Chapter 15 – IVY #2
My stomach chooses that moment to let out an embarrassingly loud growl. Heat rushes to my face all over again as Wraith turns to look at me, head tilted slightly.
H-U-N-G-R-Y?
“Starving,” I admit.
He’s already moving toward the small kitchen area. I watch as he opens a cabinet, revealing a modest but neatly organized collection of non-perishables. He turns back to me and signs what I think is a question about what I want to eat.
"Anything is fine," I say. "Really. You've already done way too much."
He stares at me in surprise, then nods and turns back to the cabinet.
I take the opportunity to observe him more carefully as he works.
Despite his size, he moves carefully, like he's afraid he’ll break everything he touches.
He pulls out bread and peanut butter, then goes back to the cabinet for honey and retrieves a red apple from a small basket on the counter.
This giant alpha is making me a sandwich.
Of course, this could all be a ruse to get into my pants, but my instincts rage against the idea immediately. That isn't what's happening here. Wraith is sincere. I feel it in my bones.
Wraith returns with a plate holding a neatly cut sandwich, apple slices arranged on the side with extra honey and peanut butter, and a glass of ice water. He sets everything on the coffee table in front of me. Before I can thank him again, he turns to leave.
"Wait," I say. "Aren't you going to eat, too?"
He freezes, then slowly turns back. With hesitant movements, he points to his mask, then makes a gesture like removing it, followed by a head shake.
"Because of your mask?" I ask. "You don't want to take it off?"
He nods, eyes wary, like he's waiting for me to push or pry or demand to see. People probably have before. The way those arena staff were talking about him, speculating about what's beneath the mask, making it sound like entertainment...
"It's okay," I say softly. “I won't watch you.”
He shakes his head again, more emphatically this time. He isn't going to starve himself because I'm up here and he doesn't take his mask off, is he? All the more reason to recover as quickly as possible so I can leave and let him get back to his life.
"You could sit with me, if you want to," I offer, scooting aside to make more room on the couch.
After a moment's hesitation like this is a really big deal, he nods and carefully lowers himself onto the opposite end of the couch. The cushions immediately shift with his weight, and I have to brace myself to avoid sliding toward him.
I pick up half the sandwich and take a bite. It's just peanut butter and honey, but after weeks of vending machine granola bars and chip packets, it tastes like a gourmet meal. I can't help the appreciative sound that escapes me. Not quite a purr, but along those lines.
Wraith watches me eat, his hands resting on his knees. His fingers twitch occasionally like he wants to sign something but isn't sure what to say. The awkwardness of him just sitting there should probably be uncomfortable, but there's something endearing about it.
About him.
When I’ve eaten what I can manage right now, I turn back to him to break the silence. “So… is it always this quiet in the pack house?”
He shakes his head. A-L-P-H-A-S… N-O-I-S-Y… D-O-W-N-S-T-A-I-R-S. He pauses, then signs emphatically, W-H-I-S-K-E-Y.
I laugh softly. "So you stay up here to get away from the noise?"
Wraith's hands pause mid-air after signing about Whiskey, like he's suddenly self-conscious about sharing even this small insight into his life. I catch a fleeting wistfulness in his eyes before it vanishes behind his usual guarded expression.
"Must be nice having your own space," I say, wrapping my arms around myself. Even with Wraith’s hoodie and the blanket, the fever chills are coming back. I overdid it with the walk here, apparently. Especially after clobbering an alpha with a fire extinguisher.
Wraith notices. Without a word, he rises from the couch and disappears back into the closet, returning with an armful of blankets. The dark fabric is worn but soft, and when he drapes the first one over my shoulders, the weight of it settles around me like a warm hug.
"Thanks," I murmur, pulling it tighter. "I don't know why I'm still so cold."
S-I-C-K… R-E-S-T, he signs, then pauses again and points to his bed, then back to me. He mimes sleeping with his hands next to his head, then points to himself, then to the window we came through.
"You want me to take the bed while you... what? Go out on the roof?" I ask, horrified at the thought of kicking him out of his own space.
He shrugs like he does it all the time.
"No," I say firmly. "This is your home. I'm not chasing you out."
Surprise and disbelief flicker in his gaze. He points to me, then spells out, S-C-A-R-E-D and gestures like it's a question. Then points to himself again. A-L-P-H-A.
"I'm not afraid of you," I say, surprising myself when I realize it's the truth. I'm completely sure of that now, and it isn't just on an instinctual level.
