Chapter Fifteen

Eve

Every night I start to have the same nightmare. And every morning I throw up, like I'm purging it from my system.

Blood all over my sundress—ruined.

A curse in my ears—the voice sounds like Doctor Perez, but warped, or backwards, or something equally uncanny.

"It's no good, sweetheart. They're gone."

No matter how many times I hear the phantom words, see the phantom blood, I never seem to realize I'm dreaming until I've jolted up in bed.

My alphas aren't stupid. They know something is wrong—maybe that I'm wrong—but I can't tell them about this dream. Even letting myself imagine it feels like a deadly jinx. Like, somehow, I'll manifest it into existence.

Marcus coaxes me to eat some oatmeal before he leaves for work. I give him a kiss on his way out, then insist on helping Red clean up. The longer I sit still, the more my mind wanders, leading me to cursed places.

"Nest. Now." Thorn tells me.

I blink. "Huh?"

He seems to have materialized from thin air, suddenly towering over me. There are faint shadows beneath his eyes which make my inner omega growl.

He puts his hand on my face. "You're pale."

"So are you," I retort. "Maybe we both need to go to the nest."

There's a flirtatious tone there I don't expect, but I don't withdraw from it either. Maybe a good knot is exactly what I need right now.

Thorn's jaw flexes, tempted, before he tucks my hair back. "Need me to carry you?"

It's all I can do not to pout. No knotting, then.

Begrudgingly, I take myself up the stairs. Thorn's eyes are heavy on my back until long after I've left his line of sight.

Within the space of an hour, Baxter, Riley, and Red have all asked me to join them while they work. They make tempting offers to spruce up my nests in the office and study, but there's an edge—a desperation—to their pheromones that makes me pull back. I don't want to be fussing in the corner while they're trying to focus.

"You know where to find me," Baxter murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I cuddle up on the nest, grabbing Marcus's laptop in search of distraction. Lately it's been hard to focus on my books—I always end up fidgeting, or asleep.

Marcus's tabs are as conspicuous as ever. Baby clothes … maternity clothes … cribs … toys …

I smile. He's relentless.

For a second, I'm tempted to look up my sisters' names. Or maybe Mother's. But then I remember what Thorn said.

They're only going to get into bigger trouble.

I knew, with the judge's ruling, there would be certain things I wouldn't be able to do. Certain people I wouldn't be able to talk to. Somehow none of this worried me at the time, too overjoyed by the prospect of having my alphas' pup. Maybe it's my omega instincts finally taking hold, but …

I've never felt more compelled to reach out to my mother and sisters in my life.

My stomach churns threateningly. I push the laptop away, taking deep breaths. Stop it, Eve. The pup is my first priority now. Not my mother, not my sisters, not even myself.

Okay. What can I do for the pup right now?

Before I know it, I'm searching for ‘stress relief techniques'. I quickly recognize the breathing exercises—Marcus has taught me just about all of them. But then something else pops up.

I click.

Beginner yoga poses.

Standing, turning the screen to keep facing me, I scrutinize the diagrams. The first one seems pretty simple—lifting my arms over my head and pressing my fingertips together. I tilt slightly from side to side, enjoying the stretch.

My breath flows through each motion, making me feel lighter than I have in days. I dread to think how ridiculous I'd look if one of my alphas walked in, but the fear doesn't last long, as I shift gently into the next position.

This one's a little harder, dropping into a low, wide lunge. Riley used to do a similar exercise with me when I was getting stronger. My muscles remember the pose with a welcome ache.

Breathe in … and out.

Returning to standing, I curl over, trying to touch my toes, relieved to just let my upper body go limp. I can't even hear my incessant thoughts over all the blood swirling in my head.

Oh. Shit.

I shoot up, gripping the edge of the nest. Shadows blotch my vision.

Trembling, I sink to the ground, not sure I have the strength or coordination to lift myself onto the mattress.

My hands fly to the pup. "Sorry," I whisper. "I'll be okay … in a minute." I wish they'd give me something—a flutter, or a kick, even though I know it's way too early for that—to let me know they're okay.

"B–Baxter," I try to call out. Every breath I take feels shorter.

Chirp, Eve. For god's sake—chirp!

The sound rises in my chest, but dies, lacking oxygen.

My shaking hands hug my stomach. Oh god. The pup. The pup.

With what feels like the last of my strength, I muster a feeble, desperate chirp. My vision is getting foggier and foggier, though whether that's because I'm about to faint or because I'm about to cry, I'm not sure.

The seconds feel like hours before Baxter is in front of me, dropping to his knees. His amber eyes slash through the haze.

"Eve. Eve ." He squeezes my shoulders. "Slow it down, omega. Slow, deep breaths."

Terrified, determined to protect my pup, I do my best to obey.

He puts a hand on the side of my face, feeling the pulse beneath my jaw. "Okay. Good girl. Stay with me."

I cling to his every word, flinching when he shouts for Red and Riley. The floors thunder as they race to meet us, the room suddenly choked with distressed pheromones.

"Jesus Christ, what hap—?" Red starts.

"Her inhaler," Baxter snaps back. "It's in the bathroom."

Red springs to action. Meanwhile, Riley crouches down by Baxter, putting her hand on my thigh.

"Help me lie her down," Baxter orders.

"On the nest?"

"Just here."

Baxter puts his palm on the small of my back, the other on my neck, angling me to the floor. Riley elevates my legs, propping them against the side of the bed.

"We should call Marcus," she says, panic in her voice.

Above me, Baxter shakes his head. "Let's try the inhaler first." He turns. "Red!"

On cue, Red hurries back into the room, thrusting my inhaler into Baxter's hand. Suddenly I wish I'd been using it more, if only to familiarize myself with how the damn thing works.

Baxter tilts my head back in his lap, angling the inhaler between my lips. "Breathe in when I say, deep as you can." I nod shakily. "Okay … in."

Puff ! My airways itch.

"And … in."

Puff ! Another burst. The medicine feels startlingly cold in my lungs. But then I realize I can feel the inside of my lungs again—oxygen is filtering further and further down.

With a final puff, I start to relax. Baxter meets my eye, offering me another, but I shake my head.

"Marcus said four," Riley recalls. "If she's having an attack, give her four puffs."

"I'm okay," I say hoarsely. Baxter puts the inhaler down.

"‘Okay'?" Red finally slumps to his knees, releasing a big breath. "Nothing about that was okay, omega."

What am I supposed to tell them—that I had a sudden itch to do yoga , of all things? That I decided to go ahead with it, without telling anyone, even knowing my body has a penchant for failing on me? Even knowing it's not just my body I need to protect?

"I'm sorry," is all I can whisper.

Baxter strokes my hair. "Keep breathing," he says gruffly.

I do as I'm told, already feeling my lungs shrivel up—not with asthma now, but panic.

"You're safe," Baxter tells me, reading my mind, or my scent. "You're not in trouble."

It looks like Red's about to say something, but a sharp glance from Riley silences him. No more words. Not until the room stops spinning, and my alphas' scents are warm again, and my heart remembers how to beat.