2

Miley

Being athletic was like being really good, according to my best friend. Right now, I thought staying fit was the only way to make my boring life better. Instead of biking to the community center, I decided to jog.

My legs needed a change from their usual routine of pedaling. The stony path had gray and slate-black pebbles along the sides, newly laid. Tall trees and seasonal bushes with angelic white flowers sprang from the dirt near the rocks. They smelled nice in the evening when I walked home. Lanterns hung from iron hooks over the path, new additions made by Blake and Troy in the past few weeks.

Before all these changes, I had been overseas, traveling in France. That was the price I paid for being part of the grim underground of my previous job. My brother called us "grim dogs."

Maybe I had spent too much time thinking about those evenings. I panted as I slowed my pace, trotting in place to keep my legs from locking up. Nowadays, they loved doing that. Since I didn't have much activity to keep me from a sedentary lifestyle, I took Amy for ocean swims early in the mornings.

Luckily, Amy wanted to be as active as I did. She never complained and always invited me to events in the area. But I couldn't attend much with the rules Blake had set for me. Only Blake, Troy, the security team, and I knew I couldn't leave the pack's land.

It was frustrating.

I just wanted to do normal things with normal shifters. The life I left behind, along with my brother, was part of my nightmares now. Evenings that should have been blissful occasionally turned into relived experiences. I hated thinking about those memories, and I hated that I couldn't talk to my best friend about them.

She didn't know who I used to be, and she probably never would. With Leon back in the field, I couldn't say a word. I lived a secretive life, even though there weren't any missions or operations for me these days. Leon had left me with this pack a year ago, and it felt too long without a mission or much of anything.

Sometimes, the old team sent cards—Banks loved Christmas wreaths, Harp liked classic cards, and my brother usually wrote on a random postcard. Those were kept under code names, like Karla and Cora's "Blonde Dalmatian" bit. I vaguely remembered a pair of Dalmatian photos they sent three months ago.

Memory wasn't my strong suit. Thinking about the old team made me think about Berna, and I hated thinking about that man.

His glassy eyes and sharp demeanor always made me uncomfortable. The memory of bombs exploding in my convoy still lingered, not as loud but still vivid.

I stopped jogging and sat on a bench, stretching my legs to prevent them from locking up. I bent forward, staring at the ground between my sneakers. Bomb after bomb.

Four black ops soldiers rescued five black ops soldiers. Luck didn't follow us to the States. Berna spilled every detail about our missions to our enemies in Tehran, then vanished off the map, leaving our lives in disarray.

My brother left me under house arrest in the south.

Karla and Cora had a better life in Canada, growing produce and selling it at the farmer's market. I sighed, wishing for a life like theirs instead of being stuck on a ranch with two alphas, a small apartment, and a dead-end job.

Then there was Alonso. He hadn't said a word to me since he got here, but he was around. I saw him sometimes.

My shoulders ached when I sat up. I noticed the recreation center ahead, a growing crowd entering. Right, there was a meeting soon. Amy joined the masses, and I sprinted to loop my arm with hers.

She beamed. "I was wondering where you were." Wiping sweat from her forehead, she sighed contentedly. "I see we both had the same idea."

"We did. Where did you go?"

“Around the cornfields to the other side. There’s a little nature trail leading to the beach.”

I agreed, "That's a good one."

“I was thinking about doing a swim competition.”

As we entered the cafeteria, a low thrum of conversation surrounded us. Searching for a good table, Amy and I kept our arms looped. Alonso lingered near the stage at the other end, our eyes locking briefly. He looked away, and I tried not to feel hurt by his avoidance after all these years.

Ignoring that, I focused on the half-empty snack table. "Did someone really already go through the Oreos?"

Amy chuckled, "Blame the kids. Can you blame them? Oreos are good."

"Get me some of those chocolate cookies before they disappear."

She grabbed two and placed them on the plate. “How about some cucumber sandwiches?”

“Nah, I want more carbs—grab some bagels, please?”

“You got it.”

Connected at the arms, we walked through the line, Amy collecting food while I held the plate. Nudging her softly, I asked, “Tell me about the competitive swimming thing.”

“Ever heard of cross-channel swimming?”

“Yeah, sure. People swim the English Channel all the time.”

She grinned. “That’s what I want to do.”

My heart sank, but I put on a smile and led her to an empty table away from the stage and the tension with Alonso. Munching happily on a bagel, I waited as the pack settled.

A hush fell, and our alphas walked onto the stage. Blake held up a microphone. “Thank you all for joining us this afternoon. We’ve got a lot of announcements to cover today.”

Murmurs filled the room, mostly about the next mate pairings. I rolled my eyes, finding the tradition weird but not judging.

Blake continued, “You’re all eager for more pairings, I hear. I have more of them here.” He held up a card.

Here we go, I thought.

Blake wore his charming grin. I nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie as he announced, “Parker Owens and Clay Barker. Congrats on being mates.” Applause followed, and Parker and Clay embraced.

Wow, no surprise there. They had been seen holding hands around the pack.

Was our alpha losing his knack for surprising pairings?

Blake motioned with the card toward a table up front. “The next pairing is Dahlia Matthis and Sean Combs.”

More applause ensued, but it lacked the usual excitement. Mate pairings had become quite agreeable lately. Where was the drama, the passion, the intrigue?

“And the last,” Blake announced, quieting the clapping, “is Alonso Duke and Miley Mullen.”

My cookie slipped from my hand.

There was no way my alpha had casually included my name in a list of mate pairings, slamming me next to Alonso. He likely knew our history, and this was more than just a friendly connection. I raised my head to face the crowd's attention, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

Alonso looked directly at me, green eyes sparkling with recognition, a lock of dusty white hair falling to his cheek. He squinted, that contemplative look, then offered the slightest smile. His smooth pale skin beckoned, and for a moment, I wanted to reach out.

Well, of all the people to be paired with, Alonso was probably the best. Highly intelligent, quiet, clean, and a mission enthusiast. I could get used to this, I thought tentatively, standing up.

Applause surrounded me, but my focus remained on Alonso. A tingling sensation started in my core, growing into goosebumps. Yes, I could definitely get used to this.

Mating still seemed silly, but if it had to be anyone, Alonso was my first choice. Blake might have chosen Alonso for precisely that reason—my confinement to this pack. Perhaps being with Alonso would finally get me outside the perimeter.

Smiling, I began walking toward him.

His eyes flickered away, and the smile vanished. “Alpha, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Alonso left the room, leaving me with bated breath and a pounding heart. The tiny hope of leaving my prison faded, akin to being left at the altar all over again. At least this time, it was well before the wedding.