Page 24 of The Coyote's Veterinarian Omega

“Look at me,” I demanded, and those amber eyes snapped open, apparently surprised—by the command or the fact they’d been closed, I didn’t know.

“Oh,” Cam managed, then let his mouth fall open on a silent cry as I squeezed him as tight as I could. Warmth flooded into me; his hips stuttered like he wanted to drive home, and that was what did me in, that tiny movement and the accompanying stretch. I arched up as I climaxed a second time, and somewhere above me, Camhowled.

We collapsed into a sticky heap, both of us panting.

I tried to ask him again how long it would be before we could separate, but my lids were heavy, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

Cam

Icrept downstairs in the morning, borrowed shirt and borrowed jeans back in place. i didn’t know how we’d managed to avoid getting jizz on them, but they were miraculously clean.

I was thankful I didn’t have to ask Vern for another set. I’d availed myself of the shower upstairs, so I figured I was at least somewhat presentable.

The look Vern gave me as I walked into the kitchen made me want to crawl back under the covers and die of embarrassment.

“’Bout time you got up,” the old vet said, stabbing a spatula in the direction of the coffee maker. “Is Wyatt up yet? If not, you’d better hope you make a better cuppa joe than he does.”

“He’s still sleeping,” I said churlishly, even as I slunk to the ancient machine. I quirked a brow at it. There was no help for it; it was a percolator, like what you’d find at a low-end coffee chain. As far as Cal was concerned, there was no such thing as agoodcup of coffee out of one of those, so we had a fancy espresso machine.

Still, I could try. I grabbed the tin of ground coffee and started scooping some into the machine.

Vern clucked his tongue, but I couldn’t tell if it was at me, at Wyatt, or at the bacon he was frying.

As if sensing me looking at him, he turned his gaze to me. “You think he’s good to go for today? I need my assistant.”

“Er.” I grimaced, then scratched at the back of my neck. “That’ll depend.”

Vern waited, letting the silence percolate alongside the coffee. Sighing, I folded my arms and turned to lean back against the counter. “You ever hear of a human omega?”

Vern pursed his lips. “Can’t say as though I have,” he admitted.

I sighed. I’d figured as much, but Vern was vet. Although he was ostensibly only supposed to treat actual animals, he still knew more about shifters than most humans, thanks to his decades of living in Coyote Creek. In fact, Marnie sometimes called him up to discuss shifter cases with him. Her knowledge largely began and ended with humans, while Vern could tell her all about cows or horses or dogs—all of which came in handy when considering what could be ailing a shifter.

“I’ve never heard of one either,” I said, frowning at the worn linoleum of the kitchen floor. “But Wyatt … he smells like an omega.”

Vern gave the bacon another poke. “Maybe he’s a shifter and just doesn’t know it?”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s possible, though,” Vern said. “Could be he has a shifter relative somewhere in the family tree. Maybe the characteristics skip generations, so, you know, his parents or even his grandparents didn’t know.”

I chewed at my lip. “Maybe.” It made as much sense asanything else.

With a sigh, I pushed away from the counter. I turned again and grabbed three mugs out of the cupboard. “Anyway,” I said over the clink of porcelain and the hiss of bacon in the frying pan, “Wyatt smells like an omega, and last night, he smelled like an omega in heat.”

Vern set the frying pan back down with a clang. “Cameron,” he said slowly.

I ignored him in favor of pouring coffee into one of the mugs.

“You tell me one thing, Cameron.”

Sheepishly, I glanced at him. He glared. “Did you wrap it up?”

I must have turned redder than a tomato, my cheeks felt that hot.

Vern was a lot faster than he looked; he was across the kitchen in two strides, menacing me with the spatula. “Cameron Carlyle, if you got my new apprentice knocked up—”

Both of us stilled as we heard the floor upstairs creak. I looked back at Vern. He shook the spatula again. “I can’t afford for him to go onparental leave,” he hissed. “Ijustgot him.”