Look What the Pack Dragged In

Chapter 1

MAEVE

The kitten with eyes as blue as the ocean stares at the feather wand toy while I dangle it in front of him.

“What’s that?” I ask him softly, enticing him with the bright colors and loud bell attached to the feathers. “What are you going to do?”

He was found outside the coffee shop down the street, digging through the trash and to chew on coffee beans.

Now, he lives at the cat rescue.

After receiving a panicked call from an overwhelmed barista, I picked him up and brought him to his new home at Furs and Purrs.

The cat playroom has become Bean the kitten’s favorite spot, and this feather wand his preferred toy.

With cream-and-brown-colored fur and breathtakingly blue eyes, he’s absolutely adorable.

I can’t decide if I want to squish him, smooch him, or both.

He even smells good, like a forbidden vanilla latte.

It’s hard to explain to Piper and Blair, the owners of the rescue, and they look at me like I’m crazy.

But huffing cats is a real thing, which I proved to them when I showed them all the videos I found on it.

They weren’t impressed.

“Hey, Maeve,” Blair says as she enters the playroom. “Did that litter company reach out earlier?”

I nod, still entertaining Bean. “Yup. They want to do a collaboration! They’ll send us some litter and all we have to do is make a video about it and post it on socials.”

“Wow. You really did it, huh?” Blair says fondly. “You made us cat influencers.”

I grin at my best friend, who is technically my boss. “As long as you keep letting me run the accounts, we’ll be the best cat influencers.” I bat my lashes at her.

She chuckles. “You got it.”

Since I’ve taken over Furs and Purrs social media accounts, we have gone viral more than once in the past six months. I purposely make videos about our longest residents or our oldest cats that need homes.

Kittens are usually the first to be adopted—but the mature cats with complicated backstories or special requirements need to find their forever families, too.

Blair looks fondly at Bean, who has flipped onto his back and is exposing his cream-colored belly. “I can’t imagine he’ll stay here long. He’s immediately adoptable,” she says.

My heart aches at parting with Bean, but it’s something unavoidable.

Sometimes, I end up shedding a tear for the cats we say goodbye to, and my friends kindly pretend not to see me cry.

“I want to take him home,” I murmur.

“You say that about every kitten.”

“No! I didn’t say it about that crazy one,” I insist. “That white one we found under Piper’s car on her birthday.”

“The one that ate your salmon roll?” Blair isn’t impressed.

“Yeah. Because he ate my salmon roll. I’ve got beef with him.”

“You’re not supposed to hold grudges against animals, Maeve. You literally work at a cat rescue.” But my best friend is amused, judging by the glint in her hazel eyes.

“I hold grudges against anyone that eats my salmon rolls,” I huff.

But that’s not true. If the sushi-stealing cat hadn’t easily found a home, I would have made sure the little gremlin went viral, using his tale of mischief to get him adopted.

I didn’t even realize I was a cat lover until I started volunteering here.

My brother, Avery, is packmates with Piper, and when I heard my brother finally found his Omega, I practically barrel-rolled into Luna County with the sole purpose of making Piper my best friend.

And to do that? I would volunteer at the shelter.

I would make her like me. If she’s important to Avery, she’s important to me.

It was just a happy accident that I fell in love with cats in the process.

“Anyway,” Blair continues, “I wanted to let you know Piper is coming in early. So, if you want to leave—”

Bean sneezes, interrupting Blair.

It’s adorable the way his little face twists and he sniffles.

But then he sneezes again, and again.

“Bless you,” I murmur, moving the wand away.

The kitten stands and trots his way to a beige cat tree, unbothered. He stretches on his back legs to scratch the carpeted post, sharpening his claws.

“Anyway,” Blair continues. “You don’t have to stay—”

More sneezes from Bean, who looks very confused.

I count six in total.

Blair frowns at him. “Bless you, buddy,” she says. She looks at me and shrugs. “He was sneezing before you came in.”

A tiny flare of worry spikes in my stomach. “Really? What does that mean?”

“Probably some dust in his nose. It could even be a dried particle of paté.”

Bean sneezes again, another set of three, and my worry turns to creeping dread.

“What if he’s sick?” I ask softly.

Blair lets out a long sigh. “We don’t have any reason to believe that just yet,” she says gently, talking to me as if I’m a child. “Based on what I’ve seen, it’s likely dust.”

But the bubble of panic doesn’t stop, even though I try to stuff it down.

Clicking my tongue to call Bean over, I scoop the latte-colored kitten into my arms. His black nose is wet, but cold.

