Page 38 of Evan and the Alpha

I’m more concerned about Evan. I tilt my head to the side. “I think you can.”

He shakes his head. “I told you before, I can’t. We don’t change sexes like that.”

“But you are changing,” I insist. If he wasn’t, why would he be in heat now? Why would he smell so good?

He shakes his head again. He puts a hand to his forehead. “I’ve probably just got a fever,” he mumbles.

“As part of heat,” my phapha says.

Evan shakes his head and lays back down. “Nah. I’m probably sick. I’ll just … sleep it off or something.”

He rolls over, dragging the blankets over him.

***

Evan, bless him, does try to sleep. But by the late afternoon, it’s become apparent he isn’t sleeping. Instead, he’s lying there, awake, staring at the ceiling. Every so often, he huffs, like he’s exasperated, or whines.

It’s very hard to lie there and listen to him. And to smell him is worse. Gods, he smells delicious. I want to eat him all up.

“Evan,” I say finally. It comes out half-growl, and it sounds like a rebuke.

“What?” He doesn’t so much as twist his head.

“Come here.”

He ignores me, which makes me frown. How can my omega ignore such a direct order? And when he’s in heat?

I suppose Evan is stronger than I give him credit for.

I roll onto my side, wincing as the skin around my stitched-up wound pinches me. “Evan.”

“It’s fine,” he puffs. He’s still staring steadfastly at the ceiling. His expression belies his worry; his brows are tented and the lines around his mouth seem tense, tight. Like he’s fighting something.

I tap my claws against the cool stone of the bedstead, pondering what to do with my stubborn little omega.

He turns to look at me at last. “I’ll be okay,” he says. Then, with his expression darkening, “Not like you’re in any shape to help anyway.”

I snort; he’s not exactly wrong, but I don’t want him suffering through his first heat on my account. Especially not when I’m right beside him. “I don’t think it will hurt me.”

He gives me a doubtful look.

“Come here.” I beckon for him and, with a sigh, he unravels from the blankets and makes his way to the bed. He looms over me, peering down at me. He’s stiff as a board when I wrap an arm about him, pulling him closer.

I get the feeling his reluctance to engage isn’t entirely about my wound. I peer up at him, searching his face. His brows tent; the lines between them get deeper. He opens his mouth a couple of times, then closes it tight. I stroke his hip lightly, absently.

“What’s wrong?” I ask finally, confused by his reticence. He was perfectly fine with our union before. Wanted it, even. Demanded it. So why is he hesitating now?

“I just …” He glances down, then shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Evan …”

He won’t look at me. He seems very far away. “What Terek said, about … laying eggs …” His mouth twitches strangely. Finally, he lifts his gaze. “Maybe we shouldn’t … you know.”

I frown. I can’t follow his logic. I fought for him and won him; he’s my omega now, and he’s in heat. Mating is the next logical step. “Why not?”

“I just …” He laughs a little, but I don’t understand what’s funny. He waves a hand. “I mean, I don’t think I’ll actually get knocked up—I’m a guy, human biology is really different, I think, but I …”

He looks away again, toward the window, sighing deeply. “I don’t belong here,” he says at length, and my whole body goes cold.