Chapter Two ABBIE
We make slow, perfect love until dawn, only stopping once to cook and eat that grilled cheese Wings promised me.
He might not have a knot, but he stays hard inside me for so long, sometimes it feels like we're fused together. When we finally fall asleep, I’m too tired to dream, and I wake up to the smell of coffee wafting under my nose.
Wings is already dressed and I pout at the sight of his Iron Flyers’ cut. “You have to go?”
“I’m heading to Williamstown to drop off a bike.” He sets the coffee cup on the nightstand and sinks beside me. “You gonna be okay? I’ll be back tonight. Midnight at the latest.”
“I have a shift from three, remember.”
“Ah, shit.”
This is one of the downsides of our split lives. Coordinating our calendars is an ongoing challenge. “You’ve got your key, though. Be here when I get off? We might only have a couple of hours before you head back to the club, but I promise to make them worth it.”
He grins and nuzzles his tattoo on my throat. “I’ll take every second I can get.”
Once I’m up and dressed, I decide to head to the dojo for a sparring session with my sensei, Kate.
She’s in her late fifties and as well as being a retired army major, she’s been practicing Shorin-Ryu for over two decades.
She wears the black and red belt of the rokudan, or sixth-degree black belt, which also happens to go perfectly with her sharp burgundy bob.
She’s an expert teacher, combining her mastery of the art with the brutal practicality of an ex-soldier, and she never fails to push me to my limits.
We practice advanced sparring, known as kumite, at least twice a week, focusing on tactical strategy, controlling our opponent's pressure, and reacting quickly to any situation.
It emphasizes fast, combat-oriented techniques, like rapid movement, body shifting, and precise striking to vital points, and I usually feel completely wired into my body during these sessions.
Today, I’m all arms and legs, and my frustration quickly bubbles to the surface.
“Your focus is off,” Kate says as she steps back. “Take a break.”
I grimace, but I know she’s right, retreating to the corner of the dojo to grab my water bottle. I’m wiping the poorly earned sweat off my face when she walks over, hands on her hips. “What's up, Abbie?”
“Old ghosts,” I reply, then sigh, because I know it’s not an acceptable excuse. I’ve been attending this dojo for over two years, and I know that if I want to progress beyond a student, I need to own my actions. “Some stuff has just got into my head, but I’ll do better.”
Kate is unimpressed, as expected of a teacher of her level. “You’re here to learn, not dwell on the past.”
“I know. I honestly thought coming here would help me shake it off.”
“It will, just not today.” She gives a pointed look at the door, signaling an end to our session. “Remember that ghosts are like grudges, Abbie. They both get heavier the longer you haul their asses around.”
I smirk as I gather up my things. “Very profound, sensei.”
She snorts as she heads towards her office. “You want pretty lies, buy a fortune cookie.”
As bad as I feel about the aborted training session, I manage to have a productive shift at the clinic, including getting funding approval for Kaylee to attend the New Dawn boardinghouse.
I head home in a more positive mood, but it quickly sours when I open the door to an empty apartment.
There’s only the faintest trace of Wings’ scent in the air, and I drift aimlessly around for a while, the disappointment settling heavily into my bones.
I check my phone again, just in case I missed a message, but his last text was hours ago.
He’s on his Williamstown trip, which means he’s probably traveling with a couple of club members, but he always finds a quiet moment to wish me goodnight.
I spend a restless night tossing and turning, then drag myself through my shift the next day.
The silent phone in my pocket eats into my concentration, and I have a pounding headache by the time I head home.
The evening is a rinse and repeat of the last, and I toss and turn in my lonely bed until I need to return to the clinic at six am.
I help out with a couple of emergencies, but the shift passes so slowly it feels like I’m crawling through glue.
When I finally hear Wings’ voice, I’m in the middle of discharging a patient, and I have to look twice because it doesn’t sound like him at all.
He’s brought in on a stretcher, but he’s fighting it, trying to roll off despite the nurses flanking him on both sides.
His eyes are wide with distress as he argues that he can walk, that he’s fine, and that he doesn’t need anyone holding his goddamn hand.
But he has sweated through his clothes and there’s a graze on his cheek, red raw like road rash.
I assume the worst. It’s a spill at high speed.
A stunt gone wrong. A collision with something – a tree, a dog, a goddamn driver who never checks his mirrors - until I glance at his neck and see the bite on his throat.
