Page 27 of In Doubt
He laughs and, like his smile did earlier, it has my stomach spinning.
What on earth? Perhaps this excursion wasn’t a good idea after all.
8
Levi
We’re waiting outside the Rulox temple as instructed, tickets already purchased.
Jake said he’d be here half an hour ago. He’s late. It’s kind of standard for Jake. The alpha usually completes ten extra sets of pushups every training session as punishment for his tardiness. We’re not overly concerned.
Aiden checks his phone.
“No message, but the reception here is pretty whack.” He lifts his phone above his head, rotating it left and right while examining the screen. I scan the warren of streets with their tall, narrow shops and shaded pathways that surround the temple instead, watching for Jake.
Finally, I spot his head of golden hair rounding the corner.
“Took your time, mate,” I call out, patting Aiden on the shoulder. Then I spot the little piece of ass trotting along by his side. And not just any piece of ass. I turn to look at Aiden, his eyes land on me, then swing back to Jake, before flipping to mine again. His mouth drops open.
Giorgie?
You cannot be serious? What in the hell is she doing here? With Jake?
I jump down from the wall and stalk towards them, unable to help from grinning. I don’t know what’s going on here but it’s going to make for a fun afternoon.
Giorgie Martinelli is beautiful. Stunningly so. The kind of girl who has men turning their heads to watch her walk by, exactly what every man on the street is doing now, much to Jake’s obvious discomfort. The dude’s throwing the stink eye out left and right.
Of course, she’s beautiful. No omega could smell as good as her and not be. And while I may not find that scent as all-consuming as Jakey-boy does, it’s still fucking irresistible to me.
I barge past a few tourists milling at the temple entrance and stop in front of Jake and Giorgie.
“Hey Giorgie. Decided to tag along?” I ask, examining both their faces and trying to work out what’s going on here. Jake raises an eyebrow warning me not to interfere. I can smell his scent on her, and hers on him – not strong enough to suggest anything has happened between them – yet something has obviously occurred. Usually you couldn’t get the two of them within twenty feet of one another. For good reason. Giorgie is a brat. A brat who hates my packmate. She makes him suffer day in and day out with her bloody unblockered scent.
She hangs back a little, twisting her hat in her hands.
“I’m writing a paper about this temple. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she whispers with a serious lack of brattiness.
I cock my eyebrow straight back at Jake, as if asking him who the hell this girl is and what happened to Giorgie Martinelli.
“Sounds like you’re an expert then.” That little compliment has her smiling at me in a way that makes my skin tingle. “I think you’d better give us a guided tour.” I offer her Jake’s entrance ticket and then signal for her to lead the way. She takes it from my hand as if it’s a treasured artefact and not some measly piece of paper, examining the print as she heads for the man checking tickets.
“Grantham,” I say to Jake over my shoulder, giving him a wink, “you’re gonna need to buy yourself a ticket.”
“Oh,” Giorgie says, peering between us with pink cheeks as the man stamps her ticket. “Did I take Jake’s?” She starts to scramble around in her purse.
“Don’t worry,” I say, ushering her through and handing my own ticket over. “He’ll catch us up.” Aiden and Dylan look between me, Jake’s face of thunder and then Giorgie. With half-hearted shrugs aimed at Jake, they follow Giorgie and me through the entrance. We step down into a sand coloured courtyard sunk low into the ground, wide circular columns line its edges and tower above our heads, and on the far side stands the main temple itself, rhombus in shape, gigantic carvings scribed into its walls and huge rectangle entrances waiting in darkness.
Giorgie practically squeals beside me (sending my hindbrain places it shouldn’t go) her hands rising to cover her mouth as she bounces on her toes.
“Is it how you expected?” Dylan asks and I note he’s playing up the melodic tones of his Welsh accent. I can’t blame him. A squealing omega in our midst who smells this damn good? What alpha wouldn’t be turning up the charm?
“Better,” she gasps, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. “It’s so much bigger than I imagined, and the carvings of Isis? They look almost like they might come to life and step right out in front of us.” She scrambles in her bag and pulls out her phone, lifting it and then dropping her arms back down. “There’s no point, is there? I’ll never be able to capture the majesty of it.”
“Not on your phone, no,” Dylan tells her. “You didn’t bring a camera?”
She shakes her head with a hint of disappointment.
“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you to a print from the souvenir shop on the way out,” I say. She doesn’t hear me though, she’s stepping into the courtyard with awe written all over her face. And for the craziest, stupidest of minutes, I have a strange desire to have her look at me in that way.
