At Dylan’s blank look, he elaborated. “You just need our sperm. If you don’t want to be with us, we can jack off into a condom and send it to you in the mail or something. You wouldn’t even have to see us. You could mix it into a protein shake or insert it into your rectum with a turkey baster. My point is, we’re not going to use this to trap you into being with us.”
Ryker’s wolf rumbled with disapproval at the suggestion, and he was impressed that August had been able to subdue his own wolf enough to make the offer.
Dylan rubbed the bridge of his nose, ignoring August’s declaration. “If it’s an addiction, there must be a way to get sober.”
Ryker shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no. It’s not a medical addiction.”
“Then what is it?” Dylan sounded angry. He looked around the table, frustrated and glaring.
Ryker huffed, bleakly amused. “I don’t know. The same thing that lets me sprout claws and teeth on the full moon?”
Dylan looked extremely dissatisfied with that explanation.
“So it’s werewolf bullshit, is that what you’re telling me?”
Ryker nodded.
“We might be getting ahead of ourselves,” August said, trying to ease the tension. “You might not be turning into an omega. You could just have been regular horny. We don’t know for sure.”
Dylan shook his head. “No, there was something wrong with me. It freaked me out so much I started crying in the shower. It was not normal.” He furrowed his brow and turned to August. “Is that what you call someone this happens to? An omega?”
August nodded.
“Okay. Fine.” Dylan took a deep breath, picking up his knife and fork and cutting up his pancakes. “So I’m an omega. Great. I can deal with that.”
He shoved a big piece of pancake dripping with butter into his mouth, chewing aggressively.
“You can?” Ryker asked.
“Do I have a choice?” Dylan asked, mouth full of food. There was a wild, trapped look in his eyes.
Ryker flinched and shook his head.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to.” Dylan picked up his glass of water and took a deep sip. He stared at Ryker over the rim of his glass, and when he’d finished swallowing, he asked, “Is it going to get worse?”
“Not from what I’ve heard.” Ryker glanced at Steve to see if he’d heard anything different from his pack, but he didn’t offer up a contradiction. He turned his gaze back to Dylan. “It’s supposed to be pretty predictable.”
Dylan nodded, visibly calming himself down. He put down his glass and fiddled with his knife and fork. “So if this past week was any indication, I can go about six days before I start feeling sick. That’s not too bad.”
Ryker wished there was something he could do to make Dylan stop looking so trapped.
“I’m a werewolf come addict,” Dylan mumbled, speaking to himself, and for a second it looked like he was about to have a panic attack. “Fuck.”
Ryker watched him, trying to think of something he could do to help, but Dylan brought himself under control.
“Let’s eat,” Dylan said, spearing another piece of pancake onto his fork and shoving it into his mouth.
Ryker followed his lead and picked up his fork. He kept his gaze on Dylan, watching him surreptitiously as he ate.
Halfway through lifting a piece of bacon to his mouth, Dylan suddenly put down his knife and fork and scooted off the bench. Ryker saw August’s hand jerk, like he’d wanted to drag Dylan back into the booth next to him, but thankfully his mate managed to resist the impulse.
Dylan turned toward them, looking awkward and sorry.
“I need some time to think, okay?” he said, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. His movements were rushed, and he struggled to do up his zipper. “Can we meet up later?”
Ryker nodded, his stomach sinking. “Of course. Take as much time as you need.”
“I’ll call you later. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, I guess. I’m glad you didn’t try to hide it.”
