Fated (Pyte/Sentinel 5)

now.

His pleasant smile turned into a frown as he looked at all the untouched food piled high in front of her. “Maybe I should have made you lunch instead,” he mumbled to himself, confirming his decision with a firm nod as she reached out and grabbed his arm, damn near begging him not to cook another thing.

The delicious scents were too much for her to take right now and if he added anything else to the mix, she was afraid that she was going to end up hugging the toilet for the next few months. “I’m not hungry,” she promised him, which only made his frown deepen.

“But you slept for a whole week. You have to be starving,” he said, more to himself than to her, which wasn’t exactly comforting at the moment since all she wanted to do was to leave this room and all the scents battling for her attention behind, but the sick bastard was determined to take care of her.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying not to grimace when the scent of bacon clashed with the scent of maple syrup and threatened to send her running for the kitchen wastebasket.

“You have to eat something,” Drew said, looking adorably concerned as he gestured helplessly towards all the food that he’d made her. “I can call the kitchen and have them whip something up for you.”

When that last offer actually earned him a gag, he quickly came up with another plan. “Okay, fine then we can order out. Anywhere in Boston. Just name the place and we’ll get the food,” he said with a relieved sigh as though he’d finally stumbled upon a plan that would fix everything when in reality-

She just barely made it to the kitchen trash in time.

“Shit!” Drew groaned with a long-suffering sigh as he walked over and joined her. He began rubbing her back. “Maybe I should have stuck with Jell-O or killed a deer and dragged it up here for you,” he suggested, sounding really thoughtful, which was sweet, but unfortunately for him, the visual that he’d just created gave her stomach the helping hand that it needed to finish the job.

When she was finally done vomiting, and unfortunately that actually took some real time thanks to the remains of food in the kitchen basket and the fact that Drew kept thinking out loud on what would help her feel better, she sat back against the kitchen cabinets, closed her eyes and dropped her head against her knees, praying that she never so much as heard the word “food,” ever again.

*-*-*-*

“Give it to her!” Drew snapped at his Beta, but he wasn’t stupid enough to take his eyes off his mate, again.

Call him crazy, but he usually learned his lesson the first time and since having his mate go for his balls over a box of Lucky Charms wasn’t likely something that he was going to forget, he now knew that during her “crazed” times that it was best to stay as far away from the psychotic woman as possible.

“It’s my Snickers bar!” Ryan snapped back even as he continued to cower in the corner, hugging the food item in question against his chest as though that would somehow save him or that candy bar.

“For the love of God, give her the fucking candy bar!” Drew snapped in absolutely no mood to train another Beta at this point in the game.

“No!” Ryan, the dumb bastard that really didn’t understand women, said as he frantically tore open the candy bar, raised it to his lips and-

Dropped the candy bar to the floor and kicked it as far away from him as he could, which considering that he was a shifter, wasn’t saying much at all. Kara for her part simply stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked down at the ruined candy bar that was now covered in germs, dirt and whatever else they’d managed to carry in on their feet.

Drew swallowed hard as he tried to breathe through the panic, but once he saw her lower lip tremble, he knew that it was a lost cause. So, he forced himself to sit there and wait for it, knowing that it would most likely destroy him or send him into a killing rage, either was fine with him.

She surprised him when she didn’t immediately break down into tears, something that he hated to admit that he’d been expecting for the last five minutes now. But once again, his mate, who he was ninety-nine percent sure had lost her fucking mind, simply wrapped her arms around herself and with a pathetic little nod, she left the kitchen, releasing one tiny little sob as she went and making him turn all of his rage on the Beta still cowering in the corner.

“Not the face!”

*-*-*-*

Could a shifter die of boredom?

She was afraid that she was going to find out soon if she didn’t get out of here. For two weeks straight she’d been stuck in Drew’s loft, laying on his bed, because the man was terrified that she’d lose the baby if she so much as lifted a finger. She wasn’t allowed to get out of the bed to use the bathroom without someone by her side and if she went past the three minutes that Drew decided was all she needed in the bathroom, he came barging in, fangs down and ready to kill someone.

The first five times had scared the hell out of her.

The sixth time had ended with a bottle of shampoo being thrown at his head and her screaming in pain for a good hour and a half because the stupid bottle had made contact with his big, fat head and her mate marking had taken exception to that sort of violence. It hadn’t hurt him, but that hadn’t mattered to the mark. All it cared about was that she was pissed when she threw the bottle and overjoyed when it made contact with his head and boom, instant karma.

She had to give Drew credit, because the old Drew would have gloated and taken great joy in her pain, but the new Drew, the one that she liked a little too much, had sworn roundly when her mark flared up. She could tell that every second of her misery had been pure hell for him. He’d done his best to make her feel better, but nothing short of cutting off her arm would have helped.

Once the pain had subsided and she could breathe without bringing tears to her eyes, she’d glared at Drew until he got the hint and brought her a plate of “Drew Specials,” and chocolate soymilk. She of course felt the need to glare at him the entire time she ate, deciding that the whole thing had been his fault for not ducking out of the way when he saw the bottle come flying at his face.

He was a shifter and should have reacted accordingly.

Sighing, she rolled over onto her side and stared blankly at the movie playing on the large flat screen television, having absolutely no idea what was playing and in no mood to waste the energy to reach for the remote so that she could find out. God, she was so bored. Maybe she should take another nap?

No, even that sounded boring to her.

The only thing that she felt like doing was going downstairs and help run the club, but Mr. Overprotective had banned her from so much as setting one single toe in his club. She was to keep her ass upstairs and away from the club where anything could happen to her. Overprotective, bossy bastard, she thought bitterly with a hint of a whine as she shifted once again to get comfortable.