Page 42 of A Pack of Mistletoe
I reach back for him, and he curls into me, face pressed to my neck. “Please don’t. I don’t want them dead. I just never want to see them again.”
Harlan’s hand tightens on my knee. “Never again,” he vows. “I promise, Starlight.”
His thumb traces slow circles over my thigh. A grounding touch from the sheet of touch deprivation techniques.
Wyatt clears his throat. “Maybe we stay in today,” he suggests quietly. “Work on some touch therapy.”
I shake my head. “The doctor said it can’t be fixed in one session. Last night helped more than you think. I should be okay this afternoon. Besides, I have work… and our book club.”
Evander groans, but Kai presses a kiss to the top of my head. Wyatt still looks unconvinced.
“I’ll go with you to your book club,” Logan announces simply.
We untangle from the pile of limbs and blankets we’ve made of ourselves. We do that a lot, I realize. And I’m not mad about it. Not at all.
“One more thing,” I say, voice small but steady. “Dr. Rendon thinks I’ll go into heat in the next few weeks. The labs already show the trend.”
The room stills.
Logan’s gaze sharpens, calm and protective. “Then we prepare now.”
My chest aches. “Are you sure? This is… a lot.”
“No more asking that, Starlight,” Harlan says, firmbut tender. “Mate.”
Because if an omega is scent sensitive to any member of a pack she’s scent sensitive to all of them. They’re mates. I'm their mate. And they’re mine. The word nearly breaks me.
“We’ll figure out the nest situation,” he adds, but panic flares in me anyway. There is no nest. This house was built for a beta. There’s no room. No space.
Harlan must see it in my eyes. He rubs soothing circles on my back. “It’s okay, Starlight. Leave it to me. I’ll fix it.”
And damn it, I believe him. Even though I have no idea how he possibly could.
He catches my hand and kisses my knuckles. “You’ll be safe, Starlight.”
For the first time all day, my chest loosens.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay.”
Logan
I’m halfway out the bedroom when Harlan catches me. No warning—just the sudden press of his body against mine, one strong arm hooking around my waist. I startle, and my wallet slips from my hand, thudding to the floor.
But I don’t move.
He pulls me in tighter, until I can feel the rise of his chest against mine, the tension vibrating beneath his skin like a held breath. His beard scrapes a line along my jaw as he scent-marks me, slow and deliberate, like he’s daring me to pull away. I don’t. I can’t.
My whole chest caves in. I’ve missed this.Missed him.
His mouth brushes my ear. “I’m still angry,” he growls, voice low and wrecked. “But I’ve been too harsh.”
The breath I’ve been holding slips out shakily.
“I’m sorry,” he adds, barely above a whisper, before turning into my hair and laying the softest kiss there—too gentle for a man who commands rooms, too intimate for someone still mad.
It splinters me.
When he finally lets go, I step back before I shatter completely. My gaze drops, because if I look at him—if I see that rare crack in his armor—I might do something stupid.
