Page 72 of Pack Frenzy
Rowan buys me a hot chocolate I don’t ask for and doesn’t make a production of giving it to me. Eli drapes his sweatshirt over my shoulders when the air sharpens, and it smells like him—something warm and slightly spicy that makes me feel safe. Cassian carries the shark like it weighs nothing, adjusting his grip whenever it blocks my view, until my laugh comes back easy and genuine.
By the time we hike back home, I’m exhausted—wrung out in the best way. Tired of feeling things instead of running from them.
“Tonight was—” I start, then stop. I don’t have words big enough.
“Yeah,” Rowan says, and somehow that’s enough.
I’m not bracing anymore.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.
CHAPTER 17
JESS
The cabin porch light throws a soft cone onto the steps. Eli holds the door for us.
Night two in this rental, and it already feels like a second home, not because of the walls, but because of Eli, Cassian, and Rowan.
Home shouldn’t be three near-strangers and sea air, but the tension I smuggled from the city has started to dissolve like the space between heartbeats when you realize you’re not alone anymore. And I’m not sure if that terrifies me or excites me.
Inside, the heater buzzes. My bedroom is the smallest room off the hallway, but I love it mostly because the window faces the bay and the bedspread is the least offended-looking. Except even though I’m tired from several hours at the fair, I’m not sleepy yet.
On the mantel, I spot a paperback I hadn’t noticed before, dog-eared and swollen from someone reading it in a bath. I tuck myself into the armchair, hoodie covering me to my knees, hair still smelling faintly of the bay, and sink into chapter three where the detective swears he’ll never fall for the witness and then immediately does.
I should probably put this down, but I’m already halfway done with no good explanation for why I keep turning pages. Both in the book and in this cabin that smells like cedar and the ocean and three Alphas who look at me like I belong with them.
Footsteps pass my door. Cassian leans in the frame, towel slung over one shoulder, dirty blond hair damp and dark at the ends.
His scent carries amber and pepper and curls through me until my next breath trips, like my body’s forgotten what comes after wanting.
It’s the same reaction I had to Rowan yesterday, to Eli the day before that, and I’m starting to realize I’m not reacting to three different men. I’m reacting to the terrifying possibility that all three of them could be mine. That my biology isn’t confused—it’s heartbreakingly certain.
“Where are you going?” I ask, marking my page with a finger.
“For a swim.” His grin tilts, slow and trouble. “Care to join me?”
A dozen reasons not to flicker through: it’s cold, it’s late, it’s a bad idea. Every therapist I’ve ever seen would have notes. I’ve survived by being careful, by never wanting too much, yet deep inside me is screaming abort, retreat, safe ground.
But the pull in my chest yawns wide and asks a question that sounds dangerously like hope:What if wanting doesn’t mean breaking?Because every time I’ve wanted something, it’s cost me pieces I couldn’t grow back.
“Okay,” I hear myself say, and it’s stepping off a cliff. “Give me two minutes.”
I quickly dress in the teal swimsuit Eli bought me and grab a towel. There’s no sign of Eli or Rowan but in case they’re sleeping or together, I don’t want to disturb them. Cassian is on the porch, waiting for me, and I’m not going to lie and say seeing him in a Speedo doesn’t make me drool.
The moon is a thumbnail scratch on black canvas. The bay stretches out dark as metal, stars scattered across the surface like someone knocked over a jar of light.
I should not be doing this.
The thought follows me down the sandy path, but my feet keep moving anyway.
A cold prickle hits my ankle—just the Nexus monitor catching the wind—and I’m absurdly grateful the damn thing’s waterproof. The last thing I need is it shorting out and alerting Nexus mid-swim.
I came here to get space from all of them—from Rowan’s mouth that made me want more, from the way their voices fill every room, from needing all of it too much. Salt, cold, quiet. A reset.
Except I’m following Cassian to the water’s edge instead of staying safely in my room, so yes, I’m thriving at this ‘space’ thing.
Cassian’s already at the edge, ankle-deep, testing the water with a sharp inhale that I hear from six feet back.