If it was warm, it could be a sign of a fever.

Even imagining it makes my stomach sour.

“Maeve,” Blair adds. “Bean will be fine. If you’re worried, why don’t you go ask Ivan?”

My face flushes when she mentions the vet tech at the clinic next door, who happens to be my other best friend. “I mean, I don’t want to bother him,” I stammer, my cheeks burning at the mention of the Alpha.

Blair snorts. “You and I both know you are not bothering him,” she says knowingly, arching a brow.

I can’t fight my smile, and shrug innocently. “I guess,” I say, even though I know my face is turning redder by the second.

Bean sneezes again, spraying the contents of his nose all over my black shirt.

My smile fades.

“Ugh,” Blair says. “Yeah, it wouldn’t hurt to check in with Ivan about him. See what he says. I wouldn’t isolate him just yet; I still think he just irritated his nose.” She steps aside as I carry him out of the kitten playroom.

Alvin, our resident tabby cat, lets out a pleased meow when he sees me. He’s perched on the front desk counter and tries to lean into me as I pass him.

“Nuh-uh,” I tell him, pressing Bean closer to my chest. “We don’t know if he’s contagious.”

Piper, who sits behind the desk, sighs. “You don’t know if who is contagious, Maeve?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. “Bean has just been sneezing a lot.”

As if on cue, it happens again, this time in three fits.

“See?” I say, attempting to justify my actions.

Piper and Blair don’t get it. They don’t jump to attention like I do or spring into action at the tiniest sign that something might be wrong with a cat.

Maybe they know more than me—actually, I know they know more than me.

They’ve been at this for years and taught me everything they could about helping cats.

I’m basically a walking encyclopedia now and could wax poetic about the importance of trapping and releasing feral and community cats.

If someone was willing, I’d be happy to explain to them the different types of cat litter and the pros and cons of each material.

So why aren’t we on the same page with this?

And why does my friend’s irritation with me make me feel so ashamed?

Piper’s face turns sympathetic. “Bean will be okay, Maeve,” she says gently. “But if it makes you feel better, go talk to Ivan.”

I’d rather Piper be annoyed at me than pity me, and I’m left embarrassed as I exit the rescue and enter the vet clinic next door, Bean cradles in my arms.

The familiar feeling of being misunderstood hangs over my head.

But then Bean sneezes again, validating my worries.

“Alright, alright,” I murmur, petting his head gently. Even through his sneezes, he’s still a purr machine, which is a good sign.

I came to the clinic at the right time. There are only two people at the reception area, and I shoot a look at Ramona, our receptionist. I mouth “Ivan” to her, and she gives me a wicked grin and a thumbs up.

It’s possible that everyone knows that I sort of have a crush on Ivan.

But I’m here for a sneezing cat, so sick feline first, crush on the super cute Alpha second.

How could I not like him, though? Even in the reception area, I catch a whiff of his Alpha scent—crisp apples and caramel.

I have never, ever scented another Alpha like that. Most of them smell plain to me, like subtle fresh linen, or a little too strong, like patchouli and chili peppers. Some of them I wrinkle my nose at, and others, I could care less about.

But not Ivan.

He’s summer and safety.

He’s a cute first date at a carnival, the freshness of a green apple and the sweetness of rich, delicious caramel.

He smells like happiness to me, and my inner Omega agrees.

I don’t hide my feelings for him well, and everyone knows it, including him. He blushes when he sees me, finds any and all reasons to talk to me, and smiles a little too much when I’m around.

And there’s a secret, small part of me that hopes for the near impossible—a scent match.

The rare impossible that his scent was made for me, and only me. That biology and fate somehow combined together to create a connection that neither of us could break.

But it hasn’t happened yet, despite being around him almost every day, regardless of what my inner Omega thinks could happen.

It would be so lovely though, to be matched to him—

“Maeve?” The door to an exam room opens, and there Ivan is, smiling at me. “And...Bean?” he finishes, looking at the kitten in my arms.

Ivan never forgets any pet names. Even if we only have a cat at Furs and Purrs for a day, he commits their name to memory and asks how they’re doing.

“Hey,” I chirp as Ivan waves for me to enter the exam room. The dark blue scrubs he wears emphasize his chiseled physique—veiny forearms lead to thick biceps, and his tall broad frame exudes physical strength.

But despite his size, I know he wouldn’t harm a fly. His rich ochre eyes are energetic, but kind. Even on days where he’s not in the best mood, he still looks at me like I’m the only Omega he’s ever seen.