Page 17 of Untamed Omega

“No doubt. You barely touched your breakfast this morning.” He led the way through the clinic portion of the cottage and into the back where we made our home. “How are you going to get to a healthy weight this way?”

“You’re trying to stuff me like a roast chicken.” I followed him into our kitchenette and sat down at the small table. “Is that what we’re having?”

“No, I have some chicken soup for you. And egg custard.”

“When I eat at the alpha house, I don’t get invalid food. My teeth are going to think I don’t need them anymore.”

“How about some toast with the soup, and we’ll go up to the house for dinner where you can gobble whatever you feel up to.” His frustration was evident in his tone, but I was so tired of being treated with kid gloves.

“When I was at the lab, they hardly fed me at all, and what they did was really bad. Surely now that I’m here and on the mend, we can just move forward.”

I didn’t even know why I was arguing when I actually loved his soup. And custard? A secret favorite my grandfather used to make for me. But everything irritated me lately. And when he set the bowl of steaming soup in front of me, thick with noodles, pieces of chicken, and carrots and celery, I inhaled the steam and clapped my hand over my mouth.

Racing for the bathroom, I barely made it in time to drop to my knees and empty the few ounces of oatmeal I’d managed to eat for breakfast into the porcelain bowl. I’d been nauseated all week, but this was the first time I couldn’t hold it back. I didn’t want my mate to know and think I was getting worse.

With everything I had been put through, all the things injected or forced down in pill form, the IV fluids my captors dripped into my veins, there could be anything wrong with me. Any sort of poison might be causing the exhaustion, the irritability, the nausea.

But I had to fight past it because it would kill Markus if anything happened to me. I’d already decided that if I got worse, I’d leave rather than let him witness me dying.

“Omega.” Markus handed me a wet cloth. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

“Just a few days.”

“Then why were you asking to do more, if you feel worse?” He helped me stand and walked me toward the bedroom. “How can I help you if you aren’t honest with me?”

“I just felt like if I could act normal, maybe I could be normal. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. Whatever they did to me”—I swallowed against the lump that filled my throat—“it may be killing me.”

“Oh, Sam. I don’t think that’s the problem.” Markus settled me in bed. “When you need to urinate, let me know. I have a stick I need you to pee on.”

Realization flowed over me. Not death? “Do you think I’m…”

“Pregnant, Sam.” He kissed me, his lips firm against mine. “I believe we’re going to have a child.”

Chapter Seventeen

Markus

I had to turn around and hold in my smile as Sam’s belly bumped against our table filled with glass bottles and droppers, along with all kinds of jars. As his belly grew, he asserted his balance went out the window and that gravity had a personal vendetta against him. “I swear, Markus, if you are laughing…”

He was joking, of course, but that triggered me. “I wasn’t laughing until you said that.”

“But you were smiling. I know you.” He had gained weight. He glowed now. There were still scars on the inside and outside, some he would have forever, but he was healing. Every day he got a little bit better. His eyes shone with a bit more happiness. At night, he spoke to our babe and told them that they would be the most loved baby in the world.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Sam, I’m sorry. You’re too adorable for your own good. Trying to help out and learn new things while maneuvering a changing body. I’m not making fun of you. I’m happy because you’re mine.”

“Ugh, stop saying sweet things while I’m aggravated.”

“How about we take a break?” I asked. While he was still healing, he was also growing a babe inside him.

“A break would be nice.”

We stepped away from the worktable and sat on the couch I’d picked up in town. My mate needed places to rest. Some days were better than others, but as his pregnancy progressed, he would likely become more tired. Eat more. Would need more cuddles and hugs.

All of which I was game for.

Before Sam sat down, he grabbed his pre-made snack box from the lunch bag Rob packed for him every morning. The first time he’d done that, I said nothing. Rob shrugged it off. One day I asked him, and he said it was all he could do to help. He wished he had an omega and if he did, that’s how he would want them treated. He was a good guy. His mouth was not so good.

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