Page 4 of The Alpha Experiment
Meredith let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head, her messy roan hair swinging around her face. “Fine. But text me when you’re home with your door locked.”
I nodded and started gathering up my stuff, abandoning the Chem 101 prepin situ. Screw it. I had all weekend to finish—on top of writing the midterm for my intro genetics class, so maybe notallweekend—and more importantly, I didn’t have a single brain cell to spare for work. Not when someone had pictures of mylittle sister.
Cold sweat beaded on my spine, and I nearly fumbled my laptop, my fingers gone numb from shock. I had to get it together, or I wouldn’t be able to drive.
Finally I had my bag over my shoulder. I looked up, and found Meredith watching me consideringly, chewing on her lip.
“Are you really going to be okay?”
Of course not. Not until I’d made my phone call, and checked in with Fiona to make sure she was somewhere secure for the night while I took a breath and tried to figure out what to do next.
“Yeah. I’ll text you. And I’ll be around this weekend.”
“Me too. I’ll pick up two extra-large mochas, okay? With whipped cream and everything. My treat. Meet you here around eleven tomorrow? Eleven A.M.,” she added with a grin. “The Saturday before midterms, this building’s going to be a ghost town.”
I managed a weak smile and a murmur of thanks, and got the hell out of there. The back of my neck prickled as I walked down the quiet hallway, slipped out of the building, and power-walked to the section of the lot set aside for faculty, but nothing happened. Cool, damp air caressed my burning face, and the breeze ruffled my hair.
Nothing.
But as I reached my car, a sudden wave of panic hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. I hit the button to unlock my door ten times, my thumb slipping, and dived into the car so hard the suspension squeaked. And then I hit the button to lock the doors over and over, jamming the key in the ignition with my other hand.
I peeled out of the lot like a stunt driver, my chest heaving, my shoulder bag still awkwardly crammed between me and the door, since I hadn’t even taken it off in my mad rush to get the car’s metal and glass between me and…whatever might be outside.
Home. I’d get home. I’d text Fiona. And I’d call Colin. For this, I could justify bothering him.
And then it’d be all right. Somehow.
Chapter 2
Two Hours and Thirty-Four Minutes
Colin’s phone went to voicemail.
Because of course it did, and it being the middle of the night had nothing to do with it. In the spring, Colin had become the leader of his pack, following some incredibly shady, and incredibly stupid, behavior on the part of the former pack leader, Colin’s father. In his usual overly-casual way, Colin had later admitted he’d had to beat the shit out of his own dad while imprisoned by magic in the middle of a bloody pack war, and then pick up the pieces.
I’d talked to him on the phone a few hours before that, also in the middle of the night, when he’d called me to fill me in. He’d wanted someone outside his pack, someone he trusted to be practical and logical and on his side, to know what was going on in case everything went to shit. I’d done my best to advise him, but pack wars weren’t really in my wheelhouse. I’d asked him to let me get back to him after I consulted my parents.
When I’d called him back half an hour later, he hadn’t answered.
I hadn’t heard from him again until dawn, by which time my nails were bitten down to the quick and I’d paced a hole in the living room carpet.
The text had two words:I’m okay.
That was it.
And that had set the tone for our communications in the six months since. I called and left a voicemail; he texted me back with a sentence or less within the next day or two.
Rationally, I knew how busy he had to be. I knew it wasn’t personal.
But…we’d used to talk once a week or so, and text constantly in between. I’d get random messages from him all day long, and sometimes at weird times of the night.
And now I needed him, and he still couldn’t answer the damn phone.
“This is Colin,” his message drawled at me. “Leave a message. Or don’t.”
Beeeep.
“Hey, it’s me. Newt. Newton.” I cleared my throat. Dammit. He knew who I was, for heaven’s sake. He knew my voice, knew my name, knew my nickname—since he was the only one who called me that, he damn well should. “Call me back, okay? I have a problem. I need your he—advice. I need your advice.”
