It’s not a question, but I treat it as such and offer a cautious “Yes.”
“Do you want a pack?” She scoots along the carpet to sit opposite me, leaning forward so that our joined hands rest between us. Her tone is mild, as though asking about nothing of consequence, nothing with life-changing potential.
“I’ve never gotten close enough to one to know for sure.” I shrug. “All I have to go on are stories that make being in a pack sound like one of the best things in the world.” The best and the worst. At least two-thirds of the works acclaimed as great literature feature packs as the source of romance, strength, or tragedy. Or all three.
“I can’t guarantee that, but growing up my parents’ pack was pretty wonderful, and the same for my friends in packed up families.” She frowns, squeezing my hand. “You’ve never been close to a pack? Not even with friends in packs?”
“Only in college, and I never quite fit in then, other than out with you.” My turn to draw curlicues on the back of her hand.She trembles, but still doesn’t let go and every time she turns down a chance to pull away, I edge closer to the pain of hope. “I’ve lived a very beta life.”
“As an alpha?”
“The suppressors weren’t very subtle at the start. Taking them was sort of like hitting my alpha over the head with a sledgehammer, or that’s how I recall it.” My alpha agrees, sending remembered agony throughout my body to the point I dig my fingers into the palm of my free hand and clutch at hers until she squeaks. I let go with a wince. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says, but she’s massaging her hand—so it isn’t.
“My alpha mostly slept, only perking up now and then, usually for good reasons. The medication I take now is gentler, more like him being awake but in an almost-perpetual calm state, but he still remembers the hard hit of those early days.” Turning my other hand over. I hiss at the crescent marks in my palm.
“You’ve lived half-sleeping? I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known. Not that I could’ve done anything, but maybe I wouldn’t have been ...” She twists back to my side and slips an arm around my waist. Leans into me, making it practically a hug.
“Better that than risk attacking someone because they smelled good.” I slip my arm around her and rest my head against the top of hers. Every whiff of cranberry sends rivulets of peace through me.
“There was no middle ground?” She doesn’t pull away despite the reminder of my sin against Max.
“Not that I could see, and none that my doctors offered.” I’d worry that being around her will waken my alpha too much despite the daily dose, but he’s calm at the moment. He enjoys being closer to her, having her scent fill him. “Once I was back in mostly beta circles, it was easier to stay there. It’s what I knewgrowing up. Lots of betas don’t recognize alpha musk when they smell it, and there are plenty of tall, muscular betas, so no one ever asked uncomfortable questions even if they suspected what I was.
“Besides”—I shift to look down at her, trying to inject a note of humor—“if you believe half the stories circulating on social media, you’d think alphas are all billionaire CEOs or fire fighters or police or secret assassins. No one ever looks for us in the ranks of dry, dusty accountants.”
She laughs, a light trill that delights my alpha and me. “Yeah, I’ve run headlong into some of those stereotypes, myself.”
“But we’ve gotten off track—can I at least feed you as I explain why I’m here?” I wave at the picnic basket resting within hands’ reach.
“You planned to take me on a picnic?”
We both glance at the window. Despite the view being partially blocked by the desk, it’s clear that gray clouds loom in the distance.
“It looked to be nicer when I checked the forecast yesterday, but it’s just sandwiches and salad bites and that fizzy fruity thing you used to like to drink so much.” I lift the top so she can get a glimpse. “Plus, Nathan and I promised Corin we’d feed you when we had our one-on-one time, or at least try to tempt you with food you like. He said he’s not sure you’ve been eating enough lately to keep an elephant alive, much less a bird.”
Another attempt at humor—elephants eat so much less of their weight than birds do—but this one falls flat. I’m not sure she even heard.
She glances back and forth between basket and desk. “I suppose we can spread it out on the desk.”
A good look at the surface in question, and my alpha barks an instant, insistent no. I stand and frown at it, shifting my weight back and forth. Sitting opposite her isn’t a good idea. Myalpha wants to be close enough to touch; he doesn’t have to be touching her all the time, but he doesn’t want her as far away as across the desk.
“Can we sit on the same side?”
Her scent shifts, an edge creeping back in.
I rush to explain. “My alpha wants to be within reach of you. That, or I can take a supplemental pill. I don’t want to, since my alpha’s and my interests currently mostly align. I understand and accept the need for the patch, the daily dosing, and so does he—some of the time—now that it’s more subtle. It settles him and gives me the sense of having solid ground under my feet rather than being blown at whim, pulled by instincts I can’t control and don’t always understand or welcome. Feeling like a stranger in my own body.”
The sudden sour tang flaring from her makes me start.
“Stranger in your own body?” she whispers, face drained of color.
Only then do I realize I’d spoken my whole train of thought. Before I can apologize, she shakes her head and snarls.
“We can’t have that.” She bursts into a whirl of activity, another thing I can’t control and don’t understand, but my alpha trusts her and follows in her wake.
Before long, we’re settled in the conference room at a corner of the table, which puts her in easy reach. This close, the warmth from her body makes my alpha want to purr, and he only restrains himself because we’re eating—and purring while eating always results in a mess sooner or later.
