Page 100 of Pack Plus One

Mason’s kiss is controlled yet somehow more intimate, like he’s memorizing me. His hands stay respectfully at my waist, but the intensity in his eyes when he pulls back makes me feel more exposed than if he’d touched me everywhere.

“Better?” I ask, slightly breathless.

“Much,” he says, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Though dinner might be delayed if we continue.”

I’ve adjusted, more or less. I steal Caleb’s sweaters because they’re warm and because it makes his pupils dilate in a deeply satisfying way. I tolerate Jude’s nonsense because sometimeshe makes me laugh so hard my sides hurt. I find myself drawn to Liam’s passionate intellect, the way his hands gesture animatedly when he explains something he loves, and how he reads aloud to me in that rich voice that makes even technical passages sound like poetry. And I’ve almost stopped flinching when Mason just appears silently at my elbow with exactly what I need before I’ve voiced the thought.

But I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Because this, whatever this is, can’t possibly last. Four gorgeous, successful males with a thriving business and a pack bond most people would kill for don’t just... keep random omegas they meet at weddings. Even ones they’ve helped through an unexpected heat.

Especially not independent, prickly omegas with commitment issues and a bakery dream still in the planning stages.

By late evening, I find myself curled on the couch with Jude and Liam while Caleb and Mason handle dinner. Some action movie plays on the screen, but I’m barely watching, too aware of the weight of Liam’s arm casually draped across the back of the couch behind me, close enough that I can feel his warmth. Jude’s head rests in my lap while he makes sarcastic commentary about the film’s plot holes.

“So,” Jude says during a lull in the explosions, “are we going to talk about how you’re still sleeping in Caleb’s room but not in the nest?”

I nearly choke on my water. “Excuse me?”

Liam shoots Jude a warning look, but Jude just grins, as usual. “What? It’s a valid question. The nest is literally designed for you, doll. State-of-the-art omega comfort. And you’re choosing Caleb’s boring bedroom instead.”

“Jude,” Liam says, his voice soft but with that alpha edge that makes even Jude pause. “Boundaries.”

“I’m just saying,” Jude continues, though with slightly less bravado, “the nest is like the best room in the house. Specially designed. All the good pillows. Alpha scents.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Fun memories.”

My face burns. “I know what a nest is, Jude.”

“Then why?—”

“Because it’s notmine,” I snap, the words escaping before I can think better of them. “It’s a heat nest. Built for... for that. Not for...” I gesture vaguely, unable to articulate the complex tangle of emotions the nest room evokes.

Jude’s expression softens suddenly. “Ah.”

“It could be yours,” Liam says quietly, and something in his tone makes me look up at him. His eyes are serious, intent in a way that steals my breath. “If you wanted it to be.”

The implication hangs in the air between us, too weighty to dismiss, too fragile to acknowledge directly.

Before I can respond, Mason calls from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready,” and the moment shatters.

We eat around the large dining table, the conversation carefully light, punctuated by Jude’s outrageous stories and Caleb’s occasional dry commentary. Normal. Easy. Safe.

But the undercurrent of something unsaid, something significant, runs beneath it all, making my skin prickle with awareness.

What do they want from me? What am I to them? The questions circle in my mind, growing louder with each passing hour, each gentle touch, each careful avoidance of anything too real.

By the time we finish clearing the dishes, I feel like I might crawl out of my skin if I don’t get a moment alone.

“I think I’m going to turn in early,” I announce, feigning a yawn. “Still recovering, you know.”

Four pairs of eyes turn to me with varying degrees of concern.

“Are you feeling alright?” Mason asks, his brow furrowing. “I can make you some tea.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, though with less edge than I might have used before. “Just tired.”

“I’ll walk you up,” Caleb says immediately, already rising from his chair.

Something in his eagerness—the constant attentiveness, the perfect care they’ve all shown—makes my chest tighten with a familiar anxiety. The memory of Eric’s voice slips into my mind:You’re not pack material, Leah. Too independent. Too stubborn. No alpha wants an omega who doesn’t know her place.