Page 52 of Pack Frenzy
I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment, just enjoying the gentleness of it. When I open them again, Rowan places a soft kiss over my lips.
“Let’s go tell Cassian what happened before he figures it out himself. Together we can figure out what the hell to do next.”
We dress and Rowan tucks his shirt into his slacks. The sight of him like this, casual, almost domestic, flutters in my chest. It’s a stark contrast to the primal energy that was coursing between us just moments ago.
At the door, I hesitate. “Rowan… if she starts to slip into pre-heat, we need to know. You know how Nexus handles cases like this. We can’t let that happen.” They could either place her in another pack or have her stay here forever and hate us. Especially if she’s going into heat soon.
Toward me, his eyes flick. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I think the timing’s bad. The way she looked—flushed, unfocused—it’s close. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe days.”
His throat works, but he doesn’t answer.
“Keep your distance,” I add. “Let me handle the monitoring.”
“You think I’m the one she needs protection from.”
“I think you’re the one she’ll run to if she doesn’t know better.”
He huffs out a breath that’s half laugh, half surrender. “You always did have a way with words.”
“Yeah,” I say, hand on the doorknob. “And you always have a way of ignoring them.”
The hallway’s empty. No sign of Cassian and Jess’s door is closed, lights off. For a second, I stop there, listening—no movement, no sound but the low hum of the house.
It should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t.
Something’s shifting under our feet, slow but certain.
I’m supposed to help keep this pack balanced, but the first crack is forming down the middle.
Rowan thinks he can fight it. Jess thinks she can outrun it.
They’re both wrong.
Because biology doesn’t ask permission. And when it comes for them, it’s going to take all of us with it.
CHAPTER 13
CASSIAN
The house is too small for her scent. A week with her under this roof and it’s like the walls have started breathing her in.
Sweet like honey and vanilla left in summer sun mingled with jasmine. Warm like skin. It hits like a fist to the sternum every time I breathe—and I can’t stop breathing.
I make it as far as the porch before my jaw aches from clenching. Need air that doesn’t taste like her. Need distance before I do something fucking stupid. The door shuts behind me even though I want to slam it, but I don’t need any of them chasing me down.
So I eat up the yard in four long strides, straight into the trees.
The fresh air helps. Barely.
Branches snap under my boots. The ground’s still damp from the storm a few days ago, slick enough that I have to watch my footing. My thigh gives a dull throb along the old scar, the shark bite that always complains when the weather decides to hang around. Good. Gives me something to fight that isn’t this clawing thing under my ribs.
This is just biology. Has to be.
Biology explains the want. The magnetic pull that makes my skin feel too tight. The way my hands remember the curve of her from that morning she came to wake me, when I was half-asleep and she ended up in my bed, under me, close enough that instinct overrode sense.
I shove the thought out before it grows roots.
