Page 15 of Pack Frenzy
Eli points through the windshield. “There’s a café up ahead. Lots of variety. Good noodles.”
I signal, pulling into the small lot. The place smells like ginger and fried garlic even from the street. Late morning sun flashes off glass, too bright after the gray walls of Nexus.
Inside, voices, sizzling woks, and the clatter of plates fill the space.
Jess hesitates by the counter, her weight shifting foot to foot like she’s calculating exits. One hand drifts to her opposite elbow in protection, closing herself off. Torn between fight and flight, and right now flight’s winning.
“Order whatever you want,” I tell her, keeping my voice low and even.
Her eyes dart from the menu to my face, then back, pupils slightly dilated. “I don’t know which sushi rolls to get.” She swallows. “They all sound amazing.”
“Then we’ll start simple,” Cassian says, stepping beside her. “We’ll take one of everything.”
Eli shoots him a look. “You’re trying to kill her.”
Cassian’s grin is lazy. “What other way to know what she likes. Try a bit of everything.”
I hand over my card before they can start debating. “Add three specials. And teas.”
We sit by one of the windows in the corner, Cassian taking the spot where he can see the front door while I take the chair facing the emergency exit. Jess folds her hands in her lap, posture too careful as the waiter brings both teas and waters for each of us.
She looks from one of us to the next, curiosity winning over caution.
“So,” she says after a sip of tea, “how’d the three of you end up together? You don’t move like a pack that grew up out of the same system.”
Her tone’s light, but the question isn’t. She’s asking howwework.
She’s not prying for gossip; she’s measuring how tight our walls are before she decides if she wants inside them.
Cassian leans back, arm draped over the empty chair beside him. “Rowan and I served together. I got kicked out; he didn’t. Eli showed up later and made us stop trying to destroy each other.”
Eli snorts, tearing open a packet of sugar and dumping it into his tea. “That’s the short version. The long one involves a bar fight and a bad poker debt.”
“You lost,” Cassian says.
“I let you win,” Eli replies.
Jess grins into her tea. “So basically, trauma bonding.”
“Something like that,” I say. “We fit. Packs usually start that way—people who make each other a little less reckless or fill something that’s missing in ourselves.”
The waiter brings the first plates—bowls of noodles gleaming with oil, small plates of dumplings, sushi arranged like bright jewels. Jess’s eyes widen as the smell hits her.
She picks up the chopsticks and goes for a roll. Then she douses the sushi in soy sauce, adds a smear of wasabi, then ginger, and pops it into her mouth. A quiet sound slips from her throat—half sigh, half groan—and she covers her mouth with her hand, embarrassed.
Cassian’s jaw tightens. Eli’s scent spikes with protectiveness. And something in me shifts—quiet, dangerous, like a fault line giving way.
Watching her eat feels intrusive, so I look away and focus on my own plate, grip my chopsticks harder than necessary, anything to give her privacy.
But the sound of her soft sigh when flavor hits registers low in my gut, and my cock hardens. I force myself to take a drink, the tea bitter on my tongue, grounding.
“Better?” Eli asks, amused.
She nods quickly, chewing. “This tastes amazing.”
Cassian lifts a crispy tempura strip, taps it against the edge of her plate. “Try this one. You’ll thank me.”
Jess narrows her eyes but takes it, biting the corner. “All right, I admit—that’s good.”
