Page 6 of Red

Shit.

He bends down to inspect them, and his hand freezes in the air above them. I step back, his own heat radiating toward me. I need to be cool. Humans who never turned into a werewolf aren’t hot-blooded.

He stands again and reaches for my arm, but I twist away. He can still reach me if he wants, since he towers above me.

“I might be forced to live with you, but you have no right to touch me.”

“Why is the snow melting at your feet?” The ice in his voice cuts through the freezing air.

“Heat packs in my shoes got a little too hot when I sped up.”

I can’t believe I just said that. Guess that no-lying thing didn’t last long.

But he doesn’t argue as he steps beside me, directing his hand at me to keep running, the narrow of his eyes on my every move.

I haven’t made it more than four days without raising questions. Pratt would have my head. I’d take anything for him to come yell at me right this second about being so careless.

I focus on the cold snow around us, absorbing it into me. When I check behind me, the snow has stopped melting, thankfully. I catch a glimpse of Stark too. I wish he looked less impressive running, but he looks like we’re on a leisurely walk. Those arctic eyes thin to slits when they catch mine, but I ignore it and keep going, maintaining a slow pace all the way back to the house. Stark keeps his distance, watching and possibly plotting my death.

When I go up the steps, I head right inside, taking my shoes with me in case Stark checks for the nonexistent heat packs. My door shuts behind me, and I throw them across the room. I can’t believe I did that. Tomorrow, I will keep it together.

At dinner, I emerge from my room, knowing, with all the voices, that Stark won’t ask questions or hopefully has forgotten about me melting the snow. Alphas are supposed to be busy with important matters, so it shouldn’t be too pressing.

A few faces turn to look at me. It annoys me that I have to look up at them, so I keep my head down and go for my previous seat across from Stark. He takes his seat after me, while the guests’ eyes track me. I take my usual helping of salad and sigh.

“I heard you managed to run all the way today,” a man about Stark’s age says next to him. His curly hair is a lighter brown, similar to my mom’s.

I give him my biggest smile. They’re all shocked to hear how far I ran. I can hear the girl’s thoughts, amused that I made it back without needing a car ride.

“It’s not far. Maybe tomorrow I’ll run it twice.” I avoid Stark’s cheek-heating gaze from across the table and smile bigger at his friend.

“Damn. I’m Jocko, if you want a running partner.”

The other girls around the table all exchange glances. His arms are covered, and I wonder if he’s mated.

“She’s good,” Stark interrupts.

I guess I’m not the only one he glares at, but Jocko doesn’t seem to notice or care. My fork hesitates, waiting for him to add something about the melting footprints, but he keeps his lips tight together. Good. He can’t control me.

“Actually, I’d love a running partner whom I’m not forced to live with.” I stab my fork into a piece of lettuce and chew with a smile.

“Sweet. I’ll be here in the morning.” His goofy grin grows with a small amount of blush on his cheeks.

I try not to stare at the hard line of the locked jaw Stark hasn’t let go of. Who’s built like this? It’s distracting, adding to the reasons why the less time I spend alone with Stark, the better.

After we finish eating, I keep to routine with the elder woman, Faira, bringing the dishes to the kitchen, and ignoring her comments. Even regular humans are capable of doing things. Some pack members are so shortsighted. There are lots of newcomers again tonight, I should see who cooks all this food.

“We have to consider it,” Otis says.

My skin pricks as I listen in from across the room while drying a large glass dish.

“The risk is too great,” Kiya says, leaning in. She’s one of the few women I’m guessing patrols our borders. Her long, dark hair matches her eyes, wavy and tossed over one shoulder, falling against her long-sleeved turtleneck. I wonder why she and Stark haven’t mated. She’s beautiful and they seem to work well together.

“Not here.” Stark stands from the table.

He, Jocko, Graden, Otis, Kiya, and two others leave the room, heading toward the end of the house behind the kitchen—an area I haven’t explored yet. Interesting that packs hear each other’s thoughts yet have private meetings. Some materials work as mental barricades, like ironwood. Based on the fact that I can’t hear them anymore, I’m guessing Stark’s meeting rooms were built with it.

My plan to get out of his house will never work if he’s hiding things.