Chapter Two ABBIE #2
If Wings was younger, his fever would’ve been like mine, and it would’ve felt like a bad case of the flu. But he’s nearly twenty-three and has lived for the last five years as a latent alpha. The change isn’t just affecting him physically but is also rewiring his psyche.
The Flyer runs a hand over his mouth. Up close, I can see the tension in his eyes and smell the guilt in his sweat. “Is he gonna be okay?”
“You bit him.”
He grimaces, but when he nods, it’s like he’s punched me in the stomach. It takes every atom of my professionalism not to hit him back, and I know he must sense my rage. I’m on blockers, but I’m almost vibrating I’m so angry, and my scent rises between us in a sour mist. “Tell me what happened.”
“We were at a motel outside Williamstown. It wasn’t meant to be an overnighter, but Wings got sick on the road.
He spent the day in bed, but then he woke up in the middle of the night, moaning and stumbling around.
I thought it was just his gut ache, but then the smell hit me.
Sickly sweet. I got out of bed, asked if he needed anything, and he looked at me in a total panic.
Next second, he shot out the motel door and bolted across the parking lot, nearly getting himself pancaked by an 18-wheeler on the highway.
I tackled him, banging him up a bit, and he belted me in the jaw.
...” He rubs it, but more out of confusion than pain.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened. He was getting all scraped up on the gravel, so I wrestled him onto his back and.
.. Shit. I bit him. I was just trying to calm him down, but I fucked up. ”
As much as I want to lash out - because he bit what’s mine - his story is sadly familiar to me, and there’s real contrition in his face.
“It’s a calming bite,” I tell him with a sigh.
“You missed his scent gland, so it wasn’t like you were trying to claim him.
It’s instinctive for some alphas when their omega is distressed.
” I bite the edge of my tongue, wishing I could swallow back the words.
I don’t care who he is or how big his teeth are. Wings is mine.
“He’s not my omega,” he says slowly, because of course he didn’t miss that slip of the tongue. “He’s yours, right? You two are together.” He doesn’t wait for me to deny it, his eyes narrowing. “He called you Abbie. Does that mean you're Abigail Taylor, Crater's daughter?”
Of course he knows my father, even though he’s been dead since I was twelve. This guy is an Iron Flyer, and my grandfather’s pack started the damn club. “Who I am outside this clinic is none of your business.”
“I’m not trying to cause trouble.” He holds his hands up, surrender style. “I just want to help. Make amends.” He bows his head, blowing out a breath. “Shit. I’m Wings’ buddy. He’s probably the best one I’ve got. So, if I can do anything, just tell me.”
I feel a burn in my chest. Maybe it’s jealousy at hearing him call himself Wings’ best friend.
I’ve never heard of the guy, of course, since club business is off limits between us, but now I wonder how much of himself Wings has to hide from me.
How much does he have to carry in silence, just so he can keep the peace?
“For now, you can wait in the pack room.” I manage to keep the flinch out of my voice through sheer willpower. “I’ll come and get you once we make him comfortable.”
He nods, but I can see the reluctance in his eyes. “What does that mean? Do you drug him up? Because if he needs an alpha…”
I give him a cool look. “It’s a fever, not a heat. We just need to get his temperature down, stabilize his hormones, and then talk to him about his management plan.”
“And then do I take him home? Because I’ll need to call Ark and tell him what’s going on.”
I have him shoved up against the wall before I realize I’ve moved.
His cut feels disturbingly familiar under my hands, but his nostrils flare, sucking in my scent, and I catch a hint of alpha arousal.
Jesus Christ... “You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, you hear me?
As far as the club is concerned, it’s just a stomach flu.
You give Wings a chance to understand what’s happened to him before you bring the fucking Flyers down on his head. ”
“Abbie?”
I whip my head around, but it’s Goldie, the security guy. Despite his size, he somehow manages to move like his shoes are greased. Quick and silent, and thankfully always there when I need him. But now he’s looking between me and the Flyer like he’s not sure who he needs to restrain.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, stepping back and rubbing my palms on my thighs. “We were just discussing the patient’s treatment plan. Can you please show Mr. Pitt to the pack room?”
To call a member by anything other than their road name is an insult in the club, but I’m not about to announce my knowledge of MC protocol in the middle of the damn clinic.
Goldie is still eying me cautiously, but I hold Pitt’s stare as he backs up.
He doesn’t look even remotely threatened by the alpha herding him away, but then, he barely flinched when I shoved him up against the wall.
Definitely not a stranger to violence, which makes sense if he’s the Iron Flyers’ Sergeant-at-Arms.
If anything, he looks relieved, and he glances back as he reaches the corner, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m glad he’s got you in his corner, butterfly.”
His words play on a loop in my head as I make my way down the hallway to the trauma beds.
Given their hypersensitive state, all incoming omegas are relocated out of the main clinic area as quickly as possible, but I’m surprised to find that Wings has already been moved into a private room.
Dr. Peterson, one of the emergency medicine physicians, is waiting for me, a sympathetic gleam in his usually stern gaze.
“He’s yours?” he asks me bluntly as I reach his side.
There’s no point denying it, I suppose, especially when Goldie files an incident report about me shoving an alpha into the wall. “Yes. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
He looks at me curiously, since I’m the last person in our chatty clinic to ever air my personal business. “It’s not a claiming bite, but it’s damn close to his scent gland. I get that you’re feeling territorial, but you need to put that aside if you want to treat him.”
