Chapter 2 Kady
TWO
Kady
“Hi Kady!” Mei is busy cleaning her already spotless shop window. The scent of garlic and ginger wafts from the open door of Noodles and Chill, making me salivate instantly. “Wanna try my new dumpling filling?”
The Valley Voice office is located right above the Chinese restaurant. The best part? The lovely owner, Mei, gives everyone who works for the paper a special discount and samples of her latest menu items. When I’m working late on a deadline, her dim sum is about all that gets me through the night.
“They sound amazing, but I can’t today.” My stomach twists with instant regret. “Maybe next time.”
“You’ve caught a lead, huh?” Mei grins. She knows me well. “You’re like a bloodhound when you catch a story.” Yep, and even more so when tracking down the source means I won’t have to marry a massive alpha-hole. “Good luck!”
“Thanks,” I reply grimly, waving goodbye as I open the door and take the stairs two at a time.
The rickety staircase groans beneath my feet in protest. Someone probably needs to replace the floorboards before they crumble and someone falls into a vat of noodles below, but the rundown office has a certain charm.
My lungs beg for air when I pause at the door covered with flaking paint and stickers. Despite the signs of wear, The Valley Voice’s gold sign gleams.
I knew I wanted to work for The Valley Voice before I even arrived at SVU.
It’s more than your average college paper; it’s steeped in tradition.
Everyone reads it, and it’s the lifeblood of campus.
I wanted to be part of that. Part of something that makes a real impact.
Although my law major keeps me busy, my desire to expose the truth is at the heart of everything I do.
In fact, my thirst for a good story is one of the only similarities I share with my father—only he prefers to twist a narrative, while I focus on the facts.
When Dad found my draft application to become a reporter, he swooped in to make a generous donation and put in a special word with Dean Rivers.
Although his actions pretty much guaranteed me a coveted spot, I wanted to earn my place.
I withdrew my application, created a new one using a fake name, and earned my place based on merit alone.
Although money can buy most things you want, I was determined to prove that I had what it takes.
I let myself into the office to find my editor, Leah, frowning at her laptop screen with what is surely a cold cup of coffee by her side. I keep insisting that she switch to iced coffee because she’s always too distracted to drink anything hot, but she refuses.
“Kady?” Leah looks up from her work. “I wasn’t expecting you. Are you trying to impress me?” She arches an eyebrow. “You know you don’t need to do extra hours to prove yourself. You’ve already done more than enough.”
Leah basically lives in the office. She’s tenacious with an eye for detail and isn’t afraid to hold people accountable. She’s transferring to another college to be closer to family, so she’s looking to hire her replacement before she leaves.
“Actually, I’m following a lead.”
“Well, don’t forget about the editor job.” Her fingers fly across the keyboard. “The deadline closes in a few days, remember? I’d love to see your application on my desk.”
I’ve already spent hours crafting my application to perfection. Being an editor is a huge responsibility, but I know I can handle it. However, this fake pack situation may make things a little more complicated.
“Thanks.” I wink. “You know I never miss a deadline.”
I gaze across the office, which is a disorganized mess of mismatched desks.
Despite the chaotic appearance, the room has its own heartbeat, and a simmering excitement hangs in the air.
Shelves stuffed with precariously stacked copies of The Valley Voice issues dating back decades line the walls, reminding us that we’re all a small part of a bigger history.
If I got the editor position, I’d spend my evenings and weekends reorganizing them in chronological order to give them the space they deserve.
Every writer has their own desk, lamp, and a filing cabinet. Some have chosen to decorate their work stations with trinkets and photographs, but I keep mine minimal—pens lined up, headphones, and emergency snacks in the top drawer. Only the essentials. I work best without distractions.
The entrances to our photography department and darkroom are on the far end of the room along with larger tables, where we lay out spreads for physical issues.
Although print is a dying medium, for the sake of the dean and to give everyone something concrete to use in their portfolios when applying for future jobs, The Valley Voice still has a physical bi-weekly paper.
However, the main source of our traffic comes from the online blog.
Fortunately, Dean Rivers doesn’t pay too much attention to our blog or socials, which gives us a lot of creative freedom.
