Chapter 25
chapter
twenty-five
*Pierson Pack Group Text*
Damon
Remi’s upset.
Be down in 10 minutes.
Cassian
Is she ok?
Does she need me?
Goddamn it, Damon.
Smith
Damon, answer us.
I’m coming up there.
Damon
Sorry. Couldn’t really talk. Didn’t have a free hand.
Cassian
Are you kidding me?
Smith
Damon, is there something you need to tell us?
Damon
Other than me making your good girl come all over my fingers?
No, not really.
It’shard for me to be too anxious with Damon radiating excitement behind us.
He’s all too happy to follow behind, making small talk like nothing just happened. When we step up to their loaded-down truck, Cassian gives him a withering look and silently stuffs a set of keys into Damon’s hand before turning to lift me into the back of the cab and scoot in after me.
Unbothered, Damon flashes his mischievous grin while he gets in the driver’s seat. “This is Cass’s truck; and he never lets anyone else drive it, so he must really be dying to sit with you, pretty girl.”
The pack leader mutters something while he gets into the passenger seat and slams his door. He clearly isn’t in a joking mood. His heavy brows fold over his dark eyes as he swivels in his seat, reaching into the back to buckle me in. I watch in disbelief while he adjusts the straps and even tugs on them to make sure they’re secure.
As soon as he faces forward, Damon throws the truck into gear, and we roll away from the curb. Cassian seems to relax when he sees that his packmate doesn’t plan to run his pick-up off the road. He turns, facing me with his whole body and running his eyes over me.
Oh no. Did Cassian somehow find out what Damon and I just did? It’s bad enough that Smith knows but now Cass, too?
Will he be mad? Will he want me to leave? Will Damon stop him?
Cassian feels me shrink down and grunts, curling one arm behind my head and reaching his free hand over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He shoots Damon an annoyed look. But when he turns his face from his packmate to me, his expression instantly morphs into soft concern.
“You okay?” he asks. “He behaved?”
My heart melts. Big, grumbly bear. Always protecting me first and foremost.
I nod, my voice shaking. “Yes. He was…” I remember the way he held himself in check while still saying the filthiest, sexiest things I’d ever heard, “perfect.”
One of Cass’s dark brows lifts. “Perfect?” he repeats. “Is that a challenge, butterfly?”
He’s…
Flirting.With me? Him?! Cassian?
My lips fall open. “Y-you’re not mad?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Damn right, I’m mad. He got to you first. I’m going to have to punch him later.”
Cassian’s version of flirting is so different from Damon’s. It’s dry. Almost matter-of-fact. Which somehow makes it even hotter.
He drops his forehead to mine, nuzzling gently, holding my gaze while he covers Damon’s scent-mark with his own. Inhaling, he makes a low growling sound in his throat.
Heat flashes in his green gaze. He grinds his teeth together before he tries to distract both of us. “Did you eat breakfast?”
Smith cuts in. “I’ll get her fed once we’re home. You two have practice in an hour and a half.”
I probably shouldn’t like the way they clearly discuss me among themselves—otherwise, how would Cassian have known what happened upstairs?—but it feels good, somehow. Like they must really, truly care. Plus, I like being something they have in common.
Cassian frowns at his stepbrother but presses in closer, essentially letting me snuggle into his body without having to unbuckle my seatbelt. When I rest my face against the soft part of his shoulder, he gently winds his fingers into my hair, pausing to touch the embarrassing butterfly clip that I wore just for him.
His touch is reassuring. Damon has a more direct approach.
“You’ll have to excuse Smith, sweetness,” he says, still upbeat. “He took the morning off to come here and that’s, like, an earth-shattering event for him. He’ll probably have a bunch of calls and stuff to catch up on this afternoon. Plus, he’s just an asshole in general. But you know that.”
Well. Yeah.
But I can’t really agree, can I?
I’m saved when Smith’s phone buzzes in his pocket, proving Damon’s point. The pack alpha rolls his eyes while he answers, but Damon catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and winks, waving his hand at their leader as if to say, You see what I put up with?
