Page 27 of Citius

Or that the universe was taunting me. Putting me within diabolically close reach of my dream girl—who had become the woman I’d never be allowed to touch.

Divine retribution for being a dipshit.

Nine

Morgan

Anger was a distraction I couldn’t afford—yet I fumed through every second of Friday.

My temper simmered during my crack-of-dawn ultrasound class, rising higher during my radiology rotation. Dr. Sethi’s pokes and prods during our weekly fellow’s lunch almost made it boil over. It turned caustic when I got a reminder from the pharmacy that my new suppressant dosage was ready for pick-up.

Not that I needed any external stimuli. The mere thought of Wyatt threatened an explosive reaction. Why—why—did he act like that? Forcing me to accept his actions in public, where I couldn’t say anything without attracting attention. Because despite all our progress toward designation equity, the world still expected a good little omega to be thankful for alphas throwing their weight around.

The whole scenario was absurd.

His actions did not count as protection. You can’t protect someone from a complete lack of danger. Those alphas hadn’t even registered my presence. Between my rumpled post-nap appearance and lack of scent, there was nothing to notice. Even if they got too close, I could step aside like a normal person.

I wasn’t too proud to ask for assistance, especially when it involved my safety. Accepting help was the first and cruelest lesson I had to learn during recovery. But I hated getting bulldozed. Needing help wasn’t the same as being helpless. Someone using my designation to ignore my autonomy and opinions infuriated me.

It was a passable excuse for my foul mood. Almost reasonable. But it was a lie. All of it.

Because I was a bitch, who didn’t deserve his kindness. I was mad at myself for letting Wyatt make me feel anything at all. Regret included.

And so, I fumed. From the moment I woke up to a numb leg trapped beneath both cats to the last second of football practice when I spotted Tyler Hartsen with yet another foam and tape monstrosity on his injured left hand. Not the conservative tape job I’d done for him half an hour earlier.

Who needs an undergraduate degree in biology and designation sciences? Forget four years of medical school or a three-year residency at a leading children’s hospital. With a roll of medical tape, anyone can be a doctor.

Kelsey noticed my foul mood, of course, but didn’t mention it until dinner was over. Lemon-herbed salmon and asparagus. Sensible and balanced—when I wanted spice.

“Status check?” she asked before I could retreat to the library nest.

“All systems normal.”

“Did the interview not go well?”

“It went fine.”

I leaned against the island, organizing a pile of hard-copy white papers—my freshly printed dates for the evening. Perhaps I’d overdone it in a fit of pique, but I’d read them all. Eventually.

“Do you remember Wyatt Redmond?”

The concern in her green gaze deepened until it turned sour. “Mhm. Jacobi sent me the article.”

“Of course he did.” If Jacobi had sent the link to Kelsey, he’d also sent it to Piper. That meant every family member had seen it by now—parents, siblings, and my elder siblings’ packmates. My baby nieces had probably seen it, too. Now, they’d all ask about Wyatt on a regular basis. Fantastic.

I fussed with the first white paper in the stack,The Impact of Incarceration on Mating Bond Stability.An important piece of work by an author who was becoming personally problematic—Charles V. Carling III, M.D.

“Wyatt sat next to me on the connecting flight back to Northport.”

Kelsey’s surprise was palpable, but she took her time, considering how best to phrase her next question while she packed up our leftover salmon, opting for her usual thoughtfulness.

“Was it hard to see him again?”

“Awkward at first. A bit anticlimactic overall.”

She paused, glass storage container in hand, expression doubtful. “Hewasn’t surprised to see you?”

“No, he was. Tried to cover it up by being overly nice. Only talked about university athletics. And that he’s crashing with his brother’s pack. Wasn’t much of a conversation, really.”

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