Page 137 of Pack Frenzy
It’s subtle at first—a whisper of warmth, a tingle at the back of my neck. I blame the hoodie. The blanket. Anything but what it really is.
But the heat keeps building, slow and sneaky. My thighs press together on instinct. My breath goes shallow. The pulse between my legs starts to match the one in my throat.
“Oh no,” I mutter into Churro’s felt wing. “No, no, not now.”
The penguin doesn’t answer, obviously. His beak pokes my chin like he’s disappointed in me.
I bury my face in Rowan’s hoodie again, trying to breathe through it, but the scent hits harder this time—deeper, sweeter, like the air itself is leaning closer.
The hoodie’s too hot now. Everything is. I shove it halfway off, then pull it back on because the loss of scent feels worse. My body can’t decide what it wants—heat or comfort, contact or space.
A drop of sweat slides down my spine. I twist, restless, the nest rustling around me. The pirate flag flops over my shoulder; one of the sharks tumbles into my lap. I clutch it like a lifeline.
“I’m fine,” I whisper to no one. “It’s just… hormones. Bad timing. I can handle?—”
A wave hits mid-sentence—liquid fire curling low in my stomach, rolling outward. My hips arch before I can stop them.
“Okay,” I breathe, voice shaking. “Maybe not fine.”
The air feels charged, electric. My scent’s changing—I canfeelit, taste it in the back of my throat, syrupy and sharp. My body hums with it, begging for something I’m too proud to name.
Every muscle aches for touch, for scent, for pack.
I drag the hoodie’s collar to my nose again and inhale like it’s oxygen. Rowan’s scent crashes through me, dragging up memories I shouldn’t think about—his hand on the small of my back, his voice rough when he called megood girl.
The ache deepens. I squeeze my thighs tighter, but it only makes it worse.
My body’s not asking anymore. It’sdeciding.
Somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks. Footsteps.
I freeze, breath caught. The scent in the room thickens instantly—mine, tangled with theirs from the fabric around me.
A low sound catches in my throat. Not a word. Not even human.
And then, just outside my door, a voice—low, rough, familiar:
“Jess?”
CHAPTER 34
ROWAN
The first thing that wakes me is her scent.
It cuts through sleep before I’m fully conscious—warm, sharp, wrong. Not her usual soft vanilla and jasmine, but something heavier, richer, the kind of scent that steals air and sense at once. It drags a sound out of my chest before I even open my eyes.
Fuck.
I sit up fast enough, and the blanket slides off. The air is thick with it now, coating the back of my throat. I know that scent. Every Alpha knows it.
Heat.
My body locks up—heart hammering, skin too tight, every muscle caught in a split-second war betweengo to heranddon’t you fucking move.
Except, I can’t not go to her. My mind’s shoutingdon’t,but instinct’s louder. I’m already on my feet, blanket forgotten, drawn by the pulse of her scent through the house—sweet, sharp, alive. Every step is a negotiation between logic and something ancient that doesn’t give a damn about logic.
Eli’s voice cuts from his room. “You smell it too?”
