Page 20 of Puck Your Charity

The screech of a packing tape dispenser echoes through my empty living room as I seal the last cardboard box. My hands cramp from the repetitive motion. Pressing the tape down, I seal away another chunk of my curated, predictable life.

I grab a black marker and scrawl the word "Books" across the top.

The printed eviction notice burns a hole in the back pocket of my jeans. The building manager gave me four days to vacate the premises.

I refuse to let this hormonal shift destroy me. Getting fired and evicted in the same week feels like a fatal blow. But I refuse to lie down and quit.

I drained a chunk of my savings to hire a moving crew. I plan to follow their truck to a storage unit, lock everything away, and figure out a new plan. I pride myself on resilience. I built this life from the ground up, and I can build another one.

But my body keeps trying to sabotage my focus.

The suppressants wage a war in my blood. They keep the raging fever of the heat locked in a cage, but the side effects leave me nauseous and exhausted. My joints ache with every step. My skin feels too sensitive to the air conditioning blowing from the ceiling vents. A hollow, relentless throb pulses low in my pelvis. It reminds me that the drugs only mask the problem. My new designation demands an Alpha.

I refuse to give in.

One of the movers steps inside the apartment and takes the bulky cardboard box of books right out of my hands. He gives me a brief nod and carries the load out the door.

I grab my keys and follow him down two flights of stairs to the parking lot. The humid afternoon heat hits my face, making me sweat under the blue mask.

The movers shove the last box into the back of their truck and pull the metal door shut. The driver climbs into the cab and starts the engine. "We'll see you at the storage facility."

I walk toward my car, pressing the unlock button on my key fob.

A shadow falls over the asphalt, blocking out the afternoon sun.

I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

The potent smell of a thunderstorm and citrus rolling over a cracked concrete street hits me. The crisp ozone pierces straight through the thick menthol paste under my nose. It bypasses the clinical blockers and sinks straight into my blood. My knees tremble. A sudden flood of slick coats my inner thighs.

I spin around.

Finn stands five feet away.

The moving truck rumbles to life and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving me completely alone with him. He looks like a mountain. He wears a plain black t-shirt that stretches over his massive chest and broad shoulders. The afternoon light catches the deep auburn strands of his messy hair. He radiates a tense, restless energy. His warm brown eyes stay locked onto my face.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I take a defensive step backward until my spine hits the bumper of my car.

"Olive." Finn takes a slow, careful step forward. He keeps his hands open and visible at his sides.

I hold my hand up like a traffic cop. "Stop right there. Don't take another step."

Finn stops himself from taking another step. Most Alphas try to push forward and use their sheer size to intimidate.

I glare at him over the top edge of my blue mask. "How did you find me? My address isn't listed on the hospital website."

Finn rubs the back of his neck. His gaze drops to the pavement for a second. "Lawrence knows people. He called a private investigator. We needed to make sure you made it home."

"You hired an investigator to track me?" I scoff, my voice muffled by the mask. "That screams unhinged. You have no right to stalk me."

"We got you fired." Finn drops his hand. His chest heaves with a jagged breath. "We got you kicked out of your apartment. You left the hospital loaded up on brutal suppressants. We can’t just sit in our house and do nothing while you suffered."

"You did enough." I grip the edge of my open trunk. "You ruined my life. I had a career. I had a secure home. I had a perfectly balanced body. In forty-eight hours, your pack took all of that away from me."

"We want to fix it." Finn takes a half-step forward, his eyes pleading with me. The raw desperation in his voice makes my traitorous chest ache. "Let us move your things. We have a massive house. You can stay with us. We will hire lawyers to get your job back. We will provide everything you need."

"I don't want your money." I point a shaking finger at his chest. "I don't want your protection. And I definitely don't want to live with a pack of arrogant pricks who treat sick kids like inconveniences."

Finn flinches. His expression crumbles.