Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
EMILY
C aleb doesn’t say a word the entire hour we’re in the air and he’s guiding his Cessna toward Billings.
His voice rumbles through the headset as he communicates with the local airport, and then my stomach is in my throat as he pitches the plane toward one of the runways.
When we taxi into a spot designed for a much larger plane, he takes off his headset and turns to me.
“You want me to stay?”
I shake my head and grab my bag from the back. “Go back to your pack. It’ll be several days until he’s out of the heat, and you know it.”
He stares at me for a long minute. The circles under his eyes are as deep as mine.
“Go,” I urge him.
Finally, he nods. “Text me when he surfaces, and I’ll get my ass up here. He’s not going to be up for a commercial flight after the next several days.”
I swallow down my immediate need to turn down the offer, to stand on my own without help. Instead, I offer a small smile.
“I will.”
He nods. With shaking hands, I open the plane’s door and step onto the tarmac.
Some of the airport personnel run up to me, quickly escorting me across the asphalt and into the terminal, while another pair stay behind to communicate with Caleb.
The rideshare’s waiting for me, a young man leaning against the passenger door, when I navigate through the small building and to the main entrance.
“Ms. Monroe?” he asks.
When I nod, he opens the door. I slide in, nestling the small bag at my feet. I close my eyes as the small town passes by in a blur of lights, trying to keep my breathing steady the same way I had during the drive to Jackson and then in the plane.
Is he doing all right? My phone hasn’t gone off at all since ending the call with the Haven nearly three hours ago.
My scent seeps out from me, tinged with my worry.
The driver tightens his hands but doesn’t say anything.
I try to calm my body, reel in my reaction.
It’s not fair to this guy to have a complete freak out in the passenger seat of his car while he’s driving me in the dead of night.
Even still, it takes more willpower than I knew I possessed to get my scent to fade.
I murmur my thanks when we get to the Haven, then quickly jog to the mixed designation entrance. A middle aged man sits behind the desk, a small set of glasses perched low on his nose, a worn paperback in his hands. He glances up as the doors close behind me, his eyebrow slowly rising.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I was called about my Omega being in heat.”
He nods and clicks on something, one finger marking his spot in the book. “What’s the last name of the Omega?”
“Harding.”
He nods again and then pulls a tablet from the far corner of the desk.
“I just need you to sign this consent form. It’s required for everyone utilizing the Haven’s services.”
My hand shakes as I scratch out the messiest signature I’ve ever managed.
“Give me just a minute to call an escort, and we’ll get you to his room.”
He gestures to the small row of seats to my left.
I drop into the nearest one, the black fabric practical but surprisingly soft.
True to the receptionist’s word, it takes less than five minutes for the doors along the back wall to open and a much younger man—dressed in black scrubs that was out his pale coloring—to step through.
I join him without letting him cross the space, my entire body vibrating with need and worry.
He doesn’t respond to the sudden pulse of my scent.
He leads me through the hallway, passing several rooms and twisting deeper into the building.
I’ve never actually been in a Haven, not outside of the appointment of Triston’s I tagged along to.
The walls here are a light beige that manages to be warm and yet a soothing cool.
Artwork hangs in the center of the walls every ten feet or so, various abstract sunsets and flowers and other still life subjects.
“The consent said you’ve never done a heat at a Haven?” It comes across as a question. The escort tucks his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
I shake my head. “I haven’t.”
He guides me to the end of the hall and then turns to the left.
How big is this place? Billings isn’t all that large of a town. And yet this place feels massive. How large are the Havens in larger cities like Denver or LA? They must be multi-level behemoths.
“There’s a bathroom in the attached secondary bedroom.
It has unscented soaps and haircare products.
If you need any additional linens, there is a tablet to put in requests as well as desired meals and snacks for both you and him on the dresser in the main room.
There’s also a phone in case that’s easier.
If anything happens that has you concerned, press the star button on either the tablet or the phone, and a doctor will come by and evaluate everything. ”
At the end of the third hall, he stops in front of an unremarkable door with a number on it.
