Page 31 of Pack Me Up

At the end of the last song, there’s a pause, and then the room explodes with applause from Hunter. It feels like he’s seeing me for the first time.

Tommy jumps up and pulls me into a bone-cracking, genuine hug. “We crushed it!”

I hug him back, hard.

He grins. “I’m gonna run, before Saint puts me to work moving furniture or something. Text me what time you want to practice tomorrow?”

“I will,” I say, and he salutes, then vanishes up the stairs, doughnut in hand and voice echoing behind him.

And then it’s just me and Hunter alone.

He doesn’t move. I feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of it, pressing into every place my skin is bare. My mouth is dry, and I try to fill the silence, but my voice comes out too loud.

“You didn’t hate it?”

He snorts, and the sound is warmer than I expect. “I love watching you make music,” he says, voice low and rough at the edges. “It’s like… seeing the real you. Before I ever knew you were my scent match, I watched the video of your showcase over and over. I was obsessed.”

I don’t know what to say, so I laugh, too sharply. “What’s the fake me?”

He walks forward, slow, closing the space between us one long step at a time. His head is tipped down, curls wild, and eyes bright.

“I don’t think there is a fake you,” he says. “I just think you’re so used to hiding, you forget you don’t have to.”

The words hit like a punch and a hug at the same time. I look away, blinking too fast.

Hunter reaches up, gently, and tugs a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. I can feel every heartbeat, every shift of breath, like I’ve been wired to the same circuit.

He waits, patient, until I look at him. Then, so quiet I almost miss it, he says, “Can I kiss you?”

I nod before I even know I’m doing it.

The kiss is soft at first, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he presses too hard. But I don’t vanish. I lean in, greedy, and his hand slides into my hair, holding me in place. He tastes like peppermint, a burn of desire, and promise.

When the kiss breaks, he doesn’t let me go. Our foreheads rest together, breaths tangled. I laugh, a little giddy. “An omega could get used to this.”

He grins, wide and bright. “I want you to.”

I kiss him again, rougher this time, and tackle us to the ground. He pulls me down into his lap, arms wrapping around my waist. My hands find his shoulders, the line of his neck, thepulse hammering there. I bite his lower lip and he groans, a sound so honest and raw it makes my body sing.

I bury my face in his neck, dizzy from the scent of him, the warmth, and the pure rightness of the moment.

I don’t want to run.

I want to stay.

And so I do, breathing in the smell of the pack, the echo of music still ringing in the walls, and the promise of the future.

Brittney

PACK EM UP GOSSIP COLUMN

BRITTNEY RYAN SEEN WITH MYSTERIOUS ALPHAS

April 23rd

Iwalk into the towering building with Hunter by my side. He escorted me to their office building today for a meeting with everyone about the security for the tour.

“I miss your scent,” Hunter tells me as we get into the elevator.