Page 31 of Lilacs and Leather

“I’ve only known him for less than a week,” I spit through my teeth.

“Your body doesn’t know that.” She sighs.

I swallow my scream of frustration. “Can I just take more suppressants to make it stop?” I ask, fighting through a sudden rush of heat that makes my whole body sweat.

“How long have you had symptoms? Feeling flushed? A little moreexcitedthan normal?” she asks in return.

I think back, taking deep breaths. “A few days. My dreams have been extra… vivid for about a week, but I’ve been feeling out of sorts since this past Monday,” I reply.

“Unfortunately, hun, taking more suppressants won’t really help much at this point. I’d still recommend taking your normal dose, as it’ll help keep you lucid, but there’s not much more you can do on your own except keep hydrated, eat if you can, and wait it out,” she says, and the fake sympathy in her voice grates on my already frayed nerves.

“If it gets any worse, should I go to a hospital?” I ask, trying to remain calm.

“If you aren’t able to keep anything down for more than forty-eight hours, you’re going to need to come in. We can sedate you and make sure you get the necessary fluids and nutrients. But it would be risky for you to travel alone in your condition. You absolutely can if you need to, but it might be safer to find someone to help you at home.” Dr. Miller’s voice trails off and I know she can hear my teeth grinding.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I snap.

I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up. It takes every ounce of my control not to throw it at the wall. I swallow against the lump in my throat, sweat beading on my skin. Shivers tear through my body, and I close my eyes and try to fight my rising nausea. I can do this. I’ve been in heat without an alpha before, and I can do it again. I’ve got my box of toys under my bed. I’ve got enough food for a few days. The meds will help me keep my wits and stop me from doing anything stupid. I can get through this.

∞∞∞

I make it two days before my mind betrays me. I’ve been able to take my suppressants and keep them down the last two mornings thanks to an old ginger tea bag I found in the back of my cabinet. But, even conserving it for when the nausea was at its worst, the watered-down tea had run out all too soon. I managed to take sips of water occasionally, but it never stayed down long enough to be of any real benefit, and food never lasted more than a few minutes. The cramps came and went, and my bed was a damp mess of sweat and arousal. I’d run out of batteries for my toys in the middle of Monday night, and every release seemed to leave me wanting.

Rhett had been texting me nearly constantly, offering to help, and I replied when I could. I knew I was being stubborn, but I couldn’t ask this of him. When my stomach wasn’t churning or cramping, I could feel a pit of guilt there over how much I’ve been lying to him, saying I’m fine when I wasn’t sure anymore that I was. Every time I gave in and tried to relieve the itch under my skin, his face appeared behind my closed eyes, his voice in my ears urging me to orgasm.

It’s Tuesday evening, after dark, when I hear my phone ring. My head is in the toilet, heaving up what little water I’ve sipped today. It rings out, and I feel my arms shake, struggling to hold me up. I cross them over the back of the bowl, leaning my head to rest for a moment. My phone rings again and I groan, pushing off the toilet and crawling across the floor. I don’t even look at the caller ID before swiping to answer.

“Hello?” I croak, my throat raw.

“Holy shit, Lydia, you sound awful.” Rhett’s slightly panicked tone brings a little clarity.

“I don’t just sound awful,” I gasp with a strained chuckle. I fight a groan as my cramps start again.

“When was the last time you’ve had anything to drink or eat?” Rhett asks, stern and serious.

I look at the clock on the wall of the kitchenette. “I had some water around six, I think. It didn’t stick, though,” I rasp, trying to keep the pain out of my voice.

“That was four hours ago, love. Why didn’t you call me?”

I close my eyes, fighting back tears at the disappointment and concern painting his words. “I’m—”

“Don’t you fucking dare try an’ tell me you’re fine again,” Rhett snaps, his accent heavier with his flare of temper.

I whimper at the growl in his chest, and a blush rises in my face as a fresh wave of slick coats my thighs.

“Don’t worry about me, Rhett. It’s just a couple more days, I’m sure,” I breathe, trying to sound calm.

“It’s too late for that, love. I’ve been worried for two days.”

I sigh, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. “Rhett—”

“Lydia, we both know what you need right now, and you know I can give it to you,” he interrupts, tone more desperate than angry.

I’m silent for a long moment, and I curse my traitorous body as it thrums at the mere mention of Rhett touching me, soothing the heat building under my skin. I have to clench my hands into fists to stop them from drifting to the places my mind imagines him touching.

“I can handle it. You don’t have to—”

Rhett lets out a rough exhale, cutting off my half-hearted refusal. “I know I don’thaveto. I want to. Please let me help you.”