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“The pills are wreaking general havoc on his body, but they’re also eating away at his stomach,” Buford said. “If he’s at the point where he’s vomiting blood, I’d wager he’s been taking them for a long time, probably more than one a day.”

“And, if he’s using witch-made suppressor on top of it, he’d have other side effects like insomnia, appetite loss—which would make the pills harming his stomach lining worse. The pills alone would have other potential long-term complications such as infertility. The list is extensive, as is the damage,” Dr. Shera said. “He needs rest, low stress, and lots of careful attention. When he’s awake, we’ll assess further. This omega also needs understanding and patience. Can you handle that, alpha?”

“He’s my mate!”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Once the cocktail of medication wears off, his scent is going to hit you hard. The absolute last thing this omega needs is an alpha chomping at the bit to claim him.”

“I won’t hurt him,” Royce vowed. “If I feel it getting too strong, I’ll leave.”

“We’ll see.” Dr. Shera gave Royce one last warning glare before turning to Buford. “You. Call me or Argus the second anything seems remotely off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Buford walked her to her car, then came back. “I’m sorry, Royce. Dr. Shera wrote him a prescription; I’ll pick it up and bring it over when it’s ready. But until then, do you … do you need anything? You have some bags in the car, want me to bring them in?”

“I guess …”

Royce fell to the ground next to the sofa and leaned his head against the furniture. Doc looked so small wrapped in the quilts and blankets; the only part of him visible was his head. His cool olive skin was sickly pale and blue, his black hair plastered to his clammy forehead.

Looking at him, so hapless and ill, made Royce feel a type of helplessness he never thought possible. It was hollow and dark, eating away at his insides, leaving behind it a trail of festering poison.

Not for the first time, he sat at the sickbed of a loved one, waiting for them to open their eyes. This time, Royce knew if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to come back from it.

Chapter fifteen

Royce

Buford unloaded and put away the groceries, checked Dr. Abbott, then left, promising to return later. Royce didn’t care. He was hardly aware of the bear shifter as he’d moved about. Instead, his focus had been on Doc.

Studying his face, searching for any minute change in coloration or a twitch that could mean something was amiss. Thus far Royce had been an abysmal mate; he wasn’t about to let himself fuck up when it could mean the difference between Doc waking up and his heart stopping.

Shifting his position on the floor next to the sofa, his hand hit something cold and metallic. The tin. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Royce hid it from Buford and Dr. Shera. He pulled it out now, bloody fingerprints smeared across the printed label of a truffle and mint leaves. What the fuck was in here that was so important?

“Sorry, Doc, but I gotta know what this is.” He popped the lid off and was further confused.

Papers, driver’s licenses, birth certificates, veterinary medicine licenses, all of them had Doc’s round face staring up at him, but each had a different name.

Of course, if he was hiding, he wouldn’t want to use his real name. His mate was smart and resourceful … and terrified enough to go through the illegal witch black market to get fake documents and suppressors.

Royce went through each paper and ID in the tin. At the bottom of the pile was a solid black rectangle, the name of a tech company stamped on the side. Seizing it, he removed the lid to reveal a USB insert. It was a flash drive.

Moving across the cabin, Royce grabbed Doc’s discarded backpack and retrieved his laptop. It was charged but had a thumbprint security lock on it.

“Sorry again, Doc. I won’t read your emails, I promise.”

Pulling Dr. Abbott’s hand from the cocoon of blankets, he pressed his thumb to the keypad. When the laptop unlocked, Royce replaced his arm under the blankets, then set the laptop timeout time to ‘never.’

He inserted the USB.

A black window popped into existence with three folders: payroll, medical record, and unnamed. He went through the first folder. It was exactly as it was named, a record of payrolls for alpha security guards from Seerinoga.

It was well known the omega settlements had round-the-clock guards consisting of mated alphas. The pay stamps in question raised no alarm Royce could think of.

Odd, why was this worth dying over?

Next was medical records. These were also from Seerinoga, all omega. After the third medical file, Royce was scowling at the screen … age nineteen, no previous record, deceased after one day in the hospital, cause of death, flu. On and on they went, some as young as ten. Why were so many young omegas dying of the flu?

Confused, he went back to the payroll folder. He missed something, he had to have … Reading each line on the first payroll, Royce went cold. The pay listed for this guard was twenty units an hour, so how come he had a random paycheck over ten thousand units? Same with the next guard, and the next.

“No!” Royce went back to the medical records. The inflated guard checks aligned with the date of death on different omega records. First five deaths, then ten, then twenty … And he still had one more folder to open.