Chapter 259

Chapter 259
Isabella

They shouldn't be dealing with this shit. They're fucking Alphas, not nurses. What am I doing here, letting them take care of me like some helpless puppy?

It felt like hours passed, but it was probably only twenty minutes when Richard asked, "Do you think you can make it back to bed now?"

I nodded weakly, feeling slightly better after the tea and water.

"Let me help you," he said, rubbing gentle, soothing circles on my back.

"I can walk," I protested when he moved to lift me.

Richard completely ignored my objection and scooped me into his arms. "Let me take care of you," he said softly. "It's all I can do right now."

Too weak to argue, I leaned against his shoulder and let him carry me back to the bedroom.

Even though I felt like death, he still smelled so damn good. How was that possible? Why did being in his arms feel so right, even when everything felt so wrong?

He placed me on the right side of the bed, near the window, covering me with a thin blanket rather than the heavy comforter.

I must have fallen asleep immediately because my awareness came only in fragments throughout the night. The medication eased my headache but seemed to do nothing for the fever. I kept waking up confused, sweaty, alternating between chills and heat. They wouldn't let me have the thick blanket I craved, explaining it would worsen my fever.

These damn sadists, refusing to give me a blanket when my ass was freezing.

The first time I woke up, Kevin was there, his usually cold expression softened with concern. He said little, but his movements were gentle as he helped me take medication and sip ginger tea. Richard and Michael slept nearby but kept their distance, giving me space.

Even the silent deadly one being nice to me. I must look like absolute shit.

The second time—or maybe it was the third—I woke up, Richard was awake too, replacing the cool cloth on my forehead, murmuring comforting words I couldn't quite comprehend.

Later, I was vaguely aware that Kevin had left and someone new had arrived—Dr. Sarah, the doctor who had examined me at my place months ago. She checked my temperature, ran a few tests, including taking blood. Someone told me later my fever had reached dangerous levels.

I just wanted her to finish and leave. My inner wolf whimpered uneasily, not liking an outsider invading our home when we were vulnerable.

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the window. Richard sat in a chair beside the bed, looking at something on his tablet. He immediately looked up, as if sensing my wakefulness.

"Good morning," he said, setting the device aside. "How are you feeling?"

I took a moment to assess. My head still hurt, but the room was no longer spinning. I felt weak but no longer nauseous. "I think better," I said hoarsely, my throat raw from the night's vomiting.

"Michael went to teach at the university," Richard explained. "Kevin left to handle some meetings at Howl, but he made chicken soup before he left."

My lips twitched upward slightly. "Kevin cooked for me again?"

"He insisted," Richard's expression softened. "Said soup was essential for recovery."

Kevin cooking. Damn. It was like seeing a grizzly bear knitting—unexpected and strangely adorable.

Richard helped me sit up against the pillows, then went to heat the soup. When he returned, he brought not only soup but chips, a can of Coke, a glass of ice water, and a fresh cup of ginger tea.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked, arranging everything within my reach.

I couldn't help smiling. "I'm fine, just like I was when you asked thirty seconds ago. You've got me set up with chips, Coke, ice water, ginger tea, and chicken soup. I literally could not want for anything more."

His fussing was sweet but also made me wonder if he was nervous. I'd never seen the normally composed Richard Morgan so anxious.

He looked almost... scared. For me. That was both terrifying and strangely warming.

As I sipped the soup, my fevered brain wandered to strange places. I found myself imagining what having children with these three Alphas would be like—our pups, with Richard's amber eyes or Kevin's intense gaze or Michael's gentle smile.

God, what was I thinking? Pups? Children? With all three of them? Fuck, this fever must have fried my brain cells. I was actually imagining having their babies. What the hell was wrong with me?

I took another sip of soup, trying to chase away these bizarre thoughts. My inner wolf, however, seemed quite content with the idea, almost purring at the mental images.

Traitor. You just want to be bred, don't you? Well, tough shit. I'm not ready to have pups with anyone, let alone three Alpha mates simultaneously. It had to be the fever talking. Had to be.

The buzz of Richard's phone interrupted my strange daydream. "The doctor's back," he announced, looking relieved.

Dr. Sarah entered the room moments later. "The results are in," she said directly to me. "You don't have any organic disease."

"What does that mean?" I asked, setting down my half-finished soup.

"It means your fever isn't caused by a viral or bacterial infection," she explained. "Have you been under stress lately?"

I almost laughed out loud. "You could say that. I feel stressed to the breaking point."

That was the fucking understatement of the century. Between stalkers, three Alpha mates, and nearly dying, 'stressed' didn't begin to cover it.

She nodded, unsurprised. "You're experiencing what we call psychogenic fever—a psychosomatic illness triggered by extreme stress or trauma. Your body is physically responding to your emotional state."

"So...I'm making myself sick?" I asked, confused.

"Not consciously," she clarified. "But yes, essentially. Your body is manifesting your emotional distress as physical symptoms."

I digested this information, oddly relieved it wasn't something more serious.

Great. Now even my body was betraying me. My emotions were literally making me sick. How fucking pathetic was that?

"We'll monitor for a few days," Dr. Sarah continued. "Rest is crucial, stay hydrated. If the fever doesn't break, we'll run more tests." She handed Richard an envelope. "I've also prepared a medical certificate for Silver Moon University explaining your absence."

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

After the doctor left, I felt myself relax against the pillows. Doctor appointments always made me tense, even when the doctor was as friendly as Sarah.

At least I wasn't contagious. The last thing I needed was to infect my... my what? My mates? My Alphas? Fuck, I didn't even know what to call them anymore.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand. "How do you really feel?"

I considered the question. Beyond the physical discomfort, I felt strangely safe—safer than I had in weeks. The stalker seemed distant here, unable to penetrate the protective circle of my three Alphas.

"Better," I said honestly. "Still feverish, but... better."

Richard's thumb stroked across my knuckles. "Good. That's good." He hesitated, then added: "You scared me last night."

The confession hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I squeezed his hand, not knowing what to say but wanting to offer some comfort in return.

He had been afraid. For me. Richard Morgan, afraid because I had a fever. What was I supposed to do with that?

For now, at least, I could allow myself to accept it all—being cared for, being vulnerable, accepting the protection and comfort they offered. Tomorrow I could worry about independence and boundaries. Today, I just needed to heal.