Page 14 of Citius

Especially when his pattern of behavior wassoobvious. Whenever he shut me out, guess whose name popped up over dinner or as an anecdote while getting ready for bed? The good doctor. Far too often for a regular colleague.

He liked Morgan, the woman, the omega. When did his interest begin, and why did he keep it hidden?

Yesterday’s encounter was an accident. I was killing time, eyeing all the fancy displays and trophy cases in the lobby, waiting for Alijah to finish work. My only goal was to take my mate to lunch before the hell of moving sucked us in. I never intended to put her on my radar.

Her hair color caught my eye first, somewhere between burgundy and purple, unnatural yet bold, but she had more than enough confidence to pull it off. I recognized her demeanor rather than her face—because she had the same aura of distant superiority that Piper channeled every time she stepped onstage as Titania. But Piper had nothing on the real deal.

Morgan’s build was on the fuller side of athletic, not quite fit enough to pass for a professional omega athlete but pretty damn close, with impeccable posture and a thickness through her hips and thighs that in no way diminished her strength. She had a unique, sculptural type of beauty, with an angular nose that sloped down to a distinct point and pouty bow-shaped lips.

Pure temptation, even in a Narwhals t-shirt and scrub pants. No wonder Alijah was smitten. I was, too.

But she was too composed, her cat-like amber eyes too guarded.Flashing Alijah’s bond mark was partly to get a rise out of him, to drive home the fact that his crush wasn’t a secret anymore. I also wanted to see Morgan’s reaction. Not that she took the bait. Her neutral expression felt like a challenge.

And I loved a good challenge.

Alijah cursed a pushy driver under his breath, drawing my attention back to the road as we pulled off the bridge into the waterfront Belcrest Historic District.

Despite it being more than a century since Northport’s industrial heyday, old textile mills dominated the southern riverfront. The largest of the remaining mill complexes, the Belcrest Brothers Cotton Manufactory, was now a museum and convention center.

The Belcrest family was still a prominent local presence, not to mention richer than sin—thanks to thoroughly exploiting mill workers back in the day—and they loved forking over money for naming privileges. See the eponymous Belcrest Ballet or the new ultramodern Belcrest Football Operations Center.

Yes, Alijah and I both worked in facilities bearing the Belcrest name. At least we weren’t moving to the Belcrest Mill condominium complex. That would have been overkill.

Once we passed the historic district, Alijah turned onto a less affluent street. The lingering grit spoke to me.

“The commute should be easier for you,” Alijah said as we waited at a stoplight. “It’s a straight shot to the ballet. I wonder what it’s like during rush hour.”

“It’ll be fine, babe. Your commute is the one I’m happy about.”

“The drive to campus is a breeze from here, but…” He knocked his palm against the steering wheel a few times, dark gaze unfocused.

I knew what he was thinking. There was no way to avoid questioning our pack leader’s sanity. I placed a hand on Alijah’s thigh and sent reassurance through our bond.

“Owen has no one to blame but himself if he winds up spending all his free time in the car.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Alijah merged onto a waterfront road several miles downriver from the Belcrest mill complex. The area was a tad too gentrified for my taste, with packs eating brunch at sidewalk cafés and parents jogging with strollers along the Wittara River, one of the tributaries leading to Tolliver Bay.

“Do you think he’ll make it this afternoon?”

“Doubt it,” I said, propping an elbow against the door.

Owen had meetings. Healwayshad meetings. It didn’t matter what he said at dinner last night when he handed over our keys. He was going to flake in the name of duty.

Redwing BioTech may not be the love of his life, but that didn’t stop it from being a cruel mistress.

It was why he’d put off formalizing the pack for years. He needed to finish one more project or get one more raise. Constant brake pumping. Telling me to be patient, that it would happen soon, and that we’d become a pack, just like we planned, all the way back during our first year in college.

Tabitha Redmond, his aunt—a veritable mad scientist and the company’s founder—didn’t do nepotism. Owen worked tirelessly, finally earning a promotion to a vice president position last fall. He never failed to deliver, no matter the cost, especially to his personal life.

His lifestyle was spartan, insisting we rent a one-bedroom with an office nook because it was cheaper, perfectly content to bunk down in a windowless space without a closet. What more could you possibly need when your worldly possessions totaled a few suits and some overpowered computer equipment?

He did upgrade his car back in March, freeing his knees from the rundown death trap he’d had for years. Of course, he opted for a used hybrid SUV with the best gas mileage he could afford.

Owen was always so sensible when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass.

While I was happy for him, the timing was far from ideal because Alijah and I were getting serious. Bonding serious. Something Owen knew full well. Figured that was it. He’d push off filing the pack formation paperwork for another year or two because of the expense of a new vehicle.

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