Wraith is definitelynotlike other alphas.
He pauses again, then sighs and points to the bed, then to me. Then to the plain clock on the wall, then to himself, followed by the couch.
"You'll sleep on the couch tonight?" I clarify.
He nods, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his discomfort.
Almost likehe'safraid ofme.
The idea seems so absurd I nearly laugh, but I swallow it down when I notice the genuine unease in his posture.
"You don't have to sleep on the couch," I say carefully. “I don’t even think you’d fit. You can have your bed. I'll take the couch."
Wraith shakes his head. He starts to sign something else, but I'm suddenly distracted by a rolling sensation in my stomach. The sandwich that tasted so wonderful going down now seems to have other ideas.
He steps closer, watching me with unmistakable concern. I swallow hard against the rising nausea.
"I think I ate too fast," I mumble, covering my mouth and trying to breathe slowly through my nose.
Wraith disappears into the bathroom and returns with a small blister pack of pills and a fresh glass of water. He kneels in front of me, moving carefully as if trying not to startle a wounded animal. He shows me the medication.
Anti-nausea meds. Thoughtful of him.
But it's too late.
The wave of sickness rises so suddenly that I barely have time to stumble to my feet. I push past Wraith, one hand clamped over my mouth as I lunge for the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet and slam the door shut behind me before my body violently rejects the sandwich I just ate.
Wave after wave of nausea wracks my body until there's nothing left but painful dry heaves. I slump against the cool porcelain, utterly spent. Everything hurts. My throat burns. My eyes water. My skin feels too hot and too cold at the same time.
A soft knock at the door makes me flinch.
"I'm okay," I lie weakly. "Just... give me a minute."
I drag myself to the sink to rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face. I glance up instinctively at the medicine cabinet above the sink, expecting to see a mirror there, but it’s covered in black duct tape.
It’s jarring enough to remind me of something else. A new, horrifying thought that surfaces through the fog of misery.
My heat suppressants.
I was so fucked up this morning, I don’t remember if I took my meds. Or was it yesterday morning I'm trying to remember? The fever has scrambled my sense of time.
Even if I did take them, they're long gone down the toilet now, and my hormones are already fucked up as it is because I scorched off Wade's mark.
Fuck.
When I open the door, Wraith stands at a respectful distance.O-K? he asks.
"Not really," I admit with a weak laugh. “Guess my stomach wasn't ready for real food yet."
Wraith nods in understanding, then points to the bed in the corner, then to me.
I don’t argue this time.
The mattress is basic and firm, but compared to my nest of merch on a couch, it feels like heaven. I pull the blankets around me, shivering again, and Wraith brings the ones from the couch to make sure I’m surrounded and warm.
“I’m sorry about... you know,” I mumble, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom before pulling my hand back into the nest of blankets. "Not exactly making a great impression here."
Wraith shakes his head firmly.S-I-C-K,he signs.N-O-T… Y-O-U-R… F-A-U-L-T.
