Page 23 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

LIAM

T he pack house was silent when we returned last night.

No jokes from Jude. No dry commentary from Mason. Even Caleb’s usual brooding takes on a sharper edge, his scent bitter with something dangerously close to shame.

I sit at the kitchen table until three AM, running the entire dinner over and over in my head.

We fucked up.

Not just the panty incident, or the vegetable bouquets, or even the disastrous dinner, but the way we’d overwhelmed her from the start. Pushed when we should’ve waited. Assumed when we should’ve asked.

And now she thinks we’re exactly what her ex had claimed: alphas who see her as a conquest, not a person.

“Still up?” Mason’s quiet voice breaks the silence.

I don’t look up. “Can’t sleep.”

He slides into the chair across from me, his usual composed facade cracked around the edges. “None of us can.”

“We ruined it,” I say, the words sour on my tongue. “All of us.”

“Maybe,” Mason concedes, running a hand over his face. “Or maybe we just need to learn how to be patient.”

“Patient?” I laugh without humor. “We fought over her underwear like teenagers. We invaded her space. We argued over her like she wasn’t even in the room.” I groan. “Patience isn’t our problem. Respect is.”

Mason’s expression softens. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” I mutter, massaging that spot at my temples. “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

The stairs creak, and we both look up to see Jude descending, hair disheveled, eyes without their usual sparkle. For once, his ever-present smirk is nowhere to be seen.

“Meeting of the ‘We Fucked Up’ club?” he asks, his voice lacking its usual verve.

“Charter members,” Mason confirms dryly.

Jude drops into a chair, looking uncharacteristically serious. “I took it too far with the underwear thing. And the vegetables. And probably everything else.”

“We all did,” I say. “In our own ways.”

“Not like me.” Jude pulls at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I’m always pushing boundaries. It’s what I do. But this time...”

“This time it mattered,” Mason finishes.

Jude nods, his usual bravado stripped away. “She matters.”

Heavy footsteps announce Caleb’s arrival. He stands in the doorway, shoulders tense, expression closed off. Even from here, I can smell the dark chocolate of his scent turned bitter with regret.

“Someone has to fix this,” he says without preamble.

“How?” Jude asks. “She made it pretty clear she wants nothing to do with us.”

Caleb’s jaw works. “We apologize. Properly. No gifts, no stunts, no expectations. Just the truth.”

“And then what?” I ask. “Pretend none of this happened? Go back to being strangers?”

“Then we respect whatever she decides,” Caleb says. His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking visibly beneath his skin. “Even if that means walking away.”

The four of us sit in silence, the weight of our mistakes pressing down. Finally, I stand, decision made.

“I’ll go,” I say. “Tomorrow.”

Jude raises an eyebrow. “Why you?”

“Because I didn’t send her pornographic vegetables, stalk her at her bakery, or force her to kiss me.”

Mason snorts softly. “Fair point.”

“I didn’t force her.” Caleb’s jaw tightens some more. Then he releases a breath. “You go just to apologize.” He meets my gaze. “Nothing more.”

I nod. “Nothing more.”

Her building smells of lemon cleaner and her elderly neighbor’s rose perfume when I arrive the next afternoon. I’ve rehearsed what to say at least twenty times on the drive over—a sincere apology, no excuses, no pressure.

Simple. Straightforward. Respectful.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I knock on her door, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway.

No answer.

I wait, counting to thirty in my head before knocking again, a little softer this time.

Still nothing.

Fuck .

She’s not home. Or she’s ignoring me. Both are valid, given how we behaved.

Goddamnit. What now ?

I’m about to leave when I hear it—a shuffle of feet on the other side of the door. Then, softer, the hitch of a breath.

She’s there.

“Leah?” I call gently. “It’s Liam.”

Silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft sounds of movement behind the door.

“I’m not here to push,” I continue, keeping my voice low and even. “I just wanted to apologize for last night. For all of it.”

More silence.

“We behaved horribly,” I admit, resting my palm against the door frame.

“All of us. Caleb trying to dictate what was best for you, Jude being... well, Jude. Mason and me arguing about the right approach.” I swallow hard.

“None of us thought about what you wanted. We just... projected our own desires onto you. That wasn’t fair. ”

A soft sound from inside—a sigh, maybe?

“We should have respected your boundaries from the beginning,” I continue. “Instead, we acted like... well, like exactly the kind of alphas you were trying to avoid.”

