Dana

　　"Do not concern yourself with this matter," he chided, his tone indicating a waning tolerance.

　　"You must promptly make your way over here. The child is experiencing a decline in health," Adrian conveyed to Anna through what seemed like a mental connection, without verifying with me first.

　　"Allow me to express my gratitude for your..."

　　"What's the matter?" Anna rushes over to me with remarkable swiftness, demonstrating her impressive agility.

　　I find myself consistently outmatched by the formidable werewolves, whose combination of swiftness and agility renders me unable to prevail.

　　"I am experiencing a notable discomfort. I suspect I may be indisposed," I murmured, unable to muster the ease required for vocalization.

　　Concern etched across her countenance as she gently pressed her hand against my forehead. "I don't believe illness is the culprit here, but you must accompany me indoors," she recommended, her voice imbued with tenderness.

　　Turning her gaze towards Adrian, she expressed gratitude, saying, "I appreciate you reaching out, beta," accompanied by a smile, to which Adrian responded with a subtle nod of acknowledgment.

　　Taking hold of my hand, she asserted, "We must depart," her tone commanding yet reassuring.

　　Upon entering the pack's quarters, we were greeted by an array of medicinal supplies, and she guided me to a chair, ensuring my comfort.

　　"Omegas are inherently suited to function within this environment, providing valuable assistance to the healers," she explained, her words infused with knowledge and reassurance, as the door swung open unexpectedly.

　　"I am pleased you have joined us, Healer Vivienne," says Anna a woman with striking yellow eyes, radiating an aura of seasoned expertise.

　　Casting a glance at Anna, I murmured, "It's not as dire as it seems..."

　　In a hushed tone, she replied, "I understand that Bathel tends to fret over such matters excessively."

　　Healer Vivienne strolled casually around me, displaying an air of nonchalance as she assessed the situation.

　　"Is this the young lady in question?" she inquired, reaching out to lightly touch my forehead in examination.

　　"Could you excuse us for a moment?" Healer Vivienne requested, seeking privacy for our discussion.

　　"I could," Anna retorted nonchalantly, her departure from the room executed without a moment's hesitation.

　　"I don't believe I required this particular occurrence at this juncture," I murmured under my breath, addressing her softly.

　　Her response carried a distinct tone, "Did they mention your sudden propensity for unexplained bouts of vomiting?" she inquired.

　　"Nevertheless, you're not under any curse," Her assertion sent a shiver down my spine, for the notion of being cursed hadn't even crossed my mind.

　　"I think I'm just experiencing a slight-"

　　"You're not unwell," she interjected, her interruption swift and firm. "You're perfectly well," she insisted, her jaw tightening noticeably.

　　"Truly? I'm just experiencing a slight sensation of dizziness," I murmured weakly, lacking the vigor to delve into further discussion.

　　"What precisely triggers this sudden sensation of impending nausea? Surely, there must be some indication..." she muttered, her hand instinctively seeking solace over her chest.

　　I glanced downward, taking a pregnant pause before continuing, "I detect an unpleasant odor, and it often precedes these episodes where I feel like I'm on the brink of erupting. It's quite repulsive..." I confessed to her finally, revealing the source of my discomfort.

　　She lowered her hand and began to pace around me. "Is it a particular type of food that triggers this reaction? What food exactly is causing this?" she inquired with curiosity.

　　"Oh... I do not hate it I love it," I began, my voice tinged with confusion and a hint of distress. "It was just a breakfast food. A pancake, but I don't know what's wrong with me that I suddenly think that I don't want to eat it anymore." The memory of that once beloved breakfast item now seemed to evoke feelings of revulsion rather than delight. It was as though my taste buds had betrayed me, leaving me questioning my culinary preferences.

　　As I spoke, I couldn't help but notice the concerned expression on her face, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to make sense of my sudden aversion. "Oh, would you like a pancake?" she asked, her tone gentle yet probing, as if trying to gauge the depths of my discomfort.

　　"I don't think so," I whispered, my gaze still fixed downwards, afraid of what her response might reveal.

　　The prospect of admitting my newfound distaste for something as innocuous as a pancake felt oddly daunting, as if it were a confession of some deeper, more unsettling truth about myself.

　　"As I can see in your eyes, you're innocent, and those are not traits that you're being played by an enemy," she responded, her words laced with reassurance yet leaving me with a sense of unease. Her attempt to comfort me only served to amplify the turmoil swirling within.

　　"Do you have a boyfriend?" Her question hung in the air, laden with implications that sent my heart racing. I searched her face for any hint of judgment or expectation, but found only a genuine curiosity mirrored in her gaze.

　　The urge to answer in the affirmative surged within me, a desire to align myself with the image of normalcy and belonging that having a boyfriend seemed to promise. Yet, as I opened my mouth to speak, a wave of uncertainty washed over me, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed.

　　"No," I replied, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. At that moment, I couldn't help but feel as though I had somehow failed to meet her expectations.

　　"Still a virgin?" Her question hung in the air like a heavy curtain, casting a shadow over the conversation. My heart skipped a beat at the blunt inquiry, a rush of anxiety flooding through me as I braced myself for what might come next.

　　The mere thought that she might vocalize the fear that had been gnawing at me sent a shiver down my spine. The possibility that I could be pregnant, despite my best efforts to be cautious, loomed large in my mind.

　　"Yes, of course I am. I am still waiting for my mate, and I am just 18 years old," I responded, the words tumbling out in a rush as if to defend against the accusation that had yet to be spoken.