Page 16 of Untamed Omega (One Wild Alpha #2)

Sam

As the week passed, I was healing; the bruises faded into nonexistence and I grew stronger. Shifting frequently helped, as did sleeping in the arms of my mate. We’d come back together as if no time passed. A tribute to Fate or the Goddess, and I’d never been sure they weren’t one and the same.

“Why are you out of bed?” My mate appeared as if out of nowhere to find me standing on the porch of the cottage. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t stay in bed every moment of every day,” I protested. “I’ve already memorized every ripple in the paint on the ceiling and the number of leaves on the tree outside the window.”

“Every leaf?” he asked, skeptical.

“Well, every one visible to someone flat on their back in bed.” I flung myself into the rocking chair someone had left here as an offering to the healer, its creak warning me to be more careful next time. “Everyone here is doing something to help, and I’m supposed to just stay put and be useless.”

“You’re not useless,” he protested. “You’re my mate, and your health means more to me than my own life.” His voice cracked, and he held his arms out.

I stood up and into his embrace. “You’re terrible, do you know that?

Taking advantage of the fact that you know I can’t resist you?

” I breathed in his scent, soothed by it and by his warmth.

“But I can’t stay in bed forever. Surely there’s something I can do around here.

” I nuzzled his throat. “Please, alpha.”

“And you know I can’t say no to you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Even when it’s for your own good. I’ll ask Locke if there’s anything you can do without too much exertion.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, let’s go in and have some lunch. If you’re going to insist on spending calories on work, we’ll need to up the ones you are taking in.”

“I’m starving.”

“No doubt. You barely touched your breakfast this morning.” He led the way through the clinic portion of the cottage and into the back where we made our home. “How are you going to get to a healthy weight this way?”

“You’re trying to stuff me like a roast chicken.” I followed him into our kitchenette and sat down at the small table. “Is that what we’re having?”

“No, I have some chicken soup for you. And egg custard.”

“When I eat at the alpha house, I don’t get invalid food. My teeth are going to think I don’t need them anymore.”

“How about some toast with the soup, and we’ll go up to the house for dinner where you can gobble whatever you feel up to.” His frustration was evident in his tone, but I was so tired of being treated with kid gloves.

“When I was at the lab, they hardly fed me at all, and what they did was really bad. Surely now that I’m here and on the mend, we can just move forward.”

I didn’t even know why I was arguing when I actually loved his soup.

And custard? A secret favorite my grandfather used to make for me.

But everything irritated me lately. And when he set the bowl of steaming soup in front of me, thick with noodles, pieces of chicken, and carrots and celery, I inhaled the steam and clapped my hand over my mouth.

Racing for the bathroom, I barely made it in time to drop to my knees and empty the few ounces of oatmeal I’d managed to eat for breakfast into the porcelain bowl.

I’d been nauseated all week, but this was the first time I couldn’t hold it back.

I didn’t want my mate to know and think I was getting worse.

With everything I had been put through, all the things injected or forced down in pill form, the IV fluids my captors dripped into my veins, there could be anything wrong with me. Any sort of poison might be causing the exhaustion, the irritability, the nausea.

But I had to fight past it because it would kill Markus if anything happened to me. I’d already decided that if I got worse, I’d leave rather than let him witness me dying.

“Omega.” Markus handed me a wet cloth. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

“Just a few days.”

“Then why were you asking to do more, if you feel worse?” He helped me stand and walked me toward the bedroom. “How can I help you if you aren’t honest with me?”

“I just felt like if I could act normal, maybe I could be normal. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. Whatever they did to me”—I swallowed against the lump that filled my throat—“it may be killing me.”

“Oh, Sam. I don’t think that’s the problem.” Markus settled me in bed. “When you need to urinate, let me know. I have a stick I need you to pee on.”

Realization flowed over me. Not death? “Do you think I’m…”

“Pregnant, Sam.” He kissed me, his lips firm against mine. “I believe we’re going to have a child.”