I grimace. Here I am ready to write sonnets about his scent and how he has the perfect amount of chest hair, and I’m the Omega he watched throw up—at least three times.
“Are you prone to seasickness, Miss Sør?—”
“Claire,” I correct him quickly. “I thought this was something I outgrew.”
I’m embarrassed as I say it, and the stranger takes one extra step closer to me. Maybe my body gives me away when I involuntarily lean toward his scent.
“Have you taken anything for the seasickness?” the doctor asks, as he types away on his tablet.
“No.”
“No worries. We have a few things we can give you. This one may make you sleepy. I’ll give you a week’s worth and you can come back if you need more. Heading down the Atlantic coast is one of the worst parts of our trip,” the doctor says.
He hands me the medication.
“What about the patches and those pressure things?” the Alpha asks.
“There are a few studies—” the doctor starts and the Alpha waves his big palm.
“Do you have them?” he asks.
The doctor clears his throat and nods.
“Then give them to her,” he says simply.
If I didn’t feel like shit, I’d think his no nonsense tone might have me perfuming like crazy.
The doctor scoots out of his chair and goes to a cabinet, scanning his badge. He hands the Alpha—not me—the bracelets and a package of something else.
The man doesn’t hesitate, using his teeth to open the packaging for the bracelets. When I don’t automatically hand him my wrists, he takes one in his hand and slips one wristband on, before doing another. They’re hideous, but if it helps, beggars can’t be choosers.
I fully expect him to hand me the other packages, but he opens it, peeling a brown dot off a sheet, before shifting my hair and placing it behind my ear. He does the same thing on the other side.
Meanwhile, I sit there like a shellshocked Omega who’s never been around an Alpha before.
No one besides my parents has taken such good care of me. I think his scent, or the fact that he’s still shirtless, has rendered me speechless.
“Is there anything else?” he asks the doctor, who shakes his head, handing him the pills.
The man shoves them in his pocket and instead of asking me if I can walk, he scoops me up in his arms again and walks me down the hall.
“Which floor is yours?” he asks.
“Twelve. I can walk,” I say.
“No,” he says, and I think it might be his favorite word.
We use my wristlet on the elevators delegated for Omegas. Confined in the small space, surrounded by his comforting scent, has me relaxing, almost all the nausea dissipating on its own.
I swear I don’t mean to do it, but I nuzzle against his peck and the muscle twitches.
“Sorry, your scent is just very comforting. I don’t even know if I need the medication,” I say.
“You will take the medication.”
I sigh as the door opens. The security guard looks perplexed.
“He’s fine, he’s with me. I mean, obviously.” I wave my hand at him carrying me.