Page 103 of Found by the Pack
Understanding dawns on his face, grim. “But… she’s on suppressants. I thought they keep it in check.”
“They do,” I murmur, crouching beside the couch, careful not to wake her. “But nothing’s perfect. Stress can push through. Trauma, anxiety, anything that shakes her balance.” I study the line of her face, the slight crease in her brow even in sleep. “Scott reaching out—it might’ve been enough.”
Shepard swallows hard. “Should we wake her?”
I shake my head immediately. “No. Not yet. Let her rest while she can. If it ramps up, we’ll deal with it. Together.”
I press a hand against the blanket near her shoulder, not touching her but close enough to remind myself she’s here. Warm. Breathing steady.
Inside me, something tight coils. Protectiveness. Fury. Need. A cocktail of instincts I’ve spent years keeping in check.
But over all of it—resolve.
Scott might have found her again. Her body might be betraying her with heat at the worst possible time. But she’s not alone.
Not this time.
The apartment feels different now that I’ve named it out loud. Heat. Once you speak it, there’s no ignoring it. The scent clings to the air, thick and insistent, weaving itself through every inhale. It’s not overpowering yet, but it’s enough to make my pulse tick faster, my skin prickle.
I’ve lived around Omegas my whole life—friends, packmates—but Sadie? It’s her. And that changes everything.
She’s still asleep on Shepard’s couch, curled into the pillow, blanket tucked tight around her shoulders. Her pink hair fans out over the cushion, a streak of brightness in my otherwise gray living room.
Gus hasn’t moved from his post on the floor, head resting on his paws, golden eyes flicking up at her every few minutes like he knows she’s fragile and needs guarding.
Two hours later, the door opens behind me. Before Shepard can even announce it, the familiar, sharp-edged presence of Gabe fills the room. He must’ve come straight from the accident scene—shirt still rumpled, gun belt on, jacket unzipped. His eyes go to Sadie first, then snap to me.
“What the hell, Boone?” His voice is low but already tight, suspicion riding every syllable.
“Keep it down. She’s sleeping,” Shepard warns quickly, rising from the chair near the bookshelf. His hand gestures low, a silent plea for calm.
Gabe steps closer, but then he hesitates. The air hits him the same way it hit me. His nostrils flare, and for the first time in a long while, I see him falter.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing. “That’s… is that what I think it is?”
I nod once. “Heat.”
Gabe curses, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “I thought she was on suppressants. I thought the meds were keeping it under control.”
“They were.” My voice is clipped. “But trauma pushes through. Stress. Shock. You know that as well as I do.”
The three of us stand in uneasy silence, the scent clawing at us, making the room feel smaller. It’s not just sweet; it’s magnetic, coaxing, the kind of pull that makes an Alpha’s instincts want to step closer, claim, soothe. I grit my teeth and stay rooted to the spot, because that’s not what she needs.
Shepard’s the one who breaks it. “When she wakes up, she’ll need her suppressants.” His voice is steady, practical, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand grips the back ofthe chair like he needs grounding. “If the pills aren’t cutting it anymore, we need a stronger dose. IV, maybe.”
I nod slowly, gears already turning. “I can get some. We keep them stocked for emergencies—when an Omega needs to be stabilized fast.” My stomach knots, because even saying it feels like a betrayal of her privacy. But this isn’t optional. Not with Scott circling like a vulture.
“Scott,” Gabe growls, voice low. His eyes cut to me, sharp. “This is on him.”
My hands clench. “That bastard.”
“How did he even find her?” Gabe snaps.
The question hangs in the air until Shepard exhales, grim. “The murals. People have been taking pictures all over town, tagging her socials. She never deactivated them, Boone. She just stopped posting on them but they are still active. Scott didn’t need to chase her down, she left the breadcrumbs.”
My chest twists. I can see it in my head: Sadie laughing nervously while kids posed in front of her phoenix, townsfolk uploading photos with hashtags, Driftwood’s pride on full display. Innocent. Pure. And now poisoned.
“She’s been trying so damn hard to belong here,” I mutter, voice low, rough. “And now it’s the thing she built that gave him a map.”
