Right?
Fuck. He's an alpha. He'll catch my scent as soon as he comes in.
I scramble to grab my clothes from the bathroom, ducking inside to change as quickly as my still-shaky limbs allow. The clothes from my bag feel stiff and uncomfortable against my sensitizedskin, but there's no way I'm facing him again in nothing but his robe.
I stuff the bathrobe in a laundry basket, cover it with towels, and just for good measure, I spray his cologne all over it too. Hopefully that'll cover the scent from what I just did to myself in his bed. It smells good. Really good, like dusky woods and rum.
My inner omega starts purring all over again.
Actually, you know what? Better spray it all over the room, too. Even though he's watching me like I've grown two heads, those intense yet curious—and slightly wary—blue eyes tracking my every movement.
When I'm satisfied the scent of his cologne will cover my scent enough that I won't be thoroughly humiliated, I put his cologne back on the shelf on the off chance he couldn't see that and look back to the window.
"You can come in," I say, trying to keep my voice down. It's still shaking.
Wraith slides the window open and climbs in. For someone so large, he moves with incredible control, never wasting a motion. He straightens to his full height, towering over me. As his gaze meets mine, his pupils suddenly blow wide, the black nearly swallowing the blue.
A flash of heat travels up my spine. Did he catch my scent? Can he tell what I was just doing in his bed? But his expression remains neutral, and he doesn't sign anything about it. Maybe he's just being polite. Or maybe the cologne I sprayed everywhere actually worked.
Then he holds up a paper bag that looks comically small in his huge hands.
The suppressants. Thank god.
"Thank you," I say, relief making my voice crack. I take the bag gratefully, noticing how Wraith's shoulders seem unusually tense. There's a heaviness to him that wasn't there when he left. His blue eyes, normally so intense, almost look... pained. Something happened while he was out.
"Did everything go okay at the clinic?" I ask, studying his expression above the mask.
He nods, a quick, dismissive gesture, but his eyes flick away from mine too fast. His hand comes up to check the position of his mask, making sure it's secure. A nervous habit that seems almost subconscious.
"Are you sure?" I press gently.
His massive shoulders rise and fall in what's clearly meant to be a casual shrug, but there's nothing casual about the tension radiating from him. He signsF-I-N-Ewith jerky movements that contradict the word itself.
I don't believe him for a second. Something happened out there. Something that shook him. I can see it in the tightness around his eyes, the controlled stillness of his body. Like he's holding himself together through sheer force of will.
My heart drops into my stomach. What if they made him verify his identity? It's a routine I have to go through every time, but usually, the pharmacists I deal with make it clear they're already not happy about handing out suppressants to an omega. I justassumed they would give an important alpha whatever he asked for, but what if they didn't?
He's so careful with his mask. He never takes it off, even when he's alone in the maintenance tunnels. Going to a public place like an omega clinic and having to do that...
Shit.
"You don't have to tell me," I murmur. "But... thank you. For doing this. I know it probably wasn't easy for you."
A flicker of surprise crosses his features, like he's startled I noticed or cared. He shakes his head and fingerspells, some of the tension visibly bleeding out of him.
N-O… P-R-O-B-L-E-M.
I give him a soft smile before opening the bag. There's a two-pack of heat suppressant shots and a packet of prescription grade anti-nausea pills. I pull out the slip of paper with the instructions for the suppressants. It's an auto-injector designed to deliver the medication directly into the thigh muscle, the second shot injected after three days. The warnings make me wince. Possible side effects include dizziness, nausea, headache, cramps, hot flashes, pain at the injection site, and temporary paralysis.
Oh. And a slight risk of death by endless diarrhea, apparently.
The warning sounds like the manufacturer is probably just trying to cover their ass, but that’s a little too specific for comfort. I must look a few shades paler because Wraith's hands move in the air between us.
H-E-L-P?
"No, I'm fine," I assure him, though my hands shake slightly as I remove the cap from the injector. "I just need to sit down."
I perch on the edge of the couch, hitching up the leg of my pants to expose my thigh. I can only get my pants rolled up to just above my knee. Great. "Um, can you turn around?" I ask awkwardly.
