Page 27 of Power Shift

“Tell your players to aim a bit higher next time,” Landon goads him with a wicked smirk.

“Don’t make me put you in the box too, Montgomery,” the ref warns from where he’s skating to make the penalty announcements.

I take Landon by the arm and help him skate to the bench, unbothered by the scoffs and muttered complaints coming from the other team. If Ronan hadn’t already been on the bench, things would have been very different just now, and not a single person on that team would be so open with their unhappiness.

Landon steps onto the bench, and the team medic forces him to get checked out in the dressing room. I catch Dash’s stare from across the ice and nod despite not knowing all the answers yet. We need him on his game, not worrying about Landon.

The fans shout their approval when the ref calls the two penalties, and I glance behind the bench, searching for my missing packmate.

He doesn’t appear for the rest of the period, and the moment the team steps into the dressing room during the last intermission, it only takes one look at him to know that I was right earlier.

There is something wrong with him.

10

RONAN

Someone is goingto call the cops on me at this rate.

“Hello, Officer. There’s been a strange man parked outside of this apartment building for the last three days. Yeah, he’s a fucking weirdo and won’t stop lurking on the street,” I say to myself while leaning my forearms on my bike.

I’m in the exact same spot I have been every evening, still hulked over my bike with my helmet perched in my lap. It would have been smarter to use the SUV for my stalking, but Landon’s had it at a shop getting detailed for the last two weeks. At this point, it better come back with black leather instead of white and that new car smell I fucking love.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my jacket, and I ignore it again. I dipped out of the arena and onto my bike before the others could catch up to me, so I know it’s Dash calling. The mother hen can’t stand when he doesn’t know everyone’s whereabouts.

Somehow, I’ve kept my evening plans to myself. If any of my packmates knew what I was doing, they’d be hauling me backhome by the scruff. Landon would try to lock my bike up just to keep me from trying to find the omega again.

He’s the reason I haven’t said anything to anyone about what happened the first time I scented her last week.

And possibly before that.

Fuck no.

I’ve convinced myself that my gut feeling is wrong. That I hadn’t smelled her before, especially not on my fucking pack alpha. Landon’s a dick most of the time, but he’d never betray us like that. To hide an omega from us would be the worst thing he’s ever done.

I remember scenting something fruity and tart on him the night he came home covered in dinner, but there was so much going on it could have belonged to anyone. It doesn’t mean shit that I reacted to the scent then. Nothing made sense that night.

The trauma Landon carries from his childhood has kept him firmly against the idea of welcoming an omega into our pack. It used to be easy to ignore that when we knew we had decades ahead of us to open him up to the possibility, but we’re already one down with no hope in sight.

Going behind his back tonight feels wrong, but what other choice do I have? I need to find this omega on my own so he doesn’t have a chance to intervene. I’m not risking losing out on her. Not even my loyalty to Landon matters more to me than she does. I didn’t need to so much as to see her face to make that decision, and that’s terrifying.

My phone buzzes again when I spread my legs wider around the leather seat and plant my heels on the concrete. Most of the apartments facing out on the street have lights shining through their windows, but that doesn’t help me at all. I know nearly all of the residents by name from my time visiting my family, and not a single one of them is my omega.

Hidden between the two buildings across the street, I blow out a pitiful breath and grab my phone. The number of missed calls would be concerning if they weren’t all from Dash. His text messages are what have me sitting straighter, the back of my neck prickling.

Why aren’t you sharing your location with us?

Are you cheating on us with another pack?

ANSWER ME RONAN.

Fine. I’m coming to look for you then.

The last text was sent fifteen minutes ago before he called me twice more. It’s only a ten-minute drive from the pack house to?—

Bright headlights fan out over the street as a sleek black car crawls to a stop in front of the entrance to the alley I’m trying to blend into. I squeeze my handlebars and scowl at the man who hops out of the driver’s side and rounds the hood.

“Why are you hiding in the alley? You look like an absolute creep,” Dash shouts.

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