Chapter 38
Listening to My Inner Self
JOHANNA
Warm water laps my shoulders as I slip lower in the tub. A soft pink pillow fastened to the rim squeaks when I lean back until only my head and neck rise above the waterline. Every inhale brings steam, scented with aloe and eucalyptus to soothe my throat.
Since I’d finally gone back into Max’s and my bedroom, I retrieved my collection of post-heat bath salts, lotions, and unguents, rewarding myself with a long soak.
After Nathan and Dan left, part of me had longed to crawl under bedcovers and indulge in a good, cathartic cry. It lost to the more practical part, which argued for a solid soak and judicious application of healing ointments.
I haven’t indulged in that much sex recently, by heat-measures.
Even Max’s last heat had left me far more exhausted and achy.
Still, I’ve been knotted twice in three days, and odds are, I’ll get a chance to be knotted again over the weekend, unless things go seriously awry.
That, plus the complaints in my knees and back, warrant a good soak.
Despite being enveloped in soothing scents and warm water, other worries and wonders distract from my aches and pains.
In particular, bonds.
Considering how much time I’ve spent over the years daydreaming about bonding into a pack, I’ve devoted fairly little thought to the actual mechanics.
Movies show them, of course, but their simulated shots of teeth digging into skin swiftly shift to the orgasmic expressions of the newly bound mates.
The sheer relief on Nathan’s face lingers in my brain, alongside the joy on Dan’s, even though he was the only one who didn’t come. That matches my expectations.
Of course, when one notices bond marks on other people, they’re glowing scars of silver, gold, or copper, or other contrasting colors against their skin—not actual bites with blood everywhere. Blood on Nathan’s teeth, dripping from his mouth, and seeping from Dan’s arm.
The bond will be temporary unless Dan bites Nathan back, which means that, if they do want to pack up, Nathan will probably have to bite Dan again—and Nathan went through this process twice with his first pack!
At which my brain trips and I realize I’m thinking about his ‘first’ pack, suggesting that there is—or will be—a second.
Or does Nathan consider it all one big pack? In my dream of Nathan after Max’s heat, he’d said that, if his pack were still alive, all three of them would’ve courted us. Sounds nice: a pack courting another pack to form a bigger one.
Nice, yes, except for the biting part.
Maybe it’s different for alphas and omegas—a natural expectation. Instinct. I grew up in a pack, but they’d formed their bonds well before I came along.
I’m not sure I’m capable of biting someone hard enough to make them bleed. I don’t eat flesh—meat or fish—because I can’t stand the texture; it makes my stomach turn. How can I bear digging my teeth into someone I love?
The water’s grown tepid, so I get out and apply some lotions and salves I kept stocked up for post-heat.
As I rub orange-scented aloe lotion in—bringing Max to mind—I find bruises I don’t remember getting.
Pale blue ovals mar my hips, presumably from Corin holding me?
That, in addition to all the hickeys on my neck and shoulders from Nathan’s sucking.
Aches and worries leave me pensive and on the slippery slope to crabbiness. Dan and Nathan should return shortly, but I have no desire whatsoever to dress up for them. If they want to pack up, they might as well see me at my not-so-best.
I pull on a comfy, ratty nightshirt in bright pink, going braless underneath to let the girls swing free. Plain undies and loose sweats complete the ensemble. I’m finger combing my hair while searching for my bunny slippers when the phone rings.
Impossible to ignore—though I check who’s calling before answering.
“Hey Hester.” A surprise caller. Sudden dread presses on me; that I forgot I’m supposed to host the book group this Sunday. I frantically page through my calendar to check whether the fear is justified.
“Johanna.” There’s an edge of apology in Hester’s warm tones. “I know it’s Friday, and you probably have plans this evening, but I hope you can spare a little time.”
“Sure,” I locate the book group meeting, but it’s not for another week and I’m not hosting, haven’t read the book yet, either.
As I sit on my bed, still combing fingers through my hair, a different possibility dawns.
Perhaps Hester wants money for Sage Street—although this is an odd time to ask, and over the phone, no less.
“I don’t know why it took so long for me to figure this out, but given what your nieces said earlier this week …” Hester draws in a hissing breath, then sighs. “Forgive the liberty, but are you considering joining a pack?”
“Sort of, maybe.” I shrug, though she can’t see. “There might be a pack forming that includes me. Though that’s not something I want spread around.”
