Page 32 of Pack Larsen

“Shit you not. He called last night and I almost killed him for it. What is with you guys and calling after midnight? I’m going to have to put a rule in place for that shit,” Juniper grouches, and I roll my eyes.

“Opting for Do-Not-Disturb on your cell is always an option,” I remind her for the billionth time.

There’s a few seconds pause before Juno curses. “I forgot I could do that. Anyway, you want to meet up for lunch and tell me all the ways you plan on murdering Munro?”

Just as I’m about to agree, feeling like I’m in dire need of a good venting session and finding no better option than my best friend and the asshole who put me in this predicament to begin with, I spy a body I never thought I’d see in walking the halls of the music department.

The devil in question is walking toward me, coal black eyes already planted on me as though he’s on a mission. I look around quickly, checking to see if there’s somewhere I can hide. Aside from a passerby’s pocket, I’m shit out of luck. Cursing, I mutter down the line, “Looks like I’m not making lunch.”

“Oh, you got a class or something?” Juno wonders, and I’m shaking my head even if she can’t see it.

“Nope,” I breathe, eyeing Munro as he practically marches down the hallway toward where I’ve stopped moving entirely. “Looks like I’m about to receive a lecture from the male version of you, though, and the dude looks pissed.”

Juniper gasps. “That’s where he is? That asshole told me he had something important to do. I swear, Silver, I would have warned you if I knew terrorizing you was his ‘something important.’”

I snort, because she sounds genuinely troubled by this new development, so I quickly rush out, “If I don’t show up to lunch at all, it’s because I’m dead. Munro Villin killed me and is already burying my body under the football field. Look for me in no more than twenty minutes, Juno, lest I become a segment on Brewing Murders.”

“I’ll kill him if he kills you,” she quickly promises. “I’ll avenge you, I swear.”

“Make sure it’s brutal,” I hiss, pulling my cell away from my face and hanging up quickly just in the nick of time.

Munro is standing before me not a second later, a scowl on his face, though not one as severe as the one he wore yesterday. He stands tall, a head taller than me even in my skates, and I’m forced to strain my neck to look up at him, noting his swirling, midnight eyes, inky-dark curls on his head, and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Even though it’s fainter than an alpha scent, I can still catch hints of his pine and citrus aroma, and I hate that it affects me in any capacity because I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make me feel like a bigger idiot than I already woke up feeling like.

“Can we talk?” he asks, direct and straight to the point.

“Nope,” I answer just as directly, unable to think of anything worse than having to deal with Munro’s bullshit today. A weekend of it was enough for me, thank you very much.

Munro sighs like he expected such an answer, and it makes me wonder why he even tried it in the first place. It’s not like I was going to suddenly roll over, flash my belly, and let bygones be bygones. I’m not a fucking dog in desperate need of fussing.

“Please, Silver?” he pushes, and my mouth parts slightly in shock. I don’t even remember a time where he called me by my name. It’s always a derogatory term of endearment, primarilyprincess, like he’s always mocking my wealth without having to do so in so many words. “Just ten minutes of your time to explain a few things.”

As appealing as discovering a few things about Munro sounds, I’m less thrilled about the prospect of talking to him in general. I’ve had my fill of thrilling conversation with this man, and I simply don’t have the urge to put myself back in a position where he can accost me for his pack’s failings again.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I declare, “I think we’re past the point of explanations. I don’t want to hear what you have to say, so save it. Whatever is happening here, stop it. It’s freaking me out, for one, and secondly, it’s a waste of both of our time. Whatever guilt you’re feeling today, it’ll pass, and you can move on with your happy, little pack life and rest assured that I won’t be an issue for you any longer.”

Munro groans, and it sounds so much more like him that my shoulders relax slightly from their tense form. Only for my body to grow taught once more as he says, “Look, I just wanted to apologize and ask for a truce—“

“A truce? You’re shitting me, right?” I blurt, gaping at the guy. “The call is coming from inside the house, dude. You realize the animosity is all one-sided, right? If you want to offer a truce to anyone, let it be yourself. I don’t want it, because I have no plans on talking to you again. I don’t care what little discussions were had when I left, don’t care for whatever guilt-induced epiphany you’ve had, either. Just because I cried once doesn’t mean you have to suddenly pretend like you give a shit about my feelings.”

“Silver, that’s not what this—”

“Spare me, Munro. Go back to ignoring me, because I think I prefer that to you using your words. Those fuckers hurt,” I interrupt once more, shaking my head before pushing away from him and skating away like I’m not a mess of disappointment. I mean, what does Juno have that I don’t? Why does he hate me so much? Why does it seem like I’m never enough for anyone? I certainly wasn’t enough for my own parents, a pack that should have loved me for who I was and am no matter what. Munro didn’t even give me a damned chance before he wrote me off. Sure, him explaining why might soothe the hurt, but I've simply passed the point of willingly putting myself out there only to be spoken to like shit. So, fuck him and his gnarly attitude.

“Silver!” Munro calls, and several heads turn in his direction.

“Your apologies mean nothing to me!” I call back, throwing a middle finger up over my shoulder and ignoring another pleading call of my name, despite the toxic, little thrill I get at the sound of my name coming from his mouth. “Shove them up your ass and enjoy the rest of your day kicking kittens and pushing kids over after stealing their ice creams.”

“I don’t do that,” I hear him mutter to passerby’s before I’m disappearing around the corner the next moment, and I don’t stop skating until I’m outside the cafeteria, kicking my skates back into my shoes and pausing outside for a moment to catch my breath. I’m pausing a little longer when it dawns on me that Aero, Rage, and Haze could be sitting with Juno and her pack eating lunch, like they often do. Do I really want another run-in with more members of pack Larsen? Absolutely not.

Guess I’m eating in the library.

Walking to a vending machine filled with chips, chocolate, and snacky bits, the machine stationed just outside the cafeteria, I buy several sweet treats and stuff them into my backpack before popping my wheels out and skating to the library. Before I head inside, I kick the wheels on my shoes back into hiding and enter the blissful solitude of silence.

Miss Favero is seated behind her desk, oversized, clear-rimmed glasses on her face as she frowns at her computer. Heading in her direction, I pause and quietly greet, “What did the computer do to you to put that look on your face?”

Zira Favero flinches so hard that she knocks her glasses loose, startled eyes bouncing to me while her hand slaps her chest with an audible thwack and a sharp inhale of shock. Her omega-sweet banana split scent turns tart for all of two seconds before she realizes it’s only me standing behind her desk, and she drops her hand.

“Silver. You scared me,” she breathes, slumping in her seat.

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