Page 57 of Pack Plus One

“Thank you,” I manage, my voice barely audible.

“But,” he continues, his eyes dark with promise, “when you’re ready—and you will be ready—we’ll be waiting.”

With that, he turns and walks away, his stride measured and confident. I watch him go, my body humming with a confused mix of relief and disappointment.

Only when the elevator doors close behind him do I allow myself to slump against my door, eyes closed, lips still tingling from his kiss.

Space. Time. That’s what I asked for. That’s what I need.

So why does it suddenly feel like the last thing I want?

14

JUDE

“Dustbuster duty,” Caleb had called it. “Punishment for the veggie bouquets.”

Technically, I was sentenced to clean the entire house, but since Mason already keeps his room spotless and Liam would rather die than let anyone touch his stuff, I’m stuck with Caleb’s lair. Which is fine by me.

I call it my weekly “deep clean” of his room. He calls it “Jude snooping for blackmail material.”

He’s not wrong.

I’m rifling through his dresser—purely to organize his socks, you understand—when I spot the edge of a suspiciously non-alpha-like magazine peeking out from under his mattress. Now we’re talking. Potential embarrassment gold mine.

As I wedge my arm between the mattress and headboard, my fingers brush against something silky.

I freeze.

No fucking way.

I pull out the scrap of fabric—emerald lace, delicate enough that it barely covers my palm—and my entire body goes still.

Leah’s.

Fromthat night.

The scent hits me like a freight train at full speed. Vanilla and cinnamon, yes, but underneath it—holy hell—that unmistakable omega musk that makes my cock twitch instantly in my jeans. Before I can think better of it, I press the lace to my face and inhale deeply.

Catastrophic mistake.

Her arousal still clings to the fibers, sweet and heady and maddeningly potent. Suddenly I’m back in Caleb’s bed, watching her come apart under my mouth, her thighs trembling against my shoulders, her taste still on my tongue. My vision tunnels, pupils dilating as my grip tightens on the fabric. Something inside me roars to life, hungry and possessive.

“Sweet mother of mercy,” I mutter, my voice already rough enough to sand wood.

The door creaks open behind me.

“Jude, have you seen my—” Mason stops dead. “What are you—” His dark eyes drop to the lace in my hand, and his expression shifts from confusion to understanding in a heartbeat. “Oh.”

I grin, holding up my prize like I’ve discovered buried treasure. “Look what I found.”

Mason’s nose twitches—poor beta senses—but he takes one look at my face and sighs. “I can’t smell it from here, but your expression says everything.”

“Want a sniff?” I tease, waving the panties at him. “It’s like a trip down memory lane, but with less walking and more…smelling.”

He rolls his eyes, but I don’t miss how his gaze follows the movement of the lace. “Put those back before Caleb?—”

The bedroom door slams open with such force that the framed brewery award on the wall tilts sideways.

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