Page 35 of Claiming the Pack’s Omega (Riverwell Omegaverse #2)

Stone

I hate painkillers. Drugs of any kind, really. Anything that alters my mind? I can’t handle it. They freak me out and send my mind down dark holes I can’t pull out of.

I don’t know what drugs the hospital gave me—probably the heavy and hard kind, since I left the hospital early—but they’re definitely not helping me pull myself out of this God damn nightmare.

It’s one of those nightmares where you know you’re dreaming, but you’re frozen, unable to pull out of it.

It’s like sleep paralysis, except my sleep paralysis demon is my sister. A white nightgown so thin you can see the bruises that cover her skin. They’re a mix of mottled fresh purple and blue and older yellows and greens. Bruises left by her shitbag mates.

Beyond her bruises is her pale skin. Deathly pale skin. Because she’s dead.

The only thing I can see is her body, swinging in the pale light of that dusty garage. When I found her, she looked like she was sleeping. I didn’t believe the doctors when they told me she was brain-dead.

Now, in this stupid nightmare I can’t fucking escape, her face is swollen and contorted, her lips turning blue. Her face twists, mixing with the imagery of all the dead bodies I’ve had to see in my career.

I’m sorry, Jade. So fucking sorry.

I should’ve noticed the signs, seen the way she would flinch at loud noises, the way she only wore long sleeves, the way she begged my parents to help buy her a flight to Europe because she “just needed some space.”

I think their guilt over saying it wasn’t a good idea to jet set to Europe on a whim was one of the biggest reasons they kept her on life support for so long, even though she was brain-dead.

My sister opens her eyes, but instead of the vibrant blue I grew up looking up to, they’re a milky white.

“You failed me. Just like you’ll fail your omega.”

Her words feel like a knife to the chest. They sink their claws into me and twist, exposing my insides and showcasing the cowardly son of a bitch I am.

And then she starts getting smaller and smaller, like I’m getting dragged away from her.

No! Jade, I’m sorry! Don’t leave me here alone!

I wake up with a startled gasp, the sharp inhale making my ribs ache.

Sunlight shines on my face.

Fuck, what time is it?

I reach up with my good arm and rub my eyes, trying to shake off the lingering effects of that drug-induced nightmare.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

My gaze jerks to my bedside. Reyna stands there, her hair tossed into a messy bun, her face bare of any makeup. She’s carrying what looks like a bunch of medical supplies in her arms.

She glances at me when I don’t answer her question and I see the dark circles under her eyes. She looks exhausted. Like she didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.

“Are—are you okay?” I ask, gritting my teeth against the pain as I do my best to sit up against the headboard.

“I should be the one asking you that question," she says, shrugging.

“You look… you look like…” How do I word this without offending her? Most omegas I know hate any form of negative commentary on their appearance. It’s not like I still don’t think she’s fucking stunning, without makeup, I’m just concerned there’s something going on.

You failed me. Just like you’ll fail your omega.

Those words echo in my brain, making panic sit heavy on my chest.

“Like shit?” She answers. “Yeah, I know.”

“No,” I shake my head.

Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t do that. The world is spinning a little.

“You don’t look like shit. You just look tired.”

She offers me a smile that tugs down on the edges of her eyes, making it look far more sad than it does happy.

“Yeah, I barely slept," she says.

“Why? Is there something wrong with the room? I—” My jaw clenches as I remember my helplessness, my stupid reliance on others, right now. “One of the other guys could fix whatever’s going on.”

She shakes her head.

“Nah, this isn’t something that can just be fixed.” She eyes me intently, her steel gray eyes darting between mine. “I’ve got nightmares too.”

I wince, blowing out a huff of air.

“You could tell I was having a nightmare?”

“Yeah. You were saying things in your sleep.” She busies herself, pulling out a bunch of bandages and antiseptic ointment. I’m grateful. I don’t think I could look her in the face right now. “Is there any chance you could sit up so I can get to your bandages?”

“What kind of stuff was I saying?” I ask, sitting up and swinging my legs off the side of the bed.

I reach up and over my shoulder with my good hand and tug my t-shirt over my head. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye before taking stock of my torso and the bandages I have over my stitches and lacerations.

I don’t miss the way her gaze lingers on me. It’s the way she used to eye me up in the locker room. It makes some of the tension leave my shoulders. I like the way she looks at me, like she likes what she sees.

