“Nothing bad is going to happen,” I assure her.
“I’m scared. I’m really scared, Ivan.”
“It’s okay to be scared, baby, but unless you have proof?—”
“It’s a feeling,” she admits shamefully. “Another feeling that I can’t let go of.”
I continue to stroke her hair. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Something just seems wrong.”
“I can call Fang, see when he’s coming over?—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t want that.”
Her voice, usually so bright and full of energy, is monotone.
I begin to worry.
“Tell me what to do,” I insist. “Tell me what I can do, baby. I’m here.”
I need an answer. I need a way to fix whatever is happening as Maeve quietly crumbles in my arms.
“Just keep reading,” she says into my shirt. “And just you, tonight. I don’t want Fang or Logan here.”
An alarm goes off in my head.
It hasn’t been a month since the scent match, and up until her fight with Avery, she’s been craving me, Fang, and Logan.
Whatever they talked about activated something in her that I can’t address, and now she seems to be shutting down.
“Let’s fluff up your nest, at least,” I say carefully. “Let’s try some of those new blankets you got.”
When I surprised her with them, she squealed and threw herself into my arms, laughing delightedly.
With a huff, she rolls off me and allows me to pluck her from the bed and place her in her desk chair.
It takes a few minutes, and I sense her eyes on me as I change her sheets, fluff her pillows, and pile on some new nesting blankets, each with a high thread count.
Once I’m done, her nest is cozy and welcoming. Without a word, I carry her back and situate us so her head is back on my chest.
“Another chapter?” I ask her softly.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
I read until she eventually falls asleep, a slight crease in her brow while she slumbers. I try to smooth it away, but it doesn’t fade.
I shoot a quick text to Fang and Logan and spend the rest of the night observing the tiny frown on Maeve’s face.
When I finally fall asleep, my dreams are distorted and anxiety ridden.
My Omega, my love, is hurting, and I’ve never felt more helpless.
We have different schedules,so we don’t drive together. Instead, we each take our separate cars, so Maeve doesn’t have to wait a few extra hours for a ride home.
“Sorry about last night,” she says in the parking lot. “I don’t know what was going on with me.”
Her eyes have some of their usual spark back, but the acid in her scent is still there.
