“Test the hypothesis. Perform an analysis, and then refine the original hypothesis,” I finished for her. “So that’s what we do? We study them…and me?”
She nodded sharply, a familiar look of determination in her eyes. She might act like a fucking idiot most of the time, but Candy, she was damn smart.
“We should’ve gotten clean baseline data, tested your hormone levels etcetera before you got back in contact with the pack, but there was no way of knowing this would happen. We’ll just outline that as a limit in the study. To be blunt, the novelty of what we’re describing is probably gonna be enough to garner some serious attention.”
Candy got to her feet.
“Now, I need to draw some blood and record as many of your stats as I can before you see any more of those alphas. Are they coming by to see you tonight?”
“They didn’t say,” I said, remembering the heated way I’d left the restaurant, their focus on feeding me, on making sure I tasted every dish I liked and then giving me more until I was forced to stop them, my stomach groaning.
“Yeah, you’ll see at least one of them,” she said with a smug grin. “Those boys, they’ve got you in their sights now. Not much is gonna stop them. C’mon into the pathology lab. I promise not to stick you too hard…” Her toothy grin warned me of what was to come. “Though I guess you’re gonna need to get used to getting hammered by a series of pricks.”
“And just when I thought we were having a moment.” I sighed, getting to my feet. “You gotta go and ruin it.” But I followed her out and down the hall towards the room we used to take samples from subjects.
“Speaking of ruined. Your pussy, babe. You ever seen an alpha’s knot?” She formed a small fist that was probably about the right size. “Because dayum. You need to train your vagina to be like a python’s jaws or something. Maybe temporarily dislocate your pelvis to swallow that knot down…”
I was treatedto a running commentary on my prospective sex life, right up until she started taking samples. I sat down in the cool vinyl seat, my arm resting on the long arm, my hand making a fist to help make the veins pop. We discussed the right tests to get done, even after she inserted the needle, using a numbered identifier on each. My number, I thought, taking a photo of it later for my own records.
“What’re you doing in here?” an irritated voice asked, and the two of us froze. Evan walked in, looking at the samples we were taking, and his frown only got deeper.
“Just getting some baseline beta data,” Candy said in a bored tone. “Use it as a control for the study.”
We shouldn’t need that. Most of our current scientific knowledge was a picture of a typical beta, so why would we bother, but this was Evan. He just sniffed at us, unable to find anything in what we were doing as potentially useful, so he just wandered on out, no doubt to find someone else’s work to pass off as his own.
“Gods above, I hate that man,” Candy hissed between clenched teeth. “But we are gonna need to be more bloody careful about this. Cloak and dagger isn’t really my kind of thing. Now, do you want a lollipop?”
“I’m not a…”
My voice trailed away as she plucked one from a jar that we usually kept for when we had kids through, unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth.
“It’s time to go home,” she said, pulling it free, “where no doubt, you’ve got boys lining up to give you something to suck.”
But I wasn’t so sure. Colt and Haze had deposited me back at work with no indication of doing anything tonight, in that high-handed alpha way, and when I checked my phone, there were no messages. So I drove home, anticipating a quiet night in, until I walked up my front path.
There was Blake, sitting on the doorstep, his massive bulk blocking the entrance, several shopping bags and a six pack of beer by his feet. He blinked at me as I stopped and stared, not saying a thing until he got to his feet. I was forced to look up, up, up at the big man, and then he snorted, treating me to the smallest of smiles.
“You’re hungry and tired,” he said.
Nohello, Riley, how was your day?But I guessed he didn’t need to. It was hard to imagine him and his brothers sitting down on the bed in their hotel room and gossiping about how lunch went, but I guessed they did in whichever bro dude form made sense to them.
“Yes,” I replied, not sure what else to say.
Chapter 15
He walked forward, plucked the keys from my limp fingers, and placed a huge hand on my shoulder blades, using it to move me forward. He took my bag and his, then unlocked the door to usher me into my own place. Inside, the bags were dumped on the kitchen benches, a bottle of Gordon’s Sicilian lemon gin and some tonic retrieved, and in a series of practised moves, a drink was made. I reached for it, but instead, he carried it while directing me into the lounge area of the big open plan living room. I was sat down on the couch, my drink put on the coffee table, the TV turned on, the remote placed in my hand, and then a big hand rubbed the back of my neck before he turned and walked into the kitchen.
Blake caught me staring at him, a slight flush colouring his cheeks in response, but then he just smiled and started working on dinner. I tried to focus on the news. The daily breakdown of disasters and political machinations was usually a great way to decompress, but as I sipped my drink, I had headlines of a whole different kind flashing in my mind.Mysterious Man Cooks Dinner for Woman! Smells Delicious, but What Could He Be Cooking?OrWoman Allows Man She Hardly Knows into Her Kitchen. Is This a Date or…?
Blake and I had grown up together. I’d seen him grow from a spindly-limbed little boy into this massive man mountain, but somehow, I’d never really learned much more. He was always the quiet one, hovering at the back of the pack, ready to throw down at a minute’s notice in defence of any of us, but beyond that? I was staring openly now, something he just kept acknowledging with amused little glances but nothing more.
Study him, my brain suggested.Not all data has to be collected in a lab.
So I was up and off the couch, draining my drink in one swallow before taking my spot on a stool under the kitchen island.
“What is this?” I asked, the question applying to so many potential contexts, and I would have been happy to have any of them answered.
Instead, he spooned up a small taste of what he was cooking, then pressed it to my lips without a word. I took the sample warily, but that was soon shoved to one side at the rush of incredible tastes.