Chapter 23 Early Morning
Early Morning
Tadeo
I tug my favorite blue tie straight, smoothing it down the front of my shirt before glancing back at the bed.
Dakota is still sound asleep, having come to bed fairly late last night.
Knox let him watch while he rutted Skyla for hours.
The thought makes my chest tighten, a hot little curl of jealousy twisting in my gut.
I want so desperately to be the one who gets to see, touch, taste, and claim Skyla’s delicate body. But I’m not allowed. Not yet.
I shove the thought down. It doesn’t help anyone for me to stew in it.
At least Dakota had come to bed wound tight, restless, and needy.
I’d been able to work some of that ugly frustration out of myself into his supple body, taking every moan he gave me like a balm.
It wasn’t Skyla—but it eased the worst of the sting, even if the jealousy still lingers at the edges now, sharp and stubborn.
The quiet hum of the house buzzes all around me as I make my way down the hallway—pipes ticking, the heater thrumming, and the floorboards creaking softly under my shoes.
Passing the living room, I catch sight of Alex sprawled on the couch. His limbs are tangled in a thin blanket, his mouth slack. Out cold. A smile tugs at my mouth before I can help it. He looks so young when he sleeps, the sharp edges gone.
In the kitchen, I dig out the battered container of instant coffee from the cupboard. My morning ritual. I add some water from the sink, then stir. The spoon clinks against the mug, allowing me to really feel the quiet of the house. Then I slide the mug into the microwave and press the timer.
Awareness prickles my skin, and I turn.
Knox fills the doorway like he owns it, which, to be fair, he does. His hair’s still damp from a shower, but my eyes catch on his back when he turns to grab a mug out of the cupboard. There are faint red trails raked across his shoulder blades and sides.
Scratch marks. Fresh.
There are even two distinct marks along the side of his neck.
Wow.
It seems our new omega is a bit of a wild one.
My cock stirs immediately, thickening with a rush of heat I can’t stop. Fuck. I grip the counter hard enough my knuckles blanch, dragging in deep breaths through my nose. Control. I need control.
But all I smell is Skyla.
Flowers.
Sugary and sharp.
Lingering on Knox’s skin. On his chest. His hair. In the air between us.
My tie suddenly feels too tight.
Knox moves past me, grabbing the container of instant coffee. His movements are steady, like he’s already been awake for hours.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks as he spoons in the granules.
I force my lips into a casual smile, praying I don’t look flustered. “Good.” The word tastes like a lie, but I manage to make it sound normal. At least, I think I do. My heart’s pounding so loud I can’t be sure.
I clear my throat, nod at him. “You?”
“Couple hours,” he says, pouring water into his mug. There’s no pride in it, no alpha bravado. An honest fact.
The microwave dings, mercifully breaking the quiet. I grab my cup, the heat bleeding through the ceramic into my palm, grounding me. Knox steps in, sliding his mug inside then punching the buttons.
That’s when I see the tension pulling at his jaw and the faint tightness around his mouth. Knox is a natural morning person. He always wakes up with a smile, ready to tackle the day.
“Hey,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
But Knox hesitates, and that pause makes something cold coil in my gut.
“Did something happen? Is Skyla—”
“She’s fine.” He cuts me off, then exhales through his nose. “But she has a wound on the side of her throat.” He gestures vaguely to the side of his neck. “It looks…bad.”
My stomach plummets.
“And she’s covered in old mating bites. At least half a dozen,” Knox goes on, voice tight now. “Most of them are healed, but there’s one…” He shakes his head, eyes dark. “It looks like her old pack tried to rip her damn throat out.”
Rage surges hot through me, so sudden my hands tremble. I want to storm down the hall, scoop her up, and demand she tell me who the fuck did this to her. My chest heaves, and I have to lock my knees to keep from moving.
Knox immediately notices the change. “Easy, alpha.” His hand slides around the back of my neck, holding me firmly. “Skyla’s with us now. She’s safe.” His thumb presses in enough to keep me steady. My breath shudders, but his touch helps, anchoring me in place.
“I’m good,” I say, but we both know that’s a lie.
“I think there’s an omega clinic in town,” Knox’s tone is gentler now. “She needs a full physical to make sure it’s not infected.”
My phone chimes in my pocket, vibrating against my thigh. I don’t need to look. I know it’s work. I only took three days off, but you’d think I’d vanished off the face of the earth the way everyone’s panicking.
