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“A little better,” he says in a near whisper.

“Good. Tyler’s going to carry you in, if that’s alright?”

Elliott swallows, then nods.

Tyler and I exchange glances. We’d expected a fight. Tyler bends his long frame to reach inside the car as I unbuckle Elliott’s seatbelt. Then together, we help Elliott move slowly into a seated position. Elliott sways, then leans toward Tyler’s open arms and collapses against his chest.

Poor Elliott.

Ty scoops our omega up and carries him inside, then lowers him onto the bed.

“My shoes,” Elliott says, and tries to sit up.

“We’ll take care of them.” Resting my hand lightly on his chest is all it takes for him to give up and lie back on the bed.

Over the next few minutes, we strip Elliott’s clothes and our own, and climb in on either side of him, holding him skin to skin as he trembles, but not with fever or his heat. His skin is cool to the touch.

“I feel terrible,” Elliott says.

I click my tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“Mate sickness is kind of like taking a puppy away from his mother before he’s ready.”

“I am not your puppy,” Elliott says.

Tyler hushes him. “This is the best thing for you, right now.” He grabs his tumbler from the bedside table and holds the straw against Elliott’s lips. “Drink.”

Over the next few hours, we hold Elliott while he naps, and coax him into draining Tyler’s water and eating a bowl of Cotton Candy grapes. His temperature stabilizes until he’s no longer trembling. His gaze becomes lucid, and he’s able to sit up without feeling nauseous.

By the next morning, he’s able to eat breakfast in bed, and his scent has strengthened.

I kiss his neck. “You’re going into heat soon.”

Goosebumps light up beneath my lips.

“I’m nervous,” Elliott whispers.

“Me too,” I say. “The last time you went in heat, you disappeared.”

“That’s not funny,” Elliott says.

“I agree,” Tyler says, squeezing the side of Elliott’s neck, emanating calm. “Alden has a terrible sense of humor.”

I narrow my eyes.

Tyler smirks, and nips the other side of Elliott’s neck.

Elliott whimpers, and tips his head back.

“Careful, omega.” I lower my hand to his thigh and slide upward toward his cock. “You don’t want to give Tyler the wrong message.”

Tyler meets my gaze, eyes dark and filled with hunger, as he sucks Elliott’s neck, no doubt leaving a hickey.

Elliott moans, pretty cock grazing my hand as his hips gyrate, seeking friction. The scent of his sweet slick fills the nest we recreated in the bed Tyler and I share.

“What if it’s not the wrong message?” Elliott says.

Tyler stills, then lifts his mouth from Elliott’s neck. “Explain.”