Chapter 14: Royce - Marked By Love

A foreign sense of weightlessness filled him, and he found himself whistling as he ran errands. Could it really be? Was it actually happening? Had he at long last found someone who was going to stay with him, choose him, someone who wasn’t going to leave him in a ditch no matter what?

Dr. Abbott hadn’t opposed him or put up a fight. Instead, he’d found a compromise that worked best for both of them. Compromise, talking things out. These were the first steps to building a foundation with his fated mate. Royce was practically floating on cloud nine.

Rushing through the grocery list, he found every item and then tossed in several tins of the dark chocolates Doc had in the cabin. He also snagged a bouquet of flowers from the checkout display.

On a whim, he made a pit stop at the pharmacy and bought stomach medicine for omegas. Dr. Abbott seemed like a man of action; Royce could respect that and use it to prove he was the best damn fit for his mate. Actions that considered Doc’s health and comfort were what he needed, what he deserved; Royce would give him that every damned day.

The trip to the bakery was less successful. Hershal said they had nothing without eggs and dairy, but if Dr. Abbott was going to become a regular customer, he’d add some items to the rotation.

Determined not to let this dampen his spirits, Royce raced home and thanked the fates he had the foresight to buy dark chocolate tins. And he smiled the whole way there because he was going home to his mate. And they were going to cook together, talk, and start building a relationship, a life, together.

Pulling onto his road, his heart dropped. Slamming the brakes, he parked the car in the street. Buford stood on the front steps, his thick brows creased and his medic bag slung over his shoulder. The green front door of Royce’s place hung open.

“What happened?” Royce sprinted from the car, taking the front steps three at a time. He froze next to Buford, his heart hammered.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Soaked into the ugly beige carpet, smeared across the wall, a trail of it leading out the front door.

He screamed unintelligibly, his nostrils flared, searching for a scent of whoever it was, whatever had harmed his mate. But he found nothing. The only scent other than his mate’s blood was that of the bear shifter alpha next to him.

With a snarl, Royce turned to Buford. Seizing his shoulders, he shoved him into the wall.

“Where is he?!” he demanded. He knew what Buford was seeing. Royce’s eyes would be flashing gold, his teeth elongating in a snarl as his wolf poked through the man.

“I don’t know,” Buford said.

“What did you do to my mate?”

“Okay, listen, Royce, I smelled the blood. I saw the door was open. I came to investigate—to offer help. I didn’t know the omega you had over was your mate, but still, I should have called you immediately. I’m sorry.” Buford placated, probably in hopes Royce wouldn’t tear out his jugular in a blind wrath. “I don’t know where he is, but I can help. Okay? Just let me go, and we can find your mate. Remember, I’m a nurse. I can help him if he’s hurt.”

Strangling a snarl, Royce released Buford and took a step back. He pulled at his hair in a sorry attempt to ground himself. He needed to be thinking clearly if he was going to find Doc and save him.

While Royce wrestled with himself, Buford stepped further inside, careful to go around the blood smears and stains. He crouched and leaned over the largest pile.

“Royce, good news,” Buford said. “He wasn’t attacked.”

“What?”

“See here, this bubbling and foaming, that’s not from an external wound. This is mucus and blood; vomit most likely from an internal bleed.”

“How is that good news?” Royce hollered.

“It means no one took him by force. It means he most likely left on his own two feet and wasn’t able to get very far. He should be easy to find, especially for his mate. You’re attuned to his scent.”

“He takes suppressors … I can’t scent him properly.”

“That explains why the omega scent is so faint … Okay. Okay, new plan. We’ll track him as if he were a beta. Maybe he left a physical trail or … do you know where he might have gone?”

“The clinic. He’d go to the clinic.”

“Okay, we can work with that. Do you need me to drive?”

“No,” Royce snarled, fighting his wolf back. He had to remind the furry bastard you needed apposable thumbs to drive as they rushed to the car.

They were at the clinic in less than seven minutes. The second he exited the car, he was assaulted by the stench of blood, putrid and metallic. Parking the car, he didn’t bother to turn it off or shut the door behind him before he bolted to the cabin. Royce was vaguely aware of Buford behind him turning off the engine.

Blood covered the front stoop. He jumped over it and crashed into the door. It slammed into the wall, his heart hammered in his ears, his vision sharp yet blurred as he searched.

A heap of cloth and crimson lay at the base of one of the shelves.

“Doc!” Royce fell to the ground. Gripping the omega’s shoulders, he rolled him. He let out a pitiful groan, blood plastered to the corners of his mouth, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

Dr. Abbott’s eyes strained and bugged, something cold and metallic was pushed at Royce.