My chair creaks as I collapse into it, set my laptop down, and put on my thin, silver-framed glasses. I’m all set.
Aside from me and Leah, the only other person in the office is Devon, who sits opposite me and takes off his headphones to greet me.
He rocks feathery bangs, a green, spiky mohawk, and has more piercings in his face than I can count.
He writes our popular “Ask an Alpha” column, which offers hilarious, honest, no-bullshit advice.
Unusually for an alpha, Devon isn’t part of a pack.
He shuns the mainstream notion that alphas belong in a group and enjoys being, as he puts it, “a lone wolf.” Some people give him a wide berth because of his alternative appearance, but he’s one of the kindest guys I’ve ever met—when he’s not being sassy as hell.
“How much caffeine have you had this morning?” Devon gently pats the head of the rubber duck statue he has on his desk—something he does for good luck whenever he finishes posting a response for his column.
A bizarre tradition, but he hasn’t had a bad piece yet, so maybe there’s something in it.
“You’ve got that crazy Kady look in your eyes that you know I love. ”
I sweep my hair up into a bun to signal I mean business. “I’m looking for a lead.”
I connect my laptop to The Valley Voice server then head straight to the paper’s shared inbox to scroll through the anonymous tips, hoping I can find one that relates to the speed scenting.
“You’re not messing around! What’s got you so hot and bothered?” His eyebrows wiggle, making his piercings do the wave. “Something juicy?”
There are already fifty new emails to look through from yesterday. Some of them have subject headlines like ‘Alpha on steroids?’ and ‘Used condom found in the library!’ but nothing jumps out as I skim through.
“C’mon, what can I do? Let me in on the action.” Devon wheels himself over to my desk, his giant fire-patterned New Rocks stomping on the floor. “I just finished writing next week’s column. If I have to write one more reply about a beta pining over an alpha who isn’t interested, I’ll—”
“Keep writing!” Leah choruses from the other side of the office. How can she even hear us from that far away? Sometimes I question whether she has this place bugged. “Your last letter about the alpha wanting to give his omega a bonding bite on the ass was one of our most viewed ever.”
Devon rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s pleased. He’s a talented writer—one of the best here—and loves what he does. I encouraged him to apply for the editor role, but he’s adamant that he doesn’t want to be in a position of power or have any more responsibility.
“I heard a rumor about a pack trying to rig a speed scenting mixer.” My eyes squint in concentration, clicking through the emails impatiently. “I’m looking for any clues to which pack it was.”
Devon puts his hands behind his head, reclining in his chair. “Well, you don’t need to look in the inbox for that.”
“Shit.” My stomach drops. “Am I too late? What’s happened? Has someone else already got the scoop?” If another reporter is already covering the story, I’m done for. We have a strict “first come, first scoop” policy.
“Oh no, it’s not that.” Devon clicks his heels together gleefully.
“I already know which pack it was. One of my friends was at the matching and told me about it. There’s no proof—obviously.
” He winks dramatically. “But there was only one pack escorted out, holding a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like AlphaPrime.”
AlphaPrime is a gimmick cologne that no real alpha would use if they wanted to be taken seriously.
The formula claims to “help attract omegas,” but there’s zero proof it works.
Basically, the makers are preying on alphas who are dumb enough to believe its bogus marketing.
Regardless, the intention behind it being found at a scenting mixer would be enough to get any pack thrown out.
“And?” My heart leaps in excitement, the way it always does when I get a whiff of a new story, almost forgetting that it’s my own life at stake here. “Which pack was it?”
When he names the pack, I slump in my chair, my enthusiasm vanishing in a flash. Damn. Why did it have to be the Blandon Pack?
Tyler Blandon and his two packmates, Kyro and Shea Cockburn, are SVU’s least eligible alphas.
They’re all in their final year yet made it clear that they only came to college to find an omega from day one.
In fact, I even wrote a letter to Dean Rivers during intake week to complain about Kyro sniffing around omega freshman.
Omegas come to SVU to study in a safe environment, not to be harassed by desperate alphas with terrible attitudes.
From the sounds of it, when Kyro cornered poor Faye before Sabs rescued her, he almost scared her straight back to Clover Hollow.