Chapter 3
I swirl the coffee in my mug, frowning as I brace myself for the acrid taste. The fancy espresso machine they bought for the break room a few months back is on the fritz already, so I had to use the ancient coffee pot and a highly suspect bag of beans I dug out from the back of the pantry.
Jackson would give me so much shit if he knew I was about to drink this swill. My health-conscious packmate keeps telling me I need to cut back on my caffeine, but I’d like to see him work back-to-back shifts at the clinic without coffee.
I grimace as I throw back as much of the coffee as I can, burning my tongue in the process.
Ugh, that’s even worse than I thought it would be. The prospect of going back for round two is too unpalatable, even in my desperate state, so I sigh and dump the remains down the sink. I’ll have to power through the headache I’ll get from lack of rest and caffeine. It’s only for one night.
Night shifts tend to be pretty quiet, so maybe I can try to catch some sleep in one of the empty heat nests.
I’ve already doused myself in the standard scent blocker required for alphas working in the clinic, so I’d be able to tidy it up again without making extra work for the cleaning crew.
The problem is I have too much of a guilty conscience to take a nap on the job.
That same conscience is why I’m working an unplanned night shift.
Dr. Janet was scheduled to work tonight, but her sister came into town for a surprise visit and I told her I’d cover for her.
Never mind that I had plans with my pack tonight.
They aren’t happy with me, but they know I’m a sucker for an omega in need of a favor.
I’ve always felt a pull to care for omegas beyond the typical instincts that alphas have. Probably has something to do with being raised by a trio of omegas who were abandoned by my deadbeat alpha bio dad.
I head to the bathroom to swish some mouthwash and get rid of the horrible taste in my mouth.
When I catch my reflection in the mirror, the fluorescent lighting does me no favors, giving my beige complexion a sallow tinge and setting the ever-growing collection of lines on my face into sharp relief.
I lean in closer to get a better look. Are those even more grays in my beard? Damn.
I never thought I was a particularly vain person until I started noticing the passage of time on my body more keenly. Sometimes it feels like I blinked and decades passed me by. Or maybe it’s my midlife crisis rearing its ugly head as I creep closer to fifty.
Working at the clinic doesn’t help matters. I enjoy helping omegas get the medical care they deserve, and I love hearing success stories from my coworkers in the scent matching department. But it makes it impossible to forget that glaring void in my own life.
They say that a pack isn’t complete without an omega. I know logically that’s bullshit, having lived with my pack for the past five years without one. But at my core, I’ve bought into the fantasy of life with an omega. Even after our past attempts at finding one were total disasters.
I crave giving the kind of care that omegas flourish under, and though I’ve tried directing that same care toward my packmates, they only accept so much before they start to bristle at my efforts.
My job helps, but there’s a difference between helping a patient and lavishing your own omega with presents and pleasure.
I’ve considered working in the heat services department to satisfy some of that need, but I know myself.
If I share physical intimacy with someone, I’m bound to get my heart wrapped up in things, too.
No one wants a lovesick alpha as their heat attendant.
With a half-yawn, half-sigh, I head out of the bathroom. On my way back to the break room to see if there’s anything else that I could scrounge together to keep me awake for the next five hours, Sven approaches with a clipboard.
“Got a drop-in patient for you, doc,” the Nordic beta nurse says, handing over the papers. “She’s in exam room 2.”
An unscheduled late night appointment typically means an unexpected heat.
If they need to see a doctor, they must have some health concerns that could be impacted by the heat.
Either that, or it’s their first time using the clinic’s services and they need the standard medical exam so that they’re cleared to use them.
“Thanks,” I say, looking down at the clipboard to go over the details of her case.
I’m only at the patient’s name when I realize Sven smelled incredible.
Like my favorite vanilla cardamom latte from that ridiculously expensive coffee shop near River’s office.
The muscular nurse has already headed off, but as soon as I’m done with this patient, I’m finding out where Sven got decent coffee at this time of night.
Looking back down at the patient intake forms, I skim the first page.
Like I thought, it’s an omega’s first heat.
