Page 65 of Pack Rivals, Part One

Courtney can't walk me to the office this morning because she has work of her own. She's armed me with a rape alarm, though. Plus she's shown me how to take a dude's eye out with my door key if I need to.

"Don't go for the balls," she reminds me as I gather up my purse, "they expect you to do that. Go for the throat or gouge his eyes."

I pull a face. "Courtney! I just ate!"

"I'm serious, Bea. I like having a roomie."

I wave her goodbye and stride out into the sunshine. The rays are warm on the crown of my head and I dip my face up to the sky, basking in its glow. I'll probably end up with sunburn. I spent the month running up to the wedding cowering at home, paranoid I'd end up with a peeling nose on my big day. Now I don't care. Even if it will mean I look like a beetroot at my new place of work.

On the walk to the subway, on the ride into the city and on the final few blocks to the office tower, I notice that Courtney is right. People peer at me, through their sunglasses, over the top of newspapers and out of the corners of their eyes. Some are less subtle about it and stare. Are they really admiring me? Or is my omega scent sparking interest? I take a discreet sniff down my shirt as I stand outside the entrance of the office block.

"Something smell good?"

I jump and spin around, recognizing that voice.

Axel.

His eyes are so silver in today's sun they are almost translucent.

"I … it … what are you doing here?"

He points with his elbow to the spinning doors behind me, his hands full of coffee cups. "This is where I work."

"Oh, me too."

His eyes brighten. "You got a job?"

"I did," I say proudly, unable to help from smiling. "One step on the path to independence."

"One step closer to dating." He holds my gaze.

And oh lordy, those eyes, that voice. That voice whispering dirty things in my ear.

My skin warms and all that calmness I'd been enjoying on the way here evaporates like water on the boil.

I frown, but he simply spins me around and nudges me towards the door.

"Do you start at nine? You don't want to be late on your first day."

I glance at my watch. I have three minutes until I start. "Oh, shit."

"Come on," he guides me into the foyer and towards the bank of elevators lining the wall. He presses the call button and with a ping the doors open.

I stare at the empty box and then glance over my shoulder at the alpha hovering at my back. Do I really want to enter a confined space with him right before I start my new job? No. But he nudges me again and my legs move without my permission and then the metal doors are sliding closed.

"What floor?" he asks me, and in a trance I answer 20, too lost in his scent to pay attention to the buttons he's pressing. The elevator swoops upwards and with it my stomach and, although the alpha is standing a pace away from me, it's as if he's right next to me; the heat of his skin warming mine and the pound of his heart in my ear.

And why –why? – are these men so intoxicating?

The elevator grinds to an abrupt stop and I teeter so much so that he reaches out to grip my elbow and steady me.

"Stupid elevator always does that," he says with a disarming smile, "you get used to it." He releases my arm. "This is your floor."

"Right," I mumble, stepping out. He steps out too. I freeze. He freezes. "What are you doing?"

"This is my floor too."

I glare at him with suspicion but he returns a perfectly innocent expression.

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