Chapter One ABBIE
“You can’t kick me out yet,” the omega lying in the hospital bed complains, his bruised lips pushed into a pout. “What’s so important that you have to rush off, anyway?”
This is the third time that Damien Cortland has been admitted to urgent care seeking the help of a heat therapist. Some patients arrive too dazed and in pain to know what day it is, but Damien always drives himself to the clinic and requests my services, often waiting a couple of hours until I can see him.
He hasn’t had a companion-aided heat for three years, and in the past, has spent his most vulnerable moments either drunk or high.
Anything to block out the memory of the alpha who put the broken claiming bite on his neck.
“You know I’ve got other patients to see.
” I reach out to push his sweaty curls off his forehead, because the line between physical intimacy and healing is a little more blurred with heat recovery.
In clinical terms, he’s reached the point where he could venture back into the courting scene, returning to the eternal dance of eligible alphas seeking compatible omegas.
But Damien is strong-willed, emotional, and, despite the trauma that has brought us together, a romantic at heart.
“But I don’t want this to end. I want you to come home with me.”
“That’s a good sign,” I tell him, careful to withdraw my touch slowly. Rejection and regression go hand-in-hand for traumatized omegas, and I keep my gaze fixed on him as I grab his chart. “You’ve completed another successful heat, Damien. You should be proud of yourself.”
He snorts and rolls his pretty eyes at me, but I can see a pleased flush bloom on his cheeks.
He once told me that I’m the only person who makes praise sound like a gift instead of a transaction.
And I have to admit, it’s easy to praise him, since Damien is soft and sweet, with a desperate yearning to please.
As a trauma therapist, I specialize in omegas who’ve suffered through the worst kind of heats, so it’s no wonder a lot of my clients swing wildly between prickly and needy.
Cuddles with claws, as one of my colleagues so succinctly puts it.
Damien is a perfect example, and I feel the familiar tug of loss as I make my final notes on his chart.
A few moments ago, this space was his nest, the sacred domain of an omega in heat, but now it’s back to being a bunch of rumpled sheets in a downtown emergency room.
“You think I’m all better?” he demands, frustration flashing in his eyes.
“Does this look like a happy, well-adjusted omega to you?” He thrusts the sheets aside, exposing the claw marks and bruises on his pale body.
Even sedated and in our care, he still managed to hurt himself, although as my gaze lingers on his wounds, his lips curl with satisfaction.
“Tell me you won’t be thinking about me when you’re with them. ”
The venom in his voice makes me pause, and I study his face, trying to see if this is just another stalling tactic.
Like most omegas, Damien is greedy for attention and highly competitive when it comes to his designation.
His instincts are on high alert from his heat, and it’s clear he’s feeling even more territorial than usual.
If I was his packmate, I’d kiss and cuddle him, whispering how he’s the best boy, the perfect lover, the omega of my dreams. But he’s my client, and one who is clearly growing too attached.
“I’ll come back to check on you when you’re dressed.”
His bottom lip droops at the ring of finality in my voice.
As I replace his chart, his eyes grow shiny with tears, and I have to force myself to leave the room.
Well, shit. Not only do I feel like I’ve let him down, but now I’m going to have to find a colleague who’s willing to take over his care, which is never easy in our understaffed, overcrowded emergency care clinic.
Despite Damien’s possessive behavior, I can sympathize with him only too easily.
Heat trauma can leave deep scars, especially when the only intimacy they’ve experienced was at the hands of a sadistic alpha.
And from what I’ve read of Damien’s case file, the alpha who held him prisoner for six months was the very worst of his designation.
Cruel and controlling, he subjected Damien to daily punishments mixed with some hefty gaslighting, until the poor omega couldn’t tell what was real and what was in his head.
Worse still, he was Damien’s family physician, forever tainting his trust in the professionals assigned to his care.
It made Damien terrified to leave his parents’ home, and, according to the clinic’s psychologist, he’s still living in near total seclusion.
