Mated To My Obsessive Foster Brother

Chapter 2

Olivia

•••

After that day, I woke up and found myself lying on a white bed, the medical device beeping steadily next to my head like a persistent heartbeat echoing in the quiet room.

My eyes took in my surroundings, and I realized I was in a hospital. The thick smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils, sharp and unforgiving like a sterile fog, but as my eyes swung open, I saw him—Mark George—wearing a yellow sports jersey and blue shorts, the ones he wore for his basketball game in the pack's league against other neighboring packs.

"What is he doing here?" I wondered, as I tried to move my left hand, my fingers twitching like hesitant leaves in a breeze. I did not know how long I had blacked out, but as the nurse saw that I was awake, she screamed, "She's awake, Doctor!"

That's when I discovered my head was wrapped in bandages, layers of white gauze hugging my skull like a protective cocoon. The last thing I remembered was my foster mother's brutal beating that morning, her fury raining down like a storm unleashed after Mark had defended me for the first time in the family house. Now he was here, a towering figure in the doorway.

'What did Mark want from me again? Why was he in my hospital room? Who had brought me to this hospital?' A series of questions flooded my head, swirling like a turbulent river, and I could feel a pounding headache building at the thought of it, throbbing like a drum in my temples.

Luckily, my foster mother and her daughter, Emily, weren't present in this hospital room, and that was a relief, a brief parting of storm clouds. But I was saddened by the thought that I would not be able to further my education at the Pack University, the dream slipping away like sand through my fingers.

"You're finally awake," Mark said, as he rushed over to my bed. I recoiled away from him as I tried to sit up, but he frowned, his brow furrowing like gathering shadows.

Mark had always avoided me, so why was he acting like he cared about me now? I did not want to get hit by my foster mother again. So it was best that Mark kept his distance from me, his presence a spark that could ignite more trouble.

As I tried to speak, my throat was sore, raw as if scraped by thorns, and I could only croak out words that Mark did not hear, faint whispers lost in the hum of the machines.

Surprisingly, Mark brought his bottle of water—the one he had been drinking when I awoke—and stepped closer to me, his earthy scent of forest grass filling my nostrils like a whisper from the wild woods. He positioned the rim of the bottle to my lips. His right hand instinctively reached for my back, steady and warm, helping me sit up properly on the bed, the sheets rustling like dry leaves underfoot.

"Here, drink some water," Mark said, and I froze, my body stiffening like a deer caught in headlights. However, my throat was too dry, parched as desert sand, and I saw the female nurse who had rushed out before arrive with a doctor. They walked up to my hospital bed, their footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. I realized I was the only one admitted in this hospital room, the space echoing with an empty solitude.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia. You are finally awake. Do you feel any headache again?" asked the male doctor in a white doctor's coat, black trousers, and shoes. He held a medical file in his hand and was assessing the monitor to see if he could turn it off, the screen's glow casting a pale light on his focused face.

"Yes. My head aches. Since when was I brought in here?" I asked the doctor hoarsely, my throat still feeling dry even after I had drunk from the bottle. I could not drink much water because I could taste the faint essence of Mark's lips on it, and with the way his eyes were watching me intensely, a look of worry etching lines on his face like cracks in stone, I could not comfortably meet his gaze like before.

'Why was Mark watching me like a predator, his stare piercing and unyielding? What did he come here to do? He did not care for me, right? He just wanted to be sure that his mother had not killed me—if not, she would be sent to jail for murder,' I guessed, her actions a shadow that could drag the whole family down.

The male doctor cleared his throat and said, "You were brought in here three days ago and fell into a coma. Thankfully, you only suffered from some scratches, as we thought you had memory loss or a severe head injury due to the level of your attack."

I scowled, the pain twisting inside me like a coiled spring, and the doctor assured me, "Do not worry, you are improving just fine. Even though you are an ordinary Omega."

The words "ordinary Omega" hurt me, stinging like salt in an open wound, but I forced a tight smile and replied, "Thank you, Doctor," the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

"You can call me Dr. Sam," he said with a charming smile on his face, as he was a young man, his eyes bright like morning dew. But Mark, who stood a few distances away from my bed, coughed to show his presence in the room, the sound sharp as a warning bark.

"Doctor, how is Olivia's health? Will she be discharged today now that she is finally awake?" Mark asked, his eyes watching me as his lips parted and he spoke to Dr. Sam, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of urgency.

I felt uncomfortable at the way Mark's eyes were staring at me, intense and probing like searchlights in the dark, and I had so many questions to ask Dr. Sam about who had brought me to the hospital. As I clearly remembered that Mark had driven out with his car, the engine's roar fading like a retreating thunder that morning, so how come he was here with me?

Dr. Sam cleared his throat and told Mark, "Well, it seems your sister, Olivia, is improving better. She will get discharged tomorrow, as we need to keep a close watch on her to be sure she did not suffer any form of traumatic head injury. And kindly warn your mother to desist from hitting Olivia to that extent again. If this occurs, I will personally report her to Alpha Johnson and have her arrested."

Mark's gaze hardened as I met his eyes and quickly lowered my head, the weight of his stare pressing down like an invisible hand.

"She is not my sister, Doctor," Mark replied, his voice cold and making my heart cringe, shrinking like a flower in frost.

"I know, and that's why I am warning you and your family to abstain from child abuse. The next time this happens, it will not end here in this hospital. Excuse me, as I would like to see other patients." Dr. Sam walked out of the hospital room with the female nurse who had accompanied him, their footsteps fading like echoes in a hallway, and I could feel the atmosphere in the room become tense, thickening like fog rolling in from the sea as Mark strolled to my bed.

I did not want to raise my head to look at Mark's face. I could feel his eyes watching me intensely, and it made me nervous, as if my face were swollen and grotesque, a mask hiding my true self.

As Mark neared my bed, I held my breath, his earthy grass scent filling my nostrils once more, fresh and invigorating like a breeze through open meadows. His right hand reached for mine, and I felt sparks from the touch, electric tingles dancing like fireflies across my skin. I quickly withdrew my hand to myself as if it had been burnt, still refusing to look at his face, my heart pounding like a caged bird.

"I am sorry about what my mother and sister did to you," Mark said, his voice soft, a gentle murmur that rippled through the air, and his eyes watching me with an intensity that made the room feel smaller.

I lowered my head and nodded. "You do not have to apologize. It's fine. Just stay away from me, and there will be peace," I whispered, the words fragile as spun glass.

"Mm," Mark hummed, the sound low and thoughtful like a distant rumble, and asked, "What if I cannot stay away and I do not want to stay away?"

"Huh?" I raised my head and met his gaze, my eyes locking with his desirous gaze on me, deep and pulling like a hidden current in still waters.