Page 13 of Pack Scratch Fever

POE

My own house is torturing me.

My home office is hell.

The endless hours of work aren’t the worst part.

It’s the goddamn scent that wafts through every room.

Lemon and mint.

Sweet lemon bars and sugary, spicy mint.

Piper .

I have to reread words in contracts because my mind keeps drifting to a pair of pretty warm eyes and a lovely face, even when she’s scowling at me.

Or yelling at me for not being thrilled that the backyard is swarmed by cats.

Or telling me I smell like catnip, and that I need to get over it.

She’s a nuisance.

A gorgeous, ridiculous nuisance that I can’t stop thinking about.

Scent match.

The words Avery and Maddox keep using float around in my head.

Just because she smells exquisite doesn’t mean she’s a scent match.

And even if she was, so what?

There’s a knock at my office door, and then it opens.

“Hey.” Maddox leans against the doorway, grinning. “How’s work, sunshine?”

I grimace. “Contracts for rich assholes.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a rich asshole?”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m not an asshole.”

Maddox laughs.

Ever since Piper waltzed into our lives, he’s been insufferably energetic. He’s practically bouncing off the walls, running around and being louder than he usually is.

And it hasn’t even been a week.

“What are you doing later?” he asks, tapping his booted foot impatiently against the wall.

“Why do you have your shoes on in the house?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I’m going out soon, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me.”

I sigh and spin my chair around to face him. “I can’t,” I grumble.

“Sure, you can.”

“I’m already behind as is. I can’t fall more behind.”

“Or what? It’s not like anyone will fire you.”

“Or, I piss my clients off and don’t have business ,” I snarl.

He rolls his eyes, and I want to throttle him. It’s not as simple as he makes it out to be—yes, these past few months have been killing me, but I’ve accepted that it’s part of the job.

“You could always decrease your workload,” Maddox adds knowingly. As if it’s that simple.

I know my best friend wants what’s best for me, but sometimes he just doesn’t listen.

We’ve had this conversation at least ten times.

“I can’t,” I insist.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

I grit my teeth. “Stop.”

He picks at the chipped black polish on his thumb. “You sure you can’t go out? Avery and I are going to the store.”

I frown. “What do you need me for?”

He gives me a knowing, shit-eating grin. “To turn the guest room into a nesting room.”

My jaw drops. “Are you out of your mind?” I growl. “For whom?”

Maddox stops fidgeting with his fingers and glares. “Who do you think , Poe?”

I open and close my mouth, unable to find the words to say. Instead, I stare at him incredulously.

“It’s been less than a week,” I finally spit out.

“Yeah,” Maddox says slowly, as if I’m a child, “and Avery has already been out with her. Kissed her. Scent marked her. Where the hell have you been?”

I knew that, of course, but the days have flown by. I’ve been locked in my office at home or at the firm, drowning in paperwork.

We’ve never prepared a nesting room for anybody before.

The implications are huge.

“Don’t say no, because it’s happening,” Maddox adds, stepping into the office and leaning his hip against the desk, glancing at my computer screen. “Sweet fuck. I would kill myself if this were my job.”

The words sting, but Maddox has never been one to keep his opinions to himself.

“Do me a favor,” I growl, “and try not to say the first thing that pops into your mind all the time.”

He hums. “Are you coming or what?”

A nesting room .

“She may not even want it,” I mutter. “She’s mad at us.”

He scoffs. “No, she’s mad at you ,” he confirms. “And yeah, it’s pretty bold to assume she’d want to use it, but at least the option will be there.”

Piper has done a lot for us, and I’ve been ungrateful.

Some of the adult cats have returned, too feral to be adopted, but Piper sent Avery back with a list of natural cat repellents for my garden that won’t hurt the creatures.

The kittens haven’t returned; apparently, the rescue found fosters for them.

Piper took a ton of stress off my plate, and I repaid her by insulting her profession.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair and tugging at the strands.

I owe her a huge apology.

“She’s the one,” Maddox continues. “And no, I’m not getting in over my head, before you say it. Avery agrees with me. She’s special.”

The migraine that I had earlier returns.

“Go without me,” I murmur.

“Are you sure?”

No, I’m not sure. I want to be a part of this, too.

I want her to like me.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Disappointment creates a heavy weight in my chest.

It’s only a few hours later when I finally allow myself to take a quick break before my next call.

I venture outside, making eye contact with a black cat that lies contentedly on top of our fence, perched on its stomach.

My herbs remain healthy and untouched, the planter boxes no worse for wear. Placing the citrus peels around them helped tremendously.

