Page 31 of The Omega Switch: Part 2

“...My store.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“I’m just...” Her breathing sounded shallow through the phone. “...tired. Need help.”

Need help. Ivy never asked for help. And especially not from our pack. Now she had called me. I was in my car before I realized it. I didn’t remember most of the drive. When I pulled up and ran inside, her front door was unlocked.

“Ivy?” I called out.

The boutique smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, but beneath the products filling the shelves, I could detect the sour edge of stress and illness. Puff barked from the back office, sharp and frantic, and I followed the sound until I found Ivy on the small couch with one arm hanging over the side, reaching out to me.

Relief and fear collided inside me. She was conscious, but she didn’t look good. Her skin was flushed, and her breathing came too quickly. Her hair had come loose around her face, and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. I crouched beside her immediately and pressed the back of my hand to her forehead.

I pulled the small medical kit from my bag and began checking her pulse, temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. Nothing suggested an immediate crisis, but her body was clearly overwhelmed.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?”

“Three.”

“And the night before?”

Her brow furrowed.

“Three? Maybe four.”

“When was your last day off?” I asked.

She stared at me, her eyes fluttering. She was dehydrated, mildly feverish, and running on almost no sleep. I’d seen this before. Omegas had delicate systems, but Ivy more so than most. Her history included years of suppressant misuse that had already put enormous strain on her endocrine system. Her body was still trying to regulate itself after being chemically forced into silence for so long.

But the good thing was that this was easily treatable - she needed to sleep, and not lift a finger. Luckily, she didn’t protest much as I told her to lie down and rest. Her body knew how to take care of itself, as long as she didn’t get in the way of her own healing. Her eyes drifted closed. I stayed beside her while she slept, checking her temperature and pulse every so often and answering the same frightened questions each time she surfaced.

“Is the store locked?” she’d ask in a hazy panic.

“Yes. Try to rest.” I’d answer in a calm voice.

“Puff? Where’s Puff?”

“Right beside you.” I would assure her. I felt awful. She’d been overworking herself - something no omega should have to do. Although it was admirable that she’d accomplished so much on her own, she needed to learn how to take a break.

Every time she woke, she seemed convinced something would fall apart if she stopped holding it together. I’d try to convince her everything was fine, and then she’d fall back asleep. I let the pack know immediately. They had both panicked, but I warned them not to do anything drastic while Ivy was recovering. Ronan arrived later with enough food and supplies to care for a small army of omegas.

I met him at the front door before he could step inside. His face was stricken with worry.

“How is she?” He asked, his voice tight.

“Exhausted and dehydrated, but she’ll be alright. She just pushed herself too hard. I’ll monitor her.” His jaw clenched.

“I’m coming in.” He stated.

I placed a hand against the doorframe. “No.”

His eyes sharpened. “Elias.” He said, desperation in his voice.

“She called me. She gave me permission to be here. She didn’t give you permission.” I said, glancing back at her. The last thing we needed was for her to heal and get pissed at us for entering her space while she was out of it. Then we’d lose all progress with her.

“She knows I’ve been guarding her,” Ronan said.

“That isn’t the same as allowing you into her private space while she’s barely conscious,” I warned. For a second, I thought he might argue. The old Ronan would have. But instead, he took a step back.