“Will you tell me if you get an appointment?” I say, ignoring my phone. “I’d like to go. If I can.”
“I will,” he says simply. Then, softer, “Have a good day at work, Tadeo. Don’t worry about Skyla. She’s going to be okay.”
But before I can say anything else, Knox leans in and presses his mouth to mine. The kiss is soft and warm, pulling some of the worry from my chest.
By the time I push through the glass doors of the West Main Omega Clinic, it’s exactly three o’clock. I’ve been watching the clock since Knox sent me the appointment time this morning.
The waiting room is bigger than I expected—rows of cushioned chairs, a few scattered tables with outdated magazines, and the faint antiseptic tang hanging under the hum of fluorescent lights.
I scan the room, then quickly find my pack.
Alex’s thumbs frantically tap at his phone, no doubt playing a game, while Dakota holds Skyla’s hand.
Our omega sits small in one of the plush chairs, hands folded tight on her lap, still wearing Dakota’s clothes. The black material swallows her up, falling off one shoulder. Skyla pulls it back up, before fidgeting with the hem.
“Hey, mi amor,” I whisper as I move across the room.
Skyla looks up, giving me a shy little smile—barely a flicker—and then her eyes dart back to her knees like it burns too much to hold mine. My chest aches.
I barely get a chance to sit down beside Alex before Skyla’s name is called.
“Skyla Romner.”
Our omega stands, hesitant, and Knox is instantly at her side. Dakota follows close, while Alex and I trail behind as we’re led down a short hall to a private room.
It’s not a very big room. Sterile walls, the faint scent of bleach, and a narrow examination bed with a strip of crinkled paper on top of it.
There are only three chairs. Dakota sits in one, his knee bouncing, Alex claims another, but I can’t bring myself to take the third.
I lean against the wall, restless energy buzzing under my skin.
Knox doesn’t even consider the chairs. He plants himself by the counter, broad shoulders braced, close enough to brush Skyla’s arm if she needs it.
A nurse guides Skyla through the routine: weight, height, blood pressure, temperature, and a finger stick to test her hormones. Skyla is quiet the whole time, obediently doing whatever’s asked of her, but her shoulders curl like she’s waiting for punishment.
Once Skyla settles on the exam table, the nurse leaves with a polite promise that the doctor will be right in.
My hands twitch at my sides as I finally get a glimpse of the wound on her neck. We should’ve asked the Morder what was under the bandage the second we saw her, but Skyla tucked herself so small, letting her long blonde hair cover her face, I simply didn’t see it.
And I’ve spent all day beating myself up for that.
I went through the motions at the office: a check-in with the CEO, hours buried in spreadsheets, a team meeting where I nodded and said all the right words. But none of it stuck. My head was entirely with Skyla.
We wait, all of us silent, no one moving or shifting.
Finally, the door opens, and the doctor walks in like she’s been doing this forever.
There’s no white coat, but pale-pink scrubs that hang on the beta’s frame. Her gray hair is pulled back into a braided bun, and dark glasses are perched on the end of her nose. There’s a softness to her—almost grandmotherly—but when she smiles, it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m Dr. Mara. How is everyone this afternoon?” She introduces herself, voice warm but no-nonsense.
Knox answers for us, crisp and clipped—“We’re good.”
I watch the doctor’s gaze move over him, taking in the faint scratch marks on his neck like she’s cataloging collateral details. She’s clearly experienced, and it makes some of the tension in my gut fall away.
“What brought you in today?” The doctor steps up to Skyla. “I hear you have an injury.”
Skyla doesn’t say a word. She lifts her head, exposing her old mating bite to the beta.
Dr. Mara frowns, then pulls the stethoscope off her neck. “Let's start with the basics first. Shall we?” Then she immediately gets to work.
The doctor checks Skyla’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Each touch from her is efficient and fast. Then she listens to our omega’s lungs before pressing on Skyla’s stomach through her borrowed clothes.
“Alright. Sit up for me.” Mara pats the top of Skyla's knee.
Knox immediately offers his hand, helping our omega up.
Skyla rises with a small, awkward shimmy, fingers knotting the hem of her shirt into a tight ball.
She looks so nervous it makes my chest ache.
Every instinct in me wants to shove Mara aside and pull Skyla into the kind of hug that would swallow her whole.
But this is a necessary evil. That wound has to be fixed.