Page 35 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

LEAH

T wo days post-heat, and I’ve finally achieved freedom of movement without being manhandled back into bed every five minutes.

Progress, I suppose.

I pad barefoot through the kitchen, enjoying the quiet morning solitude while the pack sleeps.

My muscles ache pleasantly—a reminder of activities best not dwelled on before caffeine—as I reach for a mug from the cabinet.

The one Mason always sets out for me, white ceramic with a tiny chip on the handle that somehow makes it perfect.

The house has become... not familiar, exactly, but less foreign.

I know which floorboard creaks outside the bathroom, which cabinet holds Jude’s secret chocolate stash (not very secret when I can smell it from across the room), and exactly how many steps it takes to reach the coffee maker from any entrance to the kitchen.

Ridiculous, the things my brain has chosen to catalog about this place. This temporary place. This not-mine place.

I should have left yesterday. That was the plan—stay until I was strong enough to move without wincing, then retreat to my apartment and pretend the whole heat-induced madness never happened. I’d showered, brushed my hair, even made noises about calling a ride service. But somehow... I stayed.

The memory of Mason’s quiet “Stay another day, just to be sure” makes something flutter in my chest. The way Caleb had watched me from across the room, trying to look nonchalant but failing spectacularly.

Jude’s dramatic declarations that I couldn’t possibly leave before the movie night he’d planned.

Liam’s careful observation that post-heat recovery was “a complex physiological process not to be rushed.”

So I stayed. Another night in Caleb’s bedroom—a fact that still makes me squirm with discomfort. He’d insisted, absolutely refused to let me sleep on the couch. “Alpha instincts,” he’d muttered when I protested, like that explained everything.

And maybe it did. Maybe it explained why he slept on the couch instead, why none of them have returned to the nest room since... since my heat. The beautiful, carefully constructed nest sits untouched, layered in all their scents, a silent reminder of what happened there.

I couldn’t sleep in it. Wouldn’t. It’s a wonderful nest, perfect in every way, but it isn’t mine. It was a heat nest, built for a specific purpose that has now been fulfilled. Sleeping there now would mean something else entirely.

I pour coffee, breathing in the rich aroma that Mason meticulously grinds fresh each morning. The routine of it is soothing. One of the few constants in this new, bewildering reality where I wake up surrounded by males who look at me like I’m something precious. Something they want to keep.

The thought makes my stomach flutter in a way that has nothing to do with lingering heat hormones.

Two days.

Two days of Caleb’s possessive hovering, his hand always finding the small of my back when I move through a room, his scent wrapping around me like a shield.

I’m lost in thought when warm hands slide around my waist from behind, and I immediately recognize Caleb’s dark chocolate scent before he even speaks.

“You’re up early,” he murmurs against my neck, his lips brushing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit, leaning back into his solid warmth despite my better judgment.

His arms tighten, pulling me more firmly against his chest. “Bad dreams?”

“No, just... thinking.”

“Dangerous hobby,” he says, pressing a kiss just below my ear. My breath catches as his teeth graze my skin, not hard enough to mark but with clear intent.

“Caleb...” I warn, though it comes out embarrassingly breathless.

He hums against my neck, the vibration traveling straight to my core. “Just making sure my scent is still on you.”

I roll my eyes even as I tilt my head to give him better access. “I’m literally wearing your shirt.”

“Not enough,” he growls softly, spinning me to face him. Before I can protest, his mouth is on mine, the kiss deep and possessive. My hands find their way to his shoulders, coffee forgotten as he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter.

When we break apart, both breathing heavily, I push against his chest. “The others will be up soon.”

“So?” There’s a challenge in his eyes, a hint of the alpha who held me through my heat.

I slip off the counter, putting some much-needed space between us. “So I need coffee before I deal with the full pack.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Fair enough.”

Two days of this—of stolen moments and heated kisses that leave me dizzy. Two days of Jude’s outrageous flirting, his winks and innuendos barely hiding the genuine concern beneath, the way he mysteriously appears with snacks whenever I’ve gone too long without eating.

Later that morning, I find myself in the living room with a book I’m not really reading when Jude flops dramatically onto the couch beside me.

“I’m bored,” he announces, laying his head in my lap without invitation.

