Page 19 of Bonds and Beasts

I want to shrink. Have I done something wrong?

"Adison," Bello starts, snapping my attention to him, "are you saying you've been in that wing of the house for almost a year?"

I feel the heat crawl up my neck but try to press the embarrassment down. It's September so…yeah, I guess it has been almost a year. Mr. Clocks said it's what I had to do to keep everyone safe, and he was right. No incidents occurred since I started staying in the west wing.

I nod again. God, I wish I had my voice.

Easton crowds in closer, nuzzling into the space below my chin at my pulse point. He's giving me his scent, and I need it so much.

I sometimes went out to the garden, I reason.

Dean huffs. "I knew I saw someone the other night."

"Why didn't you seek help? Medical help, I mean." Bello is like a dog chasing a car. He's not stopping, and I don't understand where he's going with these questions.

I did. I saw Dr. Fray.

Dean reads the words aloud next to me. Easton continues to drag the ridge of his nose along the column of my throat. Heat starts to pool at my center, melting lower. Concentrating on this conversation becomes hard.

"I assume Mr. Clocks arranged Dr. Fray's services?" Easton asks into my throat.

Bello rubs his face when I nod.

Dean speaks low and soft, trying to soften a blow. "Adison, Sweet Girl, I can't say anything for sure, but not finding you proper medical care at the hospital isn't what a real doctor would do. No doctor would recommend isolating an omega, no matter what their condition. Touch starvation is serious in omegas."

I ponder what he's saying, but it keeps snagging on what has been my reality for these past months.

But he prescribed me medication for my scent issues, for my condition. To help me.

The alphas all glance at each other.

Bello unfolds the paper in his hand and turns it toward me. It's a bunch of medical jargon, and I look to him, conveying my confusion.

"Your bloodwork," he murmurs, "it's clean. There's absolutely no medication, no drugs, not so much as an Ibuprofen."

I frown, trying to understand. That's not possible. I take medication for my scent glands and touch deprivation every day.

Bello holds my gaze, and I can see the total, heartbreaking sincerity there.

"There is no medication for touch deprivation. Scent suppressants help with your overactive scent glands, but you didn’t list any of those in your medications. As for anything else, it's likely whatever you're taking is a placebo. A sugar pill."

My heart plummets. He tricked me? The man my parents used as a trusted advisor betrayed me. Why? The question feels small and pathetic even as I write it.

Easton takes over here. "Adi, with you incapacitated and unable to interact with anyone, who was left in charge of the estate and its finances?"

My blood runs cold.

Mr. Clocks, I mouth.

His nod is solemn, and everything they're saying clicks into place, though my first internal reaction is denial. My parents trusted Mr. Clocks implicitly. I thought that meant I could too. I was sure I could. But why wouldn't there be any drugs in my system?

Anytime I'd ask about going to a hospital, about seeing a specialist, he'd remind me of my birthday party and how dangerous it would be.

My head swims. I feel small and stupid. Part of me wants it to be a big misunderstanding. Maybe it is. Maybe we'll call Mr. Clocks and he'll explain everything. Maybe...

Bello

Adison looks like she's about five minutes from total collapse. Maybe less. We've been up all night at the hospital, which has likely caused sensory overload on top of the touch deprivation.