Page 79 of Taken By the Pack

Jake nods, fingers tracing patterns on the table.

“My sister.” He exhales. “I grew up in Driftwood Cove. Youngest in a family of five. My parents ran a bakery. Lila was an Omega—artistic, soft. She loved books, and she was my best friend.”

Grace reaches for his hand and he lets her hold it.

Jake swallows, voice quieter now.

“When I was nineteen, she was upset about something. Parents had an argument with her. I took her hiking along the cliffs, trying to cheer her up. There was a storm warning, but I thought we’d be fine.”

His jaw tenses.

“We weren’t. It hit fast. The rocks were slick. She slipped.” His voice drops. “I tried, but I couldn’t get to her. Afterward, my family fell apart and kind of left me here.”

A beat of silence. Then?—

“Fuck,” Ash mutters.

She squeezes Jake’s hand. “You have us too, you know.”

His mouth twitches, something close to a smile. “Yeah, I know.”

We finish eating in silence, letting the sound of the ocean fill the spaces where words don’t fit.

Then she stretches, sighing. “Swimming?”

In her condition? With my curse? I am not letting her near the sea, not under my watch.

I shake my head. “If we go back to your place, we can play drinking games.”

Ash catches the meaning instantly. He nods. “Yeah, we should do that.”

Jake tilts his head. “My house is bigger.”

She grins. “Even better.”

We head out, the night still stretched wide open in front of us.

22

GRACE

The house is a lot nicer than most in Driftwood Cove. I mean, Jake has money, but this? This is something else.

Open floor plan, sleek furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the town. A whole damn bar setup in the corner—that’s new.

“Damn, Jake,” Rowan mutters. “This is… nice.”

Jake smirks, tossing his keys on the counter. “What, you thought I lived in a shack?”

Ash whistles low, flopping onto the couch. “I thought you had some frat boy setup. Beer cans, old couch, posters of half-naked girls.”

Jake snorts. “I have class, asshole.”

I wander toward the kitchen, opening the fridge. It’s fully stocked—fresh fruit, fancy bottled water, cold cuts arranged like they belong in a gourmet deli. I grab a water bottle, twist it open, and take a long sip.

Rowan slides up beside me, nudging my arm. “Drink more.”

I roll my eyes but keep drinking.

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