Page 29 of Taken By the Pack

I swallow hard, my throat dry. Her words hit me hard. Natural? Manageable? I think of Rowan again—his fingers, his voice—and my skin goes clammy.

“I don’t care about natural,” I say sharply. “I can’t go into heat again.”

Dr. Avery studies me, her expression softening. “Grace, Omega to Omega… embracing it might make it easier for you. Fighting your heats creates stress, and stress only makes things worse.”

“I don’t care. Just fix it.” My voice wavers, and I hate myself for my weakness.

Dr. Avery doesn’t push. She just nods. “I’ll do everything I can. I promise.”

I stand up, grab my bag, and turn to leave. “Good. Let me know when you figure it out.”

“Grace.”

I stop but don’t look back.

“Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

I nod once, tight and quick, then walk out the door. The taste of chocolate is still on my tongue, but it doesn’t calm me this time. Nothing does.

In my car, I drop my head against the steering wheel, groaning. “Why the fuck is this my life?”

I’m tempted to just scream at the universe. Because what the hell, seriously? This can’t keep happening. I’ve done everything right.

My head rests against the wheel for a moment longer before I finally sit back and smack the dashboard with my hand. “All right, Grace, pull it together.”

I turn the key and back out of the hospital parking lot, my mind racing, but not with anything helpful.

Oh no, it’s filled to the brim with thoughts of Rowan—his hands, his voice, his stupid face. I shake my head, trying to push the images away. It doesn’t work.

Instead, my thoughts morph into the memory of his fingers inside me, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“Stop it!” I snap at myself. My brain doesn’t listen. Of course it doesn’t.

It’s too busy replaying every second, every sound, every damn moment of what happened yesterday.

By the time I pull into the mechanic’s lot, I’m so frazzled I almost forget to put the car in park. The sign is faded, and the garage smells like oil and sweat.

A couple of Betas are standing around, laughing at something. They look up when I step out of the car, their conversation fading.

“Need a tune-up?” one of them asks, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He looks harmless enough—mid-thirties, average build, with a kind face that doesn’t make me want to punch something, which is a nice change of pace.

“Yeah,” I say. “I ran out of gas yesterday. I don’t feel like it’s been running right since.”

He nods, taking the keys from me. “We’ll take care of it. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

“Thanks.”

I hesitate for a second before turning away. Walking back to the flower shop seems like a better idea than calling for a ride. The fresh air might do me some good.

The sidewalk feels endless as I head toward the shop, carrying a bundle of wildflowers that I pick as I stroll. Their sweet scent is comforting, but it also reminds me of how chaotic everything is right now. These flowers need me to keep them alive, and I need… well, something.

As I round a corner, the sound of footsteps behind me makes my shoulders tense. At first, I think I’m imagining it. But then I hear a low, rough voice.

“Hey there, Omega.”

I turn, and two Alphas are standing way too close for comfort. They’re wearing black jackets with a patch I recognize—The Iron Fangs. Shit. They’re trouble. Everyone knows that.

“Not interested,” I snap, turning back around and walking faster.

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