelo was concerned you wouldn’t.”

Rupert grunted and put a hand to his head. Thandiwe nodded to a bucket of water with a ladle in it. “Drink something.”

He decided he didn’t want to argue, so he crawled across the floor and picked up the ladle. As he was drinking, she said, “We’ve made you some soup, and when you’re done with that, we’ll give you some medicine to help.”

“I’ve had enough medicine,” he muttered.

“Not that,” she said. “Mbulelo told you what I do, correct?”

“Sort of.”

She frowned. “I’m a midwife.”

“I’m not pregnant now,” he said, then looked at his hands in his lap.

She hummed. “Midwives do more than deliver babies, although that is some of what we do, yes. We look after omega health.”

He considered that for a moment. “I really don’t feel like eating anything,” he admitted at length.

“It’s good for you,” she said, rising to her feet and walking to the kitchen, all her beadwork swaying and clinking as she went. Rupert sighed, then followed.

He stared into a bowl of blood-red broth and felt sick all over again. She nodded. “Go on.”

“What’s in it?”