Page 105 of Found by the Pack

And she is. No matter how much tension burns between me and Boone, no matter how fractured things have gotten with my brothers, Sadie is the one thing we all agree on. Protect her. Always.

Before I can think of what else to say, she stirs.

Her lashes flutter, her breathing quickens, and then she’s sitting up, the blanket falling to her lap. Her eyes are glassy, her cheeks flushed too bright.

“Where’s Boone?” Her voice cracks, urgent, raw.

Shepard leans in, steady. “He went to get something suppressants for you. He’ll be back soon.”

Her body shivers and I watch as understanding dawns on her. She shakes her head hard, hair sticking to her damp temples. “No. That’s impossible. I can’t— I can’t be in heat.” Her voice edges sharp with panic. “The meds keep it down. It’s not supposed to happen.”

Her breathing picks up, chest rising and falling too fast. Agitation bleeds from her pores, and the scent only sharpens, wrapping tighter around the room. I feel it dig under my skin, making my pulse spike, my jaw clench.

“Sadie.” I force my voice calm, the way I use on victims in shock. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

She stares at us, wild-eyed, like she’s searching for something solid to hold onto.

“Listen,” Shepard says, glasses catching the lamplight as he pushes them up again. “A cold shower can help. It won’t fix it, but it’ll cool you down, give you a break.”

She nods quickly, too quickly. “Okay. Yeah. Shower.”

Shepard rises, offering his hand, and I watch the way she grips it like it’s the only rope pulling her back from the edge. My stomach knots—not because I don’t trust him, but because I wish it was me she reached for. And I hate myself for it.

As they move toward the bedroom, I shift my weight, pressing the heel of my hand against my crotch. It’s involuntary, a shameful reflex I can’t stop.

My cock’s half-hard, not from desire I chose but from pheromones sinking their claws into me. The scent coils through every nerve, forcing reactions I don’t want. Disgust curdles in my gut. I hate myself for even noticing.

The door clicks shut behind them. I sit back on the couch, tea cooling in my grip. The minutes stretch long, broken only by the muffled sound of the shower turning on.

Shepard comes out after a few minutes, damp hair curling at his temple, tension radiating from every line of him. He leans against the doorframe, tugging his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s showering,” he says, voice low.

I nod. “Seems like you’ve got things under control. Maybe I should?—”

“Don’t.” His head snaps up, eyes sharp. “Don’t leave me like this.”

The edge in his voice makes me still. “Why?”

His mouth tightens, glasses dangling from his fingers. “Because I’m not sure how long I can keep it together, Gabe. Her need—” He swallows, shakes his head. “I don’t know how to resist.”

The honesty rattles me. Shepard never admits weakness.

Before I can respond, a sound slices through the air.

A moan. Loud.

Both of us freeze.

Another follows, softer but just as sharp.

My pulse lurches. Shepard’s fingers twitch against his glasses, the only tell of how close he is to unraveling. The air in the room feels heavier, hotter.

We don’t speak. We don’t need to. We both know what she’s doing in there, and neither of us wants to admit it out loud.

“I’ll call Boone,” Shepard mutters, dragging himself toward the kitchen, phone already in hand. His voice is rough, like he’s scraping it raw just to stay calm.

I stay rooted to the couch, mug forgotten in my grip. Every instinct screams at me to move, but my body refuses. My head pounds with guilt and heat and shame.