Page 79 of The Omega's Alpha
“It doesn’t look good, does it?” he said in a firm tone.
The doctor looked up, his expression surprised. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We’ll see what the blood tests say, but it looks like he’s got an overgrowth issue on that gland that covers the back of the omega’s womb and I’m not sure what we can do about that aside from surgery. I’ll do some research, but really, it’s going to come down to what the blood tests say.” He set the wand back in it’s place and turned to Quin. “Don’t give up hope yet. I know it’s a big deal to omegas, but there are all sorts of things we can do first before we declare defeat.”
Quin opened his mouth to ask another question, but the door creaked and he turned to see Holland coming into the room.
“Thatis much more comfortable,” Holland said breezily, though Quin knew him well now and could feel the tension underlying the words. “Now that we’re all here, I’d like to know what you’ve figured out.”
Quin put his arm around Holland’s shoulder and pulled out the stool hiding in the corner of the room. “Yes. Let’s talk about our plan of attack.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Well, I supposed it wasn’tentirelybad news. At least we had an idea of what was going on. The doctor said that it could explain my nearly non-existent heats as well, given what human medicine knew about omegas. He wanted to wait on the results of the blood test and to consult with a friend of his at another medical school, but he said it looked workable. Whatever that meant.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally found ourselves on the road home. We’d drive through the gates just in time to pick the pups up and take them home for supper. I was looking forward to it, if only for the return to normality and for something to keep my mind from spinning in crazy circles, shouting, “I can be fixed!” over and over again.
My phone buzzed—it was Martin. I sent him to voicemail because I wanted to talk to Quin and see what he thought without our human audience.
“It sounds expensive.” My opening salvo was maybe a little on the cold side, but I wanted him to know I understood all the implications. “There’s Agatha and Dorian to think about too.”
“They had an older brother and a younger sister before. I don’t think that will be much of a problem.”
“No, but they lost those siblings.”
Quin stretched out a hand, palm up, and held it there until I put my hand in his. “We can forget about this if you want.”
Did he not want pups with me after all? Not every alpha enjoyed babies, though I’d thought Quin had enjoyed Taden. Maybe just not his own?
I was overthinking this.
“I do want,” I said firmly. “But you and the pups have to want them too.”
He turned a look on me that reminded me in my bones that he was an alpha, my alpha, and I was his omega. I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to take me in heat, to plant a pup in my belly and watch it grow. It made my stomach flutter with electric anticipation and I found myself sinking down in my seat, my knees spreading until the body of the car interfered with my desire for my mate, and I let out a growl that informed Quin plainly of my frustration.
“Only a couple of hours,” Quin said lightly, though his eyes burned.
“Five,” I complained.
“I’m not stopping at a pay-by-the-hour hotel. You deserve better.”
“I wouldn’t even notice it.” I pushed myself up in my seat and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Come on. There must be someplace.”
He chuckled, deep and masculine, and turned to kiss me, biting at my lips, his alpha fitting perfectly to my omega. “Behave yourself,” he breathed against my skin, bit my lower lip again, and turned back to the road.
“Yes, sir,” I said, in a tone that said the exact opposite. He grinned and I settled back in my seat, content that I’d found an alpha who enjoyed my natural non-omeganess.
My alpha.
I wondered what he’d think of being considered the property of an omega. Then I decided, after a sidelong glance, that he probably wouldn’t mind. He was comfortable enough in his alpha that he wouldn’t see my claiming him as a threat. That thought made me wish for a cheap by-the-hour hotel to show up at the side of the road, but I settled for an impulsive kiss that made him grin wider and squeeze my fingers in promise.
My phone buzzed again. “Martin. What on earth does he want? The show is over.” I watched the call roll over to voicemail. “I’m not ready for real life yet.”
“It’s probably just congratulations or something. Maybe another show. Why don’t you listen to the voicemail?”
I rolled my eyes—apparently I was turning into Bram—and thumbed the notification on the phone and set it to speaker.
The first message was just a normal, “Call me!” message, only in Martin’s typical overexcited manner. So was the next one. And, apparently, a third one that I’d missed, a little more excited and frustrated. But it was the fourth one that shed light on why Martin was getting so worked up.
“Holland, you need to call me. My phone is going crazy, it’s wonderful! You need to call your agency. So many people want to speak to them, and Colm Radkey’s company is talking about a line of shifter-inspired clothing and they want to talk to you about the campaign! Call me, call me, call ME!”
