Page 61 of Taken By the Pack

We get back to shore as the sun finally drags itself above the horizon, spilling light over the docks.

Jake and the others are already sorting the catch, working like a well-oiled machine, barely needing to speak as they gut, clean, and pack up the fish.

Ash claps me on the shoulder before heading off, shell still in his pocket, whistling like he doesn’t have a damn care in the world.

And then it’s just me and Jake.

He doesn’t look up from his work. “You’re scowling.”

I huff. “No, I’m not.”

Jake smirks, slicing through the belly of a fish like it’s nothing. “Right. Must just be the wind fucking with your face then.”

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “Do you believe knotting her is gonna help?”

His knife pauses for half a second before he continues, voice even. “She said she needed time. A few days, at least. That’s what we’re giving her.”

I shake my head. “Still doesn’t answer the question.”

Jake finally looks up, eyes sharp. “It’s not about whatwethink, Rowan. It’s about her. And right now? She needs space to figure this out. So that’s what we’re gonna give her.”

Silence settles between us, the only sound the rhythmic slice of his knife through fish.

I exhale slowly.

And for the first time in a long damn while, I wonder how the hell things got so complicated so fucking fast.

Jake wipes his hands on a rag, then tosses it onto the gutting table. “I’ll go to her later. Make sure she’s settled.” His voice is casual, but I know what he means.

He’s gonna scent her. Mark her up so no one else gets any ideas.

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything.

“You should do the same,” he says, shooting me a look. “Or at least…” He shrugs. “Just plan to see her early tomorrow morning.”

I exhale slowly. “Yeah.”

His mouth twitches like he knows I won’t. Not yet.

Jake picks up another fish and starts gutting it like the conversation’s already over. And maybe it is.

I don’t say goodbye. I just grab my jacket and head out, feet moving without me even thinking.

The lighthouse stands tall against the gray sky, a worn-out giant that’s seen more storms than I ever will. A relic. A fucking reminder. A death knell to me caring about anyone, to anyone caring about me.

The wind whips at my jacket as I climb up the hill, my boots crunching against the damp ground.

The town stretches below, quiet and sleepy, the ocean stretching out beyond it like it could swallow everything whole.

I lean against the railing, staring out at the waves.

My chest is tight. Not just from the cold.

Jake’s right. I need to figure my shit out. It started as helping Grace. That was all.

Some woman in heat, desperate enough to take a deal with a stranger. And now we’re talking aboutknottingher.Claimingher.

Making this thing something real, something permanent.

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