Page 154 of Pack Frenzy
“Sleep, Jess,” I murmur, so quiet it’s just for her and the walls. “I’ve got you.”
My eyes burn like I’ve been staring into a welding torch too long. My body finally starts to give up the fight and sink.
Outside this room, there’s Blake. There’s Nexus. There’s a whole list of problems waiting to test what I just decided.
Let them.
I tighten my hold on Jess, on my pack, and let the dark pull me under with them. Already planning what I’ll build—and what I’ll tear down—to keep her safe.
CHAPTER 37
ROWAN
Everyone’s still out cold. Jess barely surfaced yesterday long enough to inhale Eli’s chili before disappearing back under the blankets. Can’t blame her—the heat took everything out of her. Out of all of us.
I should be sleeping too. My eyes burn. My shoulders ache. But every time I close them, I see Blake’s face at the anime convention, and sleep stops being an option.
So I’m here. Hunting.
The cursor blinks like a pulse I can’t shut off.
Another frame loads—grainy, blue-washed, useless. Eli’s files sprawl across the screen: screenshots, clipped reports, archived posts that reek of money and silence. Blake’s “shark attack.” His father’s sanitized press releases. Same bullshit headline everywhere:Local CEO’s son survives freak shark encounter off Pacific coast.
Right. Shark.
Except sharks don’t leave four clean slashes across a man’s chest and face. Evenly spaced. Parallel. The kind of marks you get when someone rakes their nails down your skin while fighting for their life.
Someone did that to him.
Someone fought back.
I zoom in on the crew photo and pick out the twelve female faces, all accounted for. Eli already tracked every single one—alive, employed, no red flags. Which means either Blake’s daddy paid someone off, or the person who clawed him up never made it off that ship.
That thought sits heavy in my chest, lead-weight and suffocating. If Blake hurt someone else—if he killed again—then I didn’t just miss it. I failed to stop it. Another woman paid the price for my doubt.
An image of Meredith flashes behind my eyes—her laugh, her blood, the way I convinced myself it wasn’t murder. That maybe it really was an accident. That the trial failing meant I had to let it go.
I drag a hand over my mouth, jaw tight. I should’ve known better. For years, I told myself Meredith’s death was an accident—that the court got it right, that maybe he just panicked. But looking at these wounds, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve been lying to myself. Blake’s not unlucky. He’s dangerous. And I let him walk away.
But all of the crew’s accounted for. The passengers? Eli’s still fighting to get that manifest—cruise lines don’t exactly hand over data to rogue ex-hackers. So I’m left staring at these four lines carved into Blake’s face, his chest, wondering who left them.
Wondering if they’re still breathing.
I lean back, rolling the tension out of my neck. Two possibilities: hush money or a body buried somewhere cold and deep. Either way, someone on that cruise knew what he really is.
And if they’re still out there, they might be the only one who knows the truth.
A few minutes later, there’s a creak down the hall. Cassian rounds the corner shirtless, hair wrecked from sleep. His scent hits—amber and leather with hints of black pepper spiking, restless. I register it without thinking, the old instinct to read my pack kicking in.
“You’re still up?” His voice is rough, gravelly, and static.
I don’t look away from the screen. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He grunts—the kind of sound that sayssame—and drops onto the couch across from me. The leather sighs under his weight.
“You find anything?”
“Nothing solid. Just lies stacked on better PR.”
