Chapter 27
MORGAN
The beast rears up as soon as I smell Jamie again. He’s waiting on the plane, nose buried in a book.
I take the seat across from him and open my laptop.
Sitting there with my seatbelt on until we hit cruising altitude is torture. My head aches as the beast tries to claw its way out again.
I hate that it feels like retreating when I head for the back of the plane and step into the bathroom.
The second I’ve locked the door, my body convulses. The all-too-familiar sensation is like nausea but even more visceral. It’s like every cell in my body is tensing, trying to expel the acid coursing through me.
I don’t have to look in the mirror to know that with every heave, my ears and fangs lengthen. My bones shift and pop.
I’m right on the edge.
If I shift, the flimsy bathroom door will be no match.
I claw under the cabinet for what I know is there—a backup bottle of suppressants. I keep them everywhere.
I down the whole thing, choking the pills down without water.
My stomach roils, as if the beast is rejecting them. I almost vomit, but I force a swallow down past the convulsion. I’ve done this before—I can do it again.
But this is different. Jamie makes it different, and I can’t figure out why.
I’m sweating, shaking. Jamie’s scent still lingers here. It’ll take time for the suppressants to kick in.
I wedge a claw into the ceiling panel that holds the oxygen masks and pry it open, forcing one to pop down and engage. I strap it over my head and breathe deep. The oxygen smells like plastic and metal, and I hate it, but it doesn’t smell like Jamie.
Pain ripples down my spine again as my vertebrae pop, ears and teeth shifting again. I brace myself against the counter as my body curls in on itself, lungs emptying with a whimper muffled by the oxygen mask.
The next ten minutes are hell. I count every second on my watch.
Finally, the suppressants hit. A fog comes over me—a side effect at high doses. Infuriating but necessary for the moment. With one last series of pops, my bones settle back into their human form. I sweep my tongue over my teeth, and my canines are no more than slightly pointed.
I slip out of the bathroom and head further back in the plane, locking myself in the soundproofed bedroom. I pull out my phone and start a VoIP call.
“Hey, Mor,” Gia chimes.
“Something is wrong with the suppressants,” I grind out.
“Mor… you sound like shit.”
“I want to run more tests without triggering an investigation. Tell me how to do that.” I rub my temples, hating how sluggish my brain feels.
“Whoa, whoa. What makes you think it’s the suppressants?”
“They’re not working.”
“Arthur would have told you if there were any upticks in adverse events.”
“Then what the fuck else can it be?” My hand clenches the bedsheets, claws tearing tiny holes.
“Can what be, Mor? What’s going on?” Gia’s tone is suddenly even, calm.
“Dont use your therapist voice on me.”
“Then don’t fucking call me.”
I sigh aloud. Gia knows that’s tantamount to an apology.
“I am on the edge, Gia. Of losing it. Of losing control.” My voice is quiet, as if the beast might hear and leap out if I say it too loud.
“I see,” Gia says with equal gravity. “What was your last dose?”
I give my second-to-last.
“That’s ten times what I prescribed you,” Gia says flatly.
“I know. I can count.”
“But you wouldn’t have called me if… Mor, what did you just take?”
“A whole bottle.”
“Well, that’s why you sound like shit.” She’s quiet for a long moment, analyzing. “Mor, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the suppressants.”
“Then how the fuck do you explain this?”
Gia picks her words carefully. “You’ve been experimenting on yourself for a long time. More than fifteen years, Mor.”
Gia is one of the precious few who know just how far back my work on the formula goes.
“So? Our longitudinal studies show great results.”
“They aren’t on scrapped formulas. Higher than recommended dosages. That stuff we tried in the early days… that was some toxic shit, Mor.”
The fog makes it harder for me to filter my reactions. I let out a long breath. I hate the female alphas stick together bullshit, but Gia and I always have.
“But you’re fine,” I say.
“I’m not sitting there with a treat balanced on my nose,” Gia says with a laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“C’mon, Mor. You like Jamie. It’s all over your face on every one of these fireside chats.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I see you’re tapping again, so yeah, I think I know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
Shit. She shouldn’t have been able to see that. “It’s just a reaction,” I grind out. “Because he’s an omega. The exact fucking thing this entire PR campaign is about preventing.”
“Do you seriously think if you were both betas there wouldn’t be a spark here?”
“We’ll never fucking know, will we?” I snarl.
“You must really be slipping, Mor, because I can’t remember the last time you said you didn’t know.”
The growl in my chest is deep and primal.
Gia returns with one just as vicious.
And then I… I back down. My shoulders slump. I flop back onto the bed, and I feel like I’m sixteen again.
“It’s not his job,” I say quietly, voice hoarse. “It’s not his job to… to calm me down. Alphas don’t get to just pluck omegas off the street at their will.”
Gia’s tone softens. “You’re not plucking him off the street. He likes you, too.”
“Well, he shouldn’t.”
“If you can stand to be in the same room as him for more than ten seconds, he’s not an idiot.”
“Even if what you’re saying is true—and I’m not conceding that—then… what the fuck do I do?” The fog and this bed and the roar of the plane are swallowing me.
“I don’t know.”
“Some psychiatrist you are.”
“I’m a psychiatrist, not a relationship counselor.” Gia lets out a wry chuckle. “You know my love life is just as abysmal as yours.”
“Fuck.” I let out a deep sigh.
“You really do like him, don’t you?”
My silence is the closest thing to an answer that Gia’s going to get.
“Thanks for the chat,” I say, and I end the call before Gia can say anything else.