Page 10 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

LEAH

C aleb’s teeth graze my neck, and the world tilts.

It’s not a bite. It’s not even close. But the threat of it—the possessive rumble in his chest, the way his fingers tighten just enough at my nape to make my breath hitch—sends a shockwave through me.

My skin burns where his lips touch, and my pulse kicks so hard I’m certain the entire room can hear it.

Across the ballroom, Eric’s face twists into something ugly. His champagne flute slips from his fingers, shattering against the floor. The sound is swallowed by the sudden, deafening silence that falls over our section of the reception.

Then chaos erupts.

Gasps. Whispers. A server drops a tray of desserts. The bride—Melissa—whirls on Eric, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his arm as she hisses something in his ear.

And Caleb? He just leans back, smug as hell, his thumb stroking idle circles over the spot he’d just almost marked. His scent surrounds me completely, breaking through the blockers like they don’t even exist—dark chocolate and something deep and earthy that makes my knees weak.

Marked. Almost marked. In front of everyone.

Oh my God .

Jude whistles, low and impressed. “Well. That happened.”

Liam’s glass is frozen halfway to his lips. Mason’s eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline.

And me? I’m a live wire, every nerve ending screaming, caught somewhere between mortification and a dangerous, heady thrill that I absolutely should not be feeling for a man I met yesterday.

“You didn’t—” I whisper, voice strangled.

Caleb’s grin is all alpha satisfaction. “Had to.” His voice drops, rough and possessive against my ear. “He was looking at you like you’re still his.”

I’m going to kiss him. Or murder him. Or maybe both, in that order.

The bride’s shrill voice cuts through the murmurs. “Eric, sit down.”

Eric doesn’t sit. He’s still staring at us, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching. His packmates are glancing between him and Caleb like they’re waiting for a fight to break out.

Something wild and reckless flares in my chest. A part of me almost wants to see it—wants to watch Caleb put Eric in his place once and for all.

Caleb must sense it because his growl vibrates against my skin as he shifts closer, his arm sliding around my waist with a look that says, “Problem, groom?”

The challenge is unmistakable.

Eric’s nostrils flare. For a second, I think he might actually lunge across the room. But then Melissa yanks him back into his seat with a death grip, her smile strained as she raises her glass.

“To new beginnings,” she announces, voice dripping with forced cheer.

The guests awkwardly lift their glasses, casting furtive glances at our table.

Jude raises his empty champagne flute with a grin. “To drama.”

Liam sighs. Mason pinches the bridge of his nose.

And me? I’m still trying to remember how to breathe with Caleb’s scent wrapped around me like this, his hand at my waist, his lips still close enough to my ear that I can feel the warmth of his breath.

Caleb’s fingers flex against my hip, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of my dress. “You okay?”

No. I am absolutely not okay. I’ve gone from fake date to public scandal in less than twenty-four hours, and the worst part is, I can’t bring myself to regret a second of it.

“Peachy,” I lie, my voice two octaves too high.

His smirk says he doesn’t believe me.

“That was quite a statement,” Mason observes quietly, eyes darting between me and Caleb.

“I thought it was hot,” Jude offers helpfully.

Liam shoots him a look. “Not helping.”

“What? It was!” Jude protests, gesturing with his water glass. “Did you see his face? I’ve never seen someone turn that particular shade of purple before. Fascinating, really.”

“Should we... leave?” I ask, finding my voice at last. My pulse is still racing, and I’m acutely aware of every place Caleb is touching me—his hand at my waist, his thigh pressed against mine, the lingering ghost of his teeth on my neck.

“Not yet,” Caleb says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. “I need to make sure he got the message.”

“Trust me,” Mason says dryly, “ everyone got the message.”

Conversations around us have resumed, but I can feel eyes on us—curious, scandalized, envious. The weight of their attention should make me want to crawl under the table, but instead, I find myself sitting up straighter, almost leaning into Caleb’s touch.

What is wrong with me?

“Leah, dear!”

I slam back my drink as Eric’s mother barrels toward us again, all fake smiles and judgment, her floral dress practically screaming as loud as her opinions probably will.

“Such a…surprise,” she says, her gaze pointedly flicking to the spot on my neck where Caleb’s lips had been moments before. “I hadn’t realized how…close…you and the Le Roux pack had become.” The emphasis on “close” is heavy with insinuation.

