The door bursts open and she storms through like a force of nature, hair wild, wearing what looks like medical scrubs three sizes too big. Behind her, Archer limps in looking like someone kicked him in the balls. Which, knowing Juniper, is probably exactly what happened.
"Sorry," he wheezes, one hand pressed protectively over his groin. "Couldn't hold her."
She doesn't even acknowledge him, just launches herself at my bed with desperate grace. Her hands fly to my face, my chest, checking for damage with fingers that shake.
"You're okay," she breathes, and then she's crying, uncontrolled sobs that shake her whole body as she presses her forehead against mine. "You're actually okay. When they brought you in covered in blood, I thought—I thought?—"
"I'm sorry." The words scrape against my throat like broken glass. "I couldn't protect you. They separated us and I couldn't?—"
"Shut up." She pulls back just enough to glare at me through her tears. "You killed five of them, Felix. Five. While bleeding out. You protected me the only way you could—by becoming the scariest thing in those woods."
Her fingers trace the edge of a bandage with impossible gentleness, and I catch her wrist, needing to feel her pulse against my palm. Alive. Safe. Here.
"They know," I say quietly, nodding toward Doctor and Archer without looking at them.
"Yeah, I figured." She glances over her shoulder at them, something unreadable in her expression. "Guess the cat's out of the bag. Or should I say, the omega's out of the closet?"
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny." But her smile is fragile. "Could be worse, right? They could have killed us, I guess. Or worse, separated us. Instead we're both here, both breathing, both sporting matching medical bracelets like we're at the world's most fucked up summer camp."
She's right. It could be worse. We're alive, we're together, and for now, that has to be enough.
Archer clears his throat from the doorway, "I'm, uh, going to go check on the new security detail," he says, already backing out of the room like he's expecting Juniper to lunge at him again. Smart man. "Just got the alert from Bane they're here."
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving us with Doctor and the weight of everything that's changed. Everything that can't be taken back now that the truth is bleeding through my skin.
"Would you like a dose of suppressants now?" Doctor asks, his tone professional but not cold. There's something almost gentle in the way he phrases it, like he's offering a choice instead of a necessity.
The wordyessticks in my throat for a moment. Asking for suppressants feels like admitting defeat, like acknowledging that I really am what I've spent years pretending not to be. But the alternative is worse.
"Yes," I force out.
Doctor nods, no judgment in those blue eyes as he moves to prepare the injection. The needle gleams under the fluorescent lights, and I watch him draw the clear liquid with confidence born from years of practice. Military medical training, probably. The kind that teaches you to save lives with the same efficiencymost people use to end them. And I know firsthand he can do both.
"Would you like me to hold your hand?" Juniper asks.
She's trying not to smile, the corners of her mouth twitching with suppressed amusement. Like she knows exactly how ridiculous the question is but asked it anyway just to see my reaction.
"I'm not bothered by needles, Juney," I tell her, letting my own amusement bleed through despite everything. "I've been stitched up by back-alley doctors using fishing line and vodka for anesthetic. This is practically a spa treatment."
"Well,Iam," she says, grimacing as Doctor approaches with the syringe. She turns her face away, pressing it against my shoulder like she can't bear to watch. "Needles are fucking creepy."
She flinches as the needle slides into my arm, even though she's not the one being injected. The suppressant burns as it enters my bloodstream, liquid fire racing through my veins, but it's a familiar burn. A welcome one.
Already I can feel it working, dampening the omega pheromones that have been pouring off me like a fucking beacon. Within minutes, that sweet scent that makes alphas lose their minds will fade to almost nothing. Not gone entirely—nothing can completely erase what I am—but muted enough that I won't feel like I'm walking around with a target painted on my back.
Even if these alphas seem to have more self-control than most.
"There," Doctor says, disposing of the needle. "That should help. The effects will be noticeable within the hour, fully effective within three."
Three hours until I stop smelling like prey. Three hours until I can breathe without feeling like every alpha in existence can smell my weakness.
"I don't have the alpha pheromones you typically use on hand," Doctor continues, and something in his tone makes me pay attention. Not judgment, exactly, but... curiosity. "But I can order them if you'd like."
"It's fine," I mutter, not quite meeting his eyes. "Doesn't matter right now now anyway. Cat's out of the bag and clawing at the furniture."
Doctor nods, accepting my decision without pushing. "If you change your mind, the offer stands."
