Page 7 of Taken By the Pack

I try the door handle, and to my surprise, it gives. The door swings open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

It’s not much—just a main room with a table, a couch, and a staircase leading up to the beacon.

“Hello?” I call out again, stepping inside. The door creaks shut behind me, cutting off some of the storm’s roar.

Still no answer.

My body’s shaking, every nerve lit up and screaming, and I bury my face in my hands.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” I whisper. But there’s no one here to answer.

3

ROWAN

The faint sound of footsteps reaches me. At first, I think it’s just the storm playing tricks. Maybe it’s the wind rattling through cracks in the lighthouse. But no. It sounds like footsteps.

Someone’s here.

I stop mid-step, halfway down the spiral staircase, dust rag in one hand. No one comes here. Ever.

The storm alone should’ve kept anyone away, and even on a clear day, I’m the last person anyone wants to bother. So why?—

Then it hits me.

My chest tightens, instincts roaring to life in a way I haven’t felt in years. The scent is impossible to miss—sweet, floral, and fucking potent. Heat. An Omega’s heat.

The smell wraps around me, sharp and thick, crawling down my throat like it owns me.

I grip the railing hard enough to creak. No. No way. This isn’t happening.

Whoever she is, she needs to get the hell out of here. Now.

I take a step back, considering retreating to the top of the lighthouse until she realizes she’s not welcome and leaves. But my Alpha instincts are screaming at me to go down there, to see her, to?—

I grind my teeth, pushing the thought away. Goddamn instincts.

The stairs groan as I descend, slowly and deliberately. The scent grows stronger with every step. By the time I reach the bottom, it’s all I can fucking think about. It clings to the air, mingling with the faint tang of rain and seawater.

And there she is.

She’s standing in the middle of the room like some sort of dream—or nightmare. Her wet hair is plastered to her face, the chestnut strands darkened to a near-black sheen.

But it’s her dress that’s making me feel like I’ve swallowed my tongue. Jesus Christ. It’s white, and the rain’s made it almost transparent. It’s clinging to her curves like a second skin.

My throat dries. My cock twitches.

I curse under my breath and clear my throat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She spins around, eyes wide and glowing like fucking amber lanterns. She looks wrecked. Wet, shivering—no, not shivering. That’s not rain cold.

“Please.” Her voice breaks, barely steady as she drags a hand through her hair. “I need help.”

I step back. “You need to leave.”

Her face crumples and she takes a shaky step forward, legs crossing like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I can’t.”

She folds in half, hands clutching her knees as a whimper escapes her. Fuck. Every muscle in my body locks up. My instincts are screaming at me to go to her, to hold her, to?—

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