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Chapter 6

Elowen

Dreams couldn’t hurt like this, so badly I felt like I might shatter into thousands of pieces. Hours after waking, a vicious pain had settled in my lower belly. The cramps came without warning, tightening until I could barely breathe. I screamed until my throat was raw, catching glimpses of people around the bed whenever I managed to open my eyes.

Eleanor and Cedric came and went, along with Ivy and Nora, Mireya and the people who worked for her. Even the other men who seemed to follow Eleanor everywhere came every now and then.

They’d given me something for the pain, something strong enough to knock me out, or so Mireya said. But it hadn’t worked. Instead, I drifted in and out of consciousness and lost track of how much time was passing.

“You said this was only a temporary mental condition, Mireya. How can she possibly be presenting as an Omega again? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“That was my initial assessment. This is clearly more complicated, and I agree with you, Samir; her second presentation is unprecedented. That’s why she should be treated somewhere equipped to manage a condition this rare.”

“That is not an option. Bring whatever you need here.”

“I cannot move an entire specialised facility. There are limits to what I can do, Cedric.”

“You can move the equipment.”

“Not all of it. Some of what I need can’t be transported.”

“Then find another way.”

“Cedric—”

“Our daughter will not be taken anywhere,” another man said, “and she most certainly will not become a unique medical case for others to write about.”

“My team is very discreet, Matthias, and I would never use Elowen’s condition for my own benefit. To imply such a thing is beyond disrespectful.”

Another cramp ripped through me, drowning out their voices. Somewhere between one breath and the next, the mattress beneath me felt harder, and hands were holding my legs apart.

“Forty per cent knot accommodation before tissue failure.” I didn’t recognise the voice.

“Location?”

“Posterior vaginal wall. Mucosal laceration with active bleeding.”

“Very well. Repair the damage.”

A hand stroked my hair. “You’re doing very well, little dove.”

I tried to turn towards the voice, but my body felt too heavy, and I had no strength left. The pain between my legs was so sharp I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. All I could do was silently beg to fall asleep so I wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.

Other times, when I could actually speak, I begged them to stop, begged them to stop putting things inside me. They never did.

“Sixty-three per cent knot accommodation. Recurrent posterior vaginal wall laceration.”

“There is an external anal sphincter tear.”

“How extensive?”

“Extensive. She will require surgical repair.”

“Do it.”

Sleep should have brought relief, but the nightmares followed me every time I drifted off, until the pain, tears and calm voices all seemed to run together.

“The filtration system shows no detectable blood scent in the room.”