“The alpha fighters,” I answer, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Part of my... training technique has been building the bond between them and the omega. They have a baseline level of trust between each other for this to work.”
“I see. Fine then, but only one. Sending three feral dogs in with an omega in a crazy heat is a recipe for disaster. They’d go into rut and we wouldn’t be able to control them.”
“Fine. Then Griffin, the new fighter,” I answer.
My dad has a point. They very well could go into rut.
I can’t imagine what Ash, let alone Rage, would look like, consumed by that overwhelming alpha desire to fuck.
It’s not as common as omegas going into heat. It seems to be more of a reactive hormonal state, from my research, but still. Bad news, especially if they’re already feral.
And despite Ash and Rage reclaiming pieces of their humanity, Mirabelle’s absence for the past couple weeks has cemented that they haven’t reclaimed those pieces permanently.
“Very well,” Dad says, waving a hand. “You’re in charge of getting the omega out of her heat. Alive.”
“That’s not fucking fair—“ Jett’s snarl is cut off by my dad’s even louder one.
“Shut the fuck up,” Dad barks. “I’m not done with you. Why is it that your brother seems to have to fix all of your mistakes? Now that he’s finally pulling his weight, I keep on looking at you and asking myself how thefuckyou could fuck up this bad!”
Jett’s jaw slams shut, but his chest heaves.
“Give your brother the access card,” Dad says, his jaw ticking.
Jett hesitates, but at Dad’s low growl, he reaches into his pocket and flicks it at me.
“I’m gonna go,” I mutter under my breath, pushing the door open. Dad is probably going to yell at Jett for a lot longer. Probably do more than yell.
I don’t give a shit.
Jett deserves it. And more.
“Wait,” Dr. Stetson calls to me, his worn loafers clicking against the wooden floor as we stop in the living room.
“What?” I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.
I’m shaking.
Dammit, I need to keep myself together.
Dr. Stetson’s brows draw down in concern as he looks at me. He’s seeing far more than I want him to see. I know it.
“Spit it out, Doc. I have to—I don’t have time for this,” I grit out, my voice breaking.
“Yes, you’re right. Sorry. I just wanted to tell you I spoke with Mirabelle after she was first given the dose of whatever Jett drugged her with. She was still conscious enough to express to me who she would want to service her through her heat if she were given the opportunity. It’s standard protocol... well...”
“It’s standard protocol everywhere but here, you mean?” I say bitterly.
“Yes. She named you first, Rowan. I explained to her that you alone wouldn’t be able to help her through her heat, and she requested the alpha fighters, but I just wanted you to know. You have the power to help her, even though you’re a beta. She trusts you. First and foremost, she needs to feel safe, and you’re the best one for the job.”
His words nearly land me on my ass.
Mirabelle named me?First?
If this were any other scenario, if I weren’t worried about Mirabelle’s life being on the line, I’d be fucking ecstatic.
“Got it. Any other tips, Doc?” I say, giving him a jerky nod.
“After she’s knotted for the first time, there should be a lull period before her heat demands... an encore of the activities. Make sure she drinks and eats during that time. She’ll be quite weak. I could get her TPN—IV food, basically—but still.”