The lock clicks. The door opens just enough to reveal Leah’s face—or part of it, at least. One whiskey-brown eye peers out at me, a sliver of flushed cheek visible in the gap.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she says, her voice huskier than usual. “I overreacted.”

Relief floods my chest. “No, you didn’t. We were out of line.”

“It’s fine,” she insists, shifting restlessly behind the door. “Really.”

Something’s off. Her scent drifts through the crack in the door—vanilla and cinnamon, yes, but sweeter now, richer, like sugar caramelizing over an open flame. My mouth waters instinctively before my brain catches up with my biology.

Oh .

That’s not just her normal scent. That’s...

“Are you feeling alright?” I ask carefully, studying what little I can see of her. Her skin is flushed, a fine sheen of perspiration visible on her forehead. Her hair looks damp at the temples, like she’s been running a fever.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly—too quickly. “Just... I’ve been baking all morning. It’s hot in here.”

The lie hangs between us, transparent as glass. But it’s not my place to call her on it. Not after everything.

“Let us make it up to you,” I offer instead. “A do-over dinner, perhaps? We promise to behave like adults this time.”

“That would be... nice,” she admits, her grip tightening on the door. “But not right away. I’m going to be busy for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

“Two weeks,” she says firmly. “Maybe a bit more.”

Two weeks. The average length of an omega heat cycle plus recovery time.

I work to keep my expression neutral. “The bakery launch is coming up, isn’t it? If you need any help?—”

“I don’t,” she interrupts, shifting again. Is she... swaying slightly? “I have it under control.”

“Leah,” I say gently, “you don’t look well.”

She gives me a forced smile. “I’m fine. Truly.”

“Are you sure? Because if you need anything?—”

“I’m going to the omega center,” she blurts out, then immediately looks like she regrets it. “For... for a check-up. Routine stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

My stomach sinks. Omega centers are sterile, clinical places where unmated omegas can safely ride out their heats. They provide suppressants, toys, and medical supervision—but no personal connection, no comfort, no care.

“I see,” I manage, though the thought of her suffering through her heat in one of those cold, impersonal rooms makes my chest ache. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” she says, avoiding my gaze. “Early.”

Another lie? Her scent is potent. Will she even make it until tomorrow?

But it’s not my place to say that. Never was.

“Well,” I begin, searching for the right words, “if you change your mind, or if you need anything at all?—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, but there’s a flash of something in her eyes—uncertainty? Fear? “But... thank you. And tell the others I’m not angry. We can try again. Just... after.”

The door starts to close, and I find myself wanting to stop it, to say something—anything—to change what’s about to happen. But I force myself to step back, to respect her choice, even if every instinct I have screams that it’s wrong.

“Take care of yourself, Leah,” I say softly.

The door clicks shut.

I stand there for a long moment, staring at the plain wood, my thoughts racing. Something’s wrong. The way she held herself, the flush on her skin, that scent—sweet and ripe and edging towards desperate...

She’s not going to an omega center. She’s already too close to full heat. And she’s planning to suffer through it alone.

I’m fucking sure of it.

My throat goes dry. I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dial Mason’s number.

“How did it go?” he asks immediately.

“She’s in pre-heat,” I say without preamble. “Advanced stages.”

A sharp inhale. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. She tried to hide it, said she’s going to a center tomorrow, but?—”

“She won’t make it until tomorrow,” he finishes, his voice grim.

“No.”

“Where are you now?”

“Still outside her apartment.” I glance at her door, torn between respecting her boundaries and protecting her from what’s coming. “She said she’s not angry with us. That we can try again after her heat.”

“That’s... something,” Mason says cautiously. “But it doesn’t solve the immediate problem.”

“Which is?”

“She lives in an apartment building. Pretty sure it’s not just omega residents there. Once her heat hits fully?—”

“They’ll smell her,” I finish, my stomach churning with dread.

“Exactly,” Mason confirms.

“What do we do?”

“I’m getting Caleb and Jude. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. In the meantime, don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” I promise, already settling in against the wall opposite her door. “But Mason—we can’t force our way in. That would destroy any chance we have of making this right.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But we can’t leave her unprotected either.”

The call ends, and I sink down to sit on the floor, my back against the wall, eyes fixed on Leah’s door.

I pull out my phone again and open my browser. If we can’t help her directly, we can at least be prepared for what comes next.

“Heat care for unmated omegas,” I type, and begin to read as if my life depends on it.

Because hers might.