He Walked Away
1062 Words
Reza
It wasn’t easy, but I made it through the day without actually dying of boredom. Which says a lot, because I used to think the pack hospital back home was the pinnacle of dull routine.
Turns out bureaucracy has claws.
I lean back in my chair and rub at my eyes, the familiar ache blooming behind them. My gaze drifts over the stacks of folders still crowding my desk. Protocols and procedures written in font so small it feels personal, like a deliberate test of my patience and eyesight.
I exhale slowly.
Thank the Goddess for Stephanie. And Milly. And Carol.
Without them, I might have lost my sanity somewhere between subsection four-point-seven and appendix C. Their laughter, their chatter, the way they made lunch feel normal instead of intimidating, it anchored me more than I want to admit.
Still… tonight.
The thought sits uneasily in my chest.
A city night. Drinks. Music. Wolves I don’t know. All while tomorrow’s workload looms like an executioner’s axe.
I glance at the clock.
Five p.m.
The day is officially over.
I stare at the numbers longer than necessary, as if they might change their minds. They don’t.
With a resigned sigh, I stand and gather a manageable stack of folders from the desk. It grows thicker with every addition until my arms protest and my balance becomes questionable.
“Don’t drop it,” I mutter. “Do not drop it.”
Starla hums faintly in the back of my mind, amused but quiet. She’s been unusually subdued today, watchful, almost withdrawn.
Cradling the stack against my chest, I shuffle into the hallway toward the elevator, each step slow and deliberate. My view is limited, and I don’t trust my coordination right now.
The elevator doors slide open.
Relief washes through me as I step inside.
Stillness.
For a brief moment, I relax. Standing still means no collisions. No awkward encounters. No humiliating accidents involving sensitive pack documents scattered across the floor.
The elevator pings.
The doors open onto the ground floor.
Voices echo faintly. Footsteps pass. The space feels busier, charged somehow. My grip tightens around the folders as I step forward.
And then..
I stop.
The scent hits me like a physical force.
My breath stutters as my senses flood all at once.
Fresh rain.
Pine forest.
Clean. Deep. Wild.
The air feels thicker, heavier, as if it’s wrapping around me instead of passing through my lungs. My heart stumbles, then slams hard against my ribs.
Starla surges forward.
- There! she breathes, suddenly alert, vibrating with urgency.
Before I can question it, my feet move.
At first it’s cautious, slow steps, careful with the stack wobbling dangerously in my arms. But the scent grows stronger with every breath, pulling at something deep in my chest.
My pace quickens.
The hallway blurs at the edges as instinct takes over. The papers tilt. Pages slide. I barely notice.
- Faster! Starla urges.
And then,
Impact.
The collision is solid and sudden, like running straight into a wall.
All the air leaves my lungs in a rush as I’m thrown backward. The folders explode from my arms, pages scattering everywhere. I hit the floor hard, pain jolting through my lower back.
“Oeff..!”
“Autch!”
Heat floods my face as humiliation crashes down on me harder than the fall. I squeeze my eyes shut, mortified.
Of course. Of course this is how my day ends.
Then the scent fills my nose again.
Stronger.
Overwhelming.
So close it makes my head spin.
My breath catches.
Slowly, I lift my gaze.
Boots.
Long legs.
A broad frame blocking the light.
My eyes travel upward and stop.
He’s tall. Broad-shouldered. Power rolls off him in waves I can almost feel. Dark hair, slightly ruffled, like he has been dragging his hand through it several times today. Stubble roughens his jaw, sharp and masculine.
And his eyes,
Deep. Dark. Intense.
They lock onto mine.
The world goes still.
Even Starla falls silent.
Then, softly, reverently,
- Mate.
My pulse slams against my ribs.
The scent wraps around me completely now, rain and pine and something undeniably him. My mouth parts, unguarded, as I stare.
He doesn’t move.
He just looks at me, expression tight, unreadable. Conflicted.
- He’s our mate, I think, barely daring to believe it.
Starla hums, blissed out. - Yes. Without question.
Then..
“Girl, why don’t you take a picture? You’ll enjoy it longer.”
The voice slices through the moment like a blade.
I tear my gaze away.
A brunette stands beside him, her hand possessively wrapped around his arm. Her eyes rake over me with open disdain.
My stomach drops.
Starla snarls. - Who is that hanging onto him?
I suddenly become very aware of everything.
The hallway.
The silence.
The eyes.
Wolves stand frozen around us, dozens of them. Watching.
Carol.
Milly.
Both pale. Both staring like they’re witnessing something dangerous.
Why does this feel… big?
The man above me radiates authority, command pressed into every line of his posture.
Realization hits like ice water.
No.
He isn’t just powerful.
He’s the Alpha.
Fear coils tight in my chest.
His gaze flicks briefly to another man beside him, almost equally imposing, calm, controlled. The Beta. They exchange a look. Silent. Intent.
Mind link.
They’re discussing me.
My chest tightens painfully.
He already has someone. A position. A life that leaves no room for mistakes like me.
Will they… remove me?
My vision blurs. My breathing turns shallow.
“Oh my Goddess,” the brunette scoffs. “Is she going to pass out?”
“Shut up, Bethany.”
The sharp command comes from the Beta.
“I’ll take care of her, Alpha Aaron,” he says calmly, stepping forward.
Aaron.
The name lands heavy.
Aaron gives a short nod.
Then, without another glance, he turns and walks away.
The pull tears through my chest as he leaves, taking the scent with him.
Starla howls.
The Beta helps me to my feet gently, steadying me when my legs wobble.
“You alright?” he asks quietly.
I nod, unable to speak.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”
As the hallway fades behind us, one thought echoes through my mind, heavy and devastating.
He felt it.
He knew it.
And he still walked away.
- Writer
