Page 52 of Pack Rivals, Part One

Yeah, I already like her.

We arrive a half hour early for our date, spreading out the picnic blanket in a sheltered spot and arranging the dishes we had Mrs. Finch order for us this morning.

Nate unscrews a lid off a jar and gives it a sniff.

"Some kind of pickle. Do omegas even like pickles?"

"Omegas are people like everyone else, asshole," I say. "Some like pickles, some don't."

He leans back on his elbows, kicks out his long legs and flicks at his lip ring with his tongue. "The way omegas taste all sweet and fruity I thought they survived on candy floss and sugar canes." He's quiet for a moment as I unpack the last few containers. "I wonder what this one tastes like."

"The pickle?" Axel asks, his brow crinkling. Nate has a mind like a puppy on a trampoline, bouncing from one thing to the next. It can be hard to keep up.

"No, the omega."

Axel groans. He's tried to explain her scent to us, but every time he's failed miserably. He's never been the poetic type, but I remember it from the fundraising dinner anyway. I'd only caught a whiff of her there, but I understand why she's captured Axel's attention. The aroma of her was different, less sharp, less refined. I also struggle for the words to describe it. Messy? Chaotic? The difference between a gateaux baked in a patisserie and a trifle made at home – the type which makes your mouth and fingers all dirty with cream.

"Her scent must be pretty damn good," I say to Axel, "if your obsession is anything to go by. Don't remember you being this obsessed with anything outside work for a long time."

He nods.

"Except Pack Boston," Nate points out.

"Yeah," I concede, "but that's different." That obsession isn't a healthy one. Not that I can talk. I'm just as determined as he is to see those alphas lose. Fail. Leave town. Any and all of those things.

I lie back and gaze out at the view. The stretch of land we've just secured in that deal lies to the west of the city, a strip of pure white sand with a hotchpotch of run-down condos lying behind. It's ripe for development. And from up here it's clear as day why every business person with any sense has been determined to lay their hands on it. For a long time, it looked like we were out of the game. Pack Boston, through their dubious connections, had managed to buy up the strip of land to the east and some of the land to the north, circling our spot like a shoal of sharks. They hadn't managed to buy up the main plot though. That fucker Malcolm had held out. Until we persuaded him otherwise. Now it's ours.

Ha. I can't wait for Pack Boston to find out.

"You know sharks never stop moving?" Nate murmurs, obviously catching my mental image through our bond.

"What?" I say.

"Sharks. They never stop swimming. Even when they're sleeping. If they stop swimming they die."

"Why?"

Nate snaps a piece of grass from the ground and winds it around his fingers. "No fucking clue."

Axel peers over my shoulder in the direction of the car park. She should be here by now. I can see and feel that he's anxious.

"You think something happened to her?" I ask.

"No," he answers, scrambling to his feet. "Here she is."

I stand too and watch as a curvy little thing with caramel hair and big amber eyes makes her way towards us.

"She's cute," Nate says, coming to join us.

"She's fucking beautiful," Axel says in a wistful way that surprises me. I don't think I've ever heard him talk that way.

I turn to look at him, his face completely transfixed. But then his forehead descends into an angry frown.

"What–" I start, gaze swinging the girl's way.

Two men have closed in around her, one coming to flank her side, the other blocking her path. Where the hell did the fuckers come from? They're talking to her, edging closer and I don't like the look of this anymore than Axel does.

We're both sprinting her way, Nate on our heels, without a word passing between us.

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