CHAPTER TWENTY - BIRDIE
I wake from a surprisingly deep sleep, but the fuzzy haze quickly evaporates when I find Hog’s sweater plastered to my face.
Somehow, I’ve managed to worm an entire arm inside the sleeve, while the other is wrapped around my neck in a soft embrace.
Worse still, I can feel a touch of dampness between my thighs and my head is thick with images of Hog’s body pressed against mine, his mouth hot on the skin on my throat.
Even in a room doused in antiseptic and floor polish, I can easily catch the scent of my slick in the air.
I feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar when the door opens and Carla walks in, a pile of freshly laundered clothes in her hands.
“You’re awake,” she says with a pleasant smile. “How do you feel?”
I quickly untangle myself from Hog’s sweater and pull the blanket almost to my chin. God, what must her alpha nose be picking up? “Is there a bathroom? I need to wash up.”
“Of course. It’s straight down the hall. And I brought you a few things so you can get out of those sweats.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend Colt’s sweats, but I bite the urge away with a scowl. Carla hands me the pile and I shift uneasily, my fingers skimming over the expensive fabrics. The tags are still on, and I shudder at the prices. “I can’t pay for these.”
“Axel paid,” she informs me and then lifts a hand at the look on my face. “He said to tell you that they came out of your brother’s account. It’s the least they can do, in my opinion.”
There’s still a frosty edge to her voice, but I assume she believes me about the speech inhibitor, or she’d have the sheriff on their case. “Thanks.”
I slide out of bed, forcing myself to leave Hog’s sweater behind as I head into the corridor.
The floor is cold under my feet, and my fingertips tingle as I clutch the clothes to my chest. Soft conversation filters through from the reception area and I quickly duck into the bathroom.
It’s half the size of the one in the cabin, and so white it makes my teeth ache.
My hands tremble as I put the clothes on the vanity and relieve myself, but I have to bite back a startled gasp as I look in the mirror.
There are deep shadows under my eyes, and my lips are chapped and peeling.
My face is as pale as usual, except for a vivid, red cut on my cheek.
It’s shallow, but there’s bruising at the edges, and I vaguely remember stumbling into a tree, a stray branch scraping along my cheek like a claw.
I grimace, but when my gaze falls to the patch of gauze on my neck, I feel a jolt of satisfaction.
I might look like a walking corpse, but at least Reeves doesn’t have his claws in me anymore.
I shake my head and run my fingers through my matted hair.
I’d give just about anything for a shower, but have to make do with the sink.
I rinse off using a washcloth and hum in appreciation to find a new toothbrush sitting on the counter.
When I’ve washed up, I slowly dress in the thermal shirt, cashmere sweater, and high-waisted jeans that Axel bought me.
There’s even a small travel kit tucked inside the clothes, and my heart lifts as I take in the deodorant, hand cream, breath mints, and little tube of lip gloss.
It’s cherry flavored, which is a relief.
I remember kissing a boy when I was about eight.
It was a clumsy, messy letdown, but I only got mad when I realized he already tasted of another girl’s lip gloss.
It was strawberry, but I still punched him in the face.
I’m still licking my lips when I return to my room and find Carla placing a plastic dinner tray on the table beside the bed. “You look better. More color in your cheeks. Want to sit up and eat?”
I cast a glance at the chair by the window but can’t resist crawling back under the blanket.
Hog’s sweater has been folded and is sitting beside my pillow.
I move it to the side of the bed, wincing at how hard it is to resist petting the soft wool.
I distract myself with the tray, which contains a bowl of tomato soup, a slice of meatloaf with green beans, a glass of orange juice, and a small tub of strawberry jello.
“Not much of an upgrade from hospital food, unfortunately,” Carla says.
“It looks great,” I reply with complete honesty. “I haven’t been eating much.”
I wait for her to tell me that she knows – she’s counted each and every one of my ribs – but she just gives me a gentle smile and places a cloth bag on the bed beside me. “Axel said you like magazines. My omega, Jonathan, thought you might like to look at these.”
I pause with the soup spoon halfway to my lips. “You have a male omega?”
“Yes. We’ve been bonded for three years.” She looks curiously at my frozen expression. “Does that surprise you, Birdie?”
