Page 3 of Holly Jolly Heat
The dark-haired man said , "Lucas, let her go?—"
The blonde, closer than the others, called out, "Omega, wait?—"
But I was already running, pushing through the Thursday morning market crowd like my life depended on it. My heart hammered. My scent, peppermint and winter pine, sharp with distress, flooded out despite years of suppressant conditioning.
I could feel them behind me. Not following, they'd stopped, probably recognizing that chasing a frightened omega through a crowded market was exactly the wrong move, but I could feel their presence like a physical pull.
The bond trying to snap into place.
I didn't stop running until I reached my car three blocks away. I fumbled with my keys, hands shaking so badly I dropped them twice before getting the door open.
Safe in my Subaru, doors locked, I gripped the steering wheel and tried to remember how to breathe.
Three alphas.
A pack bond.
My newest client.
Because I'd recognized that sandy-haired, dimpled face. Lucas Morrison. CozyLuke. The wholesome gaming streamer I'd signed just a few months ago, whose channel I'd been managing remotely, whose producer I'd been emailing with for six months.
"Oh god," I said to my empty car. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."
My phone buzzed. A text from Mom.Don't forget the ornament! I want the blue one with the snowflakes!
I looked at the market, still visible through my windshield. Looked at the time—9:47 AM. I had thirteen minutes to get across town for my video call.
With Lucas.
With my mate.
With one-third of the pack bond that was currently trying to claw its way through my chest and drag me back to them.
I put the car in drive and pulled into traffic, leaving Pike Place Market and three alphas and my entire world tilting on its axis behind me.
My phone buzzed again.
An email notification. From Rowan Park, CozyLuke's producer. The one I'd been corresponding with for months. The one whose dry humor and competent efficiency I'd actually come to enjoy.
The one whose hands had been on my shoulders.
The one who'd said "You" like he'd been waiting his whole life to find me.
I didn't open the email.
I drove.
And tried very hard not to think about cedar and vanilla and spruce and woodsmoke and leather and bergamot, all tangled together in my senses like they'd been waiting there all along.
The video callat ten was torture.
I'd made it back to my apartment with two minutes to spare, just enough time to throw on a blazer over my coffee-stained blouse and pray the camera angle hid the mess. My hands were still shaking as I clicked into the meeting.
Lucas's face filled my screen, and my omega keened.
"Michelle! Hi!" His smile was sunshine bright, those dimples on full display. "Thanks for making time. I know you're dealing with family stuff."
Family stuff. Right. The lie I'd told to explain why I needed to work remotely for the next few days while I got my suppressants stabilized and figured out what the hell I was going to do about the fact that I'd just met my fated mates.
