Page 22 of A Pack of Mistletoe
Because if this, whatever this is, is onlyalmost... Then what the fuck is going to happen when she’s completely back to being an omega?
Rose
It’s only a few weeks before Christmas, so the houses available are scarce—just three in all of Lakeside Point.
The first one’s a dud. Smaller than my house and not nearly as well cared for. I swear I saw mouse droppings in the corners.
The second is bigger, but still not realistically large enough for six adults. Three bedrooms. One bathroom. And, unfortunately, right next to a railroad track. That fact becomes painfully obvious when the house starts to shake, dishes rattling in the cupboards, and a train horn blasts loud enough that Harlan pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my ears to muffle the sound.
Omega hearing is more sensitive to loud noises. It’s a definite sign that my omega is stirring. My bodies going back to what it always should have been.
The fact that Harlan knew that—or cared—touches something deep inside me. The pack unanimously vetoes the house after that.
The third house is beautiful. A mansion perched on a hill. From the top, you can see the lake and the beaches. Inside, the ceilings soar—even by alpha standards. White marble everywhere. Imposing pillars. Sterile, whitewashed walls.
It feels more like a town hall than a home.
From the moment we pull up, I know I’ll hate it. My memories layer over the house and onto. another house. The other one is gray instead of white, because my mother thought gray waschic.
As we walk through, the realtor prattling on in the background, my shoulders grow tighter. A ball of lead settles low in my center. My palms sweat, and I clasp them behind my back to keep them from shaking.
I have to keep it together. Of course they’re going to pick this house. It makes all the sense in the world. They can afford it. Each alpha can have his own room, and there’ll still be guest rooms to spare. They already agreed to stay in this town for me—against their will. Living in a house this objectively luxurious is the very least I can do.
I don’t understand why this one rattles me so badly. It’s just a house. It’s notthehouse.
But my body doesn’t care. The cavernous spaces are too big. Too sterile. Too echoing. I know I could never feel comfortable here.
As a child, I used to drag pillows and blankets into my closet with a lamp, curling up for hours in the smallest, safest place I could make. It’s no wonder I eventually designated omega.
The pack is talking—something about space and work areas. All of them, except Kai. He’s watching me. I try to smile, but it feels brittle. God only knows how it looks. His frown deepens.
Then the basement door opens, and my chest tightens further. My lungs won’t expand.
“Rosie?” Kai asks, stepping toward me.
Wyatt turns, follows Kai’s gaze, and sees me. “You okay, Sugarplum?”
I want to say yes. To tell them I’m fine. That I’ll catch up. But my chest won’t let me.
My breaths come shallow and sharp. My fingers are numb, squeezing uselessly.
Logan stands at the top of the basement stairs. Evander’s voice floats up from below, rambling about turning it into an epic man cave. Harlan’s already down there with him.
I see the moment Logan makes his decision. I shake my head, silently begging him not to make this a big deal.
“Harlan. Evander. Get back up here. We’re leaving,” Logan calls down.
“It’s fine, I’ll just—” The words choke out. The room tipssideways.
My legs buckle.
Strong arms catch me, scoop me up, and then the bite of winter air forces my lungs to expand.
I blink up. Kai’s face hovers above mine, eyes soft and deeply concerned. The sight makes the panic worse, because I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.
He sits on the edge of the porch with me in his lap.
Wyatt settles to his right and takes my hands, rubbing them gently. Harlan sits on my other side, one big hand stroking over my hair in slow, steady passes.
