Page 37 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

JUDE

I wake up to the sound of Caleb breaking something.

Not like, oh no, he dropped a coffee cup breaking something. More like oh shit, he just put his fist through a wall breaking something. The distinctive crack of drywall giving way under alpha knuckles is a sound I’ve become unfortunately familiar with over the years.

I stumble into the hallway, nearly colliding with Liam, who’s already dressed in a crisp button-down and slacks, keys jingling in his hand. His reading glasses are slightly askew, which is how I know this is serious—Liam would never leave his room with crooked glasses under normal circumstances.

“Leah’s gone,” he says, his voice clipped and precise, like he’s delivering a medical diagnosis.

“Gone as in... getting coffee?” I ask hopefully, though the hole in the wall down the corridor and Caleb’s thunderous expression as he emerges from his bedroom answer that question before Liam can.

“Gone as in packed her things and left,” Mason explains, appearing from the direction of the nest room, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He’s methodically checking the contents of what I recognize as our emergency first-aid kit.

“She can’t have gone far,” I reason, running a hand through my hair. “Her heat just ended, and she was still moving like someone who’d been thoroughly?—”

“Don’t,” Caleb growls, the sound rumbling through the hallway with enough force to make the framed brewery blueprints on the wall rattle. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, she’s probably at her apartment. Or getting muffins. You know how she is about those blueberry muffins.”

“She left a note,” Mason says quietly, holding out a small piece of paper.

I take it, reading the neat, careful handwriting:

Thanks for everything. You deserve an omega who fits.

Well, fuck.

I pull out my phone, thumb flying across the screen:

Leah, where are you? Call me.

Send. Wait. No response.

“She must have heard us,” Liam says, adjusting his glasses. “Last night. The conversation in the living room.”

The memory hits me like a bucket of ice water.

The four of us, sitting around the center table at some ungodly hour, discussing Leah and her future with us—Mason pointing out her independence and wondering if she’d go back to her life, Liam commenting on how traditional pack dynamics typically center omegas in the home, my question about whether she’d see herself as being pitied, the uncertainty about whether she’d even want to stay with us.

“She completely misunderstood,” I say, horrified as the realization dawns. “She only heard part of the conversation and thought we were saying she doesn’t fit with us.”

“When what we were actually saying is that we don’t want to force her into a traditional omega role,” Mason adds, his expression pained. “That we need to respect her independence.”

“She thinks we’re rejecting her for not being some docile, traditional omega,” Liam says, his normally composed face showing rare distress. “When that’s exactly what none of us wants.”

Caleb’s scent floods the hallway with fury and something that smells dangerously close to heartbreak. “She thinks we were comparing her to ‘normal’ omegas and finding her lacking.”

I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “We were talking about how much we want her exactly as she is! How we don’t want her to change! How we’re willing to adapt our pack dynamic for her!”

“But she didn’t hear that part,” Mason says quietly. “She probably heard us discussing traditional dynamics, questioning if she’s ‘ours,’ and me talking about accepting who she is.”

“And then she bolted,” I conclude, the sinking feeling in my gut growing heavier. “Thinking we want some mythical perfect omega who doesn’t exist instead of her.”

Caleb’s expression darkens to something truly dangerous. “Her ex—Eric—he told her she wasn’t ‘pack material.’ That fucking bastard.”

“And she thought she heard us confirming it,” Liam says, the pieces falling into horrible place.

I stare at the three of them, incredulous. “Are we seriously standing here psychoanalyzing her when she’s out there somewhere, thinking we rejected her? We need to find her!”

That spurs them into action. Caleb stalks toward the stairs, already pulling on his jacket. “Her apartment. Now.”

“I’ll drive,” Liam says, following close behind.

Mason holds out a protein bar to me as I pass him. “Eat. We might be at this a while.”

Thirty minutes later, we’re standing outside Leah’s apartment building, having broken several traffic laws to get here in record time. The morning air is still crisp, the sun barely clearing the horizon as we pile out of the SUV like a small army on a mission.

We burst into the lobby like we’re storming the Bastille. The elevator seems stuck on floor 6, not moving. We head toward the stairs as one unit.

“Let me,” I say, stopping Caleb before he can take the stairs three at a time. “If she is here, your alpha rage face is the last thing she needs to see first thing in the morning.”