Everyone stays quiet while Smith goes through his work call. I get the feeling that silence might be normal for Cassian; but the slumped set of Damon’s shoulders and the slight edge to his scent make me think he’s struggling.
While Smith argues with someone about a zoning restriction, Damon steers us out of the city center, heading toward a very familiar residential area. Through the car’s enormous moonroof, the copse of ancient oak trees and Spanish moss overhead catch afternoon sunbeams, forming kaleidoscopes of leaves and light. Wind whispers through the canopy, overlapping with cheerful bird chirps and the sound of our tires bouncing over brick roads.
The historic neighborhood is one of the most sought-after in Central Florida. The combination of posh and homey make it perfect for well-to-do packs who also want a quiet hollow to raise a family.
Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be giddy. This is my dream neighborhood—and when we turn off one of the main streets, onto a quiet loop, I realize we’re only a few minutes away from Meg’s pack mansion.
From here, I could safely walk to her house. She could come to mine.
Well, not mine.
Theirs.
But, still.
I should be excited. Instead, I feel the buzz of panic, humming under my skin.
A pack like this? In a place like this? With an alpha who already thinks I’m incompetent? My margin for error just went from minuscule to nonexistent.
You practiced for this, I tell myself, bracing as Damon flicks his blinker on and begins to turn off the side street. Just remember your graces.
Because I may not have had those when Cassian knew me, before, but I do now. I made sure I would never disappoint any pack that might take me home, and it’s time to put my money where my mouth is.
The SUV rocks slightly as we exit the brick road and roll up the base of a long, curved driveway. From my vantage point behind the driver’s seat, I see that the piece of property must be quite large. There’s a big open lawn, shaded by towering oaks. The outline of the house sits way back from the road, mostly obscured by the twisty, low-hanging tree limbs.
Whoever is responsible for their landscaping needs… help. The lawn is shaggy, longer in some places than others, and full of dandelion weeds. There are some dead palm fronds off to the side, piled haphazardly next to the ten-foot-tall hedge wall that seems to surround the entire lawn.
Even with those hints of disrepair, the property feels stately. With a little polish, it could be beautiful.
We roll up the drive slowly, prolonging the moment when we finally pass the cluster of trees and the house emerges.
Oh. My. Lord.
It’s—big.
And it’s a mess.
The structure itself is as charming and gorgeous as I ever could have dreamed. A large French-style farmhouse. With its worn stone facade, wooden shutters, and neat rows of windows, it looks like someone plucked it right out of the Provence countryside and dropped it on the Pierson pack’s lawn.
Aside from the fact that it’s falling apart.
Half of the shutters hang at awkward angles, highlighting the fact that many of their mates are simply missing altogether. The windows are covered in sawdust and pollen, a yellow film coating the crystal glass. The stone front steps and front door landing are scuffed. And there are six different patches of paint and whitewash splashed around the exterior—presumably because no one ever got around to actually choosing from the options.
I open my mouth to ask what on earth happened here, but, thankfully, I remember my manners at the last minute.
“It’s lovely,” I murmur. “So much… character.”
Damon snorts. “Is that code for ‘needs a ton of pain-in-the-ass work,’ pretty girl? Because, in that case, Cassian and Smith have a lot of character, too.”
Cassian snorts. “And you’re so low maintenance?”
Even when he frowns, Damon is too beautiful. The way his lips pout just isn’t even fair. “I am!” he protests.
Cassian makes a rough sound that sends tingles through my belly. When he notices me squirm, he raises one eyebrow. “You think I’m exaggerating?” he says, glancing at Damon. “Just wait until you see his bathroom.”
I must have subconsciouslyconvinced myself that the inside of the house would be better than the outside.
Because once I’m in? I’m appalled.
Do these fine, successful men really live like this? Construction dust all over the floors, scratched hardwoods, furniture under tarps, and paint cans that look like they haven’t been touched in months.
I note holes in the walls where sconces were ripped out but never replaced; a stack of broken shutters from the outside in the corner of the dining room; and one whole room that’s just furniture no one ever moved all the way in.
There’s also a roach on the floor.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it’s dead.
So at least someone planned pest control, at the very least.
