Page 121 of Claiming Their Omega

Easton rushes for the barn, while I search the house, Cade checks the fields, and Hendrix tries to round up the horses. I hope that none of the horses trampled her by accident in their panic. I hope she wasn’t beat up. I hope—

“I found her!” Easton yells. “I got her!”

I rush back out the door and to the shell of the barn.

Easton’s on his knees over by the exterior of the barn, and I see the crumpled, still figure at his feet. My heart leaps up into my throat. I can’t bear it if Grace is dead, I can’t handle it. I don’t think any of us could.

I reach them and see that Easton is patting her down carefully, checking for a pulse and any other injuries. She’s got her clothes sticking to her—just her pajamas and nightgown—from what seems to have been water. There’s ash and soot smeared on her, and her face is pale.

“She’s alive,” Easton says as Hendrix and Cade rush up to join us. He’s almost as pale as Grace is. “I can’t feel anything broken.”

There don’t seem to be any burns on her, either, but there’s still a concern for smoke inhalation. That’s the thing that gets people, that people who haven’t been around fires don’t realize. It’s not just the burning you have to worry about. You can get out without a single burn, and all the smoke that got in your lungs can still burn and scar them, and kill you if you don’t get oxygen and treatment.

And our poor girl was out here all night.

I scoop her up into my arms. I can feel her minutely trembling. As I look around, I see the charred remains of the rugs and blankets we keep for the horses, and the empty trough of water. Grace must have used that to try to put out the fire, and gotten water all over herself in the process. It probably saved her life, but now after being out in the cold all night after the fire died down, it’s left her shivering.

I hope she hasn’t gotten pneumonia, on top of everything else.

She feels so small and lightweight in my arms, and I hold her close, trying to warm her up. Grace is a small woman, petite for sure, but usually I only think about that during our more intimate moments. It’s sexy, then, how easily I can pick her up.

But the rest of the time, Grace carries herself with such elegance and energy, I don’t really consider how much smaller she is. And I know I’m a big guy. Someone being small to me doesn’t always mean they’re small in general.

Right now, though, with her completely unconscious as I carry her… she feels like she weighs nothing. I feel acutely, painfully aware of how light she is. How little she weighs. I can feel the shape of her bones under her muscles. It feels like carrying a bird.

It terrifies me.

“Call the doctor,” I say, my voice hoarse. Whether it’s from the screaming for Grace or the emotion, I don’t know, but I can’t fix it.

Hendrix digs out his phone while I get her inside with the others, and thankfully, I can hear him talking to someone, which means the doctor must’ve answered.

We strip her of the wet clothes and dry her off, then dress her in something dry and wrap her in some warm blankets before laying her on her bed. I tuck a few of the comfiest pillows from her nest around her, hoping that the familiar smells and textures will subconsciously reassure her.

She’s still breathing, I remind myself. She’s still alive. There’s still reason to hope.

Honestly, that’s the only reason I’m still breathing too.

“I got the doc,” Hendrix announces, hurrying over. “He’s on his way.”

Cade shoots Hendrix’s phone a dirty look, and I know what he’s thinking: Well, get here faster. The man looks ashen, all color drained from his face as he hovers over Grace.

The doctor arrives as fast as possible. In the meantime, we just try to keep her dry, warm, and comfortable. She won’t wake up, her breathing a bit ragged, but she doesn’t seem to be getting worse, either.

I want to wake her up. I want to make sure she’s okay. But Easton points out that we shouldn’t do too much in case that makes her worse. We need to wait for the doctor, as much as we all hate it.

Dr. Hazlett has been serving the area since… well, since as long as I can remember. He’s the same age as Easton’s grandparents, but he’s still spry and in good health. He rushes in through the door and begins to work on Grace immediately.

We all hover for a bit, until the doctor snaps at us to get lost. I snarl at him, teeth bared, but Dr. Hazlett isn’t fazed. He’s had to deal with a lot of upset Alphas in his time.

“I said,” he snaps back at me, “get lost.”

Damn it. He’s probably right that we should stop hovering, so he can focus on Grace. I hate it, but I force the other three to go outside.

If nothing else, we can assess the damage to the barn and make sure the horses and other animals are all right. They seem to have survived just fine, no injuries, but they’re understandably skittish.

When the doc calls us back in, we all practically barrel into Grace’s room upstairs.

“Good thinking, keeping her warm,” he tells us as we enter. “She could’ve gotten pneumonia, lying out in the cold night, wet like that. I’ve given her a fever reducer, just in case, but her fever is very mild. It’s mostly the smoke inhalation I worry about. I gave her oxygen, and her lungs sound all right, but if she’s in a lot of pain tomorrow, I’d recommend taking her to the hospital in Clifton for some chest x-rays. For now, let her sleep. I know it’ll be tempting to wake her up, but she needs her rest to heal up.”

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