Page 2 of Pack Scratch Fever

POE

The first thing I notice is the scent.

I open the door to the small building and am overwhelmed by the tartness of lemon pie and the spicy aroma of mint.

It smells heavenly in here, and for a moment I’m distracted from the tiny razor blades that claw into my chest.

I reach the counter and see a pretty brunette Omega, her lips pulled into a small, secret smile as she stares at the computer screen.

The scent belongs to her.

She doesn’t acknowledge me until I place the furry menace on the counter, and finally, her brown eyes look up at me.

No, not brown.

They’re hazel.

“I need you to take this,” I say, sounding ruder than I anticipated. But the animal has been stressing me out since I found it, and if she doesn’t help me, I may have a damn breakdown.

She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“Are you surrendering this kitten?” she asks in disbelief, as if I’ve committed a grave act.

Reaching over, she scoops the little creature in her arms, even though it still tries to reach for me with white paws.

“They really like you. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take them,” she coos, giving the kitten a gentle pet on the head.

“I’m not surrendering ,” I insist. “I found it. Maybe it’s chipped or something, I don’t know.”

A soft little mew sounds from the animal, and she still gazes at it fondly. “ It, ” she mutters under her breath, annoyed.

I suddenly feel like an asshole. “I mean, I’m not sure if it’s a boy or a girl, so?—”

She gently flips the kitten onto its back, takes a quick glance, then trains her warm eyes on me. “A girl,” she says.

“Okay, well, I need you to take her . And I don’t have a lot of time.”

She frowns at me, and I try not to get lost in those eyes, or her scent.

But the look she gives me, annoyed and not taking any shit, makes my lip quirk.

“You know this is a rescue, right? We don’t have a never-ending supply of food, or infinite places to keep the cats,” she says. Yet she cradles the kitten closer to her chest, and she sighs. “I can take her though,” she murmurs. “You’re lucky that we have some space.”

I nod, a weight lifted off my shoulders. “Okay, well?—”

“I need you to fill out some paperwork first, though,” she says, and tries to hand the kitten back to me. I reluctantly take her, and she squirms in my arms, nuzzling into my neck with a mighty purr.

I’m anticipating a plethora of white cat hairs on my navy blue shirt, and I’m not thrilled.

I huff. “Is that necessary?”

She huffs back. “ Yes ,” she snaps, a wrinkle appearing between her brows as she grabs a paper from her desk drawer.

The wrinkle shouldn’t be endearing, but I find myself drawn to her expressions.

“It won’t take long.” She places the sheet on the counter along with a pen.

I wrangle the kitten so that she’s in one hand and take the pen with the other.

I fill out the form quickly, trying not to breathe in the Omega’s tempting scent.

I don’t even want to open up that train of thought.

A rotund grey and white cat suddenly perches on the counter in front of me, flopping onto its back and rolling around happily. Its massive paw tries to bat at my pen, and I scowl and move it away from him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep her?” the Omega asks, and I look back up to see her watching me, hope in her eyes. “She obviously adores you. So does Alvin.”

I glance at the cat, who stares at me with wide eyes, and grimace. “No.”

She sighs, and I try not to feel guilty about my answer. I don’t even know this woman. What she thinks shouldn’t bother me. She runs a cat rescue . Her job is to literally take the cat from me.

So then why does it feel like I’m disappointing her? What does it matter?

“Did you feed her anything?”

“Why do you need my address?” I snap, looking up from the paper.

She gives me an irritated look. “So I can send you more kittens just to annoy you.”

I scowl, and she sighs and shakes her head. “It’s required by the county. We do it for all surrenders. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bother you; I won’t call you. You’ll never see me again.”

Her words shouldn’t bother me, but a strange feeling bubbles in my chest.

The kitten claws at my neck, and I wince.

“I’ll take her,” she says, and I remove the daggers in my chest and hand the kitten back to the Omega. Her long brown hair falls in the kitten’s face, and it swipes up a white paw to play with it.

She giggles, and my scowl deepens.

I never want to see her again.

I don’t even know her, and she shouldn’t smell so good or be so attractive.

I slide the paper back over to her, filled with a ridiculous amount of information about myself.

“You never answered my question,” she says, cradling the kitten to her chest. The feline finally relaxes in her arms.

I shift on my feet, itching to leave. “What question?”

“Did you feed her?”

“Oh, yeah. We had some canned chicken. I gave her some of that.”

“No milk though, hopefully?” she asks.

I shake my head.

