Page 106 of Pack Me Up

She nods, quickly, so I reach up to her kitchenette and grab the bottle there. I hand it over, careful not to brush her fingers. She takes a gulp, then another, the sound of her swallowing weirdly loud in the tiny space.

She drinks, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. When she hands the bottle back, I take it, but don’t let go right away. Neither does she. We just… hold it, suspended, this dumb little tug of war that means nothing and everything at the same time.

“Was it-” I start, but she cuts me off.

“My dad,” she says, like it’s a confession. “And my mom. They… It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” I say with conviction. She needs to know her feelings are valid. Things have gotten worse for her since she heard they died.

She hunches in, smaller than I’ve ever seen her. “It’s just, every time I think I’m over it, it’s like… they’re there. I can’t get away even though I have, permanently.”

I get that, more than she knows. “You’re away now,” I tell her. “Nobody can get you here. Not unless they’re, like, a giant spider, but even then I would face my fears for you.”

She snorts, a half-laugh, half-sob. “You’re such a dumbass,” she says, but her voice is steadier.

She drinks again, slower this time. The panic is draining out, replaced by something raw and tired. She wipes her face again, and I notice a red mark on her cheek, the shape of her own nail. She must have clawed herself in the dream.

I decide to be the mate she deserves and ask, “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

She nods. Her breathing is almost normal. The smell of fear is fading, replaced by the softer, warmer scent of chocolate under the toffee.

The other alphas are still out or pretending to be, but Fox shifts in the nest, rolls over, and lets out a little snore. Saint hasn’t moved, but I bet he’s awake. He never misses a thing. The twins are the only ones really gone, sunk into their own dreams.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, knowing she doesn’t.

She shakes her head. “No. Just… Could you stay, maybe? Just for a bit.”

“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it.

I slide in next to her, pulling her close and resting her head on my chest. Her hair falls across my chest, and her scent hits again, making my heart jump.

She leans, I lean, and suddenly she’s pressed into my side, cheek against my shoulder, hand fisted in the fabric of my t-shirt. She’s so small like this, curled in, but so tense.

When she looks up, I realize how close I am, with my face barely a foot from hers. I should pull back, give her space, but instead I stay right there.

My brain short-circuits. Every alarm in my body is going off. I want to hold her, to be the wall between her and everythingthat hurts, but I don’t want to overdo it. If I grab too tight, she might panic.

I settle for an awkward, one-armed wrap. My palm lands on her back, right between the shoulder blades. She shudders at first, then settles, a little at a time.

She breathes in, slow and steady. I can feel the rise and fall against my chest, her pulse flickering in her neck. My own heart is hammering, way too fast for the situation, but I try to ignore it.

We stay like that for a while, not moving. I watch the window, the blurred shapes of roadside signs and rest stops as they slide by in the dark. I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact, every shiver and sigh.

Then it happens: I start purring. Not on purpose, but the low, vibrating rumble just slips out of me. At first, it’s barely audible, just a background hum, but then Brittney shifts, nuzzles closer, and the sound ramps up, a steady, soothing thrum that’s half human, half animal.

She freezes, just for a second, then laughs. A real laugh, not scared or embarrassed. “Are you… purring?”

I want to die. “Uh. Maybe?”

She smiles again, softer now. “I like it. It’s comforting.”

I keep purring, and she keeps listening. I would purr for her forever if it helps her like this.

My alpha settles, enjoying the comfort of his omega.

After a while, I feel her breathing even out. Her body goes heavy against mine. She’s finally asleep for real, the scent of fear gone, replaced by something sweet and warm and safe.

I stay there, holding her, purring, until my own eyes start to close.