My mind is already racing, moving a million miles a minute.
“Don’t do anything stupid, kid,” Ash growls, getting in my face as he slaps me on the back too, a little harder than necessary.
And then they leave.
I run my hands through my hair, tugging until my scalp burns.
God, what the hell are we doing? The four of us are in over our heads. It’s one thing if our only job were keeping a healthy omega happy, but Mirabelle’s been through god knows what.
And our only option is to just sit here and wait it out?
That’s fucked.
Omega’s heats are supposed to be full of softness and warmth. It’s supposed to be a beautiful experience, especially a heat where you get to bond.
But this heat? It’s been torturous for her. I don’t need to have the tenuous bond linking my soul to hers to know that.
We’ve had the concierge deliver us the fluffiest pillows, the softest blankets, even those twinkle lights she seemed so fond of back in my room.
And still, she hasn’t had a chance to appreciate any of it.
She’s been too weak, too consumed by the pain that seems unending for her, to even try to build a nest.
I’m pretty sure I wear a hole in the expensive, fluffy carpet with my pacing over the next two hours, desperately trying to figure out what to do.
“Rowan,” Rage snaps, dragging me out of my stupor.
“What?” I say, rushing to the bed.
“Something’s wrong,” Rage growls, lifting Mirabelle up from the cocoon of blankets so I can see her better.
Her eyes have rolled back into her head and she’s—oh God—she’s having a seizure. Or at least something similar to it.
Her limbs tremble and shake uncontrollably.
“Holy fucking shit,” I hiss, clambering onto the bed and ripping the blankets from her body so she doesn’t get tangled in them.
“What’s wrong?” Rage snaps, his chest heaving with panic.
Mirabelle’s scent... There’s something wrong with it. So incredibly wrong.
“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know!”
We need help.
And I understand why Ash and Griffin are wary of it.
But if the option is Mirabelle fucking dying or us losing her to the Northside, we lose her either way. At least she’ll be alive if we get her help.
Hopefully.
I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling.
“I’m gonna call for help,” I say, dialing 911.
Rage doesn’t protest. I think he’s just as terrified as I am right now. If not more.
Her seizurestops as the call rings.
