Page 59 of Omega's Fever

“You need to eat something,” he says. “I’ll make you toast.”

The thought of eating makes my stomach turn.

“Later.” I try to step past him but the hallway tilts. His hand shoots out, steadying me with a grip on my elbow. The touch burns through my thin sleep shirt.

“Sit.” It’s not a request. He guides me to the kitchen table, pushes me into a chair. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

I want to protest. Instead, I put my head in my hands and breathe through the lingering nausea while he moves around my kitchen.

He drops a slice of bread into the toaster and turns it on. I love the look of him in my kitchen, the muscles though his t-shirt, the way his big hands fill a glass of water for me. And his scent... I want to roll around in it like a dog. I’m planning on getting used to this.

He sets a plate in front of me containing dry toast, cut into triangles like I’m a child. I nibble at a corner of toast while he watches.

“When’s the last time you saw a doctor?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

That’s not what I asked.”

I take another small bite to avoid answering. The math is already happening in my head.

Six weeks since our first meeting when I lost control with him so completely that I straddled a strange alpha while he fucked into me, his wrists cuffed. It feels like a lifetime ago. I’ve had six weeks of suppressants on a dose higher than what I was prescribed. Part of me already knows that the nausea that I’m feeling might have another cause. I’ve just not wanted to admit it because if it’s true, then my life really will have changed forever, no matter what happens with Kellen.

I put down the toast and Kellen frowns at me. “At least eat half of it. You need something in your stomach.”

That is exactly what I am worried about.

“I need to stop at the pharmacy,” I say. “Before court. For antacids.”

He studies me for a long moment. I force myself to meet his gaze, to not look away like the liar I am. Whatever he sees makes him nod slowly.

“Finish your breakfast.”

I manage half a piece of toast and most of the water. Showering helps marginally. I stand under the spray until it runs cold, trying to pull myself together. By the time I’m dressed in my court suit, I almost feel human. The facade lasts until we’re in the car and I catch sight of a pregnant omega walking past. My stomach drops through the floor.

No. No, I’m being paranoid. It’s the suppressants. They made me nauseous from the beginning. Add the stress of the case and of having Kellen in my space, of wanting him so badly I can barely think straight - that’s all this is.

“Here.” I point to the pharmacy on State Street. “This one.”

Kellen pulls into the parking lot without comment. I’mhalfway out of the car when he starts to follow.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to-”

“There’s no chance I’m letting you out of my sight.”

Of course, Cobb. It’s a measure of how insane my life is right now that it completely slipped my mind that I have a crime boss personally threatening me.

I also don’t want him seeing what I’m buying.

“There’s no way Cobb could know I’m here.”

Something flickers across his face, but he nods. “I’ll wait by the door.”

We walk up together. I carry on in when we reach the door but he stops, scanning the aisles and I realize he’s not watching me. He’s watching every other person in the store in case they’re a threat. I’m in luck.

The pregnancy tests are on aisle seven across the aisle from the antacids. I grab a bunch of different brands from both sides. The teenage cashier doesn’t even look up from her phone as she rings me through. Kellen is exactly where I left him, a solid presence by the automatic doors.

“Get what you needed?” he asks.