I’d rather not make her wait for me to read through everything in detail, since she’s probably very uncomfortable sitting in the sterile exam room with the bright fluorescent lights that are jarring even to my alpha eyes.
I quickly grab the bottle of scent blocker from my pocket and rub it over my scent glands to make doubly sure my alpha pheromones don’t bother my new patient.
First heats can be overwhelming, especially if they coincide with revealing as an omega.
Which is most likely the case, since newly revealed omegas usually visit a clinic and set up a plan for their first heat ahead of time.
I put on my softest smile and try to relax my posture before I enter the exam room.
Even with the scent blockers, the new omega will probably be uncomfortable with me as their doctor, especially with such a sensitive situation.
My regular patients learn quickly that I’m nothing to feel threatened by or frightened of, but I know what I look like at first glance. A large, intimidating older alpha.
I knock on the door twice, letting the omega inside know I’m here, then call out as gently as possible, “May I come in?” I’ve learned that omegas often do better when I don’t barge into the room. Sven calls it my vampire protocol—I need permission before I can enter.
“Uh, yeah?” A husky, feminine voice calls out from the other side.
Good, she doesn’t sound nervous. My alpha perks up in appreciation at the sound of her voice, but I shove that down.
I open the door and make it two steps inside before I’m arrested by the sight in front of me. An instinctive rumble rises in my chest and I stifle it, doing my best to turn it into clearing my throat.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I lock my eyes on the patient’s face so that I don’t let them scan over the plush curves or the long, bare legs I saw in the brief moments I looked.
I won’t lie and say I’ve never been attracted to a patient before—it’s unavoidable as an alpha without a bonded omega.
But I’ve never almost growled with possessive lust after a moment in an omega’s presence.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to have noticed my inappropriate reaction. I plaster my smile back on. “Ms. Clairmont?”
She nods with a half smile.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Stills. Or you can call me Ambrose if you’d rather not be so formal.
” I chastise my alpha for adding that last part.
Rather not be so formal? God, keep it together.
Flustered by my own words, I go to reach my hand out for a handshake—a rookie mistake for gaining an omega’s trust—but before I can attempt to play it off, she stands and clasps it with hers.
Her grip is strong and confident, and despite how clammy she is, I have the absurd instinct to not let go.
This close, I’m hit by her scent, and I almost stagger from the impact.
The perfect spiced latte, rich and full-bodied as it touches my tongue, warming me from the inside as I drink.
It’s a battle with my alpha that I barely win to not inhale deeply and drink more of her scent down.
I quickly let go of her hand, but I must not hide my alpha’s reaction because she grimaces.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Stills. Uh, Ambrose. Informal is fine, so you can call me Camille. Or Cami. Or Ms. Clairmont. Whatever is fine with me.” Her pale, lightly freckled cheeks burnish slightly, the shade a lovely compliment for her abundant red curls.
She clears her throat and glances at my hand, which tingles with the desire to touch her again.
“Sorry for the sweaty palms. I’m feeling overheated and, uh, I’m a little nervous,” she says, adding a laugh at the end.
Fuck, my name sounds good coming from her lips. That, combined with the throaty rasp of her nervous laugh, has my cock swelling. I drop the clipboard in front of my crotch before she notices the doctor has a very unprofessional semi five seconds after meeting her.
Calm down.
“No need to apologize at all, Camille. Would you feel more comfortable if I lowered the temperature?”
I pat myself on the back for returning to a semblance of professionalism, but then I see the bead of sweat sliding down the side of her neck and into the swell of her cleavage.
My alpha urges me to lick it off, and I drop my eyes to the clipboard so I don’t continue to watch its descent.
I go over to the thermostat and bump it down a few degrees, needing to cool down too.
Her scent is so potent that I’m having a hard time focusing, but when I hit the button for the room’s filtration fans, nothing happens.
Crap, they’re not working. That’s the second time this month these damn things have gone haywire.
“I’d feel more comfortable if I wasn’t here at all,” she says, her tone rueful.
Shit, I’m making her uncomfortable. That shuts my horny alpha right up. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Clairmont. If you’d prefer a different doctor, I can see if we have someone else on call at one of our sister clinics tonight.”
