Page 1 of Pack Scratch Fever

PIPER

I’m late today.

My alarm didn’t go off, so I didn’t have much time to get ready. I threw on an old sweatshirt, made a crappy cup of coffee, and headed half-asleep to the building I stay in more than my own apartment.

I push open the front door to our rescue with one shoulder, my purse slung on the other and my tumbler of iced coffee in my hand. The little bell above the door jingles, and Alvin, our resident tabby cat, perks up his head from the front counter when he sees me.

“You’re late,” Blair, my coworker and best friend comments, raising an eyebrow. She absentmindedly pets Alvin, who nuzzles his head into her palm.

“Sure am,” I confirm, heading behind the reception desk to drop my purse next to the computer. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, honestly.”

I usually don’t have problems waking up, but recently, I’ve been sleeping through my alarms.

Blair grumbles to herself while scratching Alvin’s ear. “And you’re super minty, too,” she sighs.

I grimace and log into my computer. “Yeah. I know.”

As if on cue, Alvin rushes from Blair to me, managing to squish all twenty pounds of himself into my lap.

There could be worse things than smelling like catmint, I suppose. The combination of lemon and mint blends well with most environments and isn’t as jarring as some of the powderier aromas.

I’m perfuming like crazy this morning, my Omega scent wafting throughout the building.

At least all the cats will be in a good mood.

“You can’t be mad at me,” I insist, shooting her a smirk. “I’m your favorite.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. She’s not really mad; I can tell.

It’s hard to stay annoyed at each other here, when there are four-legged creatures always demanding love and attention.

Furs and Purrs Rescue is one of the most popular cat rescues in the country, thanks to my and Blair’s constant social media updates. Video edits of our kittens have gone viral numerous times, and we do our best to stay connected to the local community.

Alvin is also a fan favorite, and we have locals come in just to say hello to him and give him a pet.

Also, it doesn’t hurt that the organization is run by two Omegas.

It’s both a blessing and a curse.

Blair and I are the faces of the rescue, and most of our volunteers happen to be Omegas, as well.

We didn’t even mean for it to happen—it just did , and suddenly, we’re having adoptions and donations from all over the world.

We also have our fair share of pests, and by pests, I mean Alphas that have no intention of adopting kittens and want to just come in and chat.

But once Alvin hisses at them, they get the hint and go on their way.

“You’re going to attract them all today,” Blair groans. “Seriously, have you taken your suppressants?”

I gape at her. “Of course I did.”

She looks around, her blue eyes surveying the building, then lowers her voice, even though it’s just us. “And your last Heat?”

I scowl. “You already know.” My face burns with shame.

Why would she ask such a ridiculous question?

She tilts her head then, with a smug look on her face. “You’ve been messing with your suppressants.”

I huff and swivel my chair to turn away from her. “So what if I have?” I peer through the glass window of the door to our cat playroom, purposely avoiding what I know is a set of daggers glaring right at me.

Blair always calls me out on my shit, and I doubt she’ll stop today.

My suppressants are what keep my Heat symptoms in check. Screwing with the dose or taking more than recommended just to put off a Heat longer risks some nasty side effects.

“Pipe, come on ,” she sighs as Alvin nuzzles his face into my neck. “Even the cat knows this is ridiculous.”

I stroke his fur, gathering the grey and white strands in my hands. He’s shedding, so I open the drawer next to the desk and pull out one of the brushes we have.

I still won’t look at Piper as I help Alvin rid himself of his coat. “Technically, I don’t need a Heat,” I murmur. “There’s no reason for one, scientifically.”

“Yeah, until you gush all over the walls like some demented water slide.”

I snort, and Alvin squints up at me. “I smell better to the cats,” I argue. “And it’s good for business. We can get more donations out of those annoying Alphas.”

Blair sighs. “Piper, if I have to deal with any more of those assholes?—”

The front door opens with the chime of an electronic bell, and Mari, one of our volunteers, pops in her head.

“Good morning!” she chirps, a massive cardboard box in her hand. “I brought some goodies!”

My eyes widen. She has to be holding at least five bags of cat food, along with a bundle of colorful cat toys.

“Mari, this is so much,” Blair says. “You’re going to make them all fat.”

“There are always mouths to feed,” the older woman confirms, looking between us with clever grey eyes. “If it’s too much, I can always bring it to the other rescue that’s an hour from here.”