He bristles, but steps back, recognizing the logic even if he hates it. “Fine. But if she doesn’t answer in thirty seconds, I’m breaking the door down.”

“That’s not going to be necessary,” Liam says calmly, though the tension around his eyes betrays his concern. “We’re going to handle this like rational adults.”

I snort. “Have you met us?”

We climb the three flights to Leah’s floor, Mason trailing slightly behind as he checks his phone for the hundredth time, as if she might have magically texted while we were in the stairwell.

The hallway is quiet, most residents either still asleep or already gone for the day. It’s barely 8 AM, after all.

Leah’s apartment has a plain white door with a small brass peephole and a doormat that reads “Go Away.” Subtle, our omega.

I knock, keeping it light and friendly. “Leah? It’s Jude. And, uh, everyone else. We need to talk to you.”

Silence.

I try again, a bit louder. “Leah? Come on, doll. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Nothing.

Caleb steps forward, his patience clearly exhausted. His knock is more like a controlled battering ram. “Leah. Open the door. Now.”

Mason winces. “Maybe don’t lead with alpha commands?”

“She’s not responding to ‘please’ and ‘doll,’” Caleb growls. “Leah! We know you heard us last night. You misunderstood. Let us explain.”

Still nothing but silence from the other side of the door.

Liam, ever practical, leans in to press his ear against the wood. “I don’t hear any movement. No water running, no footsteps.”

“Could she be sleeping?” I suggest hopefully.

“With this racket?” Mason asks skeptically. “Unlikely.”

Caleb’s scent spikes with genuine alarm. “What if she’s hurt? What if she collapsed from post-heat exhaustion?”

The thought sends a chill through all of us. Omegas can experience severe fatigue and even medical complications after an intense heat, especially if they’re not properly cared for during recovery. And Leah, stubborn as she is, would absolutely push herself too hard rather than admit weakness.

“That’s it,” Caleb decides, stepping back to presumably kick the door down in the name of omega safety.

“Wait!” Liam grabs his arm. “Let me try the building manager first. Breaking down her door is only going to reinforce her belief that we don’t respect her independence.”

“I don’t care about her independence if she’s unconscious on the bathroom floor,” Caleb snarls, but he stands down, recognizing Liam’s point despite his instincts screaming at him to protect.

Liam pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts with efficient precision. “I have the building manager’s number from when we were here last time.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter. Leave it to Liam to collect potentially useful contact information at every opportunity.

He presses the phone to his ear, waiting through several rings before someone picks up. From his expression, whoever answered is not thrilled to be receiving a call at this hour.

“Mr. Reynolds? This is Dr. Liam Le Roux. We met a few days ago regarding Miss Carter in 3B.” He pauses, listening. “Yes, I understand it’s early... No, I wouldn’t call if it weren’t an emergency... Yes, I’m aware of tenant privacy laws, but this is a potential medical situation.”

I’m impressed by how smoothly the lies roll off Liam’s tongue. Our normally straight-laced, rule-following alpha can be surprisingly devious when the situation calls for it.

“Miss Carter was experiencing some post-heat complications when we last saw her, and she’s not responding to knocks or calls... Yes, I understand your position, but as her treating physician, I’m concerned about her welfare.”

He pauses again, listening, then covers the phone with his hand. “He’s coming, but he’s not happy about it.”

“Did you just impersonate a doctor?” I ask. Ha, this is a delightful unexpected development.

Liam shrugs. “I am a doctor. Just not of medicine.”

“Brewing science doesn’t count, and you know it,” I counter, but I’m grinning despite the tension of the situation. It’s rare to see Liam bend the rules, and I’m kind of loving it.

We wait in the hallway, Caleb pacing like a caged predator, Mason checking and rechecking the contents of his first-aid kit, and me leaning against the wall trying to appear casual while my stomach ties itself in knots.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably closer to fifteen minutes, we hear footsteps on the stairs.

The building manager, wearing flannel pajama pants and a wrinkled polo shirt, appears at the end of the hallway, looking like he wants to strangle us with a tie.

Or possibly with the key ring he’s clutching like a weapon.

“You again?” He rubs his temples, the keys jingling as he gestures in exasperation. “I swear, if this is about you and her heat again?—”