Untouched Omega (Alpha Elite Series Book 4) by V.T. Bonds (books you have to read .TXT) 📕

Those raising him never stood a chance.

After a few moments of silence, he sticks his lower lip out in a pout so unlike the raw power he wields I feel as though I’ve been sucked back to his youth.

“Fine. Shower, then my favorite meal.”

He scoops me up, sloshing water out of my bottle despite the small amount left.

“Finish drinking that.”

“Yes sir, as you wish.”

His laugh is worth the pang of discomfort I feel over saying the word sir, every male I’ve ever known requiring the honorific, whether I felt they deserved it or not.

He deserves it, solely for the understanding he’s graced upon my broken soul.

Yet I do not enjoy being carried.

“Put me down.”

His eyebrow tilts up, the only warning I get before I’m falling.

He only lets me drop a few inches, but my stomach enters my throat and my heart races. I release the bottle and shove at his chest, nausea gripping me as the contents of my stomach slosh.

An unstoppable wave of queasiness makes me wretch, my eyes squeezing shut as bile leaves my mouth. My focus narrows to the terrible pain of stomach cramps and nausea so great my head spins.

I gasp as the wrenching convulsions cease, sucking in air and fighting back unwarranted tears.

My arms shake as I open my eyes, confusion making me squint my eyes as I stare at the floor.

“Hang on, Anastasia. You’re okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Deep breaths, beautiful.”

Strong fingers hold my hair away from my face in a careful grasp, his rough palm stroking my back as he purrs for me.

I want to latch on to the comfort he offers me, but even though his heart weaves within mine, something warns me to default to self-sustainability.

I do not doubt his love nor his devotion, but I do worry over my body’s capabilities.

Exhaustion pulls at me, the adrenaline caused by vomiting taking my energy with it as it leaves.

“Shower, please.” My shaky voice displays how much this bout of sickness has affected me.

“Of course, my lifemate.”

He moves as though to pick me up, but I lift a hand and warn him off. His sigh shows his annoyance, but he steps back to give me room to rise on my own.

After a hesitation, I force my legs under me and wobble to my feet. He tucks my hand in the crook of his arm and guides me around my mess.

I let him lead me to the shower, my energy hitting an all time low as the bed gets further away. He opens the stall door, props me against the wall, and selects a cycle before kissing my forehead. When he turns as though to leave, my hand shoots out and grabs his bicep.

“Let me go clean our den, then I’ll come see to you. Do you need to sit instead?”

He frames my face with his massive palms, sending soothing tendrils of concern through our link.

The insecurity fades, my moment of weakness passing as I meet his handsome eyes.

“No, I’m fine.”

He nips my ear before leaving the shower.

I close my eyes and lean against the cool wall, letting my mind close down instead of battling the weariness threatening to swamp me.

When the soap cycle begins and he hasn’t returned, uneasiness creeps into my heart. I rub my arms, hissing as I press against his bite marks.

He bit me in two places. On my neck and shoulder. They hurt yet send heavenly desire into my veins. Breathing as the sharp sting turns into a dull ache, I wait for the fragrant soap to wash down the drain.

Abject terror grips me as water carries away the aftereffects of our lovemaking with the bubbly soap.

My unfiltered scent fills the small space as warm water pelts my chest.

The door opens, but I can’t pull my eyes from the drain as the last of the white foam disappears from view.

Biology cannot be denied.

I cannot negate what my scent reveals.

I am pregnant.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jumoke

Her altered bouquet smacks me in the face, instincts slamming into me so hard I can’t separate myself from them.

She’s in my arms before I get the chance to leash myself, my need to ensure she isn’t harmed making my hands roam over every inch of her.

Her placid stance registers as I run my fingers between her toes, an irrational need to check for any new injuries forcing me to dig my fingers into every odd place on her body I can. I started at her head and worked my way down, too intent on cataloging every inch of her to notice her mental state.

My frantic searching halts, partially because my search is complete and partially because fear pierces my heart.

Fuck, she’s a mess.

She has every right to be terrified. Her past has shown her nothing but misery.

She carries my child.

My lungs seize, the realization I had before I succumbed to slumber thudding into the forefront of my brain.

Her heat wasn’t natural. They'd somehow known we’d be back to collect her and had dosed her with a fertility drug.

I want to roar out my frustration but can’t give in to such ridiculousness when she’s so lost in panic.

She needs help.

I gather her close, pressing her face against my chest and purring for her. Delving into our link, I follow her trail until I find the object of her attention.

She stands in a darkened room, facing a backlit wall. It takes me a moment, but once I decipher what she’s studying, my soul shudders in horror.

The dark ambiance of the room fits the sinking hopelessness the wall causes. A pickle-like smell permeates my nostrils, her memory so potent I feel as though I could reach out and touch the glass jars.

Narrow glass shelves support seventeen formaldehyde-filled vases, each one a different size.

Each one holds the remains of one of her precious loves.

None of them look as they do in her heart, the toll of death obvious.

Sadness, mourning, and fear hold us both hostage.

I force my eyes to