Chapter 10
SKYLAR
I’m sick.
At first, I think it’s from whatever is in the food John gives me, but it’s deeper than that.
It’s suppressant withdrawal.
I’ve only experienced it once—back when I went on a trip with Tammy and April to Mexico and I forgot to bring my pills.
I thought it was fine to go a week without them until the chills and night sweats started.
April just about slapped me upside the head and dragged me to a pharmacy.
But this time is different.
It’s hitting harder.
I’m certain I have a fever. My back is drenched in sweat, but I’m freezing.
As far as I know, you can’t die from suppressant withdrawal.
But a fever can definitely kill me.
I lose all track of time.
When John comes into the bathroom, he slams the tray of food down on the counter and practically falls to his knees to look at me.
But I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want those crazed, dilated pupils on me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting my chin up.
I close my eyes.
There’s no point in telling him. He won’t give me suppressants.
My blood is apparently too valuable without it, and if he’s addicted to O like I think he is, he wouldn’t dare mess with the formula’s potency.
Looks like I’m going to die from the fever, then.
Then he won’t get his precious drug anymore.
I chuckle.
“Hey.” A light slap to my face, and my eyes snap open. “Hey, hey, wake up. Don’t go to sleep.”
I swallow thickly. “I’m not,” I slur out. “My head hurts.”
His hand goes to my forehead, and I wince at the contact. “Oh, shit. Oh shit,” he whispers. “What do you need? What can I do?”
I bark out a laugh and roll back onto my side. “You idiot, you could take me to a hospital,” I hiss. “And turn yourself in.”
He’s silent for a long time, and I brace for his retaliation.
Instead, he storms out of the room.
I groan at the sound of him slamming the door to the bedroom.
My head aches.
I’m cold.
And I’m halfway back asleep when he rolls me onto my back and forces me to sit up. He shoves a pill in my hand.
“Take it,” he orders, and I blink down at it.
Aspirin.
Not suppressants.
But I pop it into my mouth, and he hands me a cup of water, and I down the whole thing.
“You need a nest,” he declares as I place the cup down.
I look up at him incredulously. “Huh?” I ask, unsure if I heard him correctly.
“A nest. I can make you one. And then you’ll feel better.” He sounds so sure of himself, pleased that he figured out what was wrong with me.
There are a million issues with what he said, but I can’t find the words, and my mouth falls open.
He continues on, leaning against the sink. “I can get you blankets and my dirty clothes, because they smell like me. I can make you one, and you’ll be okay.”
“I…” the last thing I need right now is a nest. I have no desire for one.
Also…
You’re not an Alpha! I want to scream. How delusional is he? A fake pheromone cologne won’t do anything for me.
But my head throbs, and I’m so, so cold.
“No nest,” I groan. “Blankets, please.”
“But I can make a great nest,” he insists. “I can make the best one for you, I promise. I can?—”
I promptly crawl the few feet to the toilet and dry heave, spitting up bile.
It shuts him up, at least. He hurries out of the room as I throw up whatever is still in my stomach.
And as I lie on the floor, placing my forehead against the cool tile, I know this won’t end well.
The aspirin doesn’t help.
Nothing helps.
John turned the dingy mattress into what he calls a “nest”—a fitted sheet and blanket topped with a musty grey comforter and bunch of his white undershirts. It’s doused in his pheromone cologne.
He even added a pillow.
I don’t even argue as he lifts me up in his arms, the chain rattling as he places me on the mattress and covers me with the comforter, the proof of my captivity sticking out from the blankets and connecting to the pole in the corner of the room.
I feel him pull on the chain as I close my eyes, then his thumb rubs across my ankle.
“Don’t,” I mumble, but it comes out more as a grunt.
I don’t want him touching me.
“You don’t need this anymore,” he murmurs, his tone laced with guilt. It’s as if he’s starting to realize how cruel he is. “The door has been locked this whole time. And it’s not as if you can overpower me,” he adds quietly, talking to himself.
He’s trying to convince himself to unlock the manacle.
I hum in response.
Unfortunately, he’s right.
I have no energy to fight him. He’s extremely fit, with a powerful body so big that I confused him for an Alpha the first time I met him.
“I have to take your blood later today,” he adds quickly. “But I’ll take it here in your nest. You don’t even have to be awake.”
How generous of you, I think to myself.
“Maybe I’ve been taking too much,” he mumbles. My eyes fill with tears as he shuts the door and I hear the click of the lock.
He’s going to kill me.
I’ll never be able to see April again.
I’ll never know if Landon and River found her.
Landon and River…
I miss them so much.
Landon’s calm, powerful demeanor and his sweet smile. River and his vulnerability, but with so much strength behind it.
They’re opposites, yet they’re perfect for me.
But I kicked them out of my house.
I told them to leave. I told them I didn’t want them anymore.
And judging by the looks on their faces, they believed me.
Yet my inner Omega screams for them.
I wish it was Landon smoothing my hair back and tucking me into bed.
I wish it was River’s shirts surrounding me, his spicy scent enveloping me.
They were the best Alphas I’ve ever had, and I’ve lost them forever.
I succumb to my sorrow and sickness, existing in the space between consciousness and unconsciousness.