Bella’s hand goes to her hip, motherly and stern. “Now, Mylo, this isnota negotiation?—”
“I have a doctor,” I say quickly. “A private one. Does international house calls. When I feel like crap, the ED is the last place I want to be. I’ll have her come check him out.”
I’m pretty sure Mylo is smart enough to figure out that the other thing I’m implying with a private doctor is that they’re discreet.
He relaxes slightly. “Fine, whatever.”
God, he becomes such a petulant child when he’s sick.
It’s adorable.
“Why don’t I carry him back to the trailer for now,” I offer, “and we can go from there?”
Whether it’s because I’m an alpha, an A-lister, or it just makes sense, most of the gathered crew nods their agreement.
Everyone except Bella. She eyes me with suspicion. And that’s fair; I think I deserve that after my stunt—well,stunts—yesterday.
I put an edge of alpha command in my tone as I say, “He’s going to be alright.”
Bella blinks, shoulders softening. Though omegas respond most dramatically to alphas, betas also instinctively fall in line.
While Bella might have the biology of a beta, she has the soul of an alpha. So my suggestion alone isn’t enough to put her fully at ease. I could bark, but that’d only make matters worse in the long run.
Bella sizes me up, eyes slightly above mine because I’m sitting on the crash mat.
I’m used to getting along with other strong personalities, used to the push and pull. I’m usually the youngest, the fun and agreeable one. There’s no point ruffling feathers unless it’s necessary.
I think Bella knows that, and she decides I’d only take over if I have a good reason. I have no idea if she’s figured out that Mylo’s an omega, but I’d rather not be responsible for giving her more clues.
Bella finally nods her assent, and I scoop Mylo into a bridal carry.
“I can walk,” he hisses, pouting, but I ignore him as I stride easily up the hill toward the trailers.
Even as we pass more of the crew on the way, I’m tall enough that if we whisper, only we can hear each other.
“Why is this happening?” Mylo whines.
“I know, I know, you hate me.”
“Fuck you for making it about you. I don’t—why do myboneshurt? It’s like someone shoved screws in them, just twisting… Why doeseverythinghurt?!”
“Mylo, I know you don’t want to admit that?—”
“Don’t you dare say what you’re about to say. That’s impossible. Scientifically. I made sure of it. I’m on suppressants; I’ve always been on suppressants?—”
Distress rises in his voice, and I press him closer to my chest, purring.
“Stop that,” he says weakly, even as he curls into my chest, clinging tighter.
His skin blazes against mine, and now that the sharpness of distress is fading, he smells so fuckinggood. My mouth waters. But no matter how much his scent makes my cunt throb, especially this close, thoughts of actually doing anything about it remain far away while my omega is upset.
I carry him into my trailer and sit on the couch, grabbing my phone from the table along the way.
He stirs and looks around. “This isn’t the stunt team trailer.”
“Glad your mental capacities are still intact.”
“Put me down.”
