Page 49 of Secret Heart
“I ended up going into heat anyway. Sort of. I had a Drop. I woke up in a Haven a few days later. They found evidence of a stimulant in my bloodwork, but I don’t remember taking one. I never would, not with having taken the heat suppressorsearlier. Every Omega knows just how dangerous that concoction is together.”
Emily’s hand stills. “You had a Drop?”
I nod and press my lips to her hipbone.
“The Haven doctor said I had to come off the suppressants. Lance cleared my schedule and told me to take a… a respite. Some time away from all the commotion so I could reset. The appointment tomorrow is to follow up since it’s been a full four weeks now.”
“A Drop?” Beau asks, his voice a soft rumble. “I’ve never heard that term before.”
“It’s a distressed state specific to Omegas,” Emily whispers. “The nervous system gets so overwhelmed, it just… shuts down. Really bad ones can lead to comas. Bond sickness can cause them, though those ones have a different name. They call them OBS crises.”
Beau shifts, and then his hand is in my hair and running down the nobs of my spine.
“I was unconscious for three days apparently.”
Emily wraps her arm around my shoulders, holding me tight to her. I relax into her even more—going entirely boneless—breathing in her scent and letting it wash away some of the lingering fear and insecurity.
After a while, she asks, “Can I go with you tomorrow?”
My heart rushes into my throat. She wants to be involved in… all of that? The fallout of a problem she wasn’t even part of? All I can manage is a nod. Then Beau’s pulling me up his body, laying me out on his chest without disturbing Emily’s spot at all, like we’ve cuddled this way hundreds of times.
God, I want to cuddle like this for the rest of our lives.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
EMILY
Triston hesitates, his hand on the handle of my Jeep’s passenger door. His gaze is wary, flitting over the groups of people walking down the sidewalk while he pushes the brim of the ball cap lower over his eyes. His fingers tremble just a bit as he traces the dark purple hickey I left behind his ear earlier this morning.
Beau had already left for the cattle herds, dressed for a long day in Megara’s saddle while they move the herds onto the first bit of summer pastures. Triston had turned into me, his clove scent settling over us with that sour edge that’s lessened but not gone away, and the urge to roll him over and claim him and roared up on me stronger than a damn spring thunderstorm. I’d settled for waking him up with my hands wrapped around his cock and biting his neck until the urge faded away.
I should probably feel guilty that I left the marks somewhere so exposed, knowing it would be difficult for him to hide them. Instead, a smug satisfaction that it’ll be obvious to anyone who sees him today that he’s taken, that he’s with someone—withme—warms my limbs.
“You okay?” I ask, knowing he definitely isn’t.
Assuming things with Omegas tends to backfire, though. He’s been so on edge, and I don’t want to be the reason he spooks and goes back to staying at Mom and Dad’s place. His scent is blocked now, hidden underneath scent blockers and a lotion, too, that he’d applied on the drive up here after Joan had gotten to the house to watch Penny.
“Not really,” he admits. His cheeks darken as he focuses on me.
“Want to talk about it?”
I sip on the mostly-cold coffee Joan had handed me on the way out of the door.
“It’s… a lot. The attention.” He pulls the hat off, presses the edges of the brim, and then puts it back on. It hides more of his eyes now. “Especially in a place like Jackson where most people have at least passing knowledge of the rodeo and NBRA worlds.”
I nod then reach across the middle console, tracing the shell of his ear.
“I figured,” I say, keeping my voice light.
Vanilla weaves around us both, trying to soothe him, too. He relaxes in small increments, some of the tension finally falling away from his shoulders and loosening his jaw. With a quick, delicate touch, he pulls my hand to his mouth, running his nose along the inside of my wrist.
“I need to admit something,” he whispers against my skin. “Since they’re probably going to ask about a refill.”
“What’s that?”
The edge to my scent changes, warming and darkening with my arousal. The urge to straddle him, lock him here, in my Jeep, is nearly as overwhelming as the need to mark him was this morning. I breathe through my nose like a racehorse, trying to settle the urges.
“I’ve…” He closes his eyes and swallows. I follow the movement of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple ripples. Vanilla pulses out again, and he groans. “I’ve been using a synthetic pheromone. It’s… it’s actually one of the reasons why the Haven doctors in Oakland think I didn’t have a more severe Drop.”
