I roll my eyes, but do as he says, because I actually do feel a little better.
I narrow my gaze and clear my mind. Or try to, but all I can think about is Auryn. What those bastards did to her. I let out my breath and pull the trigger. Bullseye.
Diego pats me on the back, and heads for the entrance, not saying a word.
I stay there, firing away until I empty the chamber again, and then I realize I am a sweaty mess, likely from standing in this heat box. It always gets super hot in the training room this time of day, since it’s technically a remodeled garage.
I clean up the equipment, even going as far as to disinfect everything. I lock up the ammo, checking not once, not twice, but three times to make sure I remember and know everything is in its right place. Finally, I head to the showers. It’s quiet, which gnaws at me.
I used to love the silence, but now it feels like the silence is anything but peaceful. I slip out of my clothes and fold them neatly. I set them on the bench, noting to myself that after I’m done here, I should throw a load in the wash.
Stepping into the warm spray, my muscles speak louder than my groan of relief. I feel like shit. From sleeping hunched in my lab, from the kickback from my back to back session in the training room, from the stress I know I’m carrying but which I have no idea how to treat.
I’ve never been the best at dealing with stress, period. Some would argue my job here is stressful, but to me, it’s the least stressful thing I’ve ever done. I do better in the lab than the field, purely because I can control my environment. Most of the time. Not to mention my field work usually consists of talking down omegas or pissy alphas. But I guess sometimes we don’t have a choice in the matter.
I go through the list of things I should do after this. Toss the laundry in the wash. Get something to eat. Check on my test results. I’d separated one of my salvaged blood tests to test for something I saw in one of my articles. It’s a long shot, a wild ass shot to be honest, because the odds of it being successful are seriously slim, but at this point I’m out of options. If this doesn’t work to isolate the protein, I will likely never get the answer, and neither will Auryn.
I’m so invested in my mental list, I don’t hear anything, or anyone, technically.
What stops me dead in my tracks is the heady smell of cinnamon and peppercorn. I turn, shocked to see Auryn standing there, completely naked and looking at me with dilated pupils. Her nose twitches, and I freeze.
“Auryn, I thought you were with Gage.”
“I was,” she says cooly as she steps forward. Our lockers and showers are technically big enough to fit at least six or seven pack members, but most of the time we take turns in here. Well, I take turns. The alphas don’t give a shit about sharing the space.
I like my space. Always have. But lately I’ve noticedsharingthings hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. Sometimes it actually feels kind of nice.
I like having Auryn in my space.
And it appears she likes that, too.
“He give you a good workout?” I ask, trying to be humorous, but my voice sounds stiff as a board.
I’m vaguely aware that I’m stiff in other parts of my body, but I ignore it.
Auryn glances up at me as she stands before me. Something shifts in her eyes. The color changes, I realize.
Her natural shade of brown flickers gold for a moment. It reminds me of Gage’s eyes when he gets all alpha-y and starts barking orders.
The gold flickers again as she presses her hand against my chest.
“Yes,” she says carefully. “But I don’t think I’m the only one around here who needs to relieve some tension.”
My cheeks heat because I feel strangely hot. Probably should turn down the heat in this shower…
So I turn around to do that, but her hand stops me.
“Why do you do that?” she asks, turning me to face her.
“Do what?” My eyes glance around, wondering what the hell she’s talking about.
“Why do you resist?” she asks, and it’s curious, not judgmental. “Why do you get so flustered when I touch you?” She slides her hand up my chest to my throat. “Why do you fight what you want?”
I look down at her, her words not completely foreign to me. I’ve been asked these things before. Not by omegas, but by Emmett.
He’d asked me a few times why I didn’t seem to “engage” anyone. I tried to explain it then, but I just got upset and left instead.
But this time, for the first time, I feel the words a bit more.