But the rest of this place? It’s a runaway steam engine with no brakes. Who started all of these projects? And why didn’t anyone finish anything?
As he watches me delicately step over the roach carcass on the threshold, Smith has the grace to look mildly chagrinned. Was all of this his doing? How could someone so polished have a house that looks like this?
My Omega huffs. And he had the nerve to call us incompetent?
Internally, I frown at her, doing my best to keep our conflicted feelings off my face.
Hush, you.
“We, uh, got a bit ahead of ourselves here,” Damon pipes. “We bought the place knowing it needed renovations, but then there was a debate about whether we should choose everything ourselves or wait for our omega…”
When Smith turns to me, he waves at the wide, arched opening at the back of the dining room. His tone is all clipped formality. “The kitchen is just through here. It’s the most finished space in the house.”
Damon bounds ahead, leading me out of the formal foyer—with its sanded-down staircase—through the dark, empty dining room, and under the cased opening. What little air I have managed to inhale instantly flies out of me on a gasp.
The rest of the house, the pack, and this day may not be anything like the fairy tale I expected—but this?
This is my kind of heaven.
The kitchen takes up the entire back half of the house, stretching from an informal living area off to the left through a charming dining nook with bench seating and curved wall of French doors, and all the way to the large collection of white-trimmed windows forming a tall arch along the back wall.
I ignore the ripped-up backyard beyond the glass, turning instead to the cooking area that occupies the center of the big wall across from the kitchen table and the windows. With the natural light beaming in, the white marble counters and polished oak floors gleam, underscoring just how bare the unpainted cabinets look.
I let my eyes roam over them, hunting for appliances. When my gaze trips over a white enamel stove with gold knobs, I swear my heart flips.
Cassian’s hand squeezes around mine before finally releasing me. When I send him an anxious glance, he nods at the beautiful kitchen and murmurs, “Go on. I know you want to.”
It’s so strange how well he knows me. And, really, when I think about it, I know him too. I’d bet all two hundred and eighty dollars in my bank account he has a stash of books around here somewhere. And they’ll be perfectly organized, even though I’d go double-or-nothing that all of his clothes are lying around in rumpled piles.
I suddenly want to hug him and hold on forever.
The rich scent of hazelnuts dipped in dark chocolate sends sparkles fluttering through my blood. Fresh wetness gathers between my thighs, slipping out of me along with a burst of honey-cake perfume. And, thanks to Damon, I don’t have any panties to hide it.
Oh, Lord. I don’t have the first clue how to handle this awkward sexual tension between us. We never had that kind of relationship before. Will he really want one now?
His nostrils flare, his wide jaw flexing. The way his eyes soften while mine fill makes it seem like he already has his answer. “Later,” he murmurs, hushed. “We’ll talk, butterfly.”
I nod. The second I float forward, Damon swoops in, spinning me into his side and giving me a tender squeeze while he guides me deeper into the kitchen.
His smile is contagious while he gestures at the beautiful room. “You said you like to bake, right, sweetness?”
I did. Before Smith eliminated my job.
Stuffing down my grievances, I’m relieved at how easy it is to smile back at Damon. “In here, I bet I could make some serious treats.”
His eyes light up. “Treats? For me?”
I have to laugh. He’s just so enthusiastic, even when he has an attitude. “If you’d like,” I agree. “Just tell me what your favorites are.”
“Damon,” Smith sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes. “We’re meant to be courting her, not the other way around.”
My mind stutters to another halt, trying to process the thought of Smith attempting to court me. I can’t even form an image of that. Every time I picture us alone together, I shudder at the thought of him barking orders at me.
At work.
Last night.
He can’t seem to stop himself.
Which means, technically, it isn’t safe for me to be alone with him.
Which… is going to be an issue, apparently.
Cassian glances at his phone and curses quietly. “D and I have to go, Rems. Morning skate starts at nine every day, but we’re usually back from conditioning by one or two. I’ll text you about lunch, okay?”
I open my mouth, my automatic people-pleasing instinct to agree kicks in. But then I realize what he’s saying.
They’re leaving.
And I’m going to be here alone. With Smith.