I raise an eyebrow. “And this is my problem because...?”

“Because you’re the most interesting thing in this house,” he says, grinning up at me. “Entertain me.”

“I’m not here for your amusement,” I tell him, but my fingers still find their way to his hair, absently stroking through the soft strands.

He practically purrs, eyes closing in contentment. “Could have fooled me.”

We stay like that, comfortable in the silence, until his hand reaches up to capture mine, bringing my palm to his lips. “You smell like Caleb,” he murmurs against my skin.

“He ambushed me in the kitchen.”

Jude’s eyes darken slightly. “Without me? Rude.” He nips at my wrist, and the unexpected sensation makes me gasp. “Guess I’ll have to catch up.”

Before I can process what’s happening, he’s shifted, rising up to capture my lips in a kiss that’s playful but demanding. Jude kisses like he’s savoring a dessert—appreciative, indulgent, and with obvious enjoyment.

When he pulls back, he’s wearing that insufferable smirk. “There. Now you smell like me too.”

Two days of Liam’s quiet attentiveness, his careful distance so clearly calculated to give me space, though his eyes follow me with an intensity that makes me wonder what he’s looking for.

I find him in his room that afternoon, surrounded by books and looking unfairly attractive in reading glasses.

“Looking for something?” he asks without looking up.

“Just browsing,” I say, running my fingers along the spines of ancient-looking texts. “You have quite the collection.”

“Feel free to borrow anything that interests you,” he offers, finally meeting my gaze. Something in his expression shifts when he scents the air. “You’ve been with Caleb and Jude today.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “They’re not exactly subtle.”

“No,” he agrees, setting his book aside and removing his glasses. “They never have been.”

He stands, moving with that fluid grace all alphas seem to possess, closing the distance between us. Unlike the others, Liam never rushes, never pounces. He approaches like he’s giving me time to retreat if I want to.

I…don’t.

“And does their lack of subtlety bother you?” he asks, stopping just within my personal space.

I swallow, suddenly aware of how my heartbeat has accelerated. “Not exactly.”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch lingering. “What about my subtlety? Does that bother you?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “It’s hard to know what you’re thinking.”

A small smile touches his lips. “I could show you.”

When he kisses me, I go weak. Liam kisses with precision and focus, like he’s conducting research—noting every response, adjusting his approach based on my reactions.

His mouth moves against mine with such focused intention that I feel thoroughly analyzed and utterly consumed all at once.

It’s not wild or impulsive like the others—it’s the calm, relentless perfection of someone who has mapped every sensitive spot and plans to exploit each one systematically until I’m trembling.

Two days of Mason’s steady presence, anticipating needs I didn’t know I had, filling the spaces between the alphas’ with practical comforts—clean towels, fresh sheets, tea steeped to perfection.

I find him in the kitchen before dinner, chopping vegetables with the skill of a sous chef.

“Need help?” I offer, leaning against the counter beside him.

His eyes flicker to me, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been busy today.”

I feel my cheeks warm. “They found me, not the other way around.”

“I didn’t say I disapproved,” he says mildly, setting down his knife and turning to face me fully. “Though I do feel somewhat left out.”

Mason doesn’t reach for me immediately. He waits, patient as always, until I make the first move. When I step closer, his hands settle on my hips, gentle but sure.

“We can’t have that,” I murmur, surprising myself with my boldness as I rise on tiptoes.

Mason’s kiss is controlled yet somehow more intimate, like he’s memorizing me. His hands stay respectfully at my waist, but the intensity in his eyes when he pulls back makes me feel more exposed than if he’d touched me everywhere.

“Better?” I ask, slightly breathless.

“Much,” he says, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Though dinner might be delayed if we continue.”

I’ve adjusted, more or less. I steal Caleb’s sweaters because they’re warm and because it makes his pupils dilate in a deeply satisfying way.

I tolerate Jude’s nonsense because sometimes he makes me laugh so hard my sides hurt.

I find myself drawn to Liam’s passionate intellect, the way his hands gesture animatedly when he explains something he loves, and how he reads aloud to me in that rich voice that makes even technical passages sound like poetry.

And I’ve almost stopped flinching when Mason just appears silently at my elbow with exactly what I need before I’ve voiced the thought.

But I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.