“Mylo? Mylo!”
The last conscious thought before my vision blacks out is:
Is this what it feels like to die?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
CHRISTINE
The sound comesfrom across the set, and my ears swivel to lock in:
Athumpas Mylo falls, and a low groan of pain.
I’m already running when his scent hits me—more peppercorn than citrus, sharp with agony.
Gabriel is at his side, and the other stunt crew members hold their breath, keeping a respectful distance.
As I pass Gabriel, I’m vaguely aware of his hand on my arm, trying to hold me back, saying something about a spine injury.
But all I can think is,how could you leave my omega lying there like that.
I scoop Mylo from the mat and cradle him against my chest.
He takes a shuddering breath, muscles unfreezing, hand rising to grip the edge of my breastplate.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m here, Mylo.”
“Go away,” he hisses weakly, but he curls tighter into my chest, taking another deep breath of my scent. “My landing was perfect.” He’s hurt, confused.
“I know it was.”
“My spine is fine…”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what’s happening…”
I do.
But I can’t say that, not as Gabriel steps up and Bella sprints closer.
Mylo pushes upright but stays on my lap, raising a hand in a thumbs-up.
“I’m good,” he says, though his voice is strained.
“Someone get an EMT,” Bella orders.
Mylo tenses. “No, I?—”
I lean down to his ear and whisper, “Let the EMT check you.”
It’s not a bark, but Mylo’s in no state to resist even a gentle request from an Alpha right now.
Not with his skin burning hot, his scent laced with need. There’s something off about his scent, though—something sour. I’m not sure if it’s the suppressants or the fact that he hates me.
He can hate me all he wants, as long as he’s okay.
