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His stomach cramps intensified—he needed Royce to get out of here before it got worse. Luckily, the alpha seemed too ecstatic that Theodore was cooperating and asking him for favors to question his motives.
The big buffoon smiled at him, tucked the list away, then paused.
“I really hope we can work through this together,” he said. “I meant it when I said I was sorry for everything that’s happened. But maybe this can be a fresh start? The fates know what they’re doing; we just need to give it a chance and get to know each other. I’ll be back soon, stay safe. Please, stay here, Doc. I’ll be right back.”
With that, the blonde giant disappeared out the door into the garage. Theodore was almost touched by the sincerity of his words. Almost. Words meant nothing. He was just being manipulative to get what he thought was owed to him. Snorting at the closed door, Theodore turned on his heel and moseyed through the condo.
He had to admit, for a bachelor pad it was nice: clean tan carpet, a little tan love seat, the floors were swept, and the dishes were put away. The walls were also tan. Was beige this guy’s favorite color?
Wait, hadn’t Royce mentioned the condo came furnished? Was this the default furniture? Had he never bothered to get his own or try to make this place feel more like his? How odd …
Theodore noted the shelves built into the wall. He’d always liked that in home designs. But these ones were empty save for a handful of books and a few movies. The sofa was bare, no blankets or pillows.
The more Theodore snooped, the less it looked like someone actually lived here. The whole place had the odd, sterile feel of a real estate setup. Soulless and bare.
He went to inspect the sole wall that had photos hung up. Each little black frame contained the same subjects: two adult men, two girls, one boy. The photos depicted picnics, landmarks, pool parties, each with bright smiling faces. Then they just … stopped. The most recent one that Theodore could tell was when the boy was roughly twelve and the girls about nine and seven.
He frowned. Hadn’t Royce mentioned he was orphaned?
A small part of Theodore felt for Royce. Alpha or not, losing your family was no joke. He wanted to hate the guy—he had kidnapped him after all—but it was hard not to notice how empty everything here was.
The rumbling and squeaking sounds of the garage door rolling closed echoed through the condo walls.
Snorting at himself for being ridiculous, Theodore jogged up the stairs and to the room his bags were in. He changed out of the oversized sweats and stuffed his essentials into his backpack and hip bag, pulled them on, then ran downstairs. Getting to the first-floor landing, his knees buckled.
He couldn’t scream, the pain had taken his breath away. All he could do was curl into a ball and tremble. His muscles contracted and seized as his abdomen was torn to shreds.
Then something new happened.
His stomach rolled and retched, rejecting whatever was inside it. Instead of bile or half-digested food coming up, foaming, brilliant crimson ejected itself from his body, again and again.
Panting and spluttering, he forced himself to his feet. Theodore swayed and then collided with the wall as the room spun. Once the room stayed still, he caught his breath and headed to the front door.
Cool, fresh air laced with the scents of fallen leaves and storms filled him. It helped clear his head and settle his stomach. Not that the pain went away; it was a persistent knife twisting in his gut.
He held himself upright and walked down the front steps and onto the street. If he ran, the neighbors would notice his odd behavior. He needed to be as unnoticed as possible right now. That and he was fairly certain running down the stairs was what made him vomit blood in the first place.
Taking deep, purposeful breaths, he headed in the direction of the clinic. A cold sweat broke out across his brow, his shirt soaked and clung to him. Bright spots danced across his vision … he didn’t remember the clinic being so far.
Theodore’s stomach clenched and rolled, he swallowed back a mouthful of blood.
He couldn’t stop. He had to get to the cabin; he had to get that tin to safety.
The world tilted on its axis.
In the distance, a thick line of trees blurred together, then swam. Through the mess of green splotches was a brown blob. Blinking hard, he squinted and forced himself to focus. It was the cabin. He could have cried with relief. His car, his getaway, was within reach as was that blasted tin.
His stomach cramped and churned. This time he couldn’t hold back the crimson vomit.
Chapter fourteen
Royce
A foreign sense of weightlessness filled him, and he found himself whistling as he ran errands. Could it really be? Was it actually happening? Had he at long last found someone who was going to stay with him, choose him, someone who wasn’t going to leave him in a ditch no matter what?
Dr. Abbott hadn’t opposed him or put up a fight. Instead, he’d found a compromise that worked best for both of them. Compromise, talking things out. These were the first steps to building a foundation with his fated mate. Royce was practically floating on cloud nine.
Rushing through the grocery list, he found every item and then tossed in several tins of the dark chocolates Doc had in the cabin. He also snagged a bouquet of flowers from the checkout display.
