Page 33 of Flight of the Omega

XIV

Well, well, well,” William huffed, and JP swallowed another puff of acrid smoke from the cigar dangling from his father’s hand. “Thatisnews.”

Dr. Vogel glanced at JP, then hastily averted her gaze. JP didn’t have the heart to care that she’d betrayed him. Who hadn’t betrayed him?

William looked at JP, his gaze cold and unforgiving. “Did you know about this?”

JP didn’t know what the right answer was. If he said yes, his father would be mad that he’d lied. If he said no, his father would be mad that he was apparently too birdbrained to realize he was pregnant.

“No,” he said. Being unintelligent was more forgivable than being a liar. Being a liar meant he was guilty.

“You did so,” Dr. Vogel protested. “I told you that you were shapelocked because—”

“The doctor told you that you were expecting?” William said sharply. He waved that cigar around, and JP longed to be sick.

“I didn’t understand what she meant.”

“You said you knew!” the vet cried. “I told you that you were shapelocked and that likely meant you were broody.”

“I didn’t think it meant—”

“So you knew,” William surmised, “and lied to me about it, then lied and said you didn’t know.”

JP lowered his head. “Yes,” he murmured. He’d been caught; better to come clean now.

He wondered if that meant he could have breakfast now. He’d fainted on the way out to the trees. Every morning for the past week, that had been the routine—skip breakfast, go out to the trees, let Burr touch him.

His father was evidently displeased that, despite the “intensive exercise” routine and the “crash diet,” JP was visibly rounder. The fainting had been the last straw; he’d called in the vet.

JP wondered what the man would have done if he was actually sick. Probably taken him out to the back forty and had him shot.

He didn’t think he’d mind. It might have been preferable to this embarrassing, mortifying interrogation.

William harrumphed and chomped on the stub of his cigar. “Well,” he said, “how long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks,” Dr. Vogel said.

“And how long is that, Doctor? You see, my boy here, he’s a hybrid, so he—”

“Seven weeks,” JP said.

“Seven.” His father sounded surprised.

Dr. Vogel pursed her lips, then said, “That’s halfway through the normal development period.”

“I’m aware,” William said snidely. Then he looked back at JP, gaze raking over him. “Well. I suppose you won’t be running the race, now will you?”

“Running a race would be inadvisable,” Dr. Vogel said, like either of them needed it confirmed.

William chomped on his cigar. JP glanced up at the man, then down at the faded red carpet near the bed again. He tried to ignore his protruding belly. He wondered, absently, how many eggs he was going to have to deliver. He felt very round, and he still had five or so weeks before he’d lay the clutch. If he made it that long.

“Does this mean I don’t have to go with Burr in the morning?” He felt a bit desperate asking it, but he needed an excuse to stop being alone with the alpha.

“Exercise is still advised,” Dr. Vogel said, “although less strenuous activity is better.”

“You could still go then.”

“I’d really rather not go with Burr.”