Page 61 of Pack Rivals, Part One

“No,” the doctor says, her mouth twitching. I’m guessing that’s a sore point. Aunt Julia isn’t right about everything. Not every omega finds their pack. We’re obviously not as in demand as she thinks. Not if a beautiful and intelligent woman like Dr. Hannah can’t land one. Or maybe these alphas are a bunch of prehistoric dinosaurs after all and don’t like the idea of an omega owning a career.

"What do you think you should do?” The doctor asks, not looking my way but adding some scribbles to her notes; that same unreadable script.

"To be honest, I was hoping to steer clear of men and romantic involvements for a while. My cousin says it doesn't have to be like that, that it's only sex. But I'm not good at separating those two things." I'm already thinking fondly of the men I met yesterday. Dangerous.

The doctor lowers her pen and strolls over to a cupboard. She opens the doors and pulls out a plastic package, tearing it open and holding up one giant needle. I gulp as she strides towards me with it.

With her free hand she gestures towards my arm and I lift it, yelping as she plunges the sharp tip into the vein in the crook of my elbow. Red blood flows through the needle into the vial and my head spins.

"You should stay away from alphas," the doctor says, yanking the needle from my arm. "And I would certainly discourage any kind of relationship at this stage. You're unstable and you may form a connection you regret." She untwists the vial full of my ruby blood from the needle and drops it with her notes on the desk. I peer down at my arm. A trail of blood seeps towards my wrist. I press my thumb to the puncture wound. "In fact," she adds, "I would recommend that you come into the clinic and spend your first heat here where you can be monitored and helped."

"Sounds expensive," I mutter.

She smiles in that same manner. "Yes, but your safety and your future are priceless."

15

Angel

City Hallalways irritates the hell out of me. It's full of people swanning around with self-importance and inflated egos. People who smile nicely and tell me everything they think I want to hear, then stab me right between the ribs as soon as I turn my back.

You can't trust anyone here. My father taught us that from a young age. As soon as we were old enough, he'd drag us along to his various meetings, wanting us to know how business was done.

"Remember an alligator will smile at you right before he snaps you in two," he'd say, leaning in to whisper in our ears as we waited to meet with various committee members and politicians.

Yeah, the memories are what I hate about this place too.

And the way it stinks of corruption and cynicism. It's not something the betas can smell. But us alphas, we can. It hangs in the air and clings to the furniture. It makes me sick.

But business is business and I'm used to dealing with people who hate my guts, who'd like nothing more than to see me sinking to the bottom of the ocean, a slab of concrete tied to my feet. The betas, they can't stand the fact that we alphas are back on top. Wealthier, smarter, better at what we do than all the rest. It makes them all the more determined to see us fall. I can see it in their eyes as they smile and shake my hand.

Crocodiles, the lot of them.

Today, I have a meeting with the head of the planning committee. Some jumped-up little pipsqueak who loves the fact he has a slither of power to lord over us. He's in his early forties, graying hair and bad breath. The only reason he landed this position was his mom – a much more efficient official than he'll ever be.

I wait outside his office on the stupidly little chair I'm sure he ordered in simply to make us alphas suffer. Any sudden movement on my part will have the thing snapping in two.

He's late for our meeting and another minute and I'll be up and prowling the corridor.

He likes making our lives difficult, finding obstacles to our plans, blocking our proposals, insisting on some large backhanders to ensure decisions go our way. I've been searching for a way to remove him from his position for six months. But Silver insists it's a case of better the devil you know. Wattson is a coward after all and usually we find a way to manipulate him.

I jiggle my leg, the noise making the PA across the room nervous.

"I'm sure Mr. Wattson won't be that much longer," he says.

I grunt with irritation and glance down at my phone.

Silver has his watchers monitoring the omega's movements, ensuring she's safe. Apparently she spent this morning in her apartment, but now she's at the omega clinic. I hate that place. I went there once with Mom. When she first got sick. They never worked out what was wrong with her. All those fucking experts and not one had a clue. Too busy pandering to the pharmaceutical companies and their omega-scent research, than actually bothering to help an older woman.

My heart aches thinking about it. My mom and my dad. I rub my knuckles against my chest.

As if fate is fucking with me, it's then that Wattson's door opens and he comes scuttling out, Axel York right behind him.

I see him before he sees me.

It's been a while. Three months since we've been face to face like this. He looks just the same. Just as fucking infuriating.

"Mr. Boston," Wattson says in his oily voice, and Axel's eyes swing down to mine.

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