Page 113 of Heat Lightning

“Was it a clean exit, or is the round still inside?”

“It was just a graze,” Mr. Marino said. “He bled more than we’d expect, though, so I called you. But when we got him home, the rut symptoms worsened. He’s not himself. He’s territorial over Max, but weak. He can barely keep his eyes open. Looks like he has a fever. Complains of a terrible headache.”

My omega whined. Go make him better!

“Well,” the nurse said with a sigh. “I’m not a doctor. If he was shot, you really should go to the ER to get it cleaned and bandaged. But,” he emphasized, looking me up and down, “I can see that’s not a possibility right now. If you keep the wound clean and wrapped, it should be fine. The other symptoms are more concerning, though. I’d need to take some vitals to know more.”

“Max? Can he come in and do that?” Mr. Marino asked.

Concern for Atlas overrode my desire to throw them both out of the house. I huffed and crossed my arms, moving away from the door. “Fine. As long as you’re sure he knows what he’s doing,” I said, eyeing the nurse as he stepped inside.

He smirked and winked at me. “Don’t worry, I’m very good with alphas in rut.”

Right. He can smirk all he wants from the middle of the fucking lake when I drag him out by the ear and punt him into⁠—

Mr. Marino grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. I hadn’t realized I’d lunged. “Miles is a brat, but he knows not to touch what isn’t his. Don’t you, Miles?”

The little shit rolled his eyes. “Let me see him, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

I followed them down the hall, keeping a close eye on the omega, but I also couldn’t help noticing new details every time I looked around.

Atlas’ home gave me déjà vu.

Maybe it was just because it, too, was on the shore. When we’d pulled into the drive, something about the beautiful midcentury modern house called to me, as if it welcomed me home, instead of greeting me anew.

I’d brushed it off. After everything that’d happened in the last few days, my emotions were all over the place. I was probably just interested in where Atlas retreated to when he wasn’t snooping around in the bushes or breaking into my apartment.

The furnishings were warm and more colorful than I would’ve imagined, but then again, I hadn’t yet had a chance to see him completely relaxed in his element. Sea creatures were everywhere; there was art on the walls, statues and figurines lining tables and bookshelves, and he even had a giant fish tank built into the wall, filled with corals and colorful fish.

It was fascinating.

I’d be able to appreciate it all more later. Maybe. Hopefully. Right now, I hovered in Atlas’ room while Miles took his blood pressure.

My omega preened when Atlas snarled at the omega to get out of our den, albeit less aggressively than he had at his own brother. He was placated, though, when I promised to stand close by.

Mr. Marino was still relegated to the hallway.

“How long have you been in rut?” the nurse asked, tucking the blood pressure cuff back in his bag.

“Two years,” I answered when Atlas only glared.

He blinked. “Two years?”

“It’s a long story,” Mr. Marino said, running his hand down his face. “He was on suppressants for most of it. What about his arm?”

Miles collected himself. “Blood flow is directed away from internal organs into the body’s extremities during rut. It’s why he wouldn’t stop bleeding. I’ve patched him up, but you’re going to have to watch it carefully. Normally, he’d heal just fine, but…”

“But what?” I asked.

All of the snark fell away. “He looks like he’s on the verge of needing serious care. Maybe hospitalization. I won't ask specifics, but if he doesn’t have a partner to break the rut with, you need to take him to a specialist and get back on suppressants right now.”

“He can’t go back on suppressants,” Mr. Marino said. “His liver enzymes are too high. He’s been cut off.”

The nurse shook his head, face grim. “Look, interventions for a prolonged rut after suppressants fail are far more invasive, and not something I’m comfortable doing in this setting. I can give him something to clear his mind temporarily, but for more permanent solutions, I’d have to discreetly ask a colleague.”

“What happens if the rut breaks?” I asked, interrupting him. “If we seal the bond, will that make him better?”

“Max,” Atlas groaned. All of our heads turned to him. It was the most he’d said since the nurse arrived, but he just shook his head.