Page 100 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

I put the back of my hand against his forehead. Cool. “Are you feeling sick?”

“No.” He tugs at the collar again, harder. “My skin itches.”

There’s a red patch coming up the side of his neck where he’s been scratching it, and his pupils have gone wide enough to eat the gray.

“Isabella.” I’ve already got my bag off the back of the chair. “I think Luca and I should leave. He’s not feeling so well.”

“He’s fine,” she says lightly. “Let’s just dig in.”

“He’s scratching a hole in his own throat.” I try to hold his hands down. “I really don’t think—”

“Children itch.” She lifts her water and drinks. “Sit down and finish your food.”

Something ugly moves through me. I don’t know what it is, the dismissive tone to her voice or the casual way she’s ignoring my son’s pain.

“We’re leaving.” I push my chair back and stand.

The room slides half a foot to the left.

I put my hand out for the table, and the table isn’t where I left it. My knees have gone weak, and there’s a sound in my ears that’s coming from underneath me somewhere. Luca is on the floor. He’s folded over sideways off his chair with one arm under him, and he isn’t moving at all, and I can’t get my legs to take me the two feet down to him.

I turn my head. Corinne has both hands over her mouth. Isabella hasn’t moved a muscle, and her water glass is still in her hand.

“What is going on?” The words come out slurred and slow.

Isabella meets my gaze. “I guess the dosage wasn’t very strong.”

The floor comes up to meet me.

❦ ❦ ❦

My head feels heavy.

There’s a pressure behind my eyes that pushes down through my jaw, and my mouth tastes of metal. My wrists are behind my back, wrenched together at an angle my shoulders don’t like, and the painful tugging sensation is slowly forcing me into consciousness. My eyes flit over the room.

Green tile. The same green tile.

We’re still in the restaurant. Somebody has pushed the tables back against the walls and stacked the chairs in the corner by the kitchen door, and the blinds are down over the windows with one strip of daylight coming under them. One light burns over the pass. The clock above the till says half past six, so I’ve been out for three hours.

Luca is on the floor in front of me.

He’s on his side with his cheek against the tiles and his blazer rucked up over his ribs, and I can see the red patch on his neck from here.

“Luca.” My voice is hoarse. “Baby. Luca.”

His eyelids move. Nothing else, but they move, and I tremble from relief.

I twist my hands, and the rope takes skin off both wrists. I hiss in pain and realize that my ankles are free. I get one heel under me and drag myself six inches closer to my son across the tiles.

Footsteps come from the back of the room.

I get my chin up ready for ash-blond hair, ready for that voice, ready to tear her open with my teeth if I have to.

Silas Thorne walks out of the passage by the kitchen with his cuffs turned back.

Corinne comes behind him with her arms wrapped around herself.

“What are you trying to do?” I look between the two of them. “Do you have any idea what he’ll do to you?”