We go to step out.
“Would I go to hell if I barred the door?” I ask Tynan seriously.
He shrugs, but grabs a knife from one of the tables closest to the door, and as we walk out of O’Malley’s, he slides it like a bar over the handles.
“It won’t stop ‘em escaping, but it’s a nice reminder they’re fucked.”
I throw my head back and laugh.
The surprise and constantly wondering what version of Tynan you’re dealing with on any given day brings me peace and happiness. His chameleon-like nature is one of the many reasons I’m thankful this vindictive prick is a part of our pack.
Chapter Forty-Nine
TALLY
This time, it’s not the never-ending throb in my finger or the ache in my chest that wakes me. It’s the haze of my heat.
My skin itches like I’ve been baking in the sun for days, making me uncomfortably hot. My temperature will rise until it’s unbearable, while my pussy will spasm with the need for an Alpha’s knot and the seed they bring. Fun times for a pack. Not great when you’re a single Omega—or a prisoner. I use breathing techniques in an attempt to slow my heat and the anxiety that accompanies it.
There’s nothing I can do about the way my scent leaks and my slick pools. It’s an impossible ask. It would be like trying to stop the moon from rising or the sun from setting. Instead, I’ve learned to let go of what I can’t control and focus on what I can.
Blinking my eyes open, it’s no surprise I’m alone. I would have felt another person’s presence as obviously if they were sitting on my lap. Someone washed the vomit and blood frommy skin, leaving me naked. I have to slow my breathing to work through that.
I manage to clear my thoughts and do a quick internal check. My finger is definitely the worst of my injuries, though the dull pound on my side is a worry too. I suspect if I had a mirror, I’d find my face to be a collage of bruises, but I know nothing is broken.
I feel as good as anyone who’s been beaten, had their finger hacked off, side cut open, and battling an infection while riding the first stages of their heat would.
A door swings open, and I struggle to hide my nakedness. But the person is already gone, leaving at the door a paper bag and a pile of my clothes, including my shoes.
Getting up and walking is harder than it should be, and each step I take has me revising my earlier assessment as to which injury is worse. It’s definitely the wound in my side.
My clothes are warm and reek of the overpowering perfume from Tide’s floral and citrus laundry wash. But it beats smelling like vomit. The return of my boots have me blinking back tears.
Dressing quickly and sliding my feet back into shoes feels like a small victory. It’s not hard to assume I’m being watched. And while I’d like to kick my heels like Dorothy and get my arse home, I’m also very aware there’s still vital information we need. Once I have it, I’ll be activating the transmitter hidden in the sole of my shoe.
The bag is full of bottled water, candy, and granola bars. Tynan would be horrified at what they’ve provided, but Tynan would be horrified to discover his wife is a mole too. I eat my way through as many bars as possible, using one of the larger bottles of water to wash the sugar down before I lie down and talk to the room.
“I need a doctor or antibiotics.”
The fever shivers start, and I try to rest. It doesn’t take long for the door to open. I get a glimpse past my room that doesn’t tell me much about where I am. A better understanding comes from the person.
Frankincense and myrrh follow the man-slash-priest in. His everyday cassock flares with each precise step he takes. As he walks closer, he stirs the air with more of the telltale scent of heavy incenses, as well as unveiling he’s heavily armed.
Without any preamble, he rips the bandage off and jabs at the infected wound.
I can’t stop the groan of pain or the tremble of my body. His movements become abrasive until he barks, “Stop, Omega.”
Not by choice, I stop fighting. His influence keeps me still until a razor-sharp pain has me screeching like a cat. He snaps another bark at me and goes back to what he’s doing. I make the decision not to ask for anything from my captors again.
Once he leaves, I drift in and out of a floaty haze, no matter how hard I fight to stay awake. It’s pretty obvious he’s given me a shot of something to bring my heat under control and keep me sedated.
When the door reopens again hours later, the air is noticeably colder. Accompanying a different priest is the solemn and dramatic music of an organ leading a full choir. What kind of arsehole kidnaps people and hides them in a church?
Another bag gets dropped near the foot of the bed.
Before he locks the door again, he looks me up and down, eyeing me off as something to eat. “I will pray for your soul.”
Like before, I eat and drink as much as I can stomach to prepare for whatever is next.
