Page 34 of Pack Me Up
“Thanks.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then says, “If you have any questions about the security stuff, or if you need to change anything, let any of us know.”
There’s a warmth in the offer, no pressure, just an open line. Before I can answer, a shadow falls across the table.
Saint.
“You will be safe on this tour.”
The words are clinical, but the way he’s staring at me is anything but. There’s something raw in it, something that makes my skin go hot and prickly.
He leans in, bracing his hands on the table, head tilted just enough that I have to look up. The air between us is electric, charged with all the words we haven’t said.
He hesitates, as if searching for the right thing to say. Then, softer still, adds, “If you’re ever uncomfortable, if the pack gets too much, or if you need space, you tell me.”
It’s not a question or suggestion. It’s a rule. And the funny thing is, it makes me feel safer than anything else he could have said.
I nod, and the tension in my chest loosens by a fraction. This just might work.
Saint
PHOENIX PACK SECURITY BRIEF #115
BACKGROUND INFORMATION FOR BRITTNEY RYAN’S PARENTS TO BE REVIEWED IMMEDIATELY
April 24th
Istand outside her door with my fists clenched.
I’m a confident alpha. I’ve had to be since the day my parents died, and I had four brothers to take care of.
But nothing prepped me for having an omega in my life. I fight thinking about her every second of every day, and it’s almost impossible to get any work done.
My alpha has been pushing me for days to talk to her, and now that she’s living in our home, I can’t deny it any longer.
I just can’t fuck things up by giving into all the demands of my alpha side.
I stand outside her door and listen to her create music. The melody is soft and gentle as she plays it on her guitar.
My hand hovers above the wood, debating whether to knock or just barge in. I hate this indecision and weakness. Waiting for someone else to set the terms is not my strength.
I knock anyway with three soft taps.
“Come in,” her perfect voice shouts to me.
I push the door open and look inside. She’s alone with her guitar, knees tucked to her chest, fingers picking a chord progression as I enter.
When she looks up from her music sheet, I see the surprise in her expression at seeing me.
She sets the guitar aside and hugs her knees, waiting.
“Hey,” I say, and immediately hate how awkward it sounds coming out of my mouth. I should be better at this.
She nods, lips pressed thin. “Hey.”
I take a step in and feel the world shrink around me. I’ve faced down clients with loaded guns and suspects with actual bloodlust, but this is what gets me rattled. My fingers flex at my sides, searching for something to hold.
“I wanted to check in,” I say, voice too loud. “See if you’re… settled. Or if you need anything.”
