However, that wouldn't make sense; Spade was sick. Why would he even suspect him out of all people? Arren sighed and left it at that; Spade's condition was what mattered to him the most.
He organized the prescribed medicine. When there was a doctor in the place, Arren relaxed somewhat, at least he wasn't feeling so much panic anymore.
Spade needed to take his medicine and rest. Arren brushed Spade's hair, wiping the disheveled hair and revealing his forehead. He stared at him, his eyes softening.
"Spade," he called softly; he knew that the alpha was awake. "You need to take your medicine first." For sure, the auntie had already cooked some soup downstairs. As much as he wanted to cook something for Spade, the alpha himself didn't want him to leave. Perhaps tomorrow, when Spade gets better.
