Page 19 of Citius

I arrived first. Leaning against the base of the bronze statue of Captain Tusker, I took advantage of the momentary reprieve to check my email.

The third message was a reminder about my flight to Minnesota on Tuesday.

Ballantyne University wasn’t my first choice for post-fellowship employment, but they had a solid athletics program. And Grace livednearby. That was a definite plus.

I deleted a few messages before coming across a new follower notification—from Joaquin. Clicking the link to his social media profile, I followed him back. Art wasn’t my forte, but it was hard not to admire the surreal dreamscapes of his lighting designs. The harmony between his work, the sets, the costumes, and the dancers was plain to see.

Some photos looked like an expert had taken them—perhaps Alijah?

There were even a few shots of Piper dancing as Titania, which I saved to share with my family later.

Joaquin’s personal life had scant representation by comparison. A bag of plump donuts on a picnic table in front of a cider mill. Hiking along a ravine. Freshly inked sugar skull tattoo. Lots and lots of barbecued meat.

And a mountain of packed boxes labeled in a crooked scrawl of thick permanent marker. Had their pack business involved moving?

My eyes lingered on a photo of Alijah standing on the boardwalk, looking out over the bay, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the setting sun, a quiet smile on his full lips. His windswept white button-down dyed the same myriad of rosy colors as the water—positively glowing.

Joaquin had tagged Alijah’s account, and after a brief debate, I decided to follow him too. Not that they’d get much out of it—I hadn’t posted since July, and even then, it was just a photo of the cats sleeping on a Narwhals shirt to mark the start of my fellowship.

A silver extended cab pickup pulled to a smooth stop before me. The window lowered, revealing the annoyingly attractive face of today’s tormentor.

“Need a ride?” Cal asked.

“No, thanks. I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh? Me too.” Cal climbed down from the truck, inadvertently showing off one of his thick thighs. He shut the door and came to stand beside me, scanning the surrounding parking lot for nonexistent threats. There were at least three campus police squads patrolling the immediate vicinity, not to mention dozens of security cameras.

Cal should find someone who could appreciate his overly thoughtful alpha sensibilities. I was an omega who knew her limits—and always carried a can of pepper spray—not a flashing neon sign for harassment.

Once his protective instincts were satisfied, Cal’s posture relaxed, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels and smiled down at me.

“Aren’t you curious who I’m waiting for?”

I gave him a flat stare. “Fine. I’ll bite. Who?”

“Spencer, my favorite nephew, and his roommate. They’re seniors, and yes, I know I look way too young to have a twenty-one-year-old nephew.”

“Big family?”

His brow twitched. “Never looked me up?”

“Hard pass,” I said, with sarcastic emphasis. Given how skewed my narrative was online, I avoided the internet’s misinterpretation of others as a matter of principle.

“Huh. Well, it’s…more like a big age gap with my half-sister.” Cal’s tone was flippant to the point of sounding hollow. There was a story there, one I did and didn’t want to know.

Children from the same pack almost always considered each other full siblings. This was true in my family. We treated our three dads equally, regardless of who our biological father happened to be. Kelsey and Rory were my siblings just as much as Piper was. Pack moved as one.

Half-siblings were different. Sometimes, the term was congenial, like step-sibling, simply reflecting the different ways a pack could form. But plenty of peopleused half-sibling as a slight, betraying a schism in the pack bond—a not-so-subtle rejection of blood ties.

An opinion his nephew clearly didn’t share.

“He didn’t follow in your footsteps and play football?” I asked.

“His grandmother forbade it. Got him studying business instead.” Cal looked away from me, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched the small crowd still milling about the stadium. The silence wasn’t tense, but his hesitation was evident. “You know his grandmother—Anya Sethi.”

I stared up at him in disbelief. “My fellowship director?”

“Yeah. She’s one of my pack mothers.”

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