Page 24 of Pack Plus One

And he’s a genius. If we worked with her…then we could see her again. And again. Because as the minutes turn into hours, it’s becoming increasingly clear that time’s moving too fast. This evening is going by too quickly.

I watch how she interacts with my packmates. I’ve never met an omega who can match Jude’s energy without letting him dominate the conversation. She listens to Liam with genuine interest, asking follow-up questions that show she’s really engaging with his ideas. Even Mason. He’s always reserved with strangers, and yet he’s engrossed with her, offering quiet comments that make her laugh.

It’s... easy. Too easy to imagine her as a real part of our group. To forget that this is all pretend.

The DJ’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the bouquet toss! All eligible singles, please make your way to the dance floor.”

Jude nudges Leah. “You’re up.”

She shakes her head. “No way.”

“Come on,” he insists. “It’s tradition.”

“A stupid tradition,” she mutters, but Jude’s already pulling her to her feet.

“Consider it part of your revenge,” Mason says quietly. “Show him you’re moving on.”

I watch as she reluctantly joins the small cluster of betas and omegas. She hangs at the back, clearly hoping to avoidparticipation while technically participating. The bride turns her back to the crowd, bouquet clutched in her manicured hands.

One. Two. Three.

The bouquet sails through the air in a perfect arc—directly toward Leah. She reflexively reaches up, her eyes widening in horror as the flowers land squarely in her hands. A spotlight finds her instantly.

The guests cheer. Eric’s face darkens. Jude whoops loudly from our table, and I can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across my face as she makes her way back to us, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t,” she warns as she sits down, tossing the bouquet onto the table like it’s radioactive. “Not one word.”

She glares at all of us as we chuckle, but there’s no real anger in it. And that little pout on her lips…it does something to me. Makes my mouth go dry. Makes me wonder what those soft lips would taste like if I leaned across the table right now and claimed them.

Her pulse jumps at her throat when our eyes lock, and I know she can feel it too—this current humming between us, getting stronger by the minute. She breaks first, looking down at her napkin, but not before I catch the slight tremble in her fingers as she reaches for her water glass.

The toasts begin next. The maid of honor goes first, delivering a speech that’s equal parts sentimental and embarrassing for the bride. The best man follows with a series of inside jokes that fall flat for most of the room.

Then Eric stands, champagne flute in hand, and my attention sharpens.

“I want to thank everyone for coming today,” he begins, his gaze sweeping the room. “Finding your pack—finding the people who complete you—is life’s greatest adventure.”

Beside me, Leah’s scent shifts, a subtle note of distress breaking through the scent blocker she’s wearing.

“To those who’ve found their pack,” Eric continues, his gaze finally settling on our table, on Leah specifically. “And to those... still searching.”

The barb is unmistakable. I feel Leah tense beside me, her knuckles tightening around her champagne flute enough that she might break the thing.

That. Fucker.

Instinct takes over. I don’t think. I move.

My hand closes over Leah’s nape, barely squeezing—just enough pressure to make her gasp. My thumb strokes the vulnerable skin behind her ear as I lean down, lips brushing the shell of it.

“Watch,” I rumble.

Then I drag my teeth over the soft skin of her neck.Rightwhere I would mark her.

Not a bite. Not even close. But the threat—the promise—hangs in the air as my scent explodes across her skin.

The room goes silent. A glass shatters. Someone screams. Eric’s chair screeches back as he stands so fast it topples.

Leah is motionless against me, her breath coming in shallow pants.