Claimed (Werewolf boyxboy)

EPILOGUE ONE

THIRD PERSON POV

'It's so damn hot in here. Why is everything spinning? Oh fuck, I'm gonna puke again.' Jax rocked back and forth atop the closed toilet seat, squeezing his eyelids together as he clutched either side of his throbbing skull, curls spilling between freckled fingers.

Maybe, if he sat there long enough and tuned out everything just right, he would wake up. Because all of this had to be some crazy, fever-induced acid-trip dream, right?

"Jax, please." That same, deep as fuck, sexy-ass voice that belonged to none other than Jax's equally sexy-ass mate filtered in from the other side of the locked bathroom door once again, and the Beta winced.

It had to have been at least an hour since Jax had barricaded himself inside the ridiculously fancy bathroom in their honeymoon suite, and his oversized worrywart of an Alpha had been standing just outside the door like a knight at his post, begging to be let inside for about ninety percent of that time.

Well, sucks to suck. Corey would have to bust down the door before Jax would ever consider letting that happen.

Nope, he was either going to stay in this bathroom that smelled like flowers and rich people soap until he woke up from this terrifying dream, or he'd eventually died of starvation and the housekeepers would be left to sweep up a dusty pile of bones in the spot where he used to be.

When Jax didn't reply to his desperate plea, but instead just continued his rocking-chair motion on top of the toilet, Corey rested his forehead against the door, pressing on.

"Was it the food? It is okay if you got diarrhea from the spicy tacos, I do not care. Just please, gift. Let me help you."

'Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.' Jax's feverish mind repeated the same word throughout every second of his husband's frantic spiel, and he clenched the sides of his head tighter, wishing he could make his fingers disappear right through the lump of mush that he called a brain.

Because what the fuck?! How did he even get here?

Only a few days ago, everything had been so perfect, like some kind of fairytale that Jax never wanted to even think about waking up from. And aside from a few hiccups - namely, the one where Daffodil had accidentally booked their honeymoon for Cancun instead of France as was originally planned (which admittedly, was one hundred percent their fault for not asking the Faerie if he knew how to read before assigning him hotel duty) - their time together in the unexpected oasis was a welcome change from the constant responsibilities of pack life.

... Well, that is if you didn't count the way Jax now toddled around with what felt like a permanent limp after Corey insisted on fucking his new husband sideways atop every flat surface, as well as in the air a couple of times (which was something that Jax still didn't quite understand the physics of) throughout the entire first twenty-four hours of their trip.

But once they finally managed to peel their sticky limbs apart and gather the few rogue brain cells necessary to step outside of the fucked-out confines of their hotel room (sorry, housekeeping staff), their honeymoon quickly evolved into one to be remembered, what with all of the orangey-cream colored walks on the beach, the multiple, private excursions that they laughed their way through, and the way Jax managed to charm the pants off of everyone they met (including Corey himself) with his impeccable Spanish.

But then, on the dawn of their third day in paradise, the queasiness began.

At first it was just a barely-there tickle, like a little feather scratching the wrong way at Jax's gut. But as the morning wore on, and Jax prepared to swallow a giant forkful of his opulent, extremely nutritious breakfast of cheesecake french toast with a side of double-sweetened coffee, that tiny tickle turned into a twist, and the Beta excused himself from the table in a hurry, beelining straight for the restrooms on the other side of the restaurant.