Page 24

The Alpha’s brow furrows in confusion as he studies my face.

“Good luck.” When he smiles at me cutely, I find myself almost returning it.

Shocked, I have practically forgotten what the muscles feel like moving my mouth like that.

My stomach is churning with guilt.

I shouldn’t be smiling.

I shouldn’t be thinking of the Alpha’s beautiful amber eyes.

When he reaches to pat my shoulder reassuringly, I flinch, slamming into the vending machine.

The Alpha’s expression falls. “I’m sorry, beautiful.”

I turn and flee toward the staff member who is waiting to lead me further into the clinic to the trauma specialist on the second floor.

Yet my neck is prickling with heat.

Why is my mind still filled with the sunny smile of the amber-eyed Alpha, while I am just as certain that he is watching me leave?

CHAPTER FOUR

Heat Wave Clinic, Dallas

Paige

I rub my aching wrist. I clutch the pencil in my fist tightly enough for it to snap.

I flinch, throwing the broken remains into the cream leather wastebasket. I feel exposed perched on this low chair, sitting opposite a Beta who I have never met before.

There isn’t a desk between the Trauma Specialist and me, only a coffee table with a stone top, which is covered in leaflets and papers. A table lamp with a soft linen shade puddles light over them.

“That’s the third one,” Dr. Lawson says in a gentle voice.

Dr. Lawson has a stillness about her, which both makes me feel safer and unsettled.

She is watching me, and I am not sure that I am ready to be seen.

Dr. Lawson’s black hair is threaded with gray, swept up into a messy bun. She is more relaxed than I was imagining someone who worked here would be. Cowboy boots poke out of her business pants. Bohemian style turquoise and bronze feather earrings swing from her ears.

“Is there a quota per Omega?” I challenge.

“We’ve never had to implement one before.” Dr. Lawson’s lips quirk. “I am rethinking that policy. Paige, I don’t need to be a psychologist to see how stressed this situation is making you.”

“It’s these forms.” I hunch my shoulders, shoving the thick pile of papers on top of the coffee table away from me. “Am I about to sit a pop quiz? A degree?”

“Is that what it feels like?”

My gaze darts away from her to the backlit clinic’s flame logo, which is proudly displayed on the wall.

I trace over the scarred bond mark on my throat; Dr. Lawson follows the movement. “Didn’t my sis already fill them out?”

“But that’s her view of you.”

“She knows me best.”

“Don’t you know you best?”