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He also seems fairly calm, given the vibes in here. “Hmm. You said you scented her and blacked out?”
Guilt swells in my middle. For a second, I think it’s my usual reaction whenever someone scents my ultra-strong perfume. It takes a second to realize this feels different. And I have no idea where it’s coming from or what’s causing it.
“I walked in and we looked at each other. She perfumed, and it just—” His voice cuts off with a hiss. The shame roiling through me doubles, then triples, along with a burst of pleasure that connects with the pulsing pang in my core.
A second later, I hear a mortified croak. “My apologies.”
The doctor clears his throat. “Perfectly natural. Most alphas and omegas bond in heat, during intercourse. Spontaneous climaxes are typical. Your body is just confused by the half-bond.”
Okay, now I know I’m dreaming. Most of what he said made no sense at all.
The husky voice asks the question I can’t. “Half-bond?”
Another quiet sigh. “You bit her, but she didn’t bite you back. The bond is incomplete. To complete it, she would have to claim you in return. Preferably before her next heat ends. If she goes through the heat without bonding with you fully, the half-bond you’ve formed tonight will cause you numerous… symptoms.”
My mind spins as I listen, trying to absorb medical mumbo-jumbo that cannot be correct.
Right?
The doctor’s concerned voice drops lower. “In the meantime, you’ll be able to feel each other’s emotions, but they will be indistinct and lack any sort of context. You won’t be able to speak internally or show one another images, such as your surroundings or memories.”
“What about my pack?” the first man whispers.
“Fundamentally, pack bonds run through omegas and pack leaders,” the calm one replies as something presses into my wrist, hunting for my thready pulse.
“You have a half-bond with her because you claimed her, and she has not claimed you back. Your packmates will likely experience an increased attraction to her—beyond that of normal mates—because she’s been claimed by their alpha. But as she hasn’t bitten any of them and none of them have bitten her, they don’t have any bonds. Yet.”
Claimed. Bonds.
Mates.
An embarrassing spike of hope impales my heart, but my stomach drops and clenches. Or is that the alpha’s?
The doctor continues, “If, for whatever reason, she eventually chooses to bond with them and not with you, she’ll have internal bonds with each of them individually. But, because you are the pack leader, none of you will have a pack bond—where you will all sense one another through her—until she chooses to claim you in return. If she chooses to claim you.”
I can sense alpha distress the way bomb-sniffing dogs sense gunpowder. I feel it now, even before the delectable scent of summer—which is already sour and sunburnt—starts to smell like a flaming pile of lawn clippings.
The doctor must sense it, too. “I wouldn’t fret about it too much,” he reassures. “If you’re truly mates, your omega will likely want to complete the bond soon.”
Silence beats in the air, thick as mud. “And if she doesn’t?”
Doctor Alpha clicks his tongue. His voice drops into a solemn mumble. “It’s your job to make sure she does.”
chapter
eight
Tristan is waiting for us when we get to the police station.
I’ve been part of the Thorne Pack for close to fifteen years, but it still boggles my mind to see the way he gets things done. This place should be buzzing. Especially in light of what has apparently just happened here.
Instead, it’s deader than a doornail. Almost every cubicle sits empty, the front desk manned by an apathetic beta woman who answers the phone in a monotone.
No press, no detectives swarming, no flashing lights or drama.
Damn.
The devil works fast, but Tristan Thorne works faster.
