Page 64 of Pack Choice
“Butterfly?” I whisper to him. “Want to explain that?”
“It’s your code name.”
“And why have I never heard it before? Why did I not get a choice in what it was?”
“I was not involved in choosing it,” he points out.
“You don’t like it?” Colt asks from the front seat.
“Hmmm, butterflies are pretty things. But they’re fragile, so easily broken, so easily crushed. They don’t live for long.”
“True, they are beautiful and they are fragile. But things that are precious to us always are. What makes them that way is their value to us. They are the things we would give anything to protect,” Ford says. “The name is entirely appropriate for you, Omega.”
Colt hums his agreement from the front seat and my cheeks warm.
Do they mean I’m precious to my brothers, to my family?
Or am I precious to them?
* * *
It’schaos when we reach my parents’ house. The driveway is full of vehicles and there are several of Silver’s men, dressed in full body gear, patrolling the grounds and standing guard outside the house.
Colt screeches to a halt among the chaos and the car doors are flung open immediately by my brothers and their packmates. Someone tells Ford to hand me over, but he doesn’t let me go, shuffling out of the car with me in his lap and carrying me up to the front door.
Bea’s hovering in the doorway with our family doctor by her side, his medical bag ready in his hand.
“Where shall I take her?” Ford says, and my sister-in-law ushers Ford through into the lounge. Here I expect him to lower me onto a sofa. But again he doesn’t. Keeping me in his arms, he lowers himself to take a seat.
No one seems to question this.
Not the doctor, my sister-in-law, her mates prowling around the room, or Colt hovering by the door.
“She’s lost blood,” Ford tells the doctor, who nods slowly lowering himself down onto creaky knees. The man has been our family doctor for as long as I can remember and must be 80 at least.
“A glass of water for Molly please, Bea.”
Bea nods her pale-looking face and hurries as quickly as a severely pregnant person can, followed closely by two of her alphas, Nate and Connor.
Dr. Clive gives me a once over to begin with, checking my pulse, my pupils and my blood pressure.
“The good news is you don’t have a concussion.”
“She said her ribs hurt,” Ford tells the doctor.
Gently, the doctor places his hands to my ribcage. I wince and Ford strokes circles around my lower back.
“Bruised, I think, not broken. Now let’s take a look at this cut.”
He unties the bandage and I grit my teeth knowing this is going to hurt.
“Just relax, little butterfly,” Ford whispers right by my ear and I conclude my brothers must be in a severe state of shock because they are neither growling at the alpha nor snatching me from his lap.
The dried blood has stuck the bandage to my skin and it requires a little force to remove it, the pain making my head swoop. But then the doctor gives me a shot for the pain and after that I don’t feel a thing, although I have to avert my eyes from the needle and the stitching. I certainly don’t have the stomach to watch that.
Once the doctor sets to work, the tension in the room lifts a little and Silver says, “What happened, Ford?”
“I can deliver a comprehensive report once the omega is comfortable, Sir,” Ford answers, his gaze scrutinizing the doctor’s work as if he’s going to ask for it to be redone if the work isn’t exemplary enough.
