Page 105 of Pack Plus One

Liam, ever practical, leans in to press his ear against the wood. “I don’t hear any movement. No water running, no footsteps.”

“Could she be sleeping?” I suggest hopefully.

“With this racket?” Mason asks skeptically. “Unlikely.”

Caleb’s scent spikes with genuine alarm. “What if she’s hurt? What if she collapsed from post-heat exhaustion?”

The thought sends a chill through all of us. Omegas can experience severe fatigue and even medical complications after an intense heat, especially if they’re not properly cared for during recovery. And Leah, stubborn as she is, would absolutely push herself too hard rather than admit weakness.

“That’s it,” Caleb decides, stepping back to presumably kick the door down in the name of omega safety.

“Wait!” Liam grabs his arm. “Let me try the building manager first. Breaking down her door is only going to reinforce her belief that we don’t respect her independence.”

“I don’t care about her independence if she’s unconscious on the bathroom floor,” Caleb snarls, but he stands down, recognizing Liam’s point despite his instincts screaming at him to protect.

Liam pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts with efficient precision. “I have the building manager’s number from when we were here last time.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter. Leave it to Liam to collect potentially useful contact information at every opportunity.

He presses the phone to his ear, waiting through several rings before someone picks up. From his expression, whoever answered is not thrilled to be receiving a call at this hour.

“Mr. Reynolds? This is Dr. Liam Le Roux. We met a few days ago regarding Miss Carter in 3B.” He pauses, listening. “Yes, I understand it’s early... No, I wouldn’t call if it weren’t an emergency... Yes, I’m aware of tenant privacy laws, but this is a potential medical situation.”

I’m impressed by how smoothly the lies roll off Liam’s tongue. Our normally straight-laced, rule-following alpha can be surprisingly devious when the situation calls for it.

“Miss Carter was experiencing some post-heat complications when we last saw her, and she’s not responding to knocks or calls... Yes, I understand your position, but as her treating physician, I’m concerned about her welfare.”

He pauses again, listening, then covers the phone with his hand. “He’s coming, but he’s not happy about it.”

“Did you just impersonate a doctor?” I ask. Ha, this is a delightful unexpected development.

Liam shrugs. “I am a doctor. Just not of medicine.”

“Brewing science doesn’t count, and you know it,” I counter, but I’m grinning despite the tension of the situation. It’s rare to see Liam bend the rules, and I’m kind of loving it.

We wait in the hallway, Caleb pacing like a caged predator, Mason checking and rechecking the contents of his first-aid kit, and me leaning against the wall trying to appear casual while my stomach ties itself in knots.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably closer to fifteen minutes, we hear footsteps on the stairs. The building manager, wearing flannel pajama pants and a wrinkled polo shirt, appears at the end of the hallway, looking like he wants to strangle us with a tie. Or possibly with the key ring he’s clutching like a weapon.

“You again?” He rubs his temples, the keys jingling as he gestures in exasperation. “I swear, if this is about you and her heat again?—”

Liam steps forward, deploying what I privately call his “Politely Concerned Boyfriend” face. It’s a devastating combination of earnest worry and urbane charm that has gotten us out of more tight spots than I can count.

“We just need to check if she’s home,” Liam says, his voice pitched to the perfect note of concern without desperation. “We’re worried about her.”

The manager’s expression softens slightly. “Fine. But if she’s not there, you’re out. And I’m not letting you in again without her explicit permission.”

He completes the short distance to Leah’s door, fumbling with his massive ring of keys. Each jingle feels like it takes an eternity, and Caleb’s barely suppressed growl isn’t helping matters.

“Do you mind?” The manager glares at Caleb. “Your alpha posturing isn’t making these keys any easier to sort through.”

“Sorry,” Mason offers smoothly, stepping between them. “We’re just concerned.”

“Concerned,” the manager mutters, finally selecting a brass key. “That’s what they all say. First it’s concern, then it’s territorial marking, and next thing you know I’m repainting the hallways because some alpha decided to punch through a wall.” He shoots a pointed look at Caleb’s bruised knuckles.

I bite back a laugh despite the tension. The guy’s not wrong.

“You know,” the manager continues as he jiggles the key in the lock, “I could lose my job for this. Tenant privacy is a thing. A legal thing. With lawsuits and fines.”