Page 148 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“I was only four, so I barely remember any of it. Thomas promised to raise Noah as the future alpha. Instead, he dumped him in the pack house. Five days after the funeral, Noah disappeared.”

I stared at him, turning the pieces over in my head. A healthy alpha died unexpectedly. His mate followed soon after. Their young son vanished. And Thomas became alpha. That was a lot of coincidence for one family.

"Where is he now?"

Jackson’s expression went hard. “No one knows. But Agata thinks Thomas does.”

Chapter 41: The Past Comes Calling

Saturday morning meant a two-hour bus ride to State meet. I took a window seat near the middle. Jackson folded himself into the spot beside me before I could even shrug off my jacket, his long legs jammed against the seat in front. Across the aisle Cassidy held court, talking enough for the whole row.

Janet and Brian texted as soon as we pulled out of campus. Good luck today. We’re proud of you. Send photos. They had planned to drive up until something came up.

I sent back a quick thanks and a promise for photos if anything was worth capturing.

When I looked up, I spotted Naomi near the front with headphones in and her eyes fixed on the window. I had expected her to cause a scene after learning about the mating, but so far there had been nothing. Small mercies. Maybe she had finally let go of her delusions.

The bus rolled into the venue parking lot a little after nine. The course was already busy. Athletes from half a dozen schools moved in clusters across the grass, stretching, jogging easy laps, or walking the route one last time to check the terrain.

We checked in, pinned on our numbers, and headed out to warm up with the rest of the team.

The speech was the usual mix of strategy and motivation: stay smart, stay together, trust your training. The women would run first, six kilometers through the wooded course. The men would follow afterward.

Farther down the field, Jackson’s coach had the men’s team walking sections of the course and running short drills. Jackson broke away long enough to find me. When he reached me, he cupped my face with both hands and kissed me, deep and slow, completely unconcerned with the audience of coaches, teammates, and rivals. Through the bond I felt the pulse of possessive satisfaction. Mine.

“Behave,” I told him as I pulled back.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “No promises.”

“Black!” his coach barked.

Jackson ignored him for one more heartbeat, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss to my mouth. “Good luck,” he murmured against my lips. “Run like you own it.”

Then he jogged back to his team. I turned toward the starting line and took my place among the others.

The final seconds ticked down in a stretch of restless quiet. Someone bounced on their toes. A few deep breaths carried on the air. Then the starting gun cracked.

The race opened clean. The first stretch was wide enough for the pack to settle without too much jostling. I found my rhythm early, breathing steady, footing solid, the burn in my legs still distant.

For the first kilometer everything went according to plan.

Then Naomi appeared beside me.

I felt the deliberate shift of her foot a split second before I saw it. My reflexes kicked in hard. I twisted mid-stride and cleared the worst of the attempt, but her spike still grazed my calf instead of fully hooking my ankle.

Cassidy, running just behind us, wasn’t so lucky. She went down hard with a sharp cry.

Momentum carried me another few strides. Then I swore under my breath and angled toward the edge of the course, letting the other runners stream past before I turned back.

Coach Miller was going to hate this.

I doubled back anyway.

By the time I reached Cassidy she was trying to push herself up, face twisted in pain.

“Go,” she gasped. “I’m fine, just go—”

I hauled her up with an arm around her waist and half-dragged her off the course. “Can you put weight on it?”