Page 68 of Pack Rivals, Part One

"Are you leaving too?" I ask, noting she hasn't packed up her desk. (Mrs. Finch doesn't strike me as the type who would leave her desk untidied at the end of the day.)

"I have a few more things to catch up on. Besides, I won't leave until Mr. York does."

"Then should I stay too?"

"No, that isn't the job."

I save the spreadsheet and shut down the computer. "So, I can come back tomorrow, then?" I ask her, as she drops back down behind her computer.

"Most definitely. I think you will be a big help here." I try not to grin at her like a Cheshire cat. She taps her fingers across the keyboard, then adds, "I don't usually like the omegas he dates."

"We're not dating."

"I'd recommend keeping it that way."

"You would?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

She peers up from her screen, staring at me over the top of her glasses. "Yes, work and relationships don't mix."

"I agree," I say, closing my laptop lid and dropping my phone into my purse.

At least one person is on my side.

17

Bea

Courtney isn't homewhen I walk into our apartment a half hour later. I tidy up a bit, check my messages, and hunt through the fridge for food options.

I should be tired after my first day at work. I'm not. I'm buzzing with energy. I can't sit still and I can't concentrate on anything. I don't know if it's all these stupid hormones or the excitement of completing my first day of work. Or maybe it's my insanely hot boss. I can't stop thinking about him and the way he'd rolled his shirt sleeves up, his forearms strong and marked with a crisscross of inks. I can't stop thinking about those rain-cloud eyes of his or the deep timbre of his voice.

I contemplate yet another cold shower. I contemplate rummaging through my still-unpacked bag for my vibrator.

None of those options seem satisfactory. I decide I'll go for a run instead.

At school I was on the track team. I loved running. I loved the way it made me feel. I loved the escape of it and how I could push my body until every part of it burned. It was an exhilaration better than sex.

Of course, I once made the mistake of telling Karl that and then he found reasons why I shouldn't run anymore. It was too dark out, too cold, too hot, too icy, too wet. I was becoming too skinny. I was becoming too muscular. And did I know how revolting I looked all hot and sweaty?

In the end, I stopped.

How long has it been?

I dig out my trainers and find a sports bra, shorts and t-shirt in Courtney's closet.

She would probably tell me this isn't safe either, but I tuck the rape alarm into my waist band along with my key and my phone, and leave her a note.

I'm not letting other people tell me what I can do anymore.

It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt really badly. But I think that may be a good thing. All the pain has been emotional, welling in my heart and my head. A bit of physical pain might help to lessen it all.

I lock the apartment door behind me and trot down the steps, already feeling rejuvenated from that little action.

Out on the street, it's not yet dark although the sun hovers low over the horizon, the sky gray above me but tainted pink behind all the houses and buildings.

I start to run, the old movement coming back to me naturally. I run to the end of the block and then the next and the next. My feet thud on the ground, my arms swing, and the rush of air in my lungs stings. It feels just the same as I remember. Just as good, even if my feet are heavier than they once were.

I run down two more blocks, then swing around a corner, coming face to chest with Silver Boston.

---