Page 97 of Pack Plus One

I’m putting away the last of the leftovers when the sudden urge to check on her overtakes me. Not to crowd her or demand answers, just to... see her. Make sure she’s okay.

Despite her protests, heat recovery is no small thing, and the way she’d moved earlier suggested she was in more discomfort than she wanted to admit.

The hallway is quiet as I head toward the nest room, the door slightly ajar. I knock softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Leah? Just checking if you need anything else. Pain reliever, perhaps?”

No answer.

I push the door open a fraction wider, peering inside. The room is dim, the blackout curtains still drawn against the morning light. Pillows and blankets are scattered across the nest in a way that suggests someone had considered it, maybe even lingered for a moment... but it’s empty.

My chest tightens, unease creeping in.Did she leave?

I step back into the hallway, scanning the dim corridor, and that’s when I notice the faintest glow of light spilling out from Caleb’s room.

Frowning, I make my way toward it, my footsteps soft against the floor. The door is cracked open, and I nudge it gently, peering inside.

She’s there.

Leah is curled up on Caleb’s bed, her small frame nestled beneath his dark gray comforter. Her head rests on one of his pillows, and her breathing is slow and even, her body completely relaxed in sleep.

My pulse slows, the tightness in my chest easing slightly.

But my frown lingers.

The nest was meant to be a comfort, a safe space designed specifically for her. It carries all of our scents—intentionally layered, balanced, welcoming. And yet, she’s here instead, wrapped in Caleb’s scent alone.

Did she not like the nest? Was it too much? Too overwhelming? Or is this... something else?

I step inside quietly, my gaze sweeping the room, taking in the small details. The clothes she’d worn earlier are folded neatly on the chair in the corner. In their place, she’s wearing one of Caleb’s shirts—his black button-down, the sleeves rolled up several times, the hem brushing mid-thigh.

It swallows her whole, the fabric soft and loose around her body.

My jaw tightens slightly, but I push the thought aside. This isn’t about jealousy. Not yet, at least.

Instead, I remind myself that this is Leah. She’s independent, guarded, and fiercely private. Maybe the nest felt too intimate. Maybe Caleb’s room was just... easier.

Or maybe it’s because Caleb has this way of making people feel safe without trying.

I linger for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand curls loosely against the pillow. She looks calm now. Peaceful.

But her choice to sleep here instead of the nest nags at me, even as I step back into the hallway and pull the door shut softly behind me.

Whatever this is between us…it’s complicated. Messy. Unpredictable.

And far from over.

In fact, it may have only just begun.

20

LEAH

Two days post-heat, and I’ve finally achieved freedom of movement without being manhandled back into bed every five minutes.

Progress, I suppose.

I pad barefoot through the kitchen, enjoying the quiet morning solitude while the pack sleeps. My muscles ache pleasantly—a reminder of activities best not dwelled on before caffeine—as I reach for a mug from the cabinet. The one Mason always sets out for me, white ceramic with a tiny chip on the handle that somehow makes it perfect.

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