53. Chapter Fifty-Three #2
He crouches so I can slide off his back with at least a scrap of dignity. The second my boots touch the floor, his hand settles at my waist, steadying me before I can pretend I don’t need it. By the time we reach the infirmary, Viper’s steps have slowed to a trudge, but he still doesn’t complain.
The infirmary corridor is already full.
Ten Alphas wait along the stone walls, some sitting on benches, some standing with their arms folded, all of them trying very hard to look like they're not pissed off about being referred for mandatory medical supervision. It would be funny if I didn’t know exactly how dangerous pride can become when fear gets trapped underneath it.
Still, this is progress.
I recognize those who have been to the clinic before.
Alpha Wrecker has a mug of what smells like chamomile tea clutched in his big hands.
Alpha Bleak is steadily mending a torn glove with careful darning stitches.
And Alpha Cipher, who last week flipped the examination table when he was told he was off active duty, is sitting quietly reading a battered paperback with a level of concentration that says he is trying very hard not to think about why he’s here.
The nearest Alpha, a new attendee, catches sight of me and straightens a little, relief flickering across his face before he tries to hide it.
I still haven't gotten used to the way these Alphas, who can fold steel with their bare hands, look at me like I'm the one thing that will personally drag them back from the edge if they start to slip.
I mean, they're not wrong. I will if I can. I'll always step up to use my Omega Command for the greater good.
The infirmary door swings open, and Everlyn appears with her sleeves rolled up and a datapad tucked against her hip. She takes one look at me, then narrows her eyes.
"You look like you should be my patient, not my assistant."
Her gaze lingers, and I know she isn’t only assessing my exhaustion.
She has been waiting for me to bring up the negative pregnancy test result, but I look toward the Alphas filling the corridor before she can ask.
I'm not in a rush to confront my complicated feelings regarding my fertility.
It's taken me a decade to accept my infertility, and now I'm granting myself the time needed to process the fact that I can get pregnant.
Besides, she's not wrong. I'm a mess. My fatigues are streaked with dirt and blood that is not mine, and if I look as exhausted as I feel, then her worry might be justified.
I shrug. "I can multitask."
She purses her lips. "Fine, but you sit. I won't have you fainting on my watch."
Viper’s hand flexes at my waist. "The Command was clean and short, but it's drained her. We should try to keep this short so I can get her back to the nest for a nap."
"I'm not a child, I don't need a scheduled nap—"
Everlyn gives me a dry look, and I swallow my protests.
"I’ve already started triage on ten Alphas," the doctor says. "Three are follow-ups. Six have moderate symptoms, and I want them pulled from duty for the next week while I monitor them."
"And the last one?" Viper asks.
She does not answer right away. Instead, she shifts slightly, and I see him.
He's young. Barely more than a boy under all that Alpha bulk.
He sits on the bench at the far end of the corridor with his elbows braced on his knees and his head bowed.
His hands are clasped hard enough that the knuckles have gone pale.
Every few seconds his leg starts bouncing, fast and relentless, before he catches himself and forces it still.
When he lifts his head, his pupils are wide, swallowing most of his vibrant lime-green irises.
His scent hits me a second later, and there is no missing it.
Rotting flesh. Rancid.
It's not overwhelming yet, but it's there and strong enough that my stomach tightens.
"That’s Riot," Everlyn says quietly. "He came back from refugee escort this morning. His Prime Alpha says he isn’t sleeping, can’t settle, and is picking fights with his squad."
Riot hears his name and looks over. Shame sits plain on his face, and my heart clenches for him, imagining the internal war that must be happening inside his body right now. He's fighting to keep hold of his sanity, his sense of self, and it's clear he's slipping with every passing hour.
I meet his gaze and hold it, giving him what I hope is a warm and comforting smile.
He's frightened, I can tell, but he's doing his best to hide it.
Viper folds his arms over his chest, and I feel the same ache of compassion flood from him through our bond. He's so young, but he must have experienced an unfathomable amount of violence to be already knocking at Blood Lust's door.
Everlyn follows my gaze and softens her voice. "Riot, come in."
For one strained second, I think he might refuse the order.
His jaw works and his fingers flex. The other Alphas in the corridor go painfully still, all of them pretending they are not watching while absolutely watching.
Then Riot seems to overcome whatever impulse he was fighting and pushes himself upright.
He is bigger than I expected once he stands, broad through the shoulders but he's gangly, like he hasn't had the chance to grow into his limbs before the war sent him to the front lines.
He steps into the infirmary with careful, measured movements, as if he is afraid one wrong motion will crack whatever control he has left.
Everlyn gestures toward the examination table. "Sit."
I shuffle over to a chair in the corner and collapse into it with a long exhale of relief. Viper stands at my shoulder, his eyes watchful as he takes a guard position.
If worst comes to worst and Alpha Riot loses control, I have full confidence that Viper can go toe-to-toe with an Alpha in Blood Lust. He might be cured of the illness, but his body hasn't forgotten how to fight like one.
Riot obeys, though his whole body fights the stillness. His knee starts bouncing again the instant he settles, and his eyes dart around the room.
Everlyn checks Riot’s pulse first. Her expression does not change, but I see the tiny pause in her fingers.
His pulse is fast, then.