Page 60 of Knot the One They Want

My stomach lurches. The wounds are angry red and weeping, the skin around them puffy and inflamed. Worse, dark tendrils snake out from the punctures, mapping the veins beneath my skin.

It's spreading.

Oh god, what do I do?

Lori was right. I need help, need a doctor or healer orsomething.This is beyond my ability to handle on my own, the festering wounds and climbing fever a terrifying harbinger of worse to come.

But the thought of crawling to Damien, of admitting weakness and watching the disgust and disappointment shutter his eyes... I can't. The humiliation would be unbearable. He's already looking for any excuse to cast me aside. I can't give him more ammunition.

I'll deal with it myself. I have to.

Maybe I can call a car and slip out without them noticing. It's not like they pay me any mind when there's not company, anyway. My omega duty for the night is done. That should buy me some time. Maybe even until morning.

The room dips and spins as I push off the vanity, black spots swarming my vision. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through my nose as I fumble for the door to the en suite. Just some cool water on my face and another dose of meds and I'll be fine to go.

I manage two shuffling steps before the floor seems to tilt under me. I stagger, hand flailing for purchase and finding only air. My hip cracks against the hard lip of the bathtub as I go down, pain exploding through my fever-addled brain.

I lay stunned on the tile, lungs laboring for breath that won't come. The ceiling whirls dizzyingly above me, shadows bleeding into the edges of my sight. Distantly, I hear a whimper, a thin thread of sound. It takes me a moment to realize it came from my own throat.

Help. I need help.

But the cry dies on my lips, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth. Even if I could call out, who would come? The staff are all busy cleaning up. The pack is scattered.

And Damien...

A sob hitches in my chest, tears burning my eyes. Damien would probably step right over my crumpled body, lip curled in revulsion. He's made it crystal clear what he thinks of me.

A weak, useless omega.

A burden.

A mistake.

The cold of the tile seeps into my bones as I lay there, strength leaching out of my limbs. Shivers wrack me, my skin clammy with sweat. I need to move, need to get up, but my body refuses to cooperate.

So tired. I'm so tired.

Black mist creeps along the edges of my consciousness, insidious tendrils pulling me down into its smothering embrace. I try to resist, but it's like fighting against a riptide, the undertow of exhaustion dragging me down deeper and deeper. As my eyes flutter closed, one last crystalline thought pierces the descending fog.

I'm going to die alone on a bathroom floor.

CHAPTER 30

DAMIEN

Islam the door shut, the sound reverberating through the foyer like a gunshot. The investor's car recedes down the driveway, taillights glowing red in the night. Another deal sealed, another success for Blackwood Enterprises. I should be satisfied.

But the taste in my mouth is bitter, not sweet.

Evie. It always comes back to Evie.

The perfect omega, the flawless jewel on my arm. The investor couldn't stop fawning over her all evening—her grace, her charm, her impeccable manners. As if those are the only things that matter.

As if my vision, my drive, my ruthless pursuit of success are all secondary to having a trophy mate.

Fury coils in my gut, cold and sharp as a blade. The world sees omegas as status symbols, as prizes to be won. And I've been forced to play along, to parade Evie like a show pony just so people will take me seriously as an alpha.

Just so they'll invest inmycompany, the empire my family built with blood and sweat and sheer force of will.

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