Chapter 40
Forty
DARIA
My skin is practically crawling by the time I get home. So many people. So many scents that aren’t my pack’s. Being surrounded by different perfumes has never bothered me before, but today, I hate it. So much so that my pulse is thundering as unreasonable anxiety over not remembering exactly what my pack smells like rushes through my veins.
I get home before the guys and immediately head to the shower, scrubbing my skin and hair, the taint of others swirling down the drain in heavy, soapy rivulets.
My stomach snarls, cramping.
I already had a snack this afternoon. Logically, I shouldn’t feel like my stomach is hollow, but the hormones rushing through my system are demanding food.
Quickly rinsing off, I scrub my hands over my body one more time, needing to be sure all those smells are gone. Drying off is a mere suggestion, at this point. I leave my en suite, towel loosely wrapped around my body, and go to Vic’s room first.
The shirt he wore last night is soft, clinging to the moisture still beading on my skin. I bring the collar to my nose and inhale. Rich, musky myrrh.
But it’s not enough.
I’m missing Kai and Lincoln.
Plucking shirts from both of their rooms, I pull them on as well, not caring that I’m three layers deep in oversized clothing. There’s no time for vanity with spice and bergamot wrapping around me like a warm blanket, myrrh settling around my neck almost like a secondary collar. There’s security in these scents. A sense of belonging that soothes the worst of my unease from the day, but their shirts will never replace them.
My gut clenches, painfully reminding me of its demands and that I best heed them.
The kitchen is full of my favorite things, and I grab one of each, cradling my hoard in my arms as I head to my nest. The delicacy with which I place my snacks on the bed is better suited for fragile porcelain figurines, but I carefully place them, almost like they’re the most precious things on this earth and I’ve been entrusted with keeping them safe.
Safe in my belly.
I crawl onto the bed, ignoring a cramp, and grab the hot fries first. Spicy first. Salty next. Sweet last.
As I dig into the first snack, I can’t help wondering, where’s my pack?