Page 24 of Consider The Lilies

Stefan flinches, mumbling under his breath. I swear I hear him say, “I thought we did last night…” But I can’t really tell.

“You can rut him.” Pearson acts like Stefan didn’t say anything. “Make sure you have lots of lube on hand just in case he’s not slicking.”

I stare at the omega as he pulls the blanket over the bridge of his nose. I feel kind of bad for him. It’s got to be weird to be in a new place, surrounded by strangers while they talk about your body.

“Yuki.” Stanley turns his back so no one else can see his face. “Could I borrow some of your lube?”

“Can’t you get your own?” I ask a little defensively.

“Yeah,” he snaps back, matching my tone. “But you have a fuck ton,” he points out. “It wouldn’t kill you to give up one goddamn bottle.”

I get why he’s asking. I have lots of lube. I even keep little travel packets of the stuff on me at all times.

As a female alpha, I’m tighter and dryer than other women. It’s an old twist of evolution from back when there was an abundance of male omegas. It allowed she-alphas to milk a male’s weeping cock and increase the chance of pregnancy. But that’s not the way the world is anymore. Now, she-alphas tend to date other alphas, and male omegas are practically nonexistent.

But now Stanley wants to borrow my lube to fuck Bear’s goddamn mistake? That pisses me off more than anything else.

“Yuki,” Stanley says, waiting for me to answer. “The lube?”

“No problem,” I say way too forcefully, then I turn and march out of the room.

In Bed

Stefan

I’m thankful the she-alpha is gone.

I feel like a freak everyone has come to gawk at.

A part of me wishes I had seen the doctor last night when my mind was still a mess. Then I wouldn't be forced to remember any of this. But it might be better to be able to think clearly. For example, I now know what to call Mister. The she-alpha called him Jack. I don’t think that’s what he told me to call him last night—that part is still fuzzy—but I’ll stick to calling him alpha just in case.

The doctor packs away his things, and I curl a little tighter, my muscles aching. My hips kind of hurt, and so does my upper back. It must be the bed. I’ve been sleeping on the ground for the last two years, so my body isn’t used to it. But it does feel amazing on my skin. The sheets smell so good, and it’s warm. I snuggle my cheek against the pillow, loving the velvety texture and faint scent of tea leaves and spices.

Tea leaves!

That’s what Jack smells like—black tea leaves and oranges. It’s earthy and comforting with a touch of sweetness,just like the woods.

“I’m going to draw a bit of blood,” the doctor warns me as he pulls my arm out of the blanket. I watch as he cleans my skin then pushes a tiny needle into the bend of my elbow. It pinches, and I hiss.

An anxious sound pushes from Jack, and I finally allow myself to look at him. At last, my head is clear of all those horrible drugs, letting me focus. And I have to admit, Jack doesn’t look like the monster I saw last night.

He’s still big—not as big as that bearded alpha—but big enough that I don’t want to anger him. His brown hair isn’t styled anymore. It’s messy, falling over his forehead, and the scars on his arms and chest aren’t bubbling. They’re normal, slim silver lines. It’s obvious they’re from years of fighting, so they’re still scary, but not like last night.

“That’s good.” The doctor hums as he places little drops of my blood onto a card. Jack leans over his shoulder, looking at the results.

Jack asks the doctor about getting me a few more inhalers for my asthma. Not interested in the medical stuff, I glance around the room.

The fancy chandelier overhead illuminates the whole room with crisp, bright light. The walls are still a deep crimson, and the blanket is black, but I can clearly see the furniture now. The desk and bookshelf across the room are a deep chocolate-brown color, and the carpet is a fluffy bright red. There’s even a sitting area on the far side of the room, with a plush gray couch and two matching gray armchairs.

“When was your last heat?” the doctor asks, and my face goes red once again.

I don’t want to answer, but I don’t want to be yelled at either. “I’ve never had one,” I whisper.

The doctor’s eyes go wide before looking at Jack. They share a tense look, and the urge to cry slams into me.

Mari never had a heat either. Could it be genetic? Are we broken? What happens if my heat never starts? I have so many questions, but I’m too scared to ask them.

“He says he’s eighteen,” Jack’s voice drops to an angry growl. “Could he be lying?”

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