“D-Dave? N-no. I need N-Nik.”
It’s a good thing I’m not easily offended. Why is she obsessed with Nik right now?
“Come on, Mags. Let’s go back to your room, okay? We’ll get you in bed, so you can rest and burn off this fever of yours.”
“Not a fever,” she mumbles as I help her up. “It’s not a fever …”
Back in her room, I set her down on the bed and dig through her drawers for the injectable I know she takes religiously. Maybe she missed a dose, and that’s what’s going on. “Mags, where’s your shot? Is it here, or in the bathroom?”
“Bathroom.”
I finally find her vials in the medicine cabinet. A quick count verifies that she’s been taking them correctly, so what gives? I pull a random vial out of the box and check the lid.
That’s weird; this vial’s full, but the seal has a tiny puncture mark.
Wait.
I pull out the box and set it on the counter, checking the rest of the vials.
Theyallhave tiny puncture marks.
“Mags, hon, why did you poke all these vials already? They’ll go bad if you do that.”
She rolls her shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I didn’t. I d-don’t open them until I need to. They sh-should all be fine.”
A chill runs down my spine. Someone messed with Mags’s medicine.
“Stay right here, okay? I’m getting Kip.”
My twin can sleep through a fucking hurricane and not bat an eyelash. It takes three tries to get him up, and by then my nerves are so on edge that I can’t even articulate what’s wrong. I just drag him to Mags’s bedroom and point to the tampered vials.
“Shit. Who would do this?” he asks, turning a vial over and over in his hands as he inspects it for himself.
“More importantly, why?”
Kip blanches, and he holds the vial up to me. “Kaden, did you read the labels on these?”
“No. It’s none of my business what Mags takes ‘em for. I just noticed they were fucked with.”
“Read the label, Kaden.”
I snatch the vial out of his hand with a sigh. “Fine. Like I’d even know what the fuck this stuff is by the—” I stop cold when I see the tiny print on the side.
Indications for use: Take one vial as needed daily for heat suppression.
But that would mean …
Kip nods in agreement with my unspoken words. “She’s an omega.”
“How? This makes no fucking sense!”
A sad smile crosses his face, and he gazes at Mags, who’s so sweaty she’s already drenched my shirt. “Actually, it kind of does. Think about it, bro: she never flirts with anyone, alphasorbetas, that we meet. Never hooks up with anyone, never gets involved.”
“She’s a grifter, Kip! Of course she doesn’t get involved. That would ruin the job.”
“It would ruin her cover,” he says, and he pulls a small foil pill packet out of the cabinet. I’d missed it in my haste to find her vials, but I recognize the shape, and a quick count verifies my suspicion.
Birth control.
