Page 16 of Pack Frenzy
“Of course it’s good,” Cassian says. “I have impeccable taste.”
“You have expensive taste,” Eli corrects, stealing a dumpling before Cassian can stop him. “But everything here is good, or I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
We continue to eat, and I focus on the small motions of her. The way she licks a drop of sauce from her thumb, how she straightens the chopsticks when she’s finished with a roll, habit from someone who’s used to expensive places.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, unable to help myself. I should give her time to adjust to us, not drill her.
As she chews her sushi, she sets her chopsticks down again, buying herself time. “Just watching the hierarchy,” she says dryly, but her eyes take in Cassian first (the obvious threat), then me (the one actually in control), then Eli (the one everyone underestimates). “Calculating who bites first.”
She’s mapped us already. Knows exactly what she’s dealing with.
Eli hides a laugh behind his cup. “Some days, yeah.”
Cassian leans back, smirk tugging. “You volunteering, Omega?”
“That depends on the teeth,” she fires back, and there’s challenge in the curve of her mouth.
Eli clears his throat, pretending not to notice. “So, Jess. You already know what I do. When I’m not wrangling Omegas and Alphas at Nexus, I’m a foodie if you haven’t guessed already.”
She laughs. “Explains how you knew this place was so good.”
Cassian gestures toward him with his chopsticks. “He keeps us fed. Rowan keeps us out of jail. I build things when I’m not breaking them.”
“And you?” she asks me.
“Architecture,” I say. “Design and planning. I make sure what Cassian builds doesn’t collapse.”
“You’re the rules,” Jess says.
“I’m the framework,” I correct, and Eli snorts into his tea.
“Sounds useful.”
“Sometimes.”
We fall into a comfortable rhythm after that—passing plates, trading half-smiles, the quiet sound of chopsticks tapping porcelain. Jess leans her elbow on the table, hair sliding over her shoulder as she studies us like she’s cataloging risks and possibilities at the same time.
Her scent sweetens slightly. Content, but cautious. I take that as a win. I flag the waiter for more tea. Small things first; the rest takes time.
Cassian holds up one of the rolls with his chopsticks. "You haven't tried this one, Omega."
She leans forward slightly, into his space, not away from it, and plucks the roll from his chopsticks with her own. A claim, not a submission. "Jess."
Eli goes still. I watch Cassian war with himself—the part that refuses to get attached fighting the part that already is.
Instead of backing down, like most would, she keeps her gaze steady on his, waiting.
Since Meredith died, Cassian hasn't used an Omega's name. Not once in nine years.Sweetheart. Darling. Omega.Neutral words that didn't imply permanence. Didn't risk anything.
The one time I pushed back, asked why he wouldn't just call a woman by her actual name, he looked at me like I'd suggested we brand her.
"Because names mean something," he'd said. "And I'm not doing that again."
A few years after Meredith’s death, we tried to move on. Dated. Tried mixers. A few Omega apps. Met women through friends. Even a couple Betas who thought a mixed pack sounded exciting.
It never worked.
Some Omegas couldn't handle Cassian—too blunt, too much force. Others got nervous around me, mistaking quiet for danger. Some even tolerated Eli… right up until heat hit. Then instinct took over, and they wanted the Alphas and only the Alphas. Eli went from "sweet" to "irrelevant" in a heartbeat.
