Page 10 of Pack Frenzy
The question should be simple. Yes or no. Freedom or a cage. But my tongue won’t move, because wanting something has never been safe. Not in my family. Not in my life. And definitely not here.
I open my mouth to force an answer when the second door swings open.
Two Alphas scents hit me like a physical force: sandalwood and rain on hot asphalt, amber and black pepper, warm leather that curls around my senses andsqueezes.
My Omega scent of jasmine and vanilla floods the air, desperate and bright and completely beyond my control. In response, Eli’s scent sharpens, crisp linen and bergamot cutting through the tension.
They step in like they own the oxygen, and I forget how to breathe.
CHAPTER 3
JESS
The first Alpha wears a charcoal tailored suit, jacket open, no tie, the easy confidence of someone who’s never had to tell anyone twice. His shirt is ice-white, cuffs neat, a simple steel watch riding his wrist. Storm-gray eyes, short dark hair combed clean, a small crescent scar tucked at his jaw.
When his scent of rain on hot asphalt, warm amber underneath, hits me, my lungs stutter. It’s the kind of scent that makes you want to tilt your head back andsubmit, and I hate that my body knows this before I can build a wall against it.
He’s the kind of Alpha who can empty a room with a look and doesn’t need to prove it. And right now, he’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solving.
The second is dressed for a different world: black field jacket, charcoal Henley, dark jeans, and motorcycle boots that have seen use. When he rolls his shoulders, the leather creaks that shouldn’t be intimate but somehow is, like I’m hearing something private.
His dirty-blond hair is a shade longer, pushed back with impatient fingers. His eyes are whiskey-dark and warmer than his partner’s, but no less assessing. He smells of leather andamber with black pepper flickering at the edges, a curl of warm leather that finds the soft parts of my mind and presses.
Even sitting, my knees go liquid. I press them together harder.
Eli doesn’t move to intercept. He just slides his tablet onto the table and goes very, very neutral.
My scent betrays me. Jasmine and vanilla bloom against my will, sugar-sweet and obvious, filling the small room like a neon sign screamingavailable Omega, come and get her.
Heat floods my face. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, using pain to keep from swooning in front of two Alphas who already smell like walking temptation is not an option. Even though my body’s already cast its vote.
“Jess Mancini,” Suit-and-Storm says in an even, cultured accent with that low Alpha resonance that vibrates in bone.
My name in his mouth does something to my Omega side that I don’t want to examine.
The other Alpha drifts a slow half-circle, close enough that heat reaches my back through the thin uniform. He inhales, and my whole body wants to lean back into that warmth even as my spine locks straight in defiance.
“Jasmine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His voice is rougher than his partner’s, textured. “Sweet…and stubborn.”
My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists on my thighs, nails biting into palms.
“Easy shoulders,” Eli says quietly, not unkind.
I force my shoulders down, uncurl my fists. Not because he’s in charge, but because I need the anchor. The plastic chair squeaks as I shift. My pulse is a wild thing in my throat, and I’m terrified they can hear it or worse, smell the fear mixing with the attraction I can’t suppress.
Suit-and-storm glances at Eli. “You said she would be interested in a temporary provision with us.”
“She chooses,” Eli replies.
Something like interest cuts through the Alpha’s composure. Field-jacket’s mouth curves like a dare more than a smile.
He steps where I can see him again and takes his time absorbing the answer I haven’t given. Up close, I catch the thread-fine mending at his jacket cuff, the faint soot stain no cleaner noticed. Real life on a man in a room built for performance.
“Per Nexus protocol,” Eli tips his chin at me. “Jessica Mancini is eligible for a ninety-day probationary placement if the pack agrees. Final decision pending mutual consent.”
Ninety days, three whole months. The number lands like a brick. My lungs forget how to work. Not forever. A trial. But what happens at the end of these three months if I fail? Iftheydecide I don’t fit or turn out to be abusive assholes?
“And if I say no?” The question comes out smaller than I want.
