Page 18 of Pack Frenzy
We drive in silence for a while, the kind that doesn’t need filling. The city’s fully behind us now—buildings giving way to scattered houses, then to nothing but trees and the occasional mailbox marking invisible driveways. Jess watches it all like she’s memorizing landmarks, escape routes, distances. I don’t blame her.
The road curves, taking us deeper, and I glance in the mirror to find her eyes already on mine. She’s been waiting for me to say something, I realize. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“One more thing,” I say. “If you ever need things to stop, you say ‘red.’ We stop. No debate. If you want to slow down,say ‘yellow.’ If you want more, say ‘green.’ Works for anything: conversation, touch, whatever.”
She blinks, processing. “Like traffic lights.” A pause. “So if I said ‘yellow’ right now, you’d back off with the questions?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Good to know.” She doesn’t say it, though. Keeps the card in her pocket. “And I’ll make sure later that you’re not all talk.”
Cassian’s smile widens. “She’s going to be trouble.”
“Much,” Eli adds.
Jess laughs again, soft and genuine. This time, I don’t bother hiding the smile that almost follows.
We drive, and the city fades behind us. Trees close in—tall pines, their green needles bright in the sunlight. The road curves toward home.
When the house finally comes into view, Jess sucks in a breath.
It’s not what she expected—I know by the way her fingers loosen on the seatbelt. Dark timber and river stone, two stories of architecture built into the hillside like it grew there. Wide porch wrapping three sides, glass that catches the sun and throws it back in shards of gold. Built to outlast storms, yes. But also built to be a home, not a fortress.
“You built this?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or Cassian.
“Designed it,” I say.
“I built it,” Cassian adds. “Every board, every stone.”
“And I decorated it and made it livable,” Eli finishes, smirking. “Because left to these two, it’d be concrete and protein powder.”
She chuckles. “Well, it looks amazing from here. I bet the inside is even better.”
The gravel drive crunches under the tires. Jess’s shoulders ease, just barely.
Cassian exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the parking lot.
Eli’s hand drifts toward the center console, a quiet reflex. His knuckles brush mine before he pulls back.
We don’t look at each other, but the connection is there, unspoken.
“Welcome home,” I say.
Jess stares out the window. “Ninety days,” she murmurs, like she’s reminding herself it’s not forever.
“Three months,” I say. “Let’s make them count.”
CHAPTER 5
JESS
Crossing into their space makes something twist low in my gut.
I’ve got that suppressant shot ticking in my system—eight to ten weeks, supposedly—but biology doesn’t exactly follow the rules, and neither do people.
What if it hits early?
What if all their careful promises crumble the second my scent changes?
