21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Fox
Vivi’s face turns whiter than a ghost, and her mouth opens and closes several times, like she can’t suck in any air.
Dash cups her face in his palms, caressing her cheeks, but it’s not enough. Pushing my chair back so hard that it clatters onto the floor, I rush around the table, pulling her against my chest as I let loose a deep purr.
“But that means you missed your first game of the season,” she whispers, horror evident in her voice.
“And none of us give a single fuck,” Ty chirps, leaning over Dash to look her in the face.
“Did… did they win?”
“Nope! They got their asses whooped without us!” Ty crows with a laugh, and Vivi visibly shrinks, trying to make her body small, like she’s worried we’re gonna be mad.
“It’s a good thing, little flier, it means they need our pack,” I murmur in her ear. Running my hand in circles along her belly, I keep up the purring until she relaxes ever so slightly against me, loosening her shoulders and leaning back.
“I’m so sorry…” she says, licking her full lower lip.
“Well, we aren’t,” Dash insists, using both hands to cup her face and force her to look him in the eyes. “These were the best few days we’ve ever had. Honestly. We love football—and not to scare you away—but we already love you more.”
Ty’s shocked expression mirrors the way I feel. Our gruff pack Alpha waxing poetic is about the last thing I expected to happen today.
“I don’t want to quit cheer,” Vivi suddenly blurts, and confusion has me quirking my brow at my packmates.
Where did she ever get the idea that we would want her to?
“Little flier, we only want you to be happy,” I begin hesitantly.
“And safe. And living here with us,” Ty throws in exuberantly, and I scowl in his direction. Read the room, dude. We haven’t discussed that yet—though, of course, I want it too—she wasn’t ready to hear it just yet.
Her head swivels, looking from one of us to the other, and she tries to pull out of my hold, but I don’t let her go.
“I know this is sudden, but your apartment isn’t safe. We can give you a space here that’s just for you. A room, a wing, hell, the whole damn house if you want it—but please, give this a chance,” I add hastily.
“Plus, Mako doesn’t want to leave,” Ty adds, lifting the fluffy gray cat from the floor and dropping him onto her lap. Vivi’s soft hands automatically stroke his back before scratching the little white spot right under his chin. As she pets him, the wheels turn in her head.
Even though we haven’t bonded—yet—I can still read every thought going through her mind. Her face and posture make them clearer than an open book.
She’s going to stay.
Please stay.
The seconds feel like hours, like an eternity, as I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. My lungs burn, and I exhale so loudly that they all jump.
Vivi blinks up at me, and anxiety churns in my belly. I’m ready to beg, ready to lay the world at her feet, do whatever she wants—if she’ll only stay with us.
“I don’t want to leave either,” she admits, a smile lighting up her beautiful face. With a whoop, I lift her from the chair, spinning us around and around until we’re dizzy and Mako is hissing.
“Oh, thank goodness, little flier. I didn’t know how we would fit all my stuff in your little apartment,” I joke.
Dash plucks her out of my arms and crushes her against him.
“Good girl,” he growls, and the prettiest blush glows on her cheeks before Ty sneaks in to claim our prize under the pretense of showing her the rest of the house.
They disappear around the corner with Ty’s arm slung over her petite shoulders. Her long braid sways back and forth, brushing her lower back. The mesmerizing motion draws my eyes downward, where her round ass snags my attention as it bounces under skintight leggings. She’s physically beautiful, but she’s so much more than just that—determined, athletic, guileless. In my wildest imagination, I couldn’t have created a better omega to spend the rest of our lives with.
“Wish she had our bites on her,” Dash says, bumping my shoulder with his as we work together to straighten the kitchen.
“Wonder if she would take a pack bite before her next heat, just so we could have that little connection until we can claim her,” I consider aloud, rubbing my hand over the raised scars on my wrist that mark me as Pack Walsh.
“No,” he growls, shaking his head—and he’s right, that would send the wrong message.
And everyone needs to know she’s ours.