Alvin is already curious, leaping onto the counter to stick his nose into the box, and Mari pets him while cooing affectionately.

Every so often, I’m overwhelmed by the support we receive from the community. We’ve had to turn down donations in the past and send them to other rescues or charities because we were so full.

We’ve built an empire here. The entire county knows about us, and residents are being given the resources to trap and fix stray cats.

Luna County has become cat crazy, and I’m partially to blame.

“Thank you, Mari,” Blair says, taking the box and placing it outside the door to the cat room. “Do you want to say hi to the cats?”

“Of course!” she replies with delight. But she stays at the front of the counter, watching me with knowing eyes. “You know, Kyle was thinking about coming by today.”

I do my best to keep a straight face and stare intently at her floral periwinkle sweater.

“Oh?” I ask. I catch Blair biting her lip, doing her best not to laugh. “Your nephew has been coming over so much lately, he’s done more than enough.”

My poker face stays on, and I focus on counting the stitches of the tiny flowers on Mari’s clothing.

“You know, he was asking about you the other day. You know he graduated college in three years instead of four?” she says sweetly.

“Yes, you’ve told me that before,” I say, finally meeting Mari’s gaze, my mouth hurting from the fake smile.

“He makes good money, too. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, like you.”

I nod, and Blair turns to the computer and pretends to be engrossed in something.

Mari and I continue to make awkward eye contact, despite my internal panicking.

It’s not a big deal not to have a pack at twenty-six, or at least I don’t think it is.

Also, Kyle smells like gouda cheese and fertilizer to me, but that’s not very polite to say.

He’s not the amazing man Mari makes out her nephew to be. He’s hit on both Blair and me numerous times, always lingering at the front counter, but never offering anything of substance to say.

And he stares at my chest way too much.

Mari drums her fingers on the counter, still staring at me as if she can see right through me. As if she has some wisdom I’ll never possess about life.

“You girls are too sweet to not have anyone,” she says, still looking at me. “And you’re only getting older.”

“Ouch,” Blair replies.

“Oh, you know what I mean!” Mari waves her hand. “I just don’t want you to end up an old lonely cat lady, like me.”

Her gaze softens, and I frown. “Mari, don’t say that. You’re not alone.”

“Also, cat lady isn’t an insult,” Blair pipes up. “It just shows you have a big heart.”

Mari’s eyes turn glassy, and Alvin rubs his cheek against her hand. “I know,” she says with a soft smile, staring down at the feline. “Still, I want to watch out for you girls.”

I want to say we’re hardly girls anymore, but the wistful look in Mari’s eyes makes me stop.

Mari has lived alone for a long time—she’s made that abundantly clear when she overshares with us. She’s an Omega, but she’s never mentioned an Alpha before, which has always surprised me.

It’s not really my business, but…I don’t want to end up like her.

I ignore the thought.

I have the rescue, and that’s what’s important.

I’ve got tiny, fanged mouths to feed, and fur that needs to be brushed every day.

Mari says goodbye to us, but her statement doesn’t leave my mind.

I just don’t want you to end up an old lonely cat lady like me.

“Your hisses don’t impress me anymore, you know that, right?” I mutter to Mister Whiskers. I place the food bowl in his open kennel, and he watches me with squinty, defensive yellow eyes. A low growl of irritation sounds in his throat until I back away enough for him to sniff his bowl.

Our rescue is set up in a way that the open cat playroom is accessible to all the cats at any time, but another door leads to a set of kennels that the cats can either be fed in or rest in, along with numerous litter boxes.

Mister Whiskers is a loner who prefers to stay in his kennel most of the time.

He’s a big boy with mitts for paws, gorgeous long grey fur, and an angular face that looks like he’s permanently scowling.

Occasionally, he’ll come through the flap of the cat door that separates the playroom from the kennels, but most of the time he’s in his private space, napping or observing with judging eyes.

He’s been adopted out before, but returned to us three times due to behavioral issues.

Whoever takes home the grumpy old man has to be a perfect fit for him, and I’m not sure if that will ever happen.

So, worst case, his permanent home is at Furs and Purrs Rescue, stuck with Blair, the volunteers, and me for the rest of his life.

At least he tolerates us.

We even had a cat psychologist offer to come out and evaluate him after a video edit of him went viral.