I sigh as I head into my next patient’s room, the scent of jasmine mixed with antiseptic wafting through the door.
Kaylee is only seventeen and I’d argued strongly for her care to be transferred to the private children’s hospital in midtown.
But like us, they’re dealing with a near constant flow of omega trauma patients.
As the harried admissions officer told me on the phone, at least Kaylee was old enough that she only suffered minor scars and bruising.
A deep, familiar rage grips me, but I smooth the evidence from my face as the petite girl in the bed looks away from the window.
The smile she offers is still wobbly at the edges, but I notice that she’s flicked through some of the magazines I left on her nightstand.
She’s been with us for three days, and part of the healing process is the ability to view the glossy images of stylized omegas and not put her fist through the wall.
Or maybe that’s just how I feel about the yawning gap between real life and the dream most omegas are sold when they first present.
“How are you feeling, Kaylee?”
“Better.” She pauses, then pulls a face as she smooths both hands over the bedcovers. “I mean, my muscles still ache, but I can point my toes without feeling like my legs are going to fall off.”
“That’s good news,” I tell her as I review her chart, “because walking out of here in a couple of hours will be hard without your legs.”
“Really?” Her face goes blank as she processes the news. “I’m ready to leave?”
There’s an odd note in her voice and when I look at her more closely, she bites her lip and averts her gaze.
“It’s just that my mom said I have to go to a boardinghouse now that I’m an omega.
I have six siblings still living with her, and there are too many unbonded alphas in our apartment block.
I guess she’s worried that I’ll lure one of them home. ”
“Not lure,” I tell her lightly, because words matter when it comes to trauma. “Any alpha who approaches you uninvited is responsible for their actions, remember?”
“Okay.” She breathes out a sigh, her hands unclenching the bedsheets. “It’s just that mom is already talking about making me a match. She said my uncle has a friend who’s part of a wealthy pack…” She gulps suddenly, her face going pale. “But every time I think about anyone touching me…”
“That’s okay.” I give her a reassuring smile, even though I could strangle her mother.
After everything she’s been through, the last thing Kaylee needs to be worrying about is mating some middle-aged stranger.
“You don’t have to deal with that right now.
Which boardinghouse is your mom considering? ”
“The Lasting Light?” She looks at me tentatively. “It’s nearby and in our budget. Or it will be if the director gives us a discount, like he said.”
I have to turn away so she doesn’t see my face, because over my dead body is Kaylee going to that fucking place. “There are some nicer ones I could point you towards. And don’t worry about the cost. The clinic has a rehousing budget that I’m sure could help.”
“Really?” She sits up straighter, relief softening her pinched features.
“Because I spoke to Maura, one of the other girls here. She’s going to Sweet Haven.
Her sister went there, and she said the staff are really nice and they have courting rules, so you don’t have to match the first alpha who puts in an offer. ”
“You never have to accept someone you don’t like,” I tell her gently, although maybe a little steel bleeds into my voice because she blinks and gives a rapid nod.
I take a silent breath, willing away my own dark memories.
“I grew up with old-school alphas, so I know the pressure you’re under.
Just remember you can always come back here if you want to talk, okay? ”
“Okay.” She looks up through her lashes. “If it’s not rude to ask, how do you get through your heats alone? I mean, I can’t help noticing that you’re not bonded…”
I press a thumb to the butterfly tattoo over my scent gland. “The holy trinity of heat aids. Meds, music, and a really great meditation app.” Her eyes widen, like she’s not sure if I’m joking, and I give her a wink. “Give it time. You’ll find what works for you, I promise.”
“Thanks, Abbie.”
“Happy to help, Kaylee.”
Although we part with smiles, I find it hard to loosen the tight feeling in my chest. There’s a lot of paperwork waiting for me, so I finish my shift late, and I’m yawning as I trudge out to the parking lot.
But I instantly perk up as an original ’82 Super Glide rolls out of the shadows, a beautiful man smiling at me like I’m the breaking dawn after a long, cold night.
“Missed you, butterfly.”