“Okay, good to know. Congrats! And no fear that I’ll say anything to anyone without your permission.
” She sighs again. “But in that case, would you have any interest in a support group for people joining or forming packs after the age of forty? It’s intended particularly for people who’ve never been in packs before, although packmates are welcome as well. ”
I freeze, fingers half through still-damp hair. “You mean there are others?”
Mind blown. Almost everything in the news, books, and movies focuses on packing up early.
Anamaria’s been complaining about being pressured to find a pack, and she’s only twenty-three.
Packing up young is the general expectation—but why didn’t I consider that there might be others like me?
That Corin, Nathan, Dan. and I are not alone?
We don’t have to figure it all out ourselves, unless we want to.
“While most packs form while members are in their twenties and thirties, there are definitely many of us late-bloomers, or ‘late-packers,’ as we sometimes call ourselves.” Hester chuckles.
“At any rate, if you’re interested, let me know, and I’ll forward your information to the conveners.
The actual invitation to join has to come from one of them.
There’s a meeting Sunday. I can’t guarantee you’ll hear from them by then, but I thought I’d call now, in case things could work out. ”
“The conveners—you mean that doesn’t include you?” Hester’s earlier use of ‘calling ourselves’ registers. “You’re packing up, too?”
“Maybe, possibly—it depends. It sounds like your pack would be a new creation.” She gives an odd sound, half laugh and half groan. “The pack that’s courting me has been together for decades.”
“Ouch.” The mere idea of joining an established pack, people who already know each other inside and out, makes me shudder. My situation sounds so much better by comparison.
“Everything has its pros and cons,” she says.
“Got any advice?” She’s a therapist, after all, with years of experience counseling people through troubled times.
“Nothing you won’t have heard a thousand times over the years.”
“I’ll take it anyway.” I grip the phone tightly, holding it close and un
“Listen to your instincts and your inner self. You have them—everyone does, even if most betas’ tend not to be so insistent as alphas’ and omegas’,” Hester says, encouragingly.
“Regardless of designation, the older we get, the harder it can be to follow instincts. We get set in our ways or lose confidence in our inner selves. Don’t do anything you don’t want to or go anywhere you don’t feel safe—but, also, don’t let that stop you from asking hard questions early on.
If your packmates only want you when you make life easy for them, they’re not worth it.
Pack is for hard times, not just fun and sex. ”
“Got it.” I straighten, expressing my gratitude for her call and advice, and ask for her to share my information.
Heading downstairs, I follow my instincts to the dining room, where Corin’s setting the table for four.
He opens his arms, and I walk right in. Nuzzle my face against his neck and shoulder.
His sweet mix of cider and cedar soothes and grounds me, giving me a firm foundation on which to stand as I face uncomfortable truths.
Hester’s words repeat in my head—not just about relying on my instincts, but her situation: being courted by a well-established pack.
Mine differs, but perhaps not as much as I’d originally thought.
I’d put myself in her shoes in my instinctive reaction—but, in fact, I could be considered on the other side.
Our pack, if we form it, will be new, but Corin and I are all but packmates already.
Dan and Nathan have to deal with that, just as Hester has to deal with the long history of her possible pack.
Which means Corin and I have to decide if we want to allow them in.
Nathan and Dan are coming to our house to tackle the hard questions. Corin and I will be on our own territory
Impossible not to admire their courage and determination.
Nor to realize how proactive they and Corin are being about exploring us as a pack while I, on the other hand, have been more passive. I’ve gone along for the ride, but not taken any kind of lead role. Maybe that’s pack politics and alpha natures, that they lead, but it doesn’t sit well with me.
If I’m going to do this, I need to be all in—or not at all.
When the doorbell rings, I leave the warmth of Corin’s arms. Cold air rushes past me as I open the door to Dan and Nathan.
Despite the chill evident on their faces thanks to the early winter storm, the assorted bags they carry, and the two cat carriers with unhappy tenants, there’s a glow about them. Ruddy teeth marks show clearly on Dan’s bare arm, but it’s not the physical symbol of their connection that strikes me.
No matter that I can’t see the bond; an almost tangible surge of warmth flows between them.
Undeniable desire rises up in me.
Hester did suggest I listen to my inner self, so I do, if not yet sharing it with the world.
I want that kind of connection.