“Shhh, it’s okay, we’ll get you better.” Royce tried to soothe the omega, but it only agitated him. He gripped the tin harder, a terrible rattling sounded in the back of his throat before his eyes rolled.

His mate went limp in Royce’s arms.

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Stupefied, he sat on the floor of the cabin. He was vaguely aware of Buford shoving him aside and working over Doc, the calm and clear commands he called out over the phone as he pulled items from his bag, poking and prodding at his mate’s listless body.

He should be roaring and raging, howling with indignation. Instead, he was numb. Physically and mentally unable to process what was happening in front of him. Unwilling to acknowledge that his mate might be gone already.

Even when Dr. Shera came through the door and knelt beside Buford. The only thing Royce was able to register was the cool, hard object in his hands and the slow trickle of tears falling down his face.

Royce looked but didn’t see, heard but couldn’t process. When Buford and the doctor stood on either side of his mate and made to hoist him up, Royce snapped. Shoving the tin under the sofa, he leapt to his feet.

“I’ll do it,” he demanded, taking Doc from their arms. He lay him on the sofa.

“I was going to take him to the hospital,” Dr. Shera said.

“He doesn’t trust hospitals. I asked him if he wanted to go this morning, and he freaked. He’ll be more comfortable here,” Royce growled.

“I need to know everything this omega has been taking,” Dr. Shera demanded the second Royce had his mate settled in his nest on the sofa. Buford hung up an IV and took more vitals. Royce shuddered at the sight of the bags and tubes disappearing into the cocoon of blankets.

Not again.

“He’s taking alpha birth control,” Royce said, his voice hollow. “He keeps it in his hip bag. I’m pretty sure he’s on a suppressor too.”

Dr. Shera went through Doc’s bags. She was a beta with long black hair that was streaked with gray.

“What?” Buford asked. “You only told me he was taking suppressor. That’s serious, Royce, you should have told me immediately.”

“I didn’t want to betray him. He didn’t tell anyone on purpose …”

“How long has he been using these?” Shera brandished the pill packet and the spray bottle. “This suppressor is witch-made; this is a highly dangerous combination.”

“I don’t know. We only just met, I don’t know.” Royce’s voice broke.

Dr. Shera considered him.

“Buford, can this alpha be trusted alone with this omega?”

“What?!” Royce balked.

“I don’t see a mate mark on this omega, which means you have no official binding. For all I know, you’ve been stalking him or trying to force a mate bond.”

“I would never—”

“I have to take all threats to my patients seriously.”

Royce puffed out his chest and glowered at the beta.

“He’s good,” Buford placated. “And I’ll stop by to do regular checks and report everything back to you.”

Dr. Shera nodded. “I don’t like not taking him to the hospital …”

“He hates hospitals,” Royce said.

“He’s a vet.” Dr. Shera looked at Royce dubiously.

“He’s a little odd. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?” Royce asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, what exactly happened?”

“The pills are wreaking general havoc on his body, but they’re also eating away at his stomach,” Buford said. “If he’s at the point where he’s vomiting blood, I’d wager he’s been taking them for a long time, probably more than one a day.”

“And, if he’s using witch-made suppressor on top of it, he’d have other side effects like insomnia, appetite loss—which would make the pills harming his stomach lining worse. The pills alone would have other potential long-term complications such as infertility. The list is extensive, as is the damage,” Dr. Shera said. “He needs rest, low stress, and lots of careful attention. When he’s awake, we’ll assess further. This omega also needs understanding and patience. Can you handle that, alpha?”

“He’s my mate!”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Once the cocktail of medication wears off, his scent is going to hit you hard. The absolute last thing this omega needs is an alpha chomping at the bit to claim him.”

“I won’t hurt him,” Royce vowed. “If I feel it getting too strong, I’ll leave.”

“We’ll see.” Dr. Shera gave Royce one last warning glare before turning to Buford. “You. Call me or Argus the second anything seems remotely off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Buford walked her to her car, then came back. “I’m sorry, Royce. Dr. Shera wrote him a prescription; I’ll pick it up and bring it over when it’s ready. But until then, do you … do you need anything? You have some bags in the car, want me to bring them in?”

“I guess …”

Royce fell to the ground next to the sofa and leaned his head against the furniture. Doc looked so small wrapped in the quilts and blankets; the only part of him visible was his head. His cool olive skin was sickly pale and blue, his black hair plastered to his clammy forehead.

Looking at him, so hapless and ill, made Royce feel a type of helplessness he never thought possible. It was hollow and dark, eating away at his insides, leaving behind it a trail of festering poison.

Not for the first time, he sat at the sickbed of a loved one, waiting for them to open their eyes. This time, Royce knew if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to come back from it.