Page 12 of Bonds and Beasts

The guffaw that comes out of me is full of bitter humor. "Not physically.”

"Okay, let's tackle these one at a time. Firstly, I'm sorry you went into rut, Bello. That's an out of control experience that, while desirable with the right pack and omega at the right time, was likely overwhelming at best and horrifying for you at worst. Ruts can happen around a pack scent match, but that doesn't seem to be the only issue at play here."

That last part catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

"The dreams, the rose detail in them. Is her scent roses?"

I remember the dead floral scent that filled every inch of the west wing. "Her stress made it more like dead flowers, but yeah, it was roses for sure."

He makes a thoughtful humming sound on the other end of the line. "Would you describe the scent that surrounded you like a fine mist, or was it more like a bucket of water in the face?"

"If we're going with water metaphors, Cam, it was more like being held under in a pool."

"Damn."

I don't like that reaction from him, a man who's seen a lot in his time in Hollywood.

"What?"

"From your description she was nonverbal, right?"

The high omega whines scrape across my memory.

"Yes."

"Did she shake? Did you notice any fine tremors in her hands?"

I concentrate. "Everything was a blur, but when I tried to talk to her she was shaking. But she was also terrified of me, Cam."

"I know, I understand, and I can't diagnose conditions over the phone from far away, but Bello… this sounds like touch deprivation to me."

I don’t know a lot about touch deprivation other than it mostly affects omegas, and it can be debilitating for them depending on the severity.

"And," Cam goes on, "from the way you've described her scent coupled with your extreme reaction, there may be an issue there too."

"Like what?"

"Like an issue with her scent glands. Again, I can't diagnose over the phone, but my professional suggestion is to get her to a doctor. Honestly, if her symptoms are as bad as you say and she's fully nonverbal from touch deprivation, she should ideally go to the hospital today."

I sigh. "We'll try," is all I can say, because the last time I was in her room, Dean and Easton couldn't get her out from under the bed. I have no idea how we'd get her all the way to a hospital. And Cam's back in LA.

"Try hard," he replies, which says enough about how serious this is. "I'll call the hospital near you. If I'm right, she needs all-beta or omega staff. No alphas. And she needs to be in one of the sealed rooms for omegas in heat."

My mind snags like a scratched record. "You think she's in heat?"

"No." His voice is calm but firm. "But if I'm right, she'll need all the same precautions."

We hang up and I stare at the black screen, taking a deep breath to settle myself. Considering my options, I know that I want to make sure the omega is safe. To do that, we need to get her to a hospital. To do that, we need to earn at least a little of her trust. I've blown that possibility to hell for myself. If not forever, then at least for the immediate future.

Which means I'll be relying on my packmates, specifically Dean, from what I've seen. Dean is a good alpha. I wouldn't be packed with him if he wasn't. But this is a delicate situation, and delicate isn't a word I'd use for Dean. I sigh and leave my room, prepared to do whatever it takes.

Adison

Everything's blurry and everything hurts.

That's really just another day in my life, ever since I designated. But now there are alphas in my room and their scents are affecting my omega like crazy. The one with the glasses smells of deserts and old books. Every inhale feels warm and comforting and calming.

Dean is still on his stomach trying to talk to me, trying to get me to do something. He’s herbal, like fresh mint and basil. It's addicting. My fear has held me back, but as neither alpha attempts to force me to do anything, that fear is steadily ebbing away, leaving room for nothing but my instincts. And my instincts want these alphas.