I was an asshole to Piper, and she still offered her help to me.

This gesture won’t make up for what I’ve done, but hopefully, it’s a start.

After I gather what I need and prepare my version of an olive branch, I make the quick trip to the rescue, anticipation building in my stomach.

Even before I step into the building, I scent her and bite back a groan.

Smelling her on Avery was agonizing enough, but I forgot how overwhelming it is to be in her proximity.

She’s sitting at the front desk, her chestnut hair pulled into a tight, high bun, with a few strands falling into her face. Her eyes are glued to the screen, and she purses her lips as she types furiously on the keyboard.

Beautiful.

She’s beautiful. The thought awakens something primal in me, and my inner Alpha nods in agreement.

Scent match scent match

Take her take her

On the front ledge of the counter is the tabby cat from before, who lets out a pleased chirp when I enter. He hops off the ledge gracefully and comes to rub against my legs and roll onto the floor, showing off his belly.

Piper’s eyes snap to mine, and she rolls back in her desk chair, staring at me.

“Hi?” she says, curious and confused. “What are you doing here?”

Scent match!

I swallow, nerves eating at me as she eyes the potted plant in my hand.

I don’t get nervous.

I don’t get like this at all, ever.

“I came to apologize,” I admit, placing the terracotta pot on the counter. “For my behavior.”

Another pleased chirp sounds from the floor, and I grimace.

I smell like damn catnip.

Piper nods at the plant, then looks back at me. “And what’s that?” Her eyes are guarded and suspicious.

She has no reason to be friendly to me after the way I behaved.

After I called the cats pests.

“It’s a valerian plant,” I say, and her eyes soften. “It has calming effects?—”

“I know about valerian for cats,” she murmurs, reaching out to tenderly touch a green leaf. “Looks like your garden was spared from the colony, then.”

I nod. “They never really hurt it,” I admit. “I have chicken wire over it, but now it makes sense why they were always pawing at it and nuzzling the leaves that would reach through. I basically had a world-class buffet for them.”

She lets out a soft chuckle. “This is very kind,” she admits. “I’m always appreciative of anything that will help the cats.” She tenderly brushes a leaf again, and I’ve never been more jealous of a plant. Then, her eyes meet mine. “Also, you could plant rosemary. That may deter them, too.”

I nod. “I appreciate that. I’ve already done it.”

She bites her lip. “And I’m not sure if you’re planning on growing any other flowers, but lilies?—”

“Tulips, oleanders, daffodils, are all poisonous to them. I looked it up, and I’m not planning on growing anything that could harm the cats,” I admit.

She visibly relaxes, her shoulders sagging, and I frown.

“I’m not a monster,” I say, and she lifts an unimpressed brow.

“You called them pests ,” she murmurs. “Even the first time you came in, you acted like they were a burden, and it was my job to fix it.”

You insulted her.

The thought makes me sick to my stomach. My cruelty cannot be excused, and one small plant doesn’t make up for it.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I truly am.”

She nods. “It still sucked. You can’t talk to people like that. You can’t talk to me like that. What if I insulted what you do?” she asks quietly. “The thing that keeps you alive, the place you go to for hours on end. What if I talked down about it?”

There’s a sadness in her eyes, one that I’m not sure was caused by me. “I would agree with you,” I murmur.

I fucking hate what I do. I hate it all.

It’s miserable and shitty and adds nothing to the world.

I help sign off on contracts that screw over small businesses.

Corporations that quadruple a tenant’s rent so that the business is forced to move out.

Maybe part of the reason I was so awful to Piper that night was because she actually enjoys what she does.

She’s passionate about her work, unlike me.

She scoffs. “Okay, well, I like what I do. Unlike you. I appreciate the plant, though. I guess it’s a start,” she adds.

I try not to stare at her exposed neck, or the delicate skin that peeks out through her purple tank top.

It would be rude to stare at her mating gland, especially after how I’ve acted.

I nod curtly. “Good,” I say.

Another chirp sounds from the floor, and Piper stands to look over the counter, laughing when she sees Alvin. “The curse of smelling like catnip,” she chuckles. “You’re a cat magnet, whether you like it or not.”

I sigh. “It’s my burden to bear, I guess.” I reach down and scoop the cat up, and Alvin nuzzles the scruff of my cheek. I rub the top of his head gently, and he lets out a loud, rumbly purr.

Piper watches me fondly, a tiny smile gracing her lips.

Does she not know how beautiful she is?

Why doesn’t she have a pack?

What was her last relationship like?