“Just something about not wanting to be left alone," she says, softly, biting her bottom lip. “That, and I know why that whole matching name thing freaked you out in the hospital. I’m sorry for saying that shit, probably brought up stuff you didn’t want brought up.”

My shoulders stiffen, and I sigh.

“Yeah.”

She just nods, her expression growing soft before she directs her attention back to my torso.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay? I’ve got saline to wet some of the bandages so they don’t tug on your stitches, if they’re stuck to you, got it?” She says, her head down as I lean to the side.

“Got it,” I say.

The first bandage comes off clean, but the second doesn’t. It sticks to my skin, the mix of dried blood, puss, and whatever the hell else is leaking from that cut acting like glue.

“Yeah, that one sucks,” I say, taking a deep breath.

She picks up a small irrigation bottle I didn’t even know we had and gently wets the bandage before making a second attempt to remove it. This time it comes off clean.

The sun looks like it’s just barely risen.

“What time is it?”

“Six thirty," she says, continuing her work.

“Damn, early as hell.” I stare down at her as she continues doing what she’s doing. How many other guys has she patched up to be so familiar with this kind of stuff?

A twinge of jealousy shoots through me that I quickly tamper down.

I saw the way she treated fighters at The Warehouse. Well, all the fighters except for me. She was indifferent to them. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did this kind of stuff for a little extra money, though. She always struck me as the kind of omega who’d be resourceful in any situation.

“How was dinner last night? Sorry, I slept through. Those pain killers knocked me the hell out.”

I don’t know what’s inspired me to be a chatterbox this morning, maybe it’s knowing she witnessed me fighting through my nightmare. Maybe it’s the heaviness and exhaustion I can see in every line of her body. Maybe it’s just that I want to hear her voice.

She lets out a huff of laughter. “Dinner was an embarrassing shitshow.”

I straighten, tugging at a bandage that wasn’t ready to be taken off yet and wincing.

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Hey, hey, calm down. I’m fine," she says, a pink tint covering her cheeks. “It was just awkward.”

“Awkward? Did Theo make something for dinner you didn’t like?”

“You sure are chatty for someone who almost died yesterday," she says, glancing up at me through her thick lashes. “No, dinner was great. Killian just caught Theo and I making out.”

I let out a low whistle. God, what I would’ve given to have been the one that walked in on that. Hell, I’d probably do terrible things to be the one she kissed.

“Holy shit, seriously?”

“What do you mean, seriously?” she says, laughing as she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, seriously. It wasn’t like I was making out with Theo to piss Killian off.”

“Was it good?”

She straightens, her hands coming to rest on her hips.

“You asking if I was any good?” She raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“You offering for me to see for myself?” I ask, my voice low. My gaze drifts down to her lips.

Ever since she walked into that locker room and opened her mouth, I’ve wanted to know what her lips would feel like on mine, what she tasted like.

My words and heavy gaze have their desired effect, because her petrichor scent swirls around us as her eyes darken.

I’m grateful I can still elicit that kind of response from her, even though I probably look like a sorry piece of shit, all banged up like this.

“I don’t think you could handle what I have to offer," she says slowly. “At least not while you’re still recovering.”

I take a deep breath that makes my ribs ache.

“You’re probably right, but I feel like I should get my man card revoked if I weren’t willing to risk a little pain for the pleasure of getting to experience your touch.”

That blush on her cheeks gets even more pronounced.

“Such a smooth talker," she huffs. “You’ll feel my hands all over you, all right. I definitely wouldn’t call it pleasant.”

She sinks down to her knees in front of me, her gaze never leaving mine as she grabs the antiseptic ointment.

“I’m definitely having a great time right now,” I breathe out.

God, I want to burn the sight of her on her knees onto the back of my eyelids so I can see it every time I close my eyes.

My cock twitches in my boxers. Fuck, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but it seems to have a mind of its own.

“Shut up, this isn’t for you. It’s just so I can get to your wounds better without you having to lean and pull at any of your stitches," she says. She tries to hide it, but I don’t miss the quirk of her lips.

Looks like she knows exactly what this view is doing to me.

I focus on trying to breathe as deeply as I can, with my ribs as fucked up as they are, as she starts dabbing the anti-bacterial ointment the hospital sent me home with. Her touch is soft and gentle. It makes me wish she were touching me under different circumstances.