Page 36 of Evan and the Alpha

11

Sobek

Three weeks pass. I float in and out of consciousness, sometimes dreaming, sometimes waking. There is pain; there is sleep; and there is a strange sort of detachment from the world, as though I have already departed it.

Evan is the only thing that keeps me tethered, I think. I float back and forth, but the thought of him alone reels me in.

After three weeks, I feel less detachment, much less like I am floating above my body, hovering between life and death. I feel the pain of my still-healing wound more acutely.

The doctor says the worst has passed. I remain weak and unable to sit up. Evan stays by my side. He sleeps on the floor at my bedside. Omom has to drag him out to bathe. He takes meals with me. He does nothing else.

I’m not sure it’s healthy, but it’s as though we’re synchronizing.

My phapha tolerates us in his house, although there is a grave silence between us. We do not speak; we rarely look at each other. We both understand what must happen next.

I admire my phapha, that he does not just kill me now. He could. I am weak and injured; he knows my intentions, so he could simply dispatch me and leave behind the worry.

I am not his only child, certainly not his only alpha child. Omom has new eggs. I know this because Evan complained about chirping “crocodiles” while he was sleeping in Omom’s nest.

Yet Phapha lets me recuperate, even under his roof, knowing that when I am hale again, we will face off on the field of battle. He wishes the fight to be honorable, for no one to question the outcome.

I do not mention any of this to Evan. I can only hear him screaming, like he was the one cut open by Nojak’s spear. I do not want him to make that noise ever again.

Of course, there’s no avoiding the fight. I know my phapha is an older alpha. I know his territory. I know it’s very suitable for an omega with a family.

I could seek out another territory. I could seek out an older alpha or a territory where the alpha has just been killed or a very young, immature alpha has come to the fore.

But that will take time, and I fear time is the one thing we do not have.

Evan hasn’t seemed to realize it, but he’s going into heat. I can smell it on him. It’s driving me half-mad, because I cannot do anything. I’m certainly not allowed to fuck my omega hard and deep, because I might open up my wound again. I must be very careful, even when I’m propped up to dine.

I hope and pray that Evan will not go into heat before I am healed. He will need his alpha to guide him through his first heat as an omega.

Evan has been jittery and irritable. Omom has suggested it’s because he is afraid for me, after what has happened; Phapha merely said omegas get like that. It’s to ward off any unwanted alphas, those who will not mind the nest with them.

Either way, this next little while will be difficult for my omega.

I wake up the following morning with a tangy scent cloying at my snout. I ponder the ceiling for a moment or two before it dawns on me: that scent is Evan.

His heat’s broken.

I prop myself up, wincing a little as I do so. Cautiously, I roll to my side, so I can get a better look at the omega.

Evan is sprawled on the floor, his head halfway off his pillow, drool pooling from his open mouth. He’s got one arm high above his head.

He hardly looks like he’s in heat—mostly just having a good sleep. But when I look closer, I see it—the telltale flush, the tension between his eyebrows.

He closes his mouth, snorts, and rolls over. He curls up, emitting a little whine. Calling for his alpha, although he doesn’t know it.

The gods really are too cruel, I think. I offer them a quick prayer, hoping for relief in some shape or form.

Of course, I know how I want relief—my omega stretched tight over my cock. But I can’t dare think about taking him. I’ll never hear the end of it if I open the wound because I can’t resist one omega.

One very sexy omega. I watch as he rolls back over, twisting around in his sleep.

The door swings open before I can get any ideas. My phapha looks at Evan, then at me, and declares, “We must move him.”

“No!” I snap. Evan’s pheromones must be at work; I’ll fight my phapha tooth and claw if he dares to try to move my omega. If he’s so bold as to touch my omega, I cannot be responsible for what happens to his hands.