Page 59 of A Pack of Mistletoe
We start moving through the morning.
There’s a bloom in my chest where fear used to live. Where plans for the future are starting to root.
Rose
The snow starts around midmorning, and by midafternoon both Winnie and Clara are texting the group chat that all the businesses downtown are closing early because the lake-effect snowstorm is making visibility near impossible. A couple days ago we were cutting down the tree standing in my living room and there was hardly a dusting. Now, I can't see my neighbors house it's coming down so thick. The guys still aren’t home, and I insisted I didn’t need a guard anymore. The sightings of reporters have steadily decreased. We’re officially old news, and I’m so relieved. Or at least I thought I was. Relief feels flimsy when the house creaks under the weight of the storm.
Right now I wish I hadn’t told them I’d be fine. I wish someone was here to cushion my rising panic picturing their fancy car in a ditch somewhere. Every sound, from the rattle of the windows to the groan of the shutters, makes my chest squeeze tighter. With the storm raging around the house, my WiFi is out, and service without it is basically nonexistent.
Headlights finally swing into the driveway. I scramble to the window and only let out a sigh of relief when I see five familiar forms unloading from the car. My heart still races as I try to calm it. A gust of frigid air chases them through the front door as they enter.
“Shit, that is fucking cold. You actually—” Logan cuts off, and then they all look at me. I stare back, not understanding why—until the realization slams into me like ice water. They’re scenting me. Now that I have one all the time, I must have been pumping acrid, burnt worry into the little house.
Harlan doesn’t hesitate. He stalks forward, his presence filling the room like a storm of its own, brow furrowed, jaw set hard enough to cut glass
“Did we worry you, Starlight?” his voice edged with the kind of tone that feels like both a demand and a vow. My chest tightens, shame rushing hot in my veins.
“I—it’s okay. I was just—” I trip over my words hating the way they sound thin and fragile. I don’t want to look pathetic. Not in front of him. Not in front of any of them.
Wyatt nudges Harlan to the side and gathers me into his arms, lifting me so my feet dangle. The sudden strength of him steals my breath. He holds me like I weigh nothing, leaning on his good leg, like I’m something precious he refuses to set down. His purr rumbles up a moment later.
“Sugarplum, we’re so sorry. We were in a meeting and had no service. But we should’ve tried to get away faster, or one of us should have come back.”
His words crack something in me. I shouldn’t need this reassurance. But god, I do.
“It’s fine. My omega was just freaking out,” I assure him.
“If your omega was freaking out, it’s not fine,” Logan interjects, coming to my side. His hand slides into my hair, slow and deliberate, like he’s soothing a wild creature. His eyes burn, sharp with protective heat.
“We’ll be better,” Kai vows, rubbing a steady hand up and down my spine. The certainty in his tone hits me like a lifeline. His purr joins Wyatt’s and Logan’s, low and relentless
My omega instantly relaxes, every nerve in my body melting.
“You know what I think?” Evander asks, cutting in between the alphas to take me from Wyatt’s arms. Wyatt's expression says he’d rather give up a limb. My heart skips. No one has ever looked at me that way before these alphas except Kai.
Evander slides an arm under my thighs, and my legs instinctively circle his waist as he lifts me. I’m still getting used to how easily these alphas pick me up without hesitation.
“I think this is a great opportunity to check off some of the items on the Christmas list.” He looks pointedly at it. “Wyatt can get started on dinner. We can do Christmas cookies, break out those sprinkles. Then curl up on thisbig couch with some hot chocolate and put on the best Christmas movie ever made.” He pauses dramatically, reaches into his work bag, and with a magician’s flourish, whips out an honest-to-god DVD.
The cover readsNational Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.He sets me gently on my feet.
“I don’t have a—” I begin, but he pulls a DVD player out of the same bag like some deranged Christmas Santa. My mouth drops open.
“Asked around at the diner. Cali had a DVD player,” he explains. “She says we can have it. Apparently one of her alphas has a game system that’ll play DVDs, so she doesn’t need this anymore.”
I can’t help smiling at his beaming expression. They all seem to be waiting for my reaction, and nothing in me has the ability to break his heart.
“That sounds like a great plan,” I say—and I’m as surprised as anyone to realize I mean it. After spending an hour imagining them dead in a ditch somewhere and then the relief of seeing them safe, I can’t think of anything better than doing whatever ridiculous Christmas activity Evander has in mind.
“There’s my merry Candy girl,” he says with a triumphant whoop. Then, with entirely too much glee, he sets me down, turns me by the waist toward the bedroom door and smacks my bottom lightly. I squeak, heat rushing to my face, and start walking automatically.
“In the closet, top right shelf—pajamas. Get them, and we’ll all change.”
I quirk an eyebrow but do as I’m asked, while the guys behind me grumble, “Not again,” and, “If these have naked elves, I’m not wearing them.”
Evander just winks at me, clearly delighted with himself.
Evander
