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I’m seconds away from both right now. Need beats at my skin, battering the insides of my chest.
Pounding, pounding, pounding.
“Yes.”
The word is a whisper. There’s no way anyone but Ronan heard me. But at that exact moment, Declan Howard’s head snaps up. He whips his helmet off and turns, ice-blue eyes flying across the indoor field to find me peering in at him.
Our gazes collide. His entire face contorts. Rage, disgust, and refusal ingrain themselves into every line of his angelic features.
Rejection. That’s what his face is doing. Rejecting me and my presence here.
I see it.
I feel it.
And that’s all it takes to send me spiraling.
chapter
fourteen
Being a doctor for an entire team of violent, pumped-up alphas has prepared me for a lot. I can re-break bones as thick as my own arm. I can speed-stitch torn skin in the middle of a field while thousands of fans watch. I can even wrestle deliriously-injured players to the ground with a tranquilizer between my teeth.
But when Ronan storms into the Ospreys’ med bay with a small, blonde woman hanging from his arms, I realize one thing I have no experience with:
Handling something delicate. Fixing someone precious.
Because that’s what she is. I recognize it instantly, this time.
My eyes fly over her slack, feminine features—the barely-there dusting of freckles, the blonde lashes, gently parted rosebud lips—and see her for exactly what she is. Even before I smell the incredible scent emanating from her.
My jaw falls open. A choked noise catches halfway through it, spilling into the sweet, peachy air.
I’ve read countless articles and studies on scent-sensitivity in packs. The science is undeniable. If alphas and omegas can find true scent-mates, their packs report higher levels of happiness, group harmony, and general health.
After all my research and years studying medicine, I thought I understood. But the second Ronan sets Meg in front of me, and I inhale her unmasked scent, I realize I understand nothing.
She smells the way I imagine my own personal heaven would smell. The sweetest brown sugar; the warm, comforting aroma of buttery pastry; and peaches. Good God.
The fresh, lush scent sets off fireworks inside of me—crackling sparks that buzz through my blood. I’m not usually ruled by my alpha urges, but for a moment they practically flatten me. I can’t remember who or what I am. Other than this omega’s alpha. Hers.
Ronan growls, “Archer. Help.”
I finally catch up, hurtling into action. My medical training and alpha nature war with one another for a split second. Instincts demand I check our surroundings first, to make sure no one else scents her. I give in to that singular impulse before shoving the rest of them down.
Snapping forward, I pull the stethoscope from the pocket of my white lab coat. I move as carefully as I can, but when I press the implement over her left breast, the thick fabric of her bow blouse impedes me.
Too amped up to be patient, Ronan rips the top open, popping multiple hidden buttons in the process. I start to snarl a warning at him, but the sound dies in my chest when I see the fanatical fear written all over his face.
He feels it too. The pull. The one Theo described. The same sensation that’s currently choking me. Which can only mean that not only is she my omega; she’s our omega.
It would be the most miraculous moment of my life if she weren’t also unconscious.
I take stock of the muted thumping behind her breast and release a harsh exhale. “Pulse is steady. How long has she been down?”
Ronan’s movements are agitated. His elbow jerks as he checks his watch. “Eight minutes. I had to carry her from the practice room.”
That’s two buildings away. A cold trickle of horror drips through me as I consider the route he had to take. “Did anyone?—”
