Page 5 of Taken By the Pack

“Okay,” I say as she leaves.

The shop quiets down again and I sip my tea, savoring the warmth. My mind drifts to one of my last memories with my parents.

It was here, in this town. We’d walked the pier, laughing about something I can’t even remember now.

They’d bought me ice cream, and we’d sat on the rocks, watching the waves.

The memory is sharp, like a thorn. But I shake it off. No time for that.

Surprisingly, by mid-morning, the shop’s buzzing. Customers come and go, chatting about the storm that still hasn’t broken and their plans for the weekend.

I keep up, smiling, laughing.

“You’ve got a gift, you know,” Mrs. Clarke says as I hand her her bouquet.

“For what?”

“Making people happy. You’ve got a light about you, Grace. Don’t ever lose it.”

I smile, but it feels a little tight. “Thanks, Mrs. Clarke. You take care, okay?”

By noon, I’m alone again. The radio crackles in the background, playing some old love song I don’t recognize.

It’s the kind that makes you think about things you shouldn’t. I turn it off.

The storm hits just as I take the last sip of my tea, the smell of it lingering in the air.

Rain hammers against the windows, leaving me no choice but to lock up, pulling the blinds and flipping the sign to “Closed.”

For the first time all day, I let myself sit still.

Being here like this—surrounded by my flowers, listening to the rain against the glass—should be comforting. But it’s not.

My body’s off, like it’s gearing up for something. I don’t like this.

I tidy up the counter, rearranging a bouquet of peonies and eucalyptus. My hands are steady, but there’s this restless energy buzzing under my skin. It’s almost… itchy.

Shit.

This can’t be happening. I took the last pill this morning.

I grab my phone and dial Dr. Avery. She’s in her mid-fifties, sharp as a tack, with a voice that always manages to calm me down. She’ll know what the hell is going on.

But the line doesn’t connect. Just static.

“No, no, no. Come on.”

I try again. Nothing.

The storm. Of course. It’s probably knocked out one of the cell towers again.

I glance outside, where the fat raindrops are splattering against the glass. The clouds are swallowing up the horizon.

My stomach twists again, and heat pools low in my belly, sharp and insistent. I grip the edge of the counter, breathing through it.

This isn’t normal. I’ve never gone into heat while on suppressants. Never.

I grab my keys and head for the door. If I can get to the pharmacist before the storm gets worse, maybe I can figure this out.

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