“It’s recent,” I manage, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. I can’t believe she’s bringing this up again.

“Very recent,” Caleb adds smoothly, his thumb resuming its maddening circles against my hip. “But when you know, you know.” He gives Eric’s mother a charming smile that does nothing to soothe my nerves.

Mrs. Donovan’s smile tightens. “How…romantic,” she says. “And to think, just last night, you introduced them as…friends.”

My cheeks burn.

“Well,” she continues, clearly struggling to wrap her head around this mess. Fuck, I am too. “I’m very happy for you, dear. Your alpha is quite…attentive.” Her tone suggests she’d prefer the word “possessive.”

Is he ever.

“Thank you,” I say, because what else can I say? ‘He’s not actually my alpha, we just met yesterday in a case of mistaken identity, and this whole thing is an elaborate charade that’s rapidly spinning out of control’?

After she leaves, I turn to glare at Caleb. “Did you have to do that?” I hiss, keeping my voice low so only he can hear. “The ‘when you know, you know’ bit? And the constant touching? It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the smug alpha facade slips, revealing something more genuine—uncertainty, maybe even a touch of guilt. “No,” he says, and I think that’s the end of that. Until… “But I wanted to.”

Oh.

Oh .

The honesty in his voice disarms me completely.

“Just give me some warning next time,” I mutter, reaching for my water glass to hide the flush creeping up my cheeks.

Next time. As if there’s going to be a next time.

Caleb’s grin returns, slow and dangerous, and it does something to me. Something low in my stomach I really shouldn’t pay attention to. “I’ll pencil it into my calendar. ‘Tomorrow, 10 PM: Almost mark Leah again.’”

Despite everything, I laugh, even though my pulse is thrumming in my ears. “You’re impossible.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘charming,’” he counters, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a caress.

“Delusional,” I shoot back, but my voice sounds too breathless, and I can’t keep the smile from my face.

Before I can recover, Jude leans in closer on my other side, his freckled nose crinkling in mock indignation.

His hand brushes mine, skin against skin, and a ridiculous jolt of heat shoots through me.

“Charming? Delusional? I’m sitting right here, you know.

If we’re doing adjectives, I’m at least ‘devastatingly handsome.’”

“Devastatingly something,” I mutter, trying to sound unaffected, but my heart is racing. Jude is close enough that I can feel the faint heat of him, the teasing edge in his grin doing things to me it absolutely shouldn’t.

“Hey now,” Liam chimes in, his voice calm and velvety as he slides a fresh flute of champagne toward me. His fingers graze mine in the process, the touch sending a shiver up my spine. “Give Jude some credit. He’s doing his best to be tolerable tonight.”

Jude gasps in mock outrage, his knee pressing against mine as he shifts closer. “Tolerable? Tolerable ? You wound me, brother.”

“You’ll recover,” Liam says, though his lips curl in a way that makes me think he enjoys teasing Jude as much as I do.

The banter should calm me, but instead, it’s making my skin feel too tight, too aware of every small touch, every brush of warmth. I’m buzzing, heat pooling low in my belly, and I have no idea why.

This is ridiculous .

But then Caleb’s hand presses lightly against the small of my back, his thumb moving in a slow, absent-minded arc, and I realize I’m not imagining it. My body isn’t just reacting—I’m responding.

What the hell is wrong with me ?

Eric’s glances continue from across the room. At some point, I stop trying to track them. Every time I look in his direction, he’s watching us—watching me —and every time, his expression darkens a little more.

The pack seems to notice too, though they don’t comment on it anymore. Instead, they close ranks like it’s instinct, their touches becoming less guarded, more natural.

Jude drapes his arm along the back of my chair, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my shoulder. His touch lingers, warm and surprisingly gentle, and the light pressure sends a spark of heat racing through me.

“You’re lucky we’re here, you know,” he says, leaning in so close that his breath skims the shell of my ear. “This wedding would be so boring without us.”

“Lucky,” I repeat, my voice catching on the word. “That’s definitely the word I’d use.” My pulse is pounding now, my skin prickling under his touch.

Liam chuckles softly, his golden hair catching the light as he shifts closer. “He’s not wrong. You’d be stuck with stale cake and awkward small talk if we weren’t here.”