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She shakes her head, whispering, “No.”
Her confession appeases some primal, possessive urge inside of me. Which is, frankly, stupid. My brain fares better than my body. Years of medical training kick in, formulating pertinent questions.
How has this omega gone twenty-four years without someone purring for her? Not even during her heats? What sorts of knot-heads tended to her?
An icy avalanche of dismay rolls down my spine.
Has she been alone?
As she sways on her feet, her eyes fly wide and fill with emotion. I see trepidation, but there’s also a lot of longing. My chest aches to see it written so plainly on her pretty face.
I hold my hand out to her. “Are you comfortable with us touching you?” I try for a smile as I roll my eyes to Theo. “The big guy forgot to get verbal confirmation.”
Meg shoots Theo a fond look, silently reassuring him that she doesn’t mind his presumption. She forces a thick laugh. “I’m… not really sure, actually.” Her wispy brows pinch. She looks back up at me, shyness returning. “No one has ever asked.”
I don’t need a pack bond to feel shock echo through all three of us. It’s common courtesy for alphas to ask before they touch omegas. Our pheromones affect theirs so heavily, it’s only right.
If no one has ever asked her before, she’s either been forced or she’s been by herself. Based on her confusion, I’m leaning toward the latter.
Ronan stiffens behind me. Beginning what will truly be an epic seethe, I assume; no one broods quite as thoroughly as he does.
Theo puffs up. All action. Ready to rush in and assure her just how much he wants to cuddle her.
I’m cautious. Trying my damnedest to be considerate.
Meg tracks our reactions. She glances down at the way she’s clutching her hands together before blowing out a big breath and pushing out more words.
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I know I was just pretending to be a beta, but sometimes I feel like I’d be better off if I were one. All of this alpha-omega stuff… I don’t really know the expectations or the rules.” Her gaze skirts back up to mine, the blue irises swirling with shame. “I’m sorry.”
I hate that we’ve only been standing here for five minutes, and she’s already apologized three times over things that either aren’t her fault or are not faults at all.
I stare back at her, projecting the steady assurance she needs. “There are no rules or expectations between us. There’s only what you want and what you need. Tell us those things, and we will take care of the rest.”
She swallows, looking back down at her nails. “I think—” She gives a hard laugh, frustrated with herself. “Is it weird that I want you to touch me?”
Ronan shoots me a look she can’t see. After years of pre-courting interviews, he’s used to omegas having their boundaries and desires all laid out in triplicate. I am, too; every omega in the heat clinic had paperwork.
It’s unusual to come across one who doesn’t know their own feelings on physical affection since it’s something they tend to crave so fiercely. It’s actually essential to their well-being, medically speaking.
As I stare down at the perfect, embarrassed woman in front of me, a harsh realization dawns.
She has no idea she’s allowed to need this.
“Meg,” I say softly. “Touch starvation is a verifiable medical issue for omegas. It can affect their nervous systems, mental health, appetites, heat hormones.”
She bites the corner of her lip. “My doctor mentioned that, actually.” She ducks her head. “A few times, over the years.”
My stomach sinks. How long has she been touch-starved? Has she always been alone? Without anyone to hold her or comfort her?
Fucking hell.
Heats must be terrifying for her. And if her doctor’s been discussing touch starvation with her for years, hers must be severe.
If she were my patient, I’d advise regular nest sessions with her alphas. Daily, or even twice daily. No clothing. Especially close to her heats.
But I’m not her doctor. I’m her?—
Mate, my brain supplies. As if it is a fact, the same as the stone beneath my feet.