She lets out a sigh of relief, and a smile pulls at her lips. “Oh, good,” she says. “Cow milk is horrible for them.”

I nod, doing my best to ignore the thudding in my chest at her smile.

“Well, thanks for taking her.” I shrug. “Sorry if I was rude.”

She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t be the first,” she murmurs, and I cock my head

People are rude to her? Why ?

You were rude just a few seconds ago, asshole, I think to myself.

“Also, I appreciate you bringing her here,” she adds. “Some people don’t bother. You took the extra step to make sure she was taken care of.”

I don’t bother correcting her. I didn’t do it for the kitten; I did it for me, so it wouldn’t tear up my backyard and ruin my herb garden.

She seems to read my mind. “Some people just dump cats somewhere or chase them away. You made the effort to feed her and bring her somewhere safe.”

I nod, unable to argue with the softness that returns to her features.

When she trains her eyes on me like that , it’s worth her thinking I did this out of the goodness of my heart.

“Also, maybe don’t give her so much catnip next time,” she chides, “and she won’t be all over you.”

I furrow my brow. “I didn’t give her catnip.”

She cocks her head curiously, and her lemony mint scent blooms in the air. “Really?”

“Ah, I grow herbs in my backyard,” I shrug. “But not catnip.”

She bites her lip, and her eyes sparkle with delight, as if she’s in on a secret. “What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, even though she looks like she wants to burst into laughter. “So, not a cat person, huh?”

The kitten looks at me and meows, giving a cry of desperation I choose to ignore.

“No. Not really a pet person. Anyway, thanks for the help.” I turn to head out, but she sighs again.

“That’s a shame,” she murmurs. “Especially because I doubt this kitten is the only one.”

I turn back to face her, frozen in the doorway. “What?”

“Well fed, healthy, and probably eight or so weeks,” she says knowingly, and my gut churns. “And you have an herb garden, right? Mama cat is probably around somewhere with more of them.”

My jaw ticks. “No.”

“Uh, yes. Sorry, I don’t control the cat distribution system.” She makes a face, looking at me as if I’m a child.

My irritation grows. “So you’re saying there are probably more cats in my backyard?”

“ Yup .”

“Absolutely not,” I growl. “I am not dealing with that. That’s not my problem.”

She continues to look at me, unimpressed. “Whatever you say. Maybe this is a random kitten that ran away from home, who knows. They thought your garden was a buffet.”

I scoff. “I don’t have time to deal with that. Can’t you come out and handle it?”

There’s a tiny part of me that wouldn’t mind having her out to our packhouse. I could imagine her in the backyard, and I could show off my herb garden…

I sound ridiculous. Who the hell cares about an herb garden besides me?

Especially after I’ve been such a dick to her.

“It depends if we have the time,” she says. “And you don’t even know if you have any more cats, so just call us if that happens.”

“So, you can’t just send someone to come out?”

“We’re a charity, not a business, you know that, right?” She asks, her button nose scrunched up in displeasure. Her words are tired, and I’m sure this isn’t the first time she’s had this conversation with someone.

“I’ll pay you. I’ll make a donation,” I try.

The last thing I need is to find another kitten somewhere.

Or hear Avery and Maddox demanding that we keep it.

“Just call us if you find more,” she says. “Then, we’ll go from there.”

I scowl, but she holds my gaze, unbothered. The kitten squirms in her arms, its tiny paws reaching out to me.

“Thanks,” I mutter, then turn and leave, doing my best to ignore her sweet lemon and mint scent.

I’m never going to see her again after this.

And even if I were interested in her, cats definitely aren’t my thing.

“I can’t believe you got rid of Snow,” Avery grumbles as I step through the front door of the packhouse. He’s sitting on the couch fumbling with his camera while his laptop rests on his thighs.

“Who?”

He looks up at me, his eyes narrowed. “Snow. The cat.”

Leave it up to Avery to become immediately attached. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Why wouldn’t I? The rescue took her in. They’ll take care of her.”

“ We could have taken care of her,” he says. “There’s no reason we couldn’t keep her.”

“There’s no reason we should keep her,” I argue. “Pets take up time and energy we don’t have.”

I can tell he wants to argue with me, but he shakes his head instead.

“Yeah, well, I got some good pictures of her before you stole her away,” he mutters. “Something to remember her by.”

“You don’t need to be dramatic. The guilt trip isn’t working.”

But it kind of is .

I didn’t even give my packmates the option to keep her. After the kitten ate her food, I scooped her up, ignored her bright eyes and snuggles, and gave her to someone else.