“Makes perfect sense,” Zayn counters, dropping into the chair beside the winger. “Explains why he’s such an asshole sometimes. Repressed omega tendencies.”
Dmitri’s eyes narrow. “You are not funny.”
“Who’s laughing? I’m dead serious.”
“He cannot be an omega,” Dmitri says with the absolute certainty that makes him so intimidating on the ice. Even if he knows as well as the rest of us do that somehow, the impossiblehas happened. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to process, though. “Darren is a beta. He’s always been a beta. You don’t just present at twenty-seven.”
“Well something fucking changed,” Zayn snaps. “You think I’m imagining what I smelled? We all noticed it.”
I push off from the wall. This conversation isn’t helping anyone, least of all Darren, who’s behind those doors being poked and prodded and God knows what else.
“It doesn’t matter right now,” I say, my voice cutting through their argument. “We don’t have all the facts. What we know is our teammate took a serious hit protecting our net, and he’s hurt. Everything else is secondary.”
They both look at me, alpha programming responding to the authority in my tone. Even Zayn, who challenges me at every turn, backs down slightly.
“Jax is right,” Aidan chimes in, his younger voice breaking the awkward tension in the room. “My cousin got a concussion last year and smelled weird for like a week after. Could be temporary.”
I don’t believe that for a second, but I nod gratefully at the kid. At twenty-two, Aidan’s seven years my junior, but he’s got good instincts. Knows how to smooth things over, and in this pack, that makes him a godsend.
The door to the examination area swings open, and we all straighten as a doctor approaches. She’s middle-aged with silver streaking her dark hair, wearing the slightly harried expression of someone who’s been on shift too long. Her eyes sweep across our group, recognition flickering briefly.
“You’re here for Darren Malloy?” she asks, though she has to know who we are. The Grizzlies practice jerseys we’re still wearing aren’t exactly subtle. Neither is the streak of Darren’s blood on my sleeve from when I was holding him.
“Yes,” I step forward. “How is he?”
“Are you family?” she asks, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield.
“Pack,” I answer without hesitation. “I’m Jax Lawson, team captain.” I pull out my ID, which shows our pack affiliation, Pack Lawson. The same one listed in Darren’s records.
She examines it briefly, then nods. “I’m Dr. Casell. First of all, let me reassure you that Mr. Malloy is stable. The concussion is severe but not life-threatening. We’ve done a full workup, including blood tests and a CT scan, and...” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “There have been some unusual developments.”
“He’s an omega,” Zayn says bluntly.
An alpha’s scent can pick up more than any scan. At least when it comes to that.
Dr. Casell’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Yes. As unconventional as it is, Mr. Malloy appears to have presented as an omega. We suspect the severe head trauma may have triggered a latent presentation.”
“That’s not possible,” Dmitri rumbles. “He’s not some twenty-year-old kid.”
“It’s rare,” Dr. Casell corrects, “but not unprecedented. There have been documented cases of late presentations following significant physical trauma or extreme psychological stress.” She glances at her clipboard. “Sometimes all of the above. Has Mr. Malloy experienced any major life changes or stressors recently?”
I think about the last few months, the trade rumors that circled Darren during the off-season, the new contract negotiations that nearly fell through, his ongoing rivalry with Zayn. Nothing out of the ordinary for a professional athlete, but cumulative stress is still stress.
“Nothing unusual for our line of work,” I answer diplomatically.
“How is this even possible?” Aidan asks, his light freckles standing out against his paler-than-usual skin. “Everyone in Darren’s family is a beta, right?”
“Darren was adopted,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I remember it’s not common knowledge. Not even to our newest pack member. Darren mentioned it once, drunk after a playoff elimination two years ago. “He never knew his biological parents, only that his mother was a beta. No information about his father.”
Dr. Casell nods. “That would explain it. An alpha-beta pairing can, in extremely rare cases, produce an omega or an alpha. These cases often present late, and physical trauma can be a triggering factor.” She tucks her clipboard under her arm. “For what it’s worth, the tests are conclusive. Mr. Malloy’s hormonal profile shows classic omega markers, albeit at early stages.”
Aidan steps forward, worry etched across his face. “But he’s going to be okay, right? I mean, aside from the... omega thing.”
A flicker of sympathy crosses Dr. Casell’s face. “The concussion will heal with proper rest. As for his status change… physically, he’ll adapt. His body will go through changes as his hormonal system stabilizes. His first heat could arrive within weeks or months.”
Heat. The word goes off like a bomb. I’ve been around enough omegas to know what that means for Darren. Vulnerability, need, biological imperatives no amount of suppressants can fully control. The thought of Darren Malloy, the man who once played through a broken rib without telling anyone, experiencing that kind of vulnerability is almost impossible to imagine.
“Considering his new status,” Dr. Casell continues, her tone carefully neutral, “his continued career in the NHL would beinadvisable at best. There are significant health risks for omegas in contact sports, even males, particularly when it?—”
