Page 95 of Taken By the Pack

Jake grumbles, but he’s in the water, too.

Rowan comes up behind her, hands skimming her waist as he lifts her effortlessly. She shrieks, laughing, kicking at him.

And just like that, we’re playing. Touching. Kissing. Holding her.

Water slicks over skin. Laughter echoes through the falls.

It’s the very best of times.

* * *

The walk back is quiet,comfortable.

Grace is nestled between us, her steps a little slower than before, and I can tell she’s feeling the hike in her legs. She grumbles something under her breath about waking up too damn early for this, and Rowan chuckles, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

“You say that every time, and yet, here you are,” he teases.

She glares up at him. “Yeah, well, I’d better get something good out of this. And since sex is off the table, I want a damn good breakfast.”

Jake laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You and your priorities.”

“Listen, if I can’t fuck, I should at least get to eat well,” she declares, stealing my thermos of cocoa and taking a long sip.

I roll my eyes, but my chest tightens, watching her like this—grumbling, sleepy, but happy. It’s so damn easy with her.

But beneath the ease, something hums in the air.

Something primal.

I feel it thrumming through my bones, a low, restless energy. My Alpha has been on edge since the moment Grace nestled between us, since the scent of her—warm, familiar, ours—wrapped around me like a second skin.

I can tell Rowan senses it too; his jaw tics, his pupils slightly blown as he watches her sip from my thermos, lips soft and pink against the metal rim.

Jake, who is the best among us at masking his hunger, just shakes his head and looks away.

But I see it—the way his fingers tighten where they rest against her hip, the way his throat bobs when she sighs, stretching like a damn cat in the midday sun.

She’s driving us fucking insane.

By the time we get back to town, the diner is already bustling. The scent of coffee, bacon, and syrup fills the air as we step inside, the bell over the door jingling.

We slide into a booth, Grace on my right, while Jake and Rowan sits across from us. Rowan scanning the menu like he doesn’t already know what he’s ordering.

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Grace says without looking up. “And bacon. Lots of bacon.”

Jake raises a brow. “That’s a kid’s order.”

She kicks him under the table. “And? Let me live.”

Rowan smirks. “Guess that makes me a kid, too. I’ll take the same.”

The conversation is easy, filled with teasing and laughter. Jake tells some dumb story about a guy at the shack trying to trade fresh fish for beer, and Grace nearly chokes on her coffee.

But the air shifts when the food is gone, when the comfortable silence settles, when Grace leans against me with a quiet sigh, her body relaxed but her scent curling around me like a temptation I shouldn’t give in to.

My Alpha stirs, the need to claim her pulsing through my veins hot and demanding.

“Fuck, I’m sore,” she mutters, stretching her legs out under the table. “I need a nap.”

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