“What? No, you’re fine. I mean, you’re more than fine…” She swallows heavily and her cheeks grow even pinker. “I was just wishing I wasn’t in this… situation.” She waves her hand around the exam room. “Though I’m still crossing my fingers that it’s a weird sign of menopause.”
Now that my alpha isn’t slavering over her, my brain kicks in. The woman before me is gorgeous and mature, with small flecks of silver in her copper curls and faint crinkles in the corners of her eyes when she smiles.
I glance down at the paperwork and notice the birthdate I’d skipped over. “You’re forty?” I don’t mean to ask that aloud or sound so incredulous. I quickly course correct. “Some women start perimenopause as early as forty, so that’s not unheard of.”
I double-check the vitals that Sven took. She’s running a mild fever and her blood pressure is a little elevated. “Have you noticed any irregularity with your periods? Any night sweats or hot flashes?”
“My periods have been getting a little closer together over time, but I’m still getting them,” she says with a frown, like the fact is upsetting to her. “I’ve felt overheated a few times this past week, though,” she tacks on.
“Hmm, alright.” Her eyes are locked on mine, pleading for me to tell her that this is menopause.
But even without my medical training, I’d be able to recognize that the woman before me is an omega going into heat.
I’m not about to tell her I know because my alpha is desperate for her, though.
“Have you had any pain during intercourse or vaginal dryness?”
She sputters at my question. “Uh, no. I’m… no dryness. The opposite.” She shifts in place on the exam chair and her scent hits me even harder than before. God, she’s perfuming for me.
Taste her slick from the source. Make her come on your tongue and then gush around your knot.
Now my face is as flushed as hers, and if I move the clipboard, she’ll see my erection straining against my pants. Fuck. No matter how hard I try, I’m not able to be professional around her, and she needs medical care, not me thinking about how she’d sound when she comes.
“Ms. Clairmont—”
“Camille,” she interrupts. “If you’re going to give me bad news, I’d rather not have the formality.”
“Camille,” I say, correcting myself. “I don’t think that you’re starting menopause. Your temperature, cramping, and slick production are all classic signs of the start of a heat.”
“But… I’m a beta and… I’m old!” she protests.
That makes me chuckle. “If you’re old, then I’m ancient.”
She relaxes a little at my joke, and my pulse quickens as her eyes scan over me. A flash of hunger crosses her face, followed by another bloom of her thick coffee scent.
Fuck me. I clench my fists so that I don’t do something crazy, like reach out and pull her against me so I can bury my nose against her neck.
Camille's lips twist into a small smile. “Okay, fine, not old. But definitely past the point where I would’ve revealed as an omega, right?”
It’s true that 96% of omegas reveal within five years of puberty, and 99% within ten years. But there are rare cases where they don’t reveal until much later. “There are documented cases of omegas revealing later in life.”
“God, I don’t want to be a documented case. Or go on Omega’s Choice,” she grumbles.
My brow furrows. “The reality show?”
“My friend thinks that I should capitalize on being an anomaly. That I should try to play up my ‘omega MILF’ status’.
I’m not a MILF! I don’t have any kids.” Camille’s hands fly up in exasperation, her voice growing higher and louder as she speaks.
“I don’t want to be an omega. I don’t want to have to throw away my panties in bar bathrooms and worry about the puddle I’m leaving on the paper on this chair because I can’t stop gushing.
I feel like I’m empty inside and need to be filled up, but how the fuck am I going to fit a knot inside me when I haven’t even had a dick inside me for years? I can’t do this. I—”
My brain snags on the mention of her slick, immediately thinking how she doesn’t need to worry because I would take my time stretching her until she’s begging for my knot.
Dammit, I’m not doing anything involving her and my cock.
It’s easy to move past the absurd lust when tears start rolling down her cheeks and my alpha finally recognizes that this is an omega in distress, not one that needs my dick.
I move on instinct, wrapping my arms around her.
Camille doesn’t resist—no, she pulls me in tighter and burrows her face against my shoulder.
I can’t stop the purr from rumbling out of me.
It’s beyond inappropriate. I should let her go, but I can’t when everything inside me is screaming at me to comfort her.