“Of course.” I slide my hands into my pockets so he can’t see the tremble in my fingers. “The alpha explained what happened and I believe it took them both by surprise. He reacted out of instinct.”
“Understandable, especially given the patient’s age. And they belong to the same gang, am I correct?”
No doubt he saw the cut and immediately thought of Sons of Anarchy, or some other fictional MC.
I mean, he’s not completely wrong about the similarities, but that’s not how the Iron Flyers frame themselves with civilians.
“They’re a club. They run local businesses and even have a few charities.
” I force a casual shrug. “They’re not going to cause trouble. ”
“Fair enough.” Peterson glances at his watch and then gives me a frank look. “You’re happy to see this case all the way through?”
“Of course. I’ll buzz you if anything changes, otherwise I’ll see you at discharge.”
He nods and heads off, leaving me to steel myself before I head into Wings’ room.
“He settled quickly,” Janice, one of the nurses, tells me with a gentle smile.
Wings is sedated, but they managed to remove his cut and boots, and I stare at him under the white sheet.
There’s always been something a bit magical about him, like sunlight is permanently trapped under his skin, giving him an ethereal glow.
But now he looks pale and worn out, and Janice pats my shoulder in sympathy.
“All his vitals are good, Abbie, and he’s responding well to the drip.
As soon as he wakes up, we can get him some food and make him more comfortable. ”
Janice specializes in bond sickness and has almost twenty years of experience, so it’s easy to take comfort from her words.
I’m absolutely convinced that nurses are the best people on the planet, and I give her a grateful smile.
“He’s mine,” I say quietly, relieved to actually put the words out there for the first time. “Obviously, we’re not bonded…”
“There are lots of different bonds,” she tells me lightly, and flips her hand over, showing me her wrist. There’s a faint scar there, shaped almost like a heart, even though it’s clearly a carefully placed bite.
“I’m a beta, but my brother’s best friend is my world.
His pack has an omega, but they know he has me, too.
It works out, even if it’s not conventional. ”
“Screw convention,” I mutter, giving her fingers a squeeze. “He’s lucky to have you, Janice.”
She beams at me. “And don’t I remind him of that every day!”
Ten minutes later, I’m alone with Wings as he makes a restless sound and opens his eyes. He reaches for me before he sees me, and I grip his hand, relieved to feel that his temperature has dropped. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”
“Rough.” He clears his throat and I hold the paper cup while he sips from the straw. When he’s done, he gives me a sad look. “So, it wasn’t all just some fucked-up nightmare?”
“No. You presented. We’ve run your hormone panel to confirm it.”
“Jesus. I thought it was hard being a latent…” He winces. “Sorry. I just mean it’s weird. I never imagined this would happen to me.”
I get it. Presenting as an omega can feel like you’ve woken up in a stranger’s body.
A lot of omegas welcome the change, excited about packs, and bonds, and doting alphas, but the rules are different in motorcycle clubs, as I know only too well.
“It’s a big adjustment, but I’m here to help.
You’ve got through the hardest part, and now we make sure you have the right support in place. ”
“Abbie…” He gives me a chiding look. “I’m not one of your fragile little patients. We both know what this means.”
I shrug. “You said the club is changing. Maybe you’re the litmus test.”
“Fuck me.” He flops back, raking a hand over his face. When his fingers brush his throat, he flinches and groans. “I forgot about Pitt. Is this…?”
“A calming bite, not a claiming one. You were panicking, so his instincts told him to settle you down.” I lean closer, drawing his hand from his face. “Is that how you remember it?”
“Yeah, I mean, not clearly, but that’s basically it. I got sick and bolted from the motel. He tackled me, told me to calm down, but I was out of my head. I could smell myself, smell him, and I didn’t know what to do.”
I make a note on his chart, relieved that their stories match and Wings wasn’t put through a worse ordeal.
Not every alpha has the ability to resist a new omega, especially when they’re running.
Instincts press hard to chase, and I feel a grudging flash of respect for Pitt. “He’s a good friend of yours?”
“Yeah, although he’s closest to Ark. He invited him to patch in about a year ago. Like I said, he’s been bringing in new blood for some time, even before Booker got sick.”
“Well, I’m just glad he got you here safely.”
He nods, but as I step away, he grabs my hand. “Can I go home? To your place, I mean.”
The fact that he has to clarify that makes me sad. “That’s one of the things we need to discuss. For the next few days, it’s important you’re in a safe environment as your body adjusts.”
“That’s your place,” he insists. “I don’t want to stay here, and I don’t want to go to the club.” He pauses, uncertain. “Or is that a problem? If you’re having second thoughts…”
“About you?” I slide on the bed next to him and lean forward to stroke his cheek.
His scent rises around me, sweet like chocolate warmed in a pan.
“Nothing’s changed for me, Wings. I’m still as obsessed with you as I was yesterday.
” Even though his biology will now demand things of him that I’ll struggle to satisfy.
But that’s a problem for another day. “Rest now, and once you’ve finished the drip, I’ll see if I can transfer you home. ”
He’s still watching me with that hint of doubt in his eyes, so I brush my lips over his, trying to put all my love and devotion into the gentle kiss. “Our home, Wings. And if I didn’t make that clear before, I’m sorry. Where you are, I am, and that’s never going to change.”