Page 9 of Shaken Knot Stirred

“I see you, you little cunt,” he screamed. I heard his footfalls gain on me.

I had never been athletic, but I pounded the earth to put space between us. Beg had alpha speed, but he was big and couldn’t maneuver through the underbrush like I could. I heard him curse and fall a time or two. I kept running. Never looked back. That was a mistake all the cheerleaders made in the horror movies.

I knew these woods and there was just enough moonlight to see where I was going. I walked through them most days to get to my trailer. Veering away from my home, I headed for the ravine. I wasn’t going to lead the bastard right there. If I could get out of sight, I could hide if I was real quiet. The ravine and the dry riverbed had tons of nooks and crannies.

I jumped into the ravine and ducked into a little cave. A sharp stone cut the back of my calf. I covered my mouth with both hands, hoping that would muffle my ragged breath. If I had timed this just right, he would think I was just beyond the next bend of the dry riverbed.

I watched him thunder past, my fingernails digging into my cheek. I didn’t even blink until I couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer.

As quickly and quietly as I could, I gathered up all the debris, the dead leaves and branches, and piled them on top of me. This wasn’t really a cave. More like a space between two giant slabs of rock. But it should be enough to hide me.

Scent was important to alphas and omegas, but that didn’t mean we were bloodhounds and could track someone by scent. I sniffed my armpit. One of the problems with blockers was that physical exertion and high emotions could burn them out of you and make them ineffective. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves.

Would that be enough to cover my scent from my fucking scent match? I wrapped arms around my knees, shaking as adrenaline washed out of my system, leaving only fear behind.

I grimaced and shifted in the dirt. My mini skirt had ridden up, leaving my butt to touch the cold damp earth. The world was eerily silent. Maybe all the little critters knew there was a giant asshole in the woods with them.

I banged my head against the rock.

How the fuck was I scent matched to Beg Knightbridge?

Chapter 5

Alistair

“Shut the fuck up.”

I frisbeed the phone across the room without even looking at it. Another ding sounded as it skidded across the floor. The ringtone told me it was the group chat, and I didn’t need to read that shit before coffee.

I stretched my arms out in the empty bed. It was about half the size of my king back home. My fingers absently sought out bodies that were not here.

Licking my lips, I swore I could still taste Moxie’s ginger beer. Every drink she brought me was better than the last. You couldnever convince me that bartending wasn’t art. I could throw booze in a glass and it would taste like booze in a glass.

My lips remembered the feel of her, but my tongue couldn’t remember her taste, not exactly. She must wear one of those anti-pheromone perfumes. Not that betas had much of a scent. But Moxie was exactly the kind of person who would negate your advantage by eliminating her scent. It made it a level playing field. Just person to person and none of this alpha bullshit.

I pulled myself up and stretched. There was this dull ache inside me that stung every time I looked at my empty bed. I would have much preferred to have had Moxie here, where I could lay her out and explore her to my heart’s content. I’d certainly never look at a pool table the same again.

I fetched my phone from the floor on my way into the kitchen of the cottage. It was a step up from the tiny houses that were recent staples of reality TV. This cramped little rental was the last place anyone would ever look for me.

I set the phone face down on the stove and fiddled with the miniature coffee pot. It said it made two cups, but who the fuck drank a 6 oz cup of coffee? Psychopaths. That’s who.

At the pack compound, we had one of those industrial-sized coffee urns usually found at catering halls. The scent of coffee always brought me back to growing up, when my aura presented. Everyone complained that the house always smelled like coffee. Like they blamed me for their caffeine addiction and not the private label specialty roast they bought by the pallet that could barely satisfy the three alphas, six betas, and two omegas and four sons. We became one of the biggest packs in the city when two of the most prominent packs merged. That was before my brothers and I were born. We practically had our own rugby team. I snapped my finger against the tempered glass of the pot. It chimed. It wouldn’t have lasted a day on the compound.

I thought this tiny house would make me feel better, less anxious. I had figured less space would make the absence of people less noticeable. Maybe I should have insisted on a twin bed instead of the full-size one. I stirred cream and sugar into my coffee before the drip stopped dripping. The hot plate sizzled as it evaporated the moisture.

The first sip, sweet and creamy, worked on the headache but did fuck all for my mood. The phone dinged again. I reached for it but paused, looking down my naked body.

Fuck it all.

The moms would be appalled that I was standing in my kitchen naked in the first place. Answering the phone with my junk hanging out would be beyond the pale. I reached over to the tiny washer and dryer stacked by the back door, pulled indigo jeans out, and dragged them on. They sat on my hips, but I didn’t bother to zip or button them.

With another sip of coffee for courage, I tapped my phone alive.

Pay:

tick tock tick tock

Pay:

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