Chapter Thirty-One

Red

That bastard. That stupid, condescending, cock-blocking—

"Red. Hey !"

Only then do I recognize my hands in Marcus's scrubs, practically lifting him off the floor. He claws at me, eyes wide, but I don't let go—not when Riley yanks me back, not when the doctor threatens to call security. Instead, it takes a tiny, urgent chirp from my omega.

Suddenly my muscles lock up. Those startled sapphire eyes register.

Marcus. Not my enemy. My packmate.

I let him go, opening my mouth to apologize, but the words don't come.

He fucked up ! My inner alpha roars indignantly. Got omega hurt! Put pup in danger!

Behind me, someone talks to the doctor in a low, commanding tone. I hear the sound of footsteps, then the door clicking into its hinges.

I guess we're alone.

Baxter growls, "Did you know?"

He hasn't moved from his spot next to Eve, his shoulders squared—a tall, steel wall.

Thorn and Riley stand on either side of me, the three of practically backing Marcus into the corner. He looks so small—the smallest alpha in Pack Maddox, and the softest. A part of me wants to protect him from our packmates' wrath. But the other, angrier, part wants him to answer the goddamn question.

"We all knew," he argues evenly. "Baxter, I—we talked about this."

"You what?" Eve sits up, wincing. "What talk?"

"About your condition, Eve. You're …" Marcus sighs. "Your body is fragile. Different measures needed to be taken."

She looks up at Baxter with hurt. "When was this?"

"About a month ago," Riley answers for him, her head low. "Baxter pulled us aside. Told us to take it easy."

I clench my fists. "Marcus's orders."

Eve nods, processing, and swallows thickly. "Because I'm a runt."

To this, the room falls silent. I don't know who the question is meant for, but know for sure I am not up to answering it.

Truth be told … Eve's status has never meant that much to me. Apart from wanting to beat Pack Carson to a withering pulp for what they put her through, the whole ‘runt' thing has been a pretty small speck in the grand picture of my omega. She's my Eve. That's all there is to it.

And yet, these last few months, that's exactly how we've been treating her—like she's lesser. I wasn't exactly a fan of this approach, but I was willing to put up with it for her's and the pup's safety.

But now we've been told that not only is it not in Eve's favor, but it's actively hurting her?

"I thought it would be different," Marcus confesses at last. "It is different."

"My omega has been telling me what she needs for weeks," Eve says in a quiet, determined voice. "And I told her what she needs doesn't matter, like I—" she grits her teeth. "Like I used to."

I'd probably feel that urge to punch Marcus again if his eyes weren't already glistening. "I'm so sorry, Eve," he says. "I was trying to do the right thing."

Eve blinks her own tears away. It's the first time in months I've actually wanted her to cry—it seems cruel to let her bottle up yet more of those precious instincts.

"I know," is all she says.

It's obvious by the way Marcus's body inches forward that he wants to go to her, but a quick glance tells me that Eve's not ready for that yet. She turns into Baxter's side.

Baxter looks at Thorn. "The car."

Silently, Thorn slips away, disappearing into the hall.

Even with Baxter helping her, I can't just stand here while Eve's scent is so sterile. I return to her side, grabbing a couple tissues to wipe down her stomach.

"Does it still hurt?" I ask nervously.

She shakes her head, but I don't miss the way she tightens up.

We get Eve standing. She holds her stomach with both hands, shivering lightly.

"Uh …" I look at Baxter, then Riley. "Anyone bring a jacket?"

Marcus springs to action. He opens up a chest of drawers in the corner, presenting a thin white blanket. "Here," he blurts out. The blanket reeks of chemicals, and doesn't look especially warm, but it's better than nothing. I wrap it around Eve's shoulders, cocooning her as best I can. "There you go, baby girl."

She looks up at me, her glittery eyes warming with appreciation.

Baxter leads her out. He casts a final look over his shoulder at Marcus—probably a, We'll discuss this later look.

My first instinct is to dive after them, following wherever my omega goes, but the second they're gone, there's a complete drop in pheromones. The room turns stark. Cold. Marcus puts his hand against the wall, like his legs are giving out.

"Christ, Marc—" I rush to steady him.

Riley grips his arm. I think I can detect a singed note of anger in his scent, but it's such an anomaly for Marcus that I'm not sure.

"You gonna be okay?" Riley asks gruffly.

He stands, straightening his scrubs, and nods.

I'm not convinced. All that fidgeting, unable to return our looks … it's like he's on the verge of a total mental breakdown. I don't blame him—I know I'd be, and have been, distraught about upsetting Eve—but the only way through it is to own up to it.

"You should follow us back to the den," I say. "Eve might want to talk—"

"She won't," he says, stripping the exam bed. "And my shift doesn't end until five."

Riley and I share a look, softening slightly. "Marc …" Riley sighs.

"Please." He forces a breath, finally looking up at us. "Right now, I just want to give her space. I'll see how she feels when I get home. Later."

A fair argument. Or a cowardly one.

I go to clasp him on the shoulder. Marcus's eyes flash, and in that moment, I can see it—those five seconds my inner alpha took over, seizing him by the neck of his scrubs. I pull away, an apology on the tip of my tongue again.

Again, it doesn't come.