A sound tears out of me, high-pitched and keening. I don’t realize at first that the whine is coming from me, but when I do, I do it louder. Maybe if he hears me, he’ll come. Mark can fix this.
Then another scent hits me, familiar and heavy, wrapping around me like a blanket. Home. The tension eases just a fraction. “Nest,” I manage, the word scraping out of my throat. My mouth feels dry and swollen, like my tongue barely fits.
“Not yet, sweets,” Jack says, his voice tight. Not like him at all. He sounds scared. I should fix that. I should know how. “Mateo says we’ve gotta get the fever down first. He’s gonna give you a shot, okay? Mom says it’ll help some. Just till she can get here tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
I won’t lastthat long. It’s possible for omegas to die from their heats without an alpha, and I’m definitely alpha-less. I shake my head, panic flaring. “Nest,” I cry again, louder this time. He’s not listening. Why won’t he listen?
Water runs somewhere nearby. Mateo’s voice cuts in, sharp and controlled, saying something about the hospital.
“No,” I say immediately.
They argue over me, voices overlapping, too fast to follow. I give up trying to understand and close my eyes, surrendering to the pain instead.
Then suddenly, I’m being lowered into water.
It might be lukewarm, but against my overheated skin, it feels like ice. I gasp, lungs seizing. A sharp prick at my elbow follows, then a bitter, metallic taste floods my mouth. Nausea rolls hard and fast.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I choke.
Hands move quickly, practiced, rolling me onto my side over the edge of the tub. I retch, emptying what little is in my stomach into the trash can that magically appears. Thanks, random floating hands.
Slowly, the fuzziness at the edges of my vision recedes. The pain doesn’t vanish, but it dulls, no longer screaming. I blink and lift my head to find Mateo crouched beside the tub, studying me closely.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he says quietly. His face shows obvious signs of concern, but he also looks calm and in control. Perks of being a trauma nurse, I guess.
“I’m sorryfor puking,” I rasp.
He snorts. “Not even the first time this week someone’s thrown up in front of me. Least it wasn’t on my shoes. I figured you would, given what your mom had me draw up.”
“What… was that?” My voice sounds wrecked.
“A frankly bizarre cocktail of hormones, painkillers, and for reasons known only to her, an antacid.”
“Are you gonna get in trouble?” I croak. “I know a lawyer.”
His mouth twitches. “Your mother assures me she’ll handle the hospital end of it. Still, I might have to take you up on that.” Then his expression sharpens. “I really think you should go in, Ava. That fever was dangerously high. I think you might have seized once already. This is serious.”
“No hospital.” I try to sit up and frown when I realize I’m still submerged, my evening gown floating uselessly around me. “You couldn’t take the dress off first?”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “Sorry. I was busy keeping you alive and stopping your brother from having a heart attack.”
“Where is Jack, anyways?”
“I think he’s in the living room, talking to your mom,” he says. “She and your dad are catching the first flight back to New York. Wouldn’t want to be you tomorrow.”
I groan. “I don’t want to be meright now.”
“Come on,” he says, already moving. “Let’s get you into something dry and comfortable.”
He helps me out of the ruined dress and into a robe before depositing me onto the vintage chaise tucked along the wall near the closet door. “Stay here,” he orders. “I’ll grab you some clothes.”
The moment he turns his back, I ignore him and shuffle to the vanity, opening the medicine cabinet and reaching for my suppressants. If I take a few, surely between that and whatever Mom cooked up, I can hold out until she gets here. I tip the bottle, but a sudden wave of vertigo hits, and my fingers fumble.
I watch in horror as the bottle slips and the last remaining pills fall straight down the drain.
I close my eyes and count backwards, forcing myself to breathe. This is not a crisis. I just have to make it to tomorrow. Mom will fix it. I’ll just reschedule a pickup with Vinny.
