Page 5 of Pack Me Up
Anger flares, small and sharp, but enough to sting. “I’m not a rookie, Saint. I know what I’m doing. This isn’tjusta scent. It’s—” I grope for the word and can’t find one that doesn’t sound insane.
“Primal?” he offers, voice flat.
I clench my free hand, nails digging half-moons into my palm. “Forget it. I’ll handle it.”
Saint lets out a flat chuckle. “You’d better. Last thing I need is you being distracted when we need you.”
I bristle at the implication, but I know he means it as protection. “Copy that.”
“Good. Check in before shift change.” And he hangs up, just like that.
I stare at the phone for a few seconds, the urge to throw it so strong I have to tighten my grip. I shove it back in my pocket and exhale, letting the night air scald my lungs. Above, the security lights slice the dark into shards, and all I can think about is that scent. It’s lodged in my head. I’d burn the whole damn mansion to the ground just to find its source.
I do another lap, slower this time, pretending not to notice how my hands won’t stop shaking.
The wind shifts again, colder now, and I catch the barest wisp of it. It’s sweeter than anything, a perfect hook. The alpha in me wants to run after it, wants to hunt it down, and drag it out into the open. But I’m a Phoenix, and we don’t break formation for anything.
Instead, I close my eyes for a second and picture the stars. The bones of the universe, or so Fox used to say.
But all I can think of is her—my hazel.
Brittney
OMEGA BUZZ GOSSIP COLUMN
BRITTNEY RYAN AND TOMMY TURNER SHOWCASE GOES VIRAL
April 10th
Isit on the far edge of our table, a napkin twisted to shreds between my fingers, surrounded by people who have no business being this beautiful or this casual with each other. The security around the cafe pretends not to look at us, but every time someone stands up, a ripple goes through the team, with hands reaching for earpieces and backs stiffening.
The security team is gorgeous. I’ve seen them from a distance while I was on tour with Oli. Right now, the twins are here with us. One always looks broodier than the other, and now is no different.
It’s the kind of restaurant where nobody posts photos on social media unless they want to lose their table for life. It’s not meant for people like me, but it is absolutely meant for the goddess across the table from me.
Oli sits at the center of the action, always. There’s no other way to say it. Her rose-gold hair is in perfect waves, the color so vibrant it looks like she paid the sun to set there every morning, and when she laughs, the entire room seems to angle itself tocatch the sound. Oli Hart is an extraordinary rockstar, adored by many, who, for some reason, cares aboutme.
I take another stab at my omelet, push a tiny forkful through the field of microgreens. Across from me, Tommy practically vibrates with energy, hair flopping into his eyes in a way that would make anyone sigh with jealousy. He’s got the kind of laugh that you hear before you see him, and it’s like the world can’t quite weigh him down. He’s three bites into his panini and already plotting a dessert order. His eyes are darting between me and the two women at the head of the table, like he’s trying to guess what we will talk about next.
Oli is next to Riley, who has a tidy, controlled air around her. It’s Riley’s job to keep Oli organized and on time. Something that has gotten much harder now that Oli has four alpha mates who are rockstars themselves.
Tommy, my best friend since the moment I met him, leans in, grinning. “Britt, if you poke at that omelet any harder, it’s going to file a restraining order.” He winks and, like always, I have to pretend not to smile. He’s the only one here who doesn’t see me as a project or a walking trauma case. Maybe because he’s got his own secrets, and he knows how it feels to hide the most significant parts of yourself. He spent years of his life portraying himself as a beta, hiding his omega designation from everyone. I spent the first month on tour with Oli hiding in my nest, talking to a therapist, and avoiding everyone, until Tommy showed up at my door and insisted I hang out with another omega.
And look how far I’ve come since then.
Oli exchanges a look with Riley. I can practically hear their silent conversation.
Oli’s mouth curves into something excited, and she leans forward, elbows on the table, turning all that attention on me and Tommy at once.
“Alright, you two,” she says pointedly. “I’m just going to say it. Jack and I have been looking at the options for openers on the upcoming tour, and frankly, none of them are half as talented as you.”
I drop my fork. It lands in the greens and rolls off with a clatter that turns three heads at the next table.
Tommy is on his feet before I can process the words. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” Oli says, and it’s clear she’s not. Her green eyes are laser-bright and locked on mine, I can feel the heat of her presence radiating outward. “We want you both on tour with us. First set, every city. Riley can coordinate with our manager.” She flicks her gaze at Riley, who nods, all business, as if this isn’t the biggest thing anyone has ever said to me besides when Oli’s record label picked Tommy and me up.
My whole body is cold, like I’ve been dropped in an ice bath, and the only thing keeping me upright is the rough edge of the table digging into my forearms. I can’t tell if I’m about to faint or puke or cry, but I manage to keep my face neutral, which is a trick I learned from years with my parents.
