Harmony Ends: Deleted Scene (Sextended Edition)

Deleted Scene (Sextended Edition)

I strode through the hallways of the Fortress, the hint of winter's chill making my skin feel clammy under my sweaty tank top. East coast winters were nothing compared to the icy cold I had grown up with in the far north, but goosebumps still crawled over my skin. Or maybe it was just because I felt restless, even after all the exertion.

The cozy comfort of dinner with my sleuthmates had long faded. I had procrastinated as long as I could after the meal, but eventually, when Serena had started dozing off onto Smirkums' shoulders, I couldn't wait any longer. I sent the lovebirds to bed, checked in on Jason—who was trying to work a financial miracle to cover the medical bills from my injuries on Assateague Island—but he'd shooed me away with impatience.

"You don't even know how insurance claims work," he said. "You're only going to make this harder."

Without my people or my work to distract me, I had accepted my grim fate.

Physical therapy.

If only my supernatural strength made the Therabands easier. Therabands, plural. Said supernatural strength had already snapped eight of them, so I had to use three of the tightest black bands together to work my muscles back into full functionality. At least I wasn't hurting anymore. Not all time. Sure, there were certain angles that stressed the ligaments through my left shoulder and down through my rib cage, but those healing pains were nothing like the stabbing hurt I'd felt the first few times I worked through my stupid Theraband regimen.

I'd taken to doing my therapy after meals, mostly because it was easier to convince myself to go sling my arms though the bands when I had a full belly and a happy attitude. With Rohan's cooking, that happened after every meal.

Well. It was impossible to not feel warm and wonderful when a man like Rohan cooked for me and my sleuth—showing care for my people was a huge turn on—but day after day after day of therapy meant the full-belly-happy effect didn't last as long as it had.

Instead, I felt frustrated. All the time. I wasn't allowed to go back to regular exercise, I was barely allowed to work out in my bear skin, and I definitely wasn't allowed to go back to my combat training, all of which stressed the Alpha. With the mysteries still hanging over my head surrounding Avarice and Tau, the sleuth magic inside me latched on to my frustration with my limited routines and doubled it.

I sped through that evening's therapy session, not skimping on my reps but going faster than I'd been instructed to, because I was at my wit's end. There was still one more week to go before I saw the healer again for my final checkup. Once I got cleared, I could go back to training and work the way I was itching to. There was nothing more vexing than flexing against the stupid therapy hands when all I wanted to do was punch the hanging sand bags in front of me.

And that wasn't the only frustration I was facing every day.

Without my usual outlets for all of my energy, and the pent-up aggression the Alpha stoked in me, I felt like my skin crawled with my hyperactivity. My paranormal senses picked up on every little stimulus and wouldn't let go. I constantly felt on edge, and the only way to ease those urges was to add another fucking Theraband.

I was so sick of it.

I had tried running, but even if I ran myself into the ground, on feet or on paws, it did very little to quell my growing needs.

So, that night after I forced myself through therapy, I found myself stomping back toward the kitchen. I'd been eating more than normal while I was healing, and using food as reward after making myself push through therapy was a small silver lining I looked forward to.

A tantalizing scent wafted through the air. I paused, lifting my new nose a little so I could sample the smell better.

Yeast.