Page 117 of Found by the Pack

Her eyes lift to me, searching. “Do I have everything I need?”

I clear my throat, forcing myself to soften. “Yeah. Let’s go upstairs.”

She nods, and in that moment I know nothing will ever be the same.

Not after this.

“Bye, Gabe,” she says softly, her voice frayed but steady enough to cut through the silence.

I don’t say anything. I don’t even look back. I keep my hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the hallway and up the steps, every muscle in me buzzing with tension. My jaw is clenched so tight it aches.

By the time I shove the key into the lock and get the door open, my pulse is pounding in my throat. She walks in ahead of me, bare legs flashing under Shepard’s oversized T-shirt.

The scent of her heat follows her like a cloud, wrapping around me, needling at every raw edge I’ve been holding together since I first heard Scott’s name.

The door clicks shut behind us, and finally, it’s just the two of us. No Gabe. No Shepard. No excuses.

I study her. Really look.

Her lips are swollen. Bruised from kissing. And I don’t need to ask whose mouth left them that way—I can smell it on her. Gabe. Shepard. Their scent is threaded in with hers, marking her skin like fingerprints I can’t scrub off.

My gut twists.

She lifts her chin, meeting my stare. Gray-blue eyes stormy, unflinching. “Say something, Boone.”

I drag in a breath, but it sticks. My throat is thick with words I can’t force out. I don’t even know which truth to start with—the jealousy burning a hole through my chest, the hunger that’s beeneating me alive since she walked into my life, or the bone-deep fury that I wasn’t here when she needed me.

“I don’t know what to say.” My voice is rough, low, breaking at the edges.

She swallows. Her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s holding herself together by sheer force. “I asked them. It was me. I begged them for help.”

Her words lance through me, sharper than a blade.

My chest tightens, breath sawing in and out. “Do you want them?” The question scrapes out of me before I can stop it, raw and bitter.

Her eyes flicker. She steps closer, until her hand brushes against my wrist. The heat of her skin is a brand. “I want you.”

But the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.

“You didn’t answer me,” I say.

Her hands lift, burying into her hair. She looks wrecked—flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, damp strands clinging to her temples.

“Boone, I’m an Omega. I’m in heat. I’m needy, and I’ve been shared before. You know the question isn’t fair.”

“Do you want them?” I repeat, every syllable a nail driven into me.

Her lips part. The pause is brutal. “Maybe.”

The word is quiet. Small. But it detonates in my chest like dynamite.

I stagger back a step, raking a hand through my hair. Jealousy claws up my throat, hot and sour. I’ve never shared a woman in my life. Not once. Not in high school, not in college, not in the years since. I’ve never had to. Because when I’m with someone, she’s mine.

And now—Sadie. This Omega with pink-streaked hair and storm eyes. This woman who makes me want things I’ve neverdared to want. She’s standing here telling me she might want more than me.

The thought guts me.

I grip the wall behind me, trying to ground myself, but my body doesn’t care about reason or fairness. All it cares about is her. Her scent. Her heat. The way her pupils are blown wide, her chest rising and falling too fast.