Page 33 of Citius

“Assistant coach.” Wyatt’s title slipped out, a mockery of my similar exchange with him on the plane. “And yes. You could say we know each other.”

“Really? That’s awesome!” His lush smile was equal parts hope and delight. A less hardened chunk of walking scar tissue might have been tempted to smile back. “You should come to our housewarming party. Or at least come over for dinner while he’s living with us. I mean, it’s supposed to be temporary, but we’re all hoping he joins our pack. Especially Owen. Wait, do you know Owen, too?”

“I’ve never met Owen,” I said, on the verge of swallowing my tongue. “But I’ve heard of him.”

So, the perfectionist brother of yore, the dictatorial nerd with a fancy new place to live, was named Owen. That didn’t mean he was our Owen, guardian of the grand piano. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t…

That meant Owen Redmond bought Jacobi’s loft. Wyatt’s brother.And his pack, including a beta who might have an ill-advised crush on me, and his artistic rake of a mate. A pack that was letting Wyatt live with them for now, if not forever.

My new neighbors. Maybe. No, they couldn’t be. Probably.

God damn it.

***

The rest of the game was a blur, spent within a strict six-foot radius of Dr. McEwen. Sticking to the head physician and his silent intimidation meant no one would bother me.

I couldn’t handle another provocation.

No happy little grins from Alijah or questions about what food I liked so he could plan the perfect dinner menu—and no uncomfortably prescient observations from Cal, who looked far too delectable in today’s cream cashmere dream.

The next thing I knew, I’d been sitting in the underground parking lot of Tolliver Yards for twenty solid minutes, unable to get out of my car.

What was I supposed to do?

Should I go up and present my hypothesis to Kelsey? That Owen was a Trojan horse. Maybe I should cut our losses and set the complex on fire.

No, I couldn’t do that. Not until Kelsey and the cats were outside.

But that would torch Kelsey’s product stash in the primary suite-turned-stockroom.

So what? I had the money to replace it—all of it, down to the very last sulfate-free, paraben-free, phthalate-free, cruelty-free, dye-free, vegan, organic bath bomb. Kelsey would understand.

Except she absolutely would not.

But that’s why I had Jacobi. He’d probably overnight a package of matches and paint thinner from California.

The alternative to arson was confirmation, which meant I had to get out of the car. I either went up to the sixth floor and knocked on the door to 602 or made a pit stop in the lobby.

I opted for avoidance. No more personal interactions for me. Not today.

The mailroom provided a definitive answer. Right there, in black and white. Perfectly legible. To Jacobi’s exact specifications. Why had I agreed when he proposed mailboxes with name labels?

601 - M. & K. Van Daal

602 - Pack Redmond

At least my course of action was clear.

Scream into a pillow for ten seconds. Take more pain medication. Pet the cats. Run on the treadmill until my feet went numb. Stave off my rage with copious amounts of swearing in the shower. Scream and swear some more. Pet the cats again.

Nothing helped. I was so screwed. Utterly screwed. Things could not be worse.

Looking for solace, I turned to the one sure thing in my life—the reassuring brilliance of Cal’s research. I retreated to the library nest and sifted through my reading pile for a white paper I’d been saving for such an occasion:Supporting Pack Stability During Military Deployment.

Authored by Cal Carling…and Owen Redmond, Vice President of Technology Research and Development for Redwing BioTech.

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