Page 8 of Welcome to Bone Town

Thick, beige canvas walls surround me, rippling in the harsh wind but managing to stay intact. Some light comes through, but not much, thank goddess. This tent is smaller than some of the other sleeping barracks I passed on the way here. Because I’m a woman and an omega, they likely figured this tiny tent at the far end of base camp was fine. Ugh.

The cot is low to the ground, low enough that I can plant my feet firmly on the floor while sitting on it, which is not usually the case given how short I am. The bedding is the same creamy beige theme the walls are—well, really what almost everything is. I guess with the desert heat they have to use light colors everywhere.

I can’t help but wince when I notice the single pillow on the end of the bed. It looks so sad and lonely, and a little flat. Next to the cot is a small table that looks as if it was made from a wooden crate, a simple lantern set in the middle. The main tents have generators, but I guess that luxury doesn’t extend to the sleeping areas.

That's…it. Bare bones. Essentials only. My choice to bring my blanket was a good one.

The sun has set, so I flip on the lantern and trudge over to my bag to change for bed. Finding the sage colored shorts and tank set, I quickly strip off my traveling clothes and slide the soft, bamboo fabric over my skin. As much as I want to see the bones right away, there are protocols in place. On the plus side, that means Roman Slate can’t see them before me. He would totally pull something like that.

It’s a shame he’s such a dick, because he sure is nice to look at. You’d have to be blind not to notice his broad shoulders and thick thighs. Even through the sweaters he wears at work, it’s obvious he’s fit. Add a jaw that could cut glass, the touch of grey around his temples, and the hint of tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and you have a combination guaranteed to set anyone on fire.

But then he opens his mouth and ruins the illusion. Ugh.

There’s a clatter from somewhere nearby, and I wonder if it’s him. His tent is the closest to mine. The government officials running the dig probably think we’re friends, considering that we work at the same university. They have no way of knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Another noise has me peeking my head out front. A curse comes from Roman’s tent, followed by his vast shape in the entry, silhouetted by the light from within.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls.

“Me?You’re the one making all the noise.”

Another crash has us both glancing toward the headquarters tent where we met Archer earlier.

“Think we should check that out?”

He sighs, already heading toward the large tent in the center of the site. “Go to bed, Miss Whitlock.”

Fat chance of that. “It’sDr.Whitlock.”

And I’m not going to go back to my tent and stare at the ceiling while Roman Slate goes off to investigate. What if Archer needs help? Besides, sometimes all it takes to get ahead is being in the right place at the right time,staying a little later than everyone else, and responding to the unexpected.

It doesn’t matter that my body is revolting after the long day of travel. All that matters is not letting Roman Slate discover something without me, leaving me behind in the dust.

I hurry after him, slipping on the loose sand in my haste and barely managing not to fall.

“Go back to your tent,” he growls without looking back. Maybe I should be glad there’s no bark to the command, but I’m tired of him pushing me away all day. I’m as much a part of this team as he is, and he better get used to that.

“I don’t take well to commands.”

He swings around to glare at me. “What do you take well to?”

I put my hands on my hips and square off with him. “Being treated with respect for one. I’m a good researcher and an expert in my field. I deserve to be here just as much as you do.”

He curses under his breath and rubs a hand over the top of his head, messing up his hair in a way that makes me want to smooth the strands back down.

“You’re right,” he says.

Too shocked to speak, I stand there gaping at him.

“It’s not about you, okay? I just…” He doesn’t meet my gaze, instead looking out into the pitch black desert. “I don’t trust omegas.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, he thinks like every other man. “I have no interest in seducing you, Dr. Slate.” The arrogance!

His gaze drops to the tank top I’m wearing, eyebrows lifting as if to say,really?I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. “It’s hot!”

“Yeah, it is,” he growls darkly.

I glance down and realize the position of my arms is pushing up my breasts, giving an even better view of my cleavage. I uncross them and rest my hands on my hips. “Get your head out of the gutter and act like a professional, professor.”

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