Page 13 of Pack Frenzy
Good. She’s holding the line, finding her center instead of spiraling.
The guard places a plastic bag with her belongings, then a female guard follows her into a small changing room. I sign the clearance forms. Cassian signs next, his scrawl hard enough to cut paper. Eli signs with a flourish like always.
“Beta contact: Eli Mercado,” the clerk drones. “Primary Alpha contact: Rowan Hale.”
A few minutes later, Jess emerges, and the shift is immediate. Gone is the institutional victim. In khaki pants that ride low on her hips, a brown suede jacket worn soft at the elbows, and a gray crop top that shows golden skin—she looks like someone who chose this.
The set of her jaw says she’s done being handled. I wonder if she has any tan lines, then immediately feel like an ass for thinking it.
“Sign here that you agree to the terms of this temporary placement.” The guard pushes the paper toward her. “Do you understand the terms?”
“Yeah.” She signs the paper without hesitation.
Something tightens under my ribs in pride or warning, I can’t tell which.
At the final checkpoint, the scanner flashes red, and the guard reaches for the call button, but Eli’s already there, smooth as water over stone, quoting Nexus Code Section 7A—the one that lets a registered Beta authorize an Omega’s transfer without Nexus upper management’s approval.
“Section seven, subsection A,” he says evenly. “You’ve got a Beta signature on file—try it again.”
The guard hesitates, scans, and the screen flashes green.
Jess exhales, her whole body seems to deflate with relief, shoulders dropping, hand pressed briefly to her sternum like she’s checking her heart’s still there.
She turns to Eli, and when she whispers, “Thank you,” her fingers brush his sleeve. Barely. A ghost of contact.
His smile is small and genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and the bergamot in his scent blooms warmer, less sharp, more rounded, like sun-warmed wood instead of fresh-cut timber.
It’s the scent he gets when he’s pleased with himself, when he’s fixed something broken, and it winds through the antiseptic air like an invitation.
My own scent responds, sandalwood sweetening with rain-like undertones, and I have to look away because it’s the same smile that undoes me every time I see it, the same scent that makes me want things I shouldn’t want in a Nexus hallway.
The exit door hisses open, and the air outside smells of concrete, exhaust, and a hint of something green. Jess wobbles in the doorway like the floor’s shifting under her.
Eli’s earlier briefing wasn’t wrong about her not eating; she’s running on nothing but willpower.
Cassian’s hand twitches at his side, an instinct to steady her if she starts to fall, but she remains on her feet.
Outside, the SUV waits. Black, discreet, built for function. I take the driver’s seat.
Eli opens the back door and waits.
Jess slides into the middle seat… Close, but not cornered. Instinctive. Smart.
Cassian smirks. “Brave of you to do this.”
“Or stupid,” she mutters.
He grins wider. “Same thing sometimes.”
Her voice catches, half laugh, half challenge. It softens something sharp inside me. Eli climbs in beside her.
I turn forward and start the engine. Cassian takes shotgun, but his hand lingers on the door frame for a beat too long, knuckles white, before he forces himself into the front seat.
His jaw works once, grinding teeth, swallowing words. He’d rather sit with her, and the restraint costs him. But crowding an Omega too soon is dangerous.
Not for us, but for her. Nexus hit her with a suppressant on intake—eight to ten weeks of breathing room on paper. But nothing inside that place ever works the way it’s supposed to.
If it wears off early, if she hits heat before she trusts us or understands we won’t use it against her… that’s a problem. Even with consent, heat scrambles judgment. An Omega will say yes to anything just to stop the ache.
