Page 108 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

"Make yourself useful and wheel over the ultrasound," she demands, gesturing to the machine behind him.

Shade glances at me, then at the machine in the corner. "She needs an ultrasound? Now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you would prefer I pencil in ‘scan resurrected Omega later’ after triage, coup prevention, and whatever fresh stupidity your Pack has caused in the meantime?"

Shade’s mouth tightens. "No, doctor."

She plugs the machine in and flicks it on. The screen hums to life. Everything in Blackgate Fortress is old, but this machine looks older than most, with scuffed casing and a fan that whines under the effort of waking up.

Everlyn starts mumbling to herself as she works. "Abdomen first. Liver, spleen, kidneys, uterus if I can get a decent window. We’ll check for fluid buildup, swelling, and anything that looks like your insides resent the fact that they came back from the dead."

Shade comes to my side and brushes his fingertips over my wrist in a quiet question.

I turn my hand and lace our fingers. His thumb strokes once across my pulse point, and our bond hums.

"Sorry," he murmurs, low, meant mostly for me. "Knox needed backup."

I look at the blood on his face, then at his hand. I do not ask, and he does not explain.

"You’re here now," I murmur back.

Everlyn glances up, catches our joined hands, and something fond flickers across her face before she schools it away. "Good. He can keep you still if you start squirming."

"I do not squirm."

She arches a brow. "You absolutely squirm."

I open my mouth to argue, then close it because she is already uncapping the gel.

She squirts a line across my lower abdomen, and I jolt.

"Cold," I hiss.

"Yes, you big baby," Everlyn says, entirely unsympathetic. She spreads it with the probe, and my muscles tense on instinct. "Relax."

The room falls quiet except for the fan inside the machine and the radiator ticking near the wall.

She angles the probe and presses a little deeper.

I suck in a breath.

Shade’s head tilts toward me immediately. "Pain?"

"Nuh uh, just a bit sore."

It's psychosomatic. I know it, and she knows it. I heal too fast for anything to still be sore, but my brain still gives signals that I should feel muscle soreness after being twisted like a pretzel for days on end.

Instead of calling me out, Everlyn snorts and plays along. "I bet you are. Seven days of—"

"Cuddling," I cut in, widening my eyes at her. I don't want the Pack to think I'm gossiping behind their backs.

She snorts. "Yeah, cuddling…"

I relax.

"And fucking. So much fucking."

"Everlyn!"