Page 49 of Pack Me Up
Fox leans in, his mouth close to my ear. “You can pick whatever you want.”
He says it quietly, for me alone, but Saint hears anyway. “Whatever you pick, we’ll all enjoy it. Or try.”
I settle on a horror movie I love. Cody makes a face, but Saint gives me a nod, approval stamped in the line of his mouth.
Hunter tightens his hold, tucking me against his chest like I’m a weighted blanket made just for him. The movie starts, the opening credits rolling loud and brash, and the room settles. Colton and Cody stop fighting and start trading running commentary. Fox refills my water and brings me a blanket, draping it over my lap with a gentle, almost reverent touch.
The TV’s glare paints the room in shifting blues and reds. The pack settles into a rhythm, every movement a part of some unspoken choreography. Colton flicks candy at Cody, who flicks it back. Hunter tries to braid a section of my hair but keeps getting distracted by the movie, so I end up with a lopsided knot behind my ear. Fox watches the screen, but more often than not, he glances at me, his eyes soft, his body turned in, present.
Saint is the only one who doesn’t move. He sits statue-still, eyes on the screen but mind somewhere else, maybe, or just tuned to a different frequency. Sometimes I catch him looking at me, and the weight of his gaze is a challenge and a comfort.
Halfway through the movie, I realize I’m not anxious, not about being too loud or too much or saying the wrong thing. Every time I laugh, Hunter hugs me tighter. When I make a joke about the lead actor’s hair, Fox laughs so hard he chokes on candy and has to excuse himself. Colton and Cody keep up their banter, finishing each other’s sentences so seamlessly it’s like one brain split between two bodies.
The scents in the room blend together, a layered haze of wood, winter, pie, mocha, and the wild-sweet note of omega. I breathe it in and let it settle into my skin.
I don’t notice when the movie ends. The next thing I know, the credits are rolling, the twins have collapsed into a pile on the floor, and Hunter’s hand is tracing lazy circles on my knee.
Saint stands, stretching as he does. His arms are a latticework of muscle and old scars, and for a moment, the way he looks at me is so intense I have to glance away.
He pads over, quiet as a shadow, and ruffles my hair. “Sleep well,” he says, and though it’s meant as a sweet moment, I hear the order in it. Then he turns to Hunter. “Take care of her.”
Hunter grins. “Wouldn’t dream of letting her go.”
Saint’s hand comes to rest on my face, gentle and heavy. “You did well, omega.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “We are lucky to have you here. You’re pack. Always.”
He squeezes my shoulder and leaves, footsteps silent on the wood.
The twins drift off, too, until it’s just me, Hunter, and Fox on the couch. Fox curls his legs up, leans against the far arm, and closes his eyes, not quite asleep, but close.
Hunter shifts under me, and I turn so I’m sideways across his lap, legs draped over the edge of the couch. He strokes my hair, the backs of his knuckles trailing along my jaw.
“Happy?” he asks, and his voice is so raw and open that it makes my heart stutter.
I nod, letting my head rest against his chest. “Yeah. I am.”
He kisses my forehead, slow and deliberate. “You know, I was obsessed with you the minute you walked in the door.”
I laugh. “You didn’t even know me.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t have to.”
Fox makes a soft noise, almost a purr. “That’s how it works, Brittney. You just know.”
For a while, we sit in the hush. Hunter’s heartbeat is loud and steady. Fox breathes slow and even, causing the blanket around him to rise and fall with each exhale.
I look at the room and realize there’s no place I’d rather be.
I lace my fingers through Hunter’s, and when I glance over, he’s already smiling at me, sleepy and content.
“Let’s go to bed. You can snuggle me all night,” I promise, and Hunter’s bright smile is totally worth it.
Colton
PHOENIX PACK SECURITY BRIEF #119
SECURITY PLANS FOR BRITTNEY RYAN’S MINI HEAT
April 27th
