Pack End Game

Prologue

Mia

We need to stop avoiding the elephant in the bar.

"So, how far away did Jason say he was?"

Belle's face freezes in a tight smile.

We're supposed to be meeting Belle's new boyfriend, Jason, tonight. He's allegedly so great that my best friend seems to be thinking of sacrificing her chance of ever finding a scent-match to settle down playing happily ever after with Jason-the-pilot, instead.

"I forget," she says after a moment of frozen panic. "Let me check." She angles her body away to look at her phone again, still unaware that I can clearly see she has no new notifications. She stares at her home screen long enough to make me worry.

"Everything okay?" I nudge her with my elbow.

Her nervous, high-pitched laugh confirms that my bestie is absolutely not okay. She still doesn't look up from her phone, even though I don't think it's going to be magically giving her any answers any time soon about her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend's whereabouts.

The bartender chooses this moment to check in on us again. "Is your friend okay?" he asks, glancing between Belle's hunched form and me.

I turn my hands up helplessly with a halfhearted shrug. After all the gushing she's done over Jason since meeting him, and the fact that he's choosing this important night to disappoint her, I'm not so sure she is okay.

She will be, though. Belle is a badass at heart, even if she forgets that about herself sometimes. I'll always be here to remind her. That's what friends are for.

"Everything is great, except..." Belle's voice cracks. "Traffic. There's traffic."

"Really?" I take out my own phone to check my map app, already knowing what I'm likely to find. Belle can't keep lying to me–or to herself. "None of the streets on my map look red. What direction is he coming from? The airport?"

I look up at Belle's panic-stricken face and hold eye contact, waiting for her to come to terms with reality. The sooner she accepts that the asshole stood her up, the sooner we can double down on our drinking and make this a proper girls' night.

She'll forget all about what's-his-face in no time. I definitely already have.

Belle's mouth opens and shuts several times as she struggles to find her voice. There's honestly no telling whether she's ready to give up the ruse or if she's planning to double down. I discreetly wave the bartender away, wanting to spare her from him witnessing whichever direction this is headed.

She suddenly seems to summon up some courage. "The thing is–"

Before she can get her words out, I see the front door of the bar open from the corner of my eye. "Oh!" I yelp in surprise, turning my head to get a better look at the man I recognize from photos Belle has shown me. "Is that him?"

Belle turns on her barstool, and her whole body relaxes the moment she sees Jason brushing snow off himself and searching the room for us. There was a little snow when we arrived at the bar, but the snow must be coming down harder now for him to be wearing so much of it.

"No wonder there was traffic. Looks like we're in for one heck of a snowstorm tonight.

I'm sure you wouldn't be too upset about being snowed in with your beau, though, huh?

" I tease even though I'm not sure Belle is even listening to me.

She's too busy staring dreamily at her boyfriend, whom I suddenly feel bad for doubting.

Jason finally sees us sitting at the bar, and his eyes light up.

For a split second, I'm completely focused on feeling happy for my friend. She deserves someone whose face lights up when he sees her, even if I do still feel sad that she's settling for anything less than a scent-match.

Then my attention wanes as something begins to seep into my consciousness