Page 14 of Bonds and Beasts

I make a confused face. Is this purring? No one has ever purred for me before.

Dean grunts at my expression. "It's that bad, huh?"

To my horror his purr starts to fade.

I mean to say no. To beg him not to stop. But instead, a distinctly embarrassing choked garble comes out. I abandon all sense of dignity and press my ear and the entire side of my face to his chest.

He makes a surprised chuff and then a low laugh fumbles out of him. "Okay, Sweet Girl, I won't stop."

His purr starts again and I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of his rumble against me. I know this is the safest I've felt in a long time. It's crazy because he's a complete stranger. It's not crazy because he's my mate.

Easton

"Of course we need to take her to the hospital. She's clearly severely touch starved. Look at her," I snap, but in a low voice. I don't want her to know we're arguing.

Strife in a pack can physically hurt an omega, and this omega doesn't look like she can take being hurt any further. I may be on Dean's rut blockers—something I still need to discuss with him, because who the fuck knew he was on those? But rut blockers just keep alphas from losing full control to their hindbrains. They don't shut down my ability to scent or my deep need to be near the omega. They don't stop me from feeling a powerful pull at my center, like a rope connecting me to her. My mate.

What are the odds?

"Problem is, I don't know how we get her there. She seems reluctant to leave Dean's lap." Bello's voice sounds mildly bitter and his eyes are on her. A look of consternation sketches across his face. He's looking at her like she's a puzzle to solve, or an inconvenience to be managed.

The omega is still on the floor, which wrecks me. She's in a pretty, but uncomfortable-looking, nightgown that's starting to pill and fray at the edges. Her bare feet rest against the cold floor where they hang off Dean's lap. Her face is pressed against his purring chest. She's thin and pale, as though she's never been given quite enough to eat and the sun hasn't touched her skin as often as it should.

And she shakes. That's what really guts me. She shakes like her body can't stop. Fine tremors that run from the tips of her fingers to her toes. The way she folds in on herself tells me the shaking isn't new. She's gotten horrifyingly used to it.

"The clinic?" Bello asks. I nod. I used to volunteer at the clinic, at least before we became so recognizable that my presence there was more of a hindrance than a help. One of the many reasons we're ready to get out of the industry. I don't have any formal health training, but one procedure I'd been trained in was touch deprivation mitigation. Omegas who were isolated from society due to varying circumstances would come in for help, and many techniques can be used. But just holding a touch-deprived omega is like a drop of water in the desert. It isn't nothing, but it isn't going to fix anything either.

I want to go to her and pull her feet into my lap. I want to give her the grounding touch she so obviously needs. I want to teach Dean how to do it too. We're not a large pack, and although I'm not medically trained, I can guess that she's going to need round-the-clock care from us for a while.

I can't help but feel a swell of electric excitement about that. But all my eager energy slowly fizzles away as I look back at Bello. As our lead alpha, he should be running point with our mate. He should lead courting and pack integration dynamics. In this case, with our omega being in medical need, he'd be the one to learn the techniques to help her best and lead the pack in providing. But she seems too frightened to let him help right now. Judging by the thunderous, remorseful look on his face, he knows it.

"Hey, it was an accident. We'll figure it out," I say, reaching out with one hand. But before I can make contact Bello pulls away.

"I'll have the driver pull the car around," he says in a flat voice before walking away. I stare after him. My inner alpha strains, always wanting to follow the lead. But the pull to my omega is stronger. I step back into the room and can't help but drag a long breath of the omega's perfume into my lungs. When I'd scented it before, it was dead blooms and wilted roses. Now, despite the tangy sour edge of rot, the true scent of rose emerges, buried under all the death and decay.

I grab onto this positive sign with both hands, because I need something to keep me from hunting down whoever caused this to be her life, her state of being, and ripping them to pieces. That might be satisfying, but it wouldn't solve the immediate issue of her medical needs.

So instead, I drop to my knees beside her and Dean. "Hey, Sweetheart." One eye peeks out. It's moss green in the low light, contrasting beautifully with her tangled red hair. "Listen, I have an idea of how much you've been hurting. Dean's touches probably feel really good, huh?"

For a second she just stares and I wonder if she can hear me, but then the slightest dip of her chin lets me know she heard and that I'm right.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." My hand tentatively reaches toward her, but her teeth suddenly snap at me. I yank my hand back and she curls in on herself further and leans even more into Dean, who wraps his arm around her all the more tightly. I shoot him an irritated look. She needs more touch than he could give even if he were trained in touch deprivation mitigation, which he isn't. Dean's only got eyes for the omega though, and he doesn't notice the daggers I'm mentally flinging at him.

"I can't imagine what you've been through. It must be awful, but we're really concerned. About your shaking. About your inability to speak. About your needs."

Her mouth pulls down into a deeper frown and she starts to turn her face away, into Dean.

"Please, we don't want to hurt you, but Sweetheart, you need a doctor. For some meds to keep your touch deprivation from getting worse. We'd also be able to get a formal diagnosis so we could use some touch therapy tools."

She's fully turned away now. I look to Dean for help and he shrugs a little. I press with my eyes and he relents with a small nod.

"Sweet Girl," he starts, and she wiggles a little in his arms. "We want to make sure you're healthy. We want to make sure you're getting the help you need and that we're giving it to you correctly. Please." He tilts her chin up so they're looking at each other. "Please let us help you."

Her fists tangle in his shirt and she tugs. From dealing with touch-starved omegas who have gone nonverbal, I've gotten good at reading some of the cues. "Dean will be with you the entire time if you want him to be, right, Dean?" Dean nods like a broken bobblehead, covering her little fists with his.

"Absolutely, Sweet Girl. If that's what you want?"

She nods and I'm so relieved. Touch deprivation can be so damaging, and she's so strong to push through it to communicate.