Page 75 of Secret Heart
He nods and clicks on something, one finger marking his spot in the book. “What’s the last name of the Omega?”
“Harding.”
He nods again and then pulls a tablet from the far corner of the desk.
“I just need you to sign this consent form. It’s required for everyone utilizing the Haven’s services.”
My hand shakes as I scratch out the messiest signature I’ve ever managed.
“Give me just a minute to call an escort, and we’ll get you to his room.”
He gestures to the small row of seats to my left. I drop into the nearest one, the black fabric practical but surprisingly soft. True to the receptionist’s word, it takes less than five minutes for the doors along the back wall to open and a much younger man—dressed in black scrubs that was out his pale coloring—to step through. I join him without letting him cross the space, my entire body vibrating with need and worry. He doesn’t respond to the sudden pulse of my scent.
He leads me through the hallway, passing several rooms and twisting deeper into the building. I’ve never actually been in a Haven, not outside of the appointment of Triston’s I tagged along to. The walls here are a light beige that manages to be warm and yet a soothing cool. Artwork hangs in the center of the walls every ten feet or so, various abstract sunsets and flowers and other still life subjects.
“The consent said you’ve never done a heat at a Haven?” It comes across as a question. The escort tucks his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
I shake my head. “I haven’t.”
He guides me to the end of the hall and then turns to the left.
How big is this place? Billings isn’t all that large of a town. And yet this place feels massive. How large are the Havens in larger cities like Denver or LA? They must be multi-level behemoths.
“There’s a bathroom in the attached secondary bedroom. It has unscented soaps and haircare products. If you need any additional linens, there is a tablet to put in requests as well as desired meals and snacks for both you and him on the dresser in the main room. There’s also a phone in case that’s easier. If anything happens that has you concerned, press the star button on either the tablet or the phone, and a doctor will come by and evaluate everything.”
At the end of the third hall, he stops in front of an unremarkable door with a number on it.
“He’s doing okay?” I can’t help but ask, worry sitting heavy in my stomach and making it difficult to breathe.
The escort has the courtesy to pull up something on his phone instead of just rolling his eyes.
“An Alpha gave him scent therapy shortly after your phone call with our medical staff. Since then, he’s been asleep. For most Omegas, their waves come in three to four hour gaps, so he’ll probably be asleep for another hour or so. He may be disoriented when he wakes. That’s pretty common with triggered cycles.” He focuses on me. “Any other questions?”
“Do they know how it was triggered?”
His lips flatten. “There appears to have been an altercation at a local restaurant. An Alpha cornered him in the bathroom and attempted to force a bond. A Beta that was with Mr. Harding managed to get involved before it could progress that far.”
“What?”
He grimaces. “We, unfortunately, don’t know any more than that. He was transported here by paramedics when he was deemed stable by the local hospital staff. We then proceeded to call you. Anything else regarding the altercation is being handled by the local police. I believe an Omega Abuse Detective will be here midmorning to discuss everything with you.”
“Omega Abuse Detective?”
He clears his throat. “Right. An OAD is what they’re often called. They’re a special unit with the Council that handles cases of abuse with Omegas alongside local law enforcement.”
“We didn’t abuse Triston.” My voice is a snarl, a warning shot.
He nods. “It’s standard procedure when a heat is illegally triggered. It’s not a presumption of ill will on your part.”
I swallow down the growl wanting to climb my throat.
“Any other questions?”
When I shake my head, he presses the key card attached to his lanyard to the black pad on the handle and then the electronic whir of a lock sounds. He quickly opens the door and gestures for me to go inside.
The room is dark, only a small nightlight plugged into the wall to the right giving any kind of illumination. The linens all seem to be dusky blue and pink in shades similar to the blankets that are strewn across his nesting bed at home. There’s a small fridge nestled beside two large baskets with small labels noting they’re for soiled linens. To the left is an unmarked door that, logically, must lead to the attached bedroom and bathroom the escort had mentioned. There’s two chairs that flank the small nightlight, both a deep gray leather.
I set my bag beside the dresser and slip out of my flats. Then I pull my shirt over my head and strip out of the bra, dropping both onto the flat surface of the dresser. There’s really no reason to wear the shirt. When Triston wakes, it’ll just end up being taken off anyway.
