Page 26 of In Doubt
The Rulox temple. The temple dedicated to Isis. Built for omegas.
I want to see it so desperately. To test my ideas. To plant my feet inside a temple, a temple omegas like me once worshipped inside. My skin itches to go. This is what I’m here for after all. This is my chance.
But spending an afternoon with Jake and his pack? Alone? Didn’t I experience some kind of panic attack only an hour ago? Isn’t his stupid scent doing stupid things to my body? It hardly seems sensible.
Jake clambers to his feet, reading the screen of his phone.
“Yeah, they’re going to meet me there. I’m going to see if one of those guys out there will give me a ride.” He points to a group of men, sheltering in the shade of the coaches, smoking cigarettes.
“I’ll come,” I say, the words popping out of my mouth before I can stop them.
He swings his head in my direction, genuine surprise scrawled all over his face.
“You wanna come?” he asks with scepticism. I’ve never willingly volunteered to spend time with Jake before.
“Yes,” I squeak, lifting my chin. I can’t let a chance like this slip through my fingers. Today has already been a disappointment, watching as the senior researchers have taken our find from us. Maybe it isn’t too late to salvage something. Ok, so it means spending more time with Jake, Jake and his pack, but I can handle that. The incident in the trench was just a silly mishap – the culmination of too much time in a cramped space, hot, dusty and smelly. “I’d really love to see the Rulox temple. In fact, it’s the thing I want to see most.”
I spring up. He swallows.
“Right.” He straightens his shoulders as if bolstering himself for battle and strolls out towards the men, me trotting behind him.
He spends the next fifteen minutes haggling until he finally comes to an agreement on price and then an older man walks us over to a Land Rover covered in dust and grime.
“Do you think he can even see out the windscreen?” I mumble.
“It’ll be an adventure,” he says. Jumping up into the open back and once again holding out his hand to me. For such a jerk, the guy does have somemanners.
I wave his hand away, quite capable of climbing into the cab myself, and sitting on the bench opposite him.
It takes our driver a few attempts to start the vehicle and I throw Jake another sceptical look, but then we’re off, bouncing over the sand. The wind tugs at my hat and I grab at it, holding it tight to my head. The air continues to lash at it though and eventually I give up and clutch the hat to my chest. Jake does the same. And for a minute we grin at each other like idiots. Then he whips his gaze away and I content myself with watching the shades of the dunes shift as we travel along.
By the time we catch our first glimpse of the temple on the horizon, my body and my head ache from being jostled around so much in the vehicle. All that’s forgotten though, as the shape of it comes into focus, golden and magnificent, even ringed by a cluster of ugly, modern buildings.
“I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at sites like this,” I say more to myself than Jake.
“Me neither. This is the best fucking job in the world.”
If we get one, I think. And only one of us will land that spot on the professor’s team. The other … It’ll mean leaving Studworth and trying to find a role somewhere else.
“Do your packmates actually care much about history?” As far as I can tell they are a bunch of what the Americans would call jocks. They’re all studying for Masters like Jake, but it’s clear it’s a ruse to stay for the team. “And shouldn’t they be training or something?” I know I’m sounding bitchy, but as we draw closer and the temple begins to leer over us, I’m nervous.
Alone with a whole pack.
You’re OK,I tell myself, tapping my fingers against my thigh.You can do this.
Jake seems not to notice, too entranced by the temple. “Season ended a few weeks ago. We’re encouraged to take a holiday before training starts again.”
“When’s that?” I ask.
“End of July.”
“Sounds exhausting, studying and training and playing and stuff.” He often rocks up to our classes in his sports gear, clearly on his way to or from a match.
I remember that game again.
All that alpha aggression, the fierce mix of scents, sweat running down muscular frames, had set a fire burning in my belly, forcing me to rub my thighs together. And then there’d been one scent in particular searing through the air to my nostrils.
“Nah, when it’s something you love, it’s energising, not exhausting.”