It’s only then that I fully comprehend the man standing next to him.
Alpha, six-two, his arms corded in defined muscle, like a boxer.
He’s olive skinned, maybe Latino, with razored hair, high cheekbones, and pale green eyes.
Like Wings, he’s wearing dark jeans and a faded tee, and he smells like a mixture of road sweat, citrus, and alpha musk.
“Who the hell are you?” I don’t actually need him to confirm his name. It’s stitched right there on his fucking Iron Flyers cut. PITT. “Did you do this to him?”
His winter grass eyes snap to my throat. “Thank fuck. You're butterfly?” His voice is low and rough, like it’s grinding through gears. “He kept talking about you.”
I curl my lip at him. It might say Sergeant-at-Arms on his cut, but there’s no way Wings has been blabbing about me to this stranger. “I seriously doubt that.”
“No, I mean he wanted me to find you. All the way here, he kept saying the Meridian Omega Clinic and butterfly. I thought he was delirious.”
“Okay,” I say grudgingly, because at least he listened enough to get Wings here. “I’ve got him now. You can leave.”
“What? I’m not going anywhere…”
I glance at Goldie, the security guard who followed them in. He’s watching the Iron Flyer closely, his six-foot-six frame ready to spring into action, so I turn my attention back to the stretcher. “Wings? Do you know where you are?”
“Abbie?” His eyes are glazed with what I can only assume is a mixture of confusion and fear. “I feel like shit. I keep puking and my skin is burning. You shouldn’t get close to me, in case you catch it.”
He rocks back again, like he’s going to roll off the bed, and the nurses lay their firm hands on him, holding him still. “I’m fine,” I say in a soothing voice, “and I’m going to fix you up in no time. Do you consent to treatment?”
His gaze has drifted around the room, but now it snaps back to me.
“What? Yeah, anything you think I need-.” He jolts hard, almost knocking me over, and the nurse on my left shoots me a concerned look as I steady myself against the edge of the stretcher.
Wings catches the look, his face flushing a deep red.
“Fuck, I'm sorry, Abbie. I feel like… I want to claw my skin off.” He sucks in a sharp breath and stares down at his crotch in horror. “Shit, I think I wet myself.”
“It’s okay,” I croon, rubbing his chest to draw his attention back to my face. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“No, it’s fucking bad...” He watches with wide eyes as the nurse fills a syringe and passes it to me.
“Wait? What's happening?” His gaze swings to the Flyer in the corner and he flinches like he’s been slapped.
The horror in his eyes deepens, making my heart clench in sympathy. “Am I... presenting?”
I lean closer to him, smiling despite the rigid muscles in my cheeks. “Yes, beautiful. We’ll run tests, but I believe you’re in a fever from an abrupt designation change. It’s perfectly normal, so I don’t want you to be alarmed. We have the medicine right here to help you through it.”
I show him the syringe, but his gaze is locked on mine. His hand snakes out, hot and clammy where it grips my fingers. “I’m sorry, Abbie. I didn’t know.”
“You couldn't.” I push his sweaty hair back off his forehead. “And you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. This is just nature taking its course. But now I’m going to step in and make things a little easier, okay?”
Tears fill his eyes, until they’re awash with grief and shame. With a shaking hand, he brings my knuckles up to his mouth, his breath hot and bitter as he kisses them. “I love you, butterfly. I’m sorry I ruined things.”
I urge the nurses back with a jerk of my head.
They don’t look happy, but they retreat a step and I lean forward to kiss Wings’ clammy brow.
His sunshine scent is still there, but it’s overwhelmed by something darker and sweeter.
“Nothing's ruined, beautiful,” I murmur softly, my words just for him.
“You're perfect, and you're mine. Close your eyes and let me make you feel better.”
He nods, his lashes finally fluttering closed, and I nod for the nurses to return.
I quickly dose him with the sedative, and they continue checking his vitals, his heart rate slowing as the drug takes effect.
As soon as he’s breathing normally, I swing around to confront the Iron Flyer. “Come with me.”
We only go a few steps away, since I want to keep Wings in my line of sight. The fever will burn the meds off in half an hour and then we’ll set up his treatment plan. But first, I need to know what the fuck this guy did to him.
“It just happened,” he says as we come to a stop. “He woke up and he was in heat...”
“That’s not heat,” I say shortly. “It’s a hormonal fever. It’s an omega state of distress.”