Wraith is definitely not like other alphas.
He pauses again, then sighs and points to the bed, then to me. Then to the plain clock on the wall, then to himself, followed by the couch.
"You'll sleep on the couch tonight?" I clarify.
He nods, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his discomfort.
Almost like he's afraid of me.
The idea seems so absurd I nearly laugh, but I swallow it down when I notice the genuine unease in his posture.
"You don't have to sleep on the couch," I say carefully. “I don’t even think you’d fit. You can have your bed. I'll take the couch."
Wraith shakes his head. He starts to sign something else, but I'm suddenly distracted by a rolling sensation in my stomach. The sandwich that tasted so wonderful going down now seems to have other ideas.
He steps closer, watching me with unmistakable concern. I swallow hard against the rising nausea.
"I think I ate too fast," I mumble, covering my mouth and trying to breathe slowly through my nose.
Wraith disappears into the bathroom and returns with a small blister pack of pills and a fresh glass of water. He kneels in front of me, moving carefully as if trying not to startle a wounded animal. He shows me the medication.
Anti-nausea meds. Thoughtful of him.
But it's too late.
The wave of sickness rises so suddenly that I barely have time to stumble to my feet. I push past Wraith, one hand clamped over my mouth as I lunge for the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet and slam the door shut behind me before my body violently rejects the sandwich I just ate.
Wave after wave of nausea wracks my body until there's nothing left but painful dry heaves. I slump against the cool porcelain, utterly spent. Everything hurts. My throat burns. My eyes water. My skin feels too hot and too cold at the same time.
A soft knock at the door makes me flinch.
"I'm okay," I lie weakly. "Just... give me a minute."
I drag myself to the sink to rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face. I glance up instinctively at the medicine cabinet above the sink, expecting to see a mirror there, but it’s covered in black duct tape.
It’s jarring enough to remind me of something else. A new, horrifying thought that surfaces through the fog of misery.
My heat suppressants.
I was so fucked up this morning, I don’t remember if I took my meds. Or was it yesterday morning I'm trying to remember? The fever has scrambled my sense of time.
Even if I did take them, they're long gone down the toilet now, and my hormones are already fucked up as it is because I scorched off Wade's mark.
Fuck.
When I open the door, Wraith stands at a respectful distance. O-K? he asks.
"Not really," I admit with a weak laugh. “Guess my stomach wasn't ready for real food yet."
Wraith nods in understanding, then points to the bed in the corner, then to me.
I don’t argue this time.
The mattress is basic and firm, but compared to my nest of merch on a couch, it feels like heaven. I pull the blankets around me, shivering again, and Wraith brings the ones from the couch to make sure I’m surrounded and warm.
“I’m sorry about... you know,” I mumble, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom before pulling my hand back into the nest of blankets. "Not exactly making a great impression here."
Wraith shakes his head firmly. S-I-C-K, he signs. N-O-T… Y-O-U-R… F-A-U-L-T.
“Still. Embarrassing.”
He shakes his head again and holds up a finger—wait—before going to the kitchenette.
I watch through half-lidded eyes as he refills my glass with fresh water, then opens a drawer to pull out two clean dish towels.
He runs them under the tap, then returns to the side of the bed to offer one of the towels.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, wiping my face down with the towel while he rolls up the other and tucks it against the back of my neck. The cool sensation is immediately soothing. “You’re too nice.”
He tilts his head in confusion, then holds out the glass of water and shakes his head like I’m crazy for thinking this is anything special.
I drink greedily, and when I’m finished and feeling slightly more human, I burrow back into the blankets again.
He sits on the couch, clearly intending on standing guard again.
"Don't you have things to do?" I ask worriedly, because the thought of him sitting there and watching me sleep is too awkward. "Hockey practice or... whatever it is hockey players do during the day?"
Wade always made it abundantly clear he was busy with hockey. I’m still pretty sure he was busy with girls, too, but I never had any evidence of that. Just a feeling.
A huff escapes from behind Wraith’s mask. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and I catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. He signs again. N-O-T-H-I-N-G… I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T.
I kind of doubt that, but I decide not to push it. “I just need to rest my eyes for a few minutes,” I say, yawning as I bury my face in the pillow.
The last thought I have as I drift off is that my inner omega really, really likes the way the pillow smells.
Because it smells like Wraith.
Shit.