Page 98 of Pack Plus One

The house has become... not familiar, exactly, but less foreign. I know which floorboard creaks outside the bathroom, which cabinet holds Jude’s secret chocolate stash (not very secret when I can smell it from across the room), and exactly how many steps it takes to reach the coffee maker from any entrance to the kitchen.

Ridiculous, the things my brain has chosen to catalog about this place. This temporary place. This not-mine place.

I should have left yesterday. That was the plan—stay until I was strong enough to move without wincing, then retreat to myapartment and pretend the whole heat-induced madness never happened. I’d showered, brushed my hair, even made noises about calling a ride service. But somehow... I stayed.

The memory of Mason’s quiet “Stay another day, just to be sure” makes something flutter in my chest. The way Caleb had watched me from across the room, trying to look nonchalant but failing spectacularly. Jude’s dramatic declarations that I couldn’t possibly leave before the movie night he’d planned. Liam’s careful observation that post-heat recovery was “a complex physiological process not to be rushed.”

So I stayed. Another night in Caleb’s bedroom—a fact that still makes me squirm with discomfort. He’d insisted, absolutely refused to let me sleep on the couch. “Alpha instincts,” he’d muttered when I protested, like that explained everything.

And maybe it did. Maybe it explained why he slept on the couch instead, why none of them have returned to the nest room since... since my heat. The beautiful, carefully constructed nest sits untouched, layered in all their scents, a silent reminder of what happened there.

I couldn’t sleep in it. Wouldn’t. It’s a wonderful nest, perfect in every way, but it isn’t mine. It was a heat nest, built for a specific purpose that has now been fulfilled. Sleeping there now would mean something else entirely.

I pour coffee, breathing in the rich aroma that Mason meticulously grinds fresh each morning. The routine of it is soothing. One of the few constants in this new, bewildering reality where I wake up surrounded by males who look at me like I’m something precious. Something they want to keep.

The thought makes my stomach flutter in a way that has nothing to do with lingering heat hormones.

Two days.

Two days of Caleb’s possessive hovering, his hand always finding the small of my back when I move through a room, his scent wrapping around me like a shield.

I’m lost in thought when warm hands slide around my waist from behind, and I immediately recognize Caleb’s dark chocolate scent before he even speaks.

“You’re up early,” he murmurs against my neck, his lips brushing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit, leaning back into his solid warmth despite my better judgment.

His arms tighten, pulling me more firmly against his chest. “Bad dreams?”

“No, just... thinking.”

“Dangerous hobby,” he says, pressing a kiss just below my ear. My breath catches as his teeth graze my skin, not hard enough to mark but with clear intent.

“Caleb...” I warn, though it comes out embarrassingly breathless.

He hums against my neck, the vibration traveling straight to my core. “Just making sure my scent is still on you.”

I roll my eyes even as I tilt my head to give him better access. “I’m literally wearing your shirt.”

“Not enough,” he growls softly, spinning me to face him. Before I can protest, his mouth is on mine, the kiss deep and possessive. My hands find their way to his shoulders, coffee forgotten as he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter.

When we break apart, both breathing heavily, I push against his chest. “The others will be up soon.”

“So?” There’s a challenge in his eyes, a hint of the alpha who held me through my heat.

I slip off the counter, putting some much-needed space between us. “So I need coffee before I deal with the full pack.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Fair enough.”

Two days of this—of stolen moments and heated kisses that leave me dizzy. Two days of Jude’s outrageous flirting, his winks and innuendos barely hiding the genuine concern beneath, the way he mysteriously appears with snacks whenever I’ve gone too long without eating.

Later that morning, I find myself in the living room with a book I’m not really reading when Jude flops dramatically onto the couch beside me.

“I’m bored,” he announces, laying his head in my lap without invitation.

I raise an eyebrow. “And this is my problem because...?”

“Because you’re the most interesting thing in this house,” he says, grinning up at me. “Entertain me.”

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