Page 91 of Pack Frenzy
For a long minute—ten, maybe twenty—I’m stitched to this place, to these men, by something that isn’t fear or duty. It’s simpler. Messier. The kind of wanting that used to terrify me, because wanting meant giving someone power to leave.
Cassian said I’d fall. He wasn’t wrong. I fell a dozen times in that water today. But I also stood. Shaking, terrified—and doing it anyway.
And tonight I fell again. Into their hands, their mouths, their steady presence. Let them catch me without shattering.
The waves hush in, hush out. Salt and smoke and sugar linger on my tongue. Their scents tangle with mine—sandalwood and rain, bergamot and clean linen, leather and black pepper—saturating the air until I can’t tell where they end and I begin. And I don’t flinch from it.
I just let it be.
Let this moment claim me by the weight of three pairs of eyes that see all my jagged edges and want me anyway. By the terrifying, exhilarating truth that I kissed each of them—while the otherswatched—and the world didn’t end. It cracked open instead, spilling light into all the dark places I’ve been hiding.
Dad taught me that wanting is weakness. That needing someone gives them power to destroy you.
But sitting here—lips bruised, heart open, surrounded by Alphas who they touch me like I’m special, and not because I’m an Omega—I’m learning a different lesson:
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is fall. And trust that you’ll be caught.
CHAPTER 21
JESS
The next morning, thunder throws the first punch. So much for the beach. I burrow under the covers, not quite wanting to wake up yet, but my stomach is demanding to be fed.
So I shower and throw on a pair of denim shorts and a flowered crop top. I brush my damp hair in a ponytail and head into the kitchen. There’s no one around and I do a doubletake at the time. But nope, it’s nine a.m. and I’m surprised Eli isn’t cooking up a storm.
So I raid the fridge, finding a leftover sandwich from yesterday and apple slices. While the coffee percolates, I eat.
Wind howls down from the bay, tugging at the eaves, rattling the deck chairs like they’re gossiping.
I hurry out barefoot, wincing as cold rain pelts my shoulders, and grab Churro before the storm can swallow him whole. The stuffed penguin’s felt beak drips saltwater, and my plush shark lounges beside the door as if he knew I’d come.
My chest tightens—ridiculous how even these stuffed things feel like proof that I belong somewhere.
Back inside, I place mine and Eli’s stuffed animals on a towel on my bed. If Churro’s still wet, I’ll toss him in the dryer.
I head back to the kitchen. Part of me debates going and waking them up. Except I remember last time I went to wake up Cassian—how he grabbed me, pulled me under him, the weight of his body pinning mine. My face flushes hot at the memory, and something low in my belly clenches.
Rain needles the windows, and thunder rolls over the roof like a bulldozer. There aren’t any other paperbacks, so I pull the crossword puzzle book that Eli got Rowan at one of the stores when we were souvenir shopping.
5 Across: Talk trash to.Taunt.Easy.
4 Down: Pillowy. Hmmm…soft.
I take a sip of my coffee.
9 Across: Under pressure. I tap my nails on the table, thinking. Instant Pot is too many letters. Oh.Steam.
12 Down: Keeps things warm.
Dang, no wonder Rowan is obsessed with these. Totally addicted now to figure out what these clues are for. Okay, Keep things warm? Microwave? Nope. Stove and oven are too short. Fire…fireplace?
Body heat.
I snort into my mug. Yeah, that’s Eli’s contribution for Rowan.
“Stealing Rowan’s crossword book? Bold move,” Cassian clicks his tongue as he leans in the doorway, a smirk sliding over his mouth. His shirt hangs half-buttoned, revealing the lean lines of muscle I’ve been trying not to stare at for weeks. His dirty blond hair curls at the ends, and there’s something in his expression that makes my stomach flip—heat and humor tangled together.
“You know, most people keep their stuffed guysoffthe bed. Makes the competition nervous.”
