Page 33 of Reckless Consequences

“We’ll need cash,” I point out. “No cards—too easily traced.”

“Emergency funds in the gun safe,” Ryker says. “Five thousand. Should cover the basics.”

An hour later,we’re in Ryker’s SUV heading toward the nearest town. I’ve changed into the cleanest clothes available—jeans that hang too long on my frame and a sweater that smells like Theo’s piano room. My hair is pulled back, the visible claiming marks covered by a borrowed scarf. We’re aiming for forgettable, normal. Just another couple on a shopping trip.

The farther we drive from the cabin, the more I notice the physical effects of separation. The claiming marks on my neck throb with a dull ache, not painful exactly, but insistent. My scent dims, the citrus notes fading as if my body is trying to make me invisible without my pack nearby. Most surprising is the hollow feeling expanding beneath my sternum—a physical awareness of stretched pack bonds I never expected to experience as a Beta.

A subtle tremor runs through my hands as I check my phone, my skin noticeably cooler. My body searching for the missing pieces of our pack.

“You feel it too,” Ryker observes, his voice rougher than usual.

“Is it always like this?” I ask, resisting the urge to rub at the marks on my neck. “This... awareness of distance?”

“It’s stronger with new bonds,” he explains. “And unprecedented with five-person connections. The need to return to pack territory intensifies with multiple bonds.”

The silence between us feels different than before—not tense but contemplative. Ryker drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us. I find myself staring at that hand—strong, capable, marked with small scars from years of work that required blood payment. Each mark a story in his personal history, moments I wasn’t part of.

“You can ask,” he says without taking his eyes from the road.

“Ask what?”

“Whatever’s making you stare at my hand like it’s fascinating you.”

I laugh softly. “That obvious?”

“The bonds go both ways,” he reminds me. “I can feel your curiosity. Also your anxiety.”

“It’s just...” I search for words. “This is the first time we’ve been alone since everything.”

“Everything,” he repeats, the single word somehow encompassing heat cycles, claiming bites, and supernatural bonds.

“Yeah. And now we’re driving to get groceries like we’re normal people. Like there isn’t a genocidal virus targeting Betas. Like we’re not planning to take down a pharmaceutical empire in less than a week.”

His hand moves from the console to my knee, the touch instantly grounding. The claiming mark on my neck warms at the contact, tension releasing from muscles I hadn’t realized were tight. “We contain multitudes. Both normal and extraordinary. That’s what makes us dangerous.”

The small town appears around a bend—population 2,300 according to the weathered sign. One main street, a handful of stores, people going about their lives unaware of the existential threat brewing in Sterling’s laboratories.

As we drive down Main Street, I notice things I might have overlooked before my senses sharpened. The coffee shop with its open patio has subtle territorial markers—Alphas claiming corner tables with sight lines to entrances, Omegas gravitating toward sheltered spots near the building. A convenience store displays designation-specific products prominently—Alpha-grade protein supplements, Omega heat aids discreetly packaged but visible, Beta-focused multivitamins. Even the bookstore has sectioned its self-help area into designation categories.

Most telling is the small medical clinic with a newly installed sign: “Sterling Pharmaceuticals Authorized Testing Center – Walk-ins Welcome – Beta Care Specialists.”

“They’re establishing footholds everywhere,” I murmur.

Ryker’s jaw tightens as he notices the sign, the cedar notes in his scent intensifying with suppressed aggression. “Systematic infiltration. We need to move quickly.”

“I’ll handle tactical supplies,” Ryker says as he parks outside the general store. “You take care of food and tech. Meet back here in forty minutes.”

“So romantic,” I deadpan. “Are all your dates this action-packed?”

The smile that crosses his face transforms him from stone to flesh. “When this is over, I’ll take you on a proper date.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He leans across the console, pressing his lips to mine briefly. The contact sends an immediate surge of relief through my system. The hollow feeling eases momentarily. “Forty minutes. Stay alert.”

Inside the general store,I navigate aisles efficiently. Protein. Carbohydrates. Shelf-stable items. Fresh produce that Theo can transform into something remarkable. The normalcy of grocery shopping feels surreal after everything we’ve experienced.

I catch myself unconsciously positioning my body between potential threats and exit routes as I shop—an Alpha-like threat assessment that conflicts with my usual methodical approach.

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