I swallow down the mouthful of soup, my gaze dropping to the tray. “No. I just haven’t met many male omegas.”
Other than Charlie, of course, but I’m not sure that living in a person’s past is the same as knowing them in the present.
“Or female alphas?” Carla leans back against the counter and folds her arms. There’s a cautious look on her face that makes the next mouthful of soup go down in a painful gulp. “I assume they weren’t a big part of the militia?”
I shake my head, still averting my eyes. According to my stepfather, both female alphas and male omegas are an abomination. A perversion of nature sent to remind us that we have to stand strong against all attempts to undermine the true alpha authority…
“Birdie? Is there something wrong with the meatloaf?”
I look down and realize I’ve been poking it so hard with my spoon, I’ve mashed it into a brown mess. “No, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I thought I’d start you on something bland, but Colt has popped out twice this morning for coffee and pastries. It’s starting to smell like a bake sale in the reception area.”
I bite back a smile. “He’s still here?”
“They all are, Birdie. They haven’t left the clinic since they brought you in.”
Why does that make my chest feel so light, it’s hard to take the next breath? Am I so starved for attention, I want three strange alphas lurking outside my door? “They should go home. They need to be training for their mission.”
Carla makes a low sound that could be either amusement or disapproval. “I think you’re their mission right now.” She peers at my face. “That clearly bothers you. Do you mind telling me why?”
“The alphas in the militia used to talk about their mission. It never ended well for the omegas.”
She’s quiet for a moment, probably choosing her words carefully after my meltdown over the compound. “I’ve read a little about the situation you were dealing with there. So has the Lawson Pack, which is one of the reasons they’re feeling so protective of you right now.”
“Why?”
“Most alphas – the vast majority of us, in fact – will do anything to keep omegas safe.”
I focus on my tray, spearing a green bean so I don’t have to look at her face. “Maybe for omegas like your Jonathan. It’s different for the rest of us.”
She frowns. “You mean it’s different for the omegas at the compound. Because they were subjected to the cruel and unnatural authority of the militia alphas.”
She’s not saying anything I haven’t thought a million times before, but I still find myself shaking my head. “It’s not just them. Other alphas are like that, too.”
“I’m sorry that’s been your experience, Birdie. But I promise you there are more good alphas than bad.”
“Maybe.” I don’t want to be this hard, this cynical, but how can I be anything else?
“Tell me why you disagree.”
I feel the back of my throat grow tight. “Because you can only really tell when no one else is around. That’s when you see what they’re really capable of.”
Carla’s stern face softens into sad lines.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Birdie. Whatever has happened to you, your thoughts and feelings are valid. But if I told you that the alphas you’ve known are only a small minority of their designation, then could you accept that the omegas might be, too?
Most omegas I know are loved, even adored. ”
“That’s just in stories. It’s not real.” I pluck a magazine from the cloth bag and open it to a random page. “See? They have pictures of omegas in these ridiculous nests, with all these fancy blankets, pillows, and ruffles. No alpha is going to let them indulge in something like that.”
There’s an awkward pause, then the doctor asks in a tight voice, “Birdie, are you saying you’ve never had a nest before?”
My laugh is so brittle, it sounds like a bark. “We were lucky to get shoes and underwear. Besides, only feral omegas need to build nests.”
Her brows lift. “Why is that, Birdie?”
“Because they’re not in control of their instincts. They’re weak and soft.”
“Do you really believe that, or is that the militia’s way of thinking?” I stare at her, and she clears her throat. “Maybe Jonathan could stop by, just to say hi. He’s excited to meet you.”
“He is? Why?”
“We don’t get many new omegas in town.”
I shrug, because I can’t think why a random omega would want to meet me. Besides, I don’t plan on staying longer than another day. Anything more, and Reeves might decide to check in.
Not that he can send me back to the compound.
The realization settles in my stomach like a stone.
I always felt homeless, but now it’s not just an empty ache in my chest. I have no one and nothing to call my own.
Not that my stepfather and his thugs knew the first thing about creating a home, but it’s still the place I grew up with my mom.
Every memory I have of her happened within those walls.
I might finally be free of the militia’s bullshit, their cruelty, but I’ve never felt more alone.
“Back to your health plan,” Carla says, jerking me away from my dark thoughts. “When is your next heat due?”
“I…I don’t know.”