I shift on the bed, suddenly hyperaware of the dried blood and sweat and fuck knows what else coating my skin. Days of running, fighting, bleeding… I probably smell like a slaughterhouse.
"I need a shower," I announce, needing to wash off more than just the physical filth. Maybe if I scrub hard enough, I can wash away the shame of being exposed, of having my deepest secret laid bare for these alphas to see.
"Of course," Doctor says immediately. "You know where the bathroom is. There should be clean clothes in the cabinet. Take your time."
He turns to Juniper, who's still pressed against my side like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go. "Would you like something to eat while Felix cleans up? Neither of you has had a proper meal in days."
I feel her hesitate, her fingers tightening on my arm. She doesn't want to leave me, doesn't trust them enough yet to separate us even for something as simple as a shower. But her stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough that we all hear it, betraying her hunger.
"Go," I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Eat something that isn't a fucking granola bar. I'll be fine."
If nothing else, at least now I'm certain these alphas aren't a threat to her. They've had plenty of changes. That doesn't mean I understand what they are or what they want, beyond getting to the bottom of who hired us to kill them, but some things only come with enough observation. And for the time being, I have nothing better to do.
Juniper searches my face for a moment, those hazel eyes seeing too much as always. Whatever she finds there must satisfy her because she nods, sliding off the bed with obvious reluctance.
"If anything happens to him while I'm gone," she tells Doctor, her voice sweet as poisoned honey, "I'll use your own intestines as a jump rope."
Doctor's lips twitch. "Noted."
I watch Juniper follow Doctor out of the room, noting the way she keeps glancing back at me, the way her hand no longer hovers near where she'd usually keep a weapon. She's getting comfortable here. Too comfortable.
But as I force myself to stand, ignoring the way my legs shake and my wounds pull, I have to admit the truth I've been avoiding since we woke up here.
We can't leave. Not yet.
Not when there are people out there hunting us, people with resources and weapons and the willingness to use them. Not when I can barely walk without feeling like I'm going to collapse, let alone fight off another attack. Not when I can't even maintain my alpha disguise anymore, leaving us both vulnerable in ways I never wanted to be.
The bathroom is small but clean, with white tiles that smell like bleach. I lean against the sink for a moment, finally letting myself look in the mirror.
Fuck.
I look like death warmed over and served with a side of absolute shit. My face is pale except for the bruises painting purple and yellow abstract art across my jaw. There are cuts I don't remember getting, dried blood caked in my hair, and my eyes?—
My eyes look hollow. Defeated.
I look like exactly what I am: an omega who got his ass kicked and had to be saved by the very alphas he was hired to kill.
The shower handles squeak when I turn them, and water that's almost too hot to bear pours down. I strip carefully, cataloging each new ache and pain as I peel away the ruined clothes. The bandages Doctor wrapped around my various wounds are already spotted with blood. I probably shouldn't get them wet, but I don't give a fuck.
The water hits my skin like liquid fire, and I have to bite back a groan. Every cut stings, every bruise throbs, but it's worth it to watch the filth swirl down the drain. Pink water, then red, then darker as days of accumulated gore washes away.
I scrub until my skin feels raw, using the industrial soap like it's holy water that might cleanse more than just my body. The suppressants are already working. I can feel them dulling the edges of my omega nature, pushing it down into something manageable. Not gone, never gone, but quiet enough.
My hands shake as I wash the blood from my hair, remembering how it got there. That soldier's head exploding like a watermelon hit with a sledgehammer. The way his blood painted my face warm and wet. The weight of his body as it crumpled, one less threat between those animals and Juniper.
I'd do it again. A hundred times, a thousand times, whatever it takes to keep her safe.
But I couldn't keep her safe, could I? They got to her anyway. Forced her into heat with their chemical weapons, made herbody betray her in the worst possible way. And where was I? Fighting my own battles, separated from her when she needed me most.
Some protector I turned out to be. Can't even maintain my alpha facade long enough to keep us from being hunted.
The water runs clear now, but I keep standing under the spray, letting it pound against my shoulders like liquid punishment. Everything hurts—my body, my pride, my carefully constructed sense of self that's crumbling like wet paper.
But Juniper's alive. We're both alive.
The people hunting us will find out we're alive soon enough, but I doubt there were any survivors in the first batch of demons they sent. That gives us time. Time to heal, time to plan, time to figure out our next move. And these alphas—the Psychos, our would-be victims turned saviors—they're not what I expected. They could have done anything to us while we were vulnerable. Could have taken advantage, could have hurt us, could have treated us like the omega prey we are.
Instead, they're offering suppressants and showers and fucking medical care like we're actual people.
