Page 47 of Stuck with my Pack

But then, the relief wavers.

Because even out here, I can still smell them.

The remnants of their scent cling to my clothes and soak into my skin. It’s swirling around me like ghosts I can’t shake: the scent of cedarwood and dark spice, fresh citrus and wild sage, earthy musk, and steady warmth.

It’s inescapable, teasing the raw edges of my Omega instincts. My stomach clenches and cramps, an ache curling through me, deep and relentless.

I need to get this under control.

I take a few shaky steps toward the edge of the porch, dragging in deeper breaths, as if I can force the tension from my body. My muscles twitch with restless energy, and the cold isn’t enough to settle me. My thighs squeeze together on instinct, but the friction only makes it worse.

I shake my head, cursing under my breath.

Maybe a walk will help. Just a few minutes in the fresh air, away from the scent of them, away from everything.

I step down onto the snow-covered path, my boots crunching over the ice-packed ground. The orchard looms in the distance, darkened by the night, but I follow the worn footpath leading toward the barn, hoping the movement will do something—anything—to quiet the inferno raging inside me.

Then something shifts at the edge of the property.

A flicker of movement near the tree line. Small. Dark. Almost a shadow against the snow.

I freeze. My pulse jumps, heat momentarily replaced by something sharper.

It takes me a second to recognize the shape—a cat?

I squint, my vision slightly unfocused, the cold wind burning my eyes. The little creature slinks forward, its body low, delicate paws barely making a dent in the fresh snow. Its fur is dark, its ears pricked up, eyes reflecting in the moonlight as it watches me.

A pang of concern cuts through the heat smothering my senses. It’s freezing out here. It has to belong to someone. Maybe it got lost?

I take a cautious step forward. “Hey there, little one,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

The cat twitches, its tail flicking once. Then, in an instant, it turns and darts toward the trees.

“Wait—”

Without thinking, I follow.

The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way across the yard, past the barn, into the thicket beyond. The air is sharper here, the wind curling around my legs, whispering through the pines.

I should go back. I know I should. But my body keeps moving forward, chasing the little shadow as it disappears into the dark.

The further I go, the more the cold seeps in. My heat and the night air battle for dominance, leaving me dizzy, off-balance. I hug my coat closer, shivering, even as sweat beads at the base of my spine.

A gust of wind shakes the branches overhead, and a crack echoes through the trees. I whip around. Nothing. Just shadows.

The inn’s lights behind me are dim now, swallowed by the thickening darkness.

“Shit.”

I take a slow, steadying breath, trying to quiet the unease curling in my stomach.

The cat is gone. And I’m too far from the inn.

Heat and cold are colliding within me.

I turn back the way I came, but my legs feel heavier, like they don’t belong to me anymore. The cold has sunk its teeth into my limbs, but my core burns hotter, a dangerous contrast that makes my pulse stutter.

The wind shifts, and my own scent crashes over me—thick, sweet, unmistakable.