They had the same conclusion we did—he’s just a grumpy asshole.

He even growls when he feasts, and I watch as he gobbles up his kibble like he’s never eaten a day in his life.

“You’re welcome to join the others, you know,” I say, and he flicks yellow eyes up at me for a moment before returning to his food.

“Talking to cats now?” Blair asks as I enter the playroom. There’s a family visiting, a mated Alpha and Omega with their small child, who engages happily with a pair of black kittens.

“When am I not talking to cats?” I murmur, watching as the couple laughs at the kittens’ antics.

There’s an achy feeling in my chest, one that makes me almost itchy as I recall Mari’s earlier words.

“She got to you,” Blair says gently, and I feel her eyes on me. “You know that’s not going to be you, right?”

“I know that,” I snap. Then, I see the kindness on my friend’s face. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude.”

“I know,” she says. “Just…maybe stop messing with your suppressants? And handle your Heat however you need to?”

I chew my lip as I exit the cat room, Blair following me with a sealed case of cat food cans. She grabs a pair of scissors from the counter and begins to slice through the plastic. “What are you doing with those?” I ask.

“I’m giving them to one of our fosters. I’ll drop them off later, if you don’t mind running the place while I’m gone. Now stop changing the subject.” She stops her cutting. “You can’t keep putting off your Heat.”

I narrow my eyes and lean against the counter. “Yes, I can.”

“How long?”

I shrug. “Indefinitely. There’s a world record online of like, ten years.”

Blair blinks, unimpressed. “Ten years,” she deadpans.

I nod. “Mmhmm.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn.” I pick up a can of food and roll it between my hands, studying the label. “I’m practical.”

Blair huffs. “There is no way on earth you think tampering with your medication is practical.”

“Heats get in the way,” I insist. “It will take time away from the rescue.”

“Piper, the whole goddamn rescue smells like lemon and mint. What are you going to do, keep stinking up places wherever you go?”

I hunch my shoulders. “I’ll just up my doses,” I murmur, hating that she’s right.

I just don’t want this conversation today.

I don’t want to ever have this conversation.

“What are you so afraid of?” Blair continues. “Is it that you will go through it alone? You don’t have to. You could swap through Scent Match , I could gift you a subscription?—”

“Oh, hell no,” I whisper. “You are not paying for my dating app.”

Blair cocks her head and raises an eyebrow, and my brow furrows.

“And besides, why are we only talking about me? When was your last Heat ?” I demand.

“Mine was three months ago, but I’m also not doing anything to prevent it,” Blair says. “Unlike someone else .”

I know she’s right. Neither of us has a pack, and while Blair hasn’t been dating, she’s still been taking care of herself.

“I just don’t want you to self-destruct,” she continues, “and do that thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“Throw yourself into something so that you forget about yourself, then burn out.”

I huff and pick at the label of the cat food can. She’s right. There are times when I lose myself in something to fix, and I don’t want to come home to my embarrassingly tiny apartment and be reminded of what I truly am.

Not enough.

I’d rather put my energy into something or someone else.

Improve someone who’s not me.

Ignore my Omega needs.

But those thoughts are too dark to ruminate on for long, and it’s hard to stay in that bad place in my head when the family exits the cat playroom, ready to adopt the two kittens, Smokey and Bear.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Blair says after the family leaves with the kittens, gathering up a box of supplies. “Sorry to be a bummer. Just think about what I said, okay? And please, please don’t abuse your suppressants.”

I nod, but it’s easier said than done.

The reason I avoid my Heats is that it reminds me of how painfully alone I am, but that sounds too ridiculous to say to Blair.

She leaves me alone with Alvin, who cheerfully purrs in my lap while I update our website on the front desk computer.

We now have space for more cats, which thrills me, along with receiving a notification of monetary donation.

It fills my heart and helps me ignore the impending anxiety that I’ll need to address my Heat soon.

I don’t even notice that someone’s walked in until a tiny, white furry face peeks its head up at me.

It’s an adorable kitten with clean white fur and piercing blue eyes.

“I need you to take this,” says a gruff voice, and I look up in disbelief to see an Alpha towering over me. He scowls at the kitten that he’s placed on my counter, even as the feline tries to crawl back into his massive palms.

And I know exactly why the kitten won’t stop going after him.

The man in front of me smells exactly like catnip.