“He’s doing okay?” I can’t help but ask, worry sitting heavy in my stomach and making it difficult to breathe.
The escort has the courtesy to pull up something on his phone instead of just rolling his eyes.
“An Alpha gave him scent therapy shortly after your phone call with our medical staff. Since then, he’s been asleep.
For most Omegas, their waves come in three to four hour gaps, so he’ll probably be asleep for another hour or so.
He may be disoriented when he wakes. That’s pretty common with triggered cycles.
” He focuses on me. “Any other questions?”
“Do they know how it was triggered?”
His lips flatten. “There appears to have been an altercation at a local restaurant. An Alpha cornered him in the bathroom and attempted to force a bond. A Beta that was with Mr. Harding managed to get involved before it could progress that far.”
“ What ?”
He grimaces. “We, unfortunately, don’t know any more than that.
He was transported here by paramedics when he was deemed stable by the local hospital staff.
We then proceeded to call you. Anything else regarding the altercation is being handled by the local police.
I believe an Omega Abuse Detective will be here midmorning to discuss everything with you. ”
“Omega Abuse Detective?”
He clears his throat. “Right. An OAD is what they’re often called. They’re a special unit with the Council that handles cases of abuse with Omegas alongside local law enforcement.”
“We didn’t abuse Triston.” My voice is a snarl, a warning shot.
He nods. “It’s standard procedure when a heat is illegally triggered. It’s not a presumption of ill will on your part.”
I swallow down the growl wanting to climb my throat.
“Any other questions?”
When I shake my head, he presses the key card attached to his lanyard to the black pad on the handle and then the electronic whir of a lock sounds. He quickly opens the door and gestures for me to go inside.
The room is dark, only a small nightlight plugged into the wall to the right giving any kind of illumination.
The linens all seem to be dusky blue and pink in shades similar to the blankets that are strewn across his nesting bed at home.
There’s a small fridge nestled beside two large baskets with small labels noting they’re for soiled linens.
To the left is an unmarked door that, logically, must lead to the attached bedroom and bathroom the escort had mentioned.
There’s two chairs that flank the small nightlight, both a deep gray leather.
I set my bag beside the dresser and slip out of my flats. Then I pull my shirt over my head and strip out of the bra, dropping both onto the flat surface of the dresser. There’s really no reason to wear the shirt. When Triston wakes, it’ll just end up being taken off anyway.
Finally, I allow myself to focus on him where he’s asleep in the largest bed I have ever seen, significantly larger than the king beds we have at home.
His clove scent permeates the room, faded enough it doesn’t completely overwhelm my logical side.
Despite everything, there’s no sour edge to it that would imply he’s touch-starved, too.
Some of that worry clawing through my heart, ripping it into shreds, dissipates.
I slowly close the distance, keeping my steps light enough to not echo on the vinyl plank flooring.
His hair is mussed like someone’s been running their hands through the strands.
There’s bruising around his throat that has a violent snarl climbing up my chest. With more willpower than I thought I could even possess at the moment, I keep it from gaining any kind of volume.
Even still, my hand shakes as I tuck a curl behind his ear and then let my touch trail down his neck and onto his shoulder.
He rolls toward me, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowns without waking.
There’s the faint smell of lavender on his skin, different from Brielle’s scent.
It must belong to the Alpha that helped him while I was getting here.
He mewls, still asleep, and I can’t help but climb into the large bed, curling next to him, letting our chests touch.
His breath catches, hitching the same way Penny’s does with her silent sobs.
It never occurred to me that those were genetic.
He palms my hip and pulls me tighter into him, his body shaking like a leaf.
“Vanilla,” he whispers. His eyes are still closed. I flatten my palm on the back of his thigh. “My… my vanilla.”
Softness wells up in me, and tears burn my eyes. I blink them away and cuddle closer, making sure as much of my skin touches his. His shaking slowly subsides.
“It’s okay, Omega,” I murmur. I press a kiss below his ear and then carefully run lips over the bruising that’s a dark, angry purple. “Sleep until you need me, and then I’ll be here for you.”