Page 38 of Pack Choice
He huffs under his breath, keeping me close as he retraces his steps, hooks the box under one arm and sweeps me into the office.
He’s tense all the way up to the 15th floor, his grip not loosening.
“I really don’t think it was anything to worry about.”
“She had the entire sidewalk. She deliberately made contact.”
“She was probably just a fruit loop. There are plenty of them in the city.”
The elevator doors swing back and he bustles me out and through into the office space. This morning Colten is waiting by my desk, arms crossed, feet hip width apart.
“I’m not late,” I call to him as we approach. But he’s not interested in my punctuality. He takes the two of us in and his brow creases.
“What’s wrong?” he asks Ford and not me.
“Nothing,” I say with exasperation, “a lot of fuss about nothing.”
“A woman out on the street deliberately walked into the omega, nearly knocked her off her feet.”
The crease on Colten’s brow deepens. “Is this something to be worried about?”
Ford hesitates, his eyes flicking to me. “I’m not sure. It felt wrong. And in the military you learn to trust your instincts.”
“I’m fine.” I could shake Ford’s grip from my arm, but it feels electric against my skin, and sandwiched between these two alphas has all those scenes from my dream flickering back into life. Okay, so neither of them were looking quite so stern or quite so tense in those dreams, but actually I think this might be better. Their scents are elevated and mixing together to create something irresistible in my nostrils.
And oh shit, I can feel my temperature rising and any second now I’ll be gushing slick.
With an awful lot of self-will, I snap my arm away from Ford and squeeze out from between them. Both watch me go, their eyes intensely hot.
“I’m just going to nip to the bathroom.”
“Are you sure she didn’t hurt you?”
I lift my hands over my head and spin around. “Not a scratch on me, see?”
That invitation causes their gazes to swim all over my body, turning their eyes positively volcanic. I squeak and race off.
It’s dark in the bathroom and I switch on the light and stride straight to the sink. My cheeks are flushed and my pupils blown wide. I look like a trashy, horny mess.
I thought I could be professional. I thought I could handle a job. I thought this would make me feel like a normal person. But maybe everyone is right and omegas aren’t made for this. Not when our hormones send us into a frenzy every other minute. Two extra suppressant tablets clearly weren’t enough this morning!
Perhaps I’d be better off quitting this job and going to work for a beta, someone whose scent doesn’t interfere with my insides. Perhaps I’d be better off abandoning the whole job thing altogether and concentrate all my efforts on finding my pack. I make a mental note to text Bea about those notes as soon as I return to my desk.
I drag my fingers through my hair, and pat cool water on my cheeks and my brow. Then with a steadying breath, I step back out. I find the two alphas talking quietly to one another, a conversation that ceases as I approach. I eye them warily, unable to tell whether the conversation was amicable or fraught.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Ford’s been filling me in on the possible threats to your safety.”
I roll my eyes. “There are no threats.”
“You’re a Stormgate.”
“Yes, I know,” I say, picking up my pad and the gold pen from my desktop. “And actually, compared to many omegas out there, that provides me with an awful lot of protection.”
Colten shakes his head like I’m the dumbest person on the planet. “You should take your safety seriously.”
“I do,” I say, pointing to Ford.
