Page 25 of Pack Plus One

“You didn’t?—”

“Had to,” I growl against her pulse. My teeth ache. And something else grows uncomfortably hard. “He was looking at you like you’re still his.”

Jude whistles. “Well. That happened.”

7

LEAH

Caleb’s teeth graze my neck, and the world tilts.

It’s not a bite. It’s not even close. But the threat of it—the possessive rumble in his chest, the way his fingers tighten just enough at my nape to make my breath hitch—sends a shockwave through me. My skin burns where his lips touch, and my pulse kicks so hard I’m certain the entire room can hear it.

Across the ballroom, Eric’s face twists into something ugly. His champagne flute slips from his fingers, shattering against the floor. The sound is swallowed by the sudden, deafening silence that falls over our section of the reception.

Then chaos erupts.

Gasps. Whispers. A server drops a tray of desserts. The bride—Melissa—whirls on Eric, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his arm as she hisses something in his ear.

And Caleb? He just leans back, smug as hell, his thumb stroking idle circles over the spot he’d just almost marked. His scent surrounds me completely, breaking through the blockers like they don’t even exist—dark chocolate and something deep and earthy that makes my knees weak.

Marked. Almost marked. In front of everyone.

Oh my God.

Jude whistles, low and impressed. “Well. That happened.”

Liam’s glass is frozen halfway to his lips. Mason’s eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline.

And me? I’m a live wire, every nerve ending screaming, caught somewhere between mortification and a dangerous, heady thrill that I absolutely should not be feeling for a man I met yesterday.

“You didn’t—” I whisper, voice strangled.

Caleb’s grin is all alpha satisfaction. “Had to.” His voice drops, rough and possessive against my ear. “He was looking at you like you’re still his.”

I’m going to kiss him. Or murder him. Or maybe both, in that order.

The bride’s shrill voice cuts through the murmurs. “Eric, sit down.”

Eric doesn’t sit. He’s still staring at us, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching. His packmates are glancing between him and Caleb like they’re waiting for a fight to break out.

Something wild and reckless flares in my chest. A part of me almost wants to see it—wants to watch Caleb put Eric in his place once and for all.

Caleb must sense it because his growl vibrates against my skin as he shifts closer, his arm sliding around my waist with a look that says, “Problem, groom?”

The challenge is unmistakable.

Eric’s nostrils flare. For a second, I think he might actually lunge across the room. But then Melissa yanks him back into his seat with a death grip, her smile strained as she raises her glass.

“To new beginnings,” she announces, voice dripping with forced cheer.

The guests awkwardly lift their glasses, casting furtive glances at our table.

Jude raises his empty champagne flute with a grin. “To drama.”

Liam sighs. Mason pinches the bridge of his nose.

And me? I’m still trying to remember how to breathe with Caleb’s scent wrapped around me like this, his hand at my waist, his lips still close enough to my ear that I can feel the warmth of his breath.

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