Page 138 of Pack Plus One

The meteors come right on schedule, streaking across the sky as Mason names constellations in that low, steady voice. When I shiver, his arms tighten instinctively. “Cold?”

“Just perfect,” I murmur, leaning back into his warmth. His responding hum vibrates through me.

Later, at my door, he hesitates. That’s when I understand. For all his quiet confidence, this matters to him. My fingers find his collar, pulling him down into a kiss that starts soft but deepens when his control slips just enough to let me feel the hunger beneath.

“Goodnight, Mason,” I whisper against his lips.

His thumb brushes my cheekbone, his breathing not quite even. “Sleep well, Leah.”

As he turns to leave, I can’t resist adding, “Tell Caleb I’m looking forward to his turn.”

Mason’s lips quirk in that almost-smile he does. “I believe he’s already aware. Quite aware.”

The anticipation that statement sends coursing through me carries me all the way to sleep, dreams filled with stars and careful hands and the promise of what tomorrow might bring.

When Caleb texts “Meet me at the brewery’s private gym. 7 pm,” I stare at my phone like it might explain this abrupt invitation. No greeting, no context. Just time and place in his typical no-nonsense style. After Jude’s playful karaoke night and Mason’s thoughtful market tour, I’d expected something... different from our head alpha.

The brewery parking lot is nearly empty when I arrive, just a few security lights glowing against the brick exterior. I’m buzzing the intercom when the side door swings open, revealing Caleb in his usual uniform of dark jeans and a black t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. His hair is slightly damp, thescent of soap and his signature dark chocolate espresso scent wrapping around me as he steps aside to let me in.

“You came,” he says, approval evident in his tone.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at his presence. “You didn’t give me much choice. Your text was very... commanding.”

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And yet, you’re here.”

“Curiosity,” I explain, gesturing around the empty gym. “Though I have to say, this isn’t what I expected for a date.”

“What did you expect?”

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “I don’t know. Dinner? A movie? Some traditional alpha display of wealth and status?”

He snorts, moving farther inside with a predatory grace that makes my omega instincts sit up and take notice. “Not my style.”

“So what is your style?” I ask, following him cautiously.

He turns to face me, his expression serious. “Protection.”

The single word hangs between us, loaded with meaning. I blink, trying to process the implications. “I don’t need a bodyguard, Caleb.”

“Not a bodyguard,” he corrects. Caleb leads me down a hallway I’ve never noticed before, stopping at an unmarked door. “Our training space,” he says simply, pushing it open.

The gym is nothing like the commercial fitness centers I’ve seen. No mirrored walls or pink dumbbells - just polished concrete floors, serious-looking equipment, and an open mat area that takes up half the room. The air smells faintly of lemon cleaner and the musk of hard work.

I turn in a slow circle, taking it in. Understanding dawns. “You want to teach me self-defense.”

He nods, watching my reaction carefully. “Is that acceptable? You know, before you decide.”

“Decide what?”

His green eyes lock onto mine. “If we’re worth keeping.”

I blink at him. Here is an alpha who could easily overpower me, who society would say has every right to protect me as he sees fit, asking for my consent to teach me to protect myself.

“Yes,” I say, stepping onto the mats. “Show me.”

What follows is two hours of the most intensive physical training I’ve ever experienced. Caleb is a demanding instructor, but his criticism is constructive, his demonstrations careful despite the strength I know he’s holding in check. He shows me how to break various holds, how to use an attacker’s weight against them, how to identify and target vulnerable areas on a larger opponent.

“Again,” he says after I fail to execute a particular escape move for the third time. “You’re overthinking it. Trust your instincts.”