49. Overprotective Alpha

Aella

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as a nurse wheels in a wheelchair, an apparent prison for my mobility. I look at it with disgust because I am pretty capable of walking and don’t need it

Roman’s hand goes up before I can voice a protest. “Hospital rules, baby. No exceptions,” he says.

“But I’m perfectly–”

“Get in the fucking wheelchair, Aella,” he says, but not with any hostility. There’s a playful smirk on his face so I have to relent.

Rolling my eyes, I give in and lower myself into the wheelchair, wincing as I feel the soreness that still permeates my muscles and joints. A primal part of Roman flares up; I can see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his posture changes. He’s in full Alpha mode just because I sucked in a breath through my teeth.

“I should’ve been the one to wheel you,” he mutters, so low only I can hear, and I nearly burst out laughing at his overprotectiveness as the nurse begins to push me through the maze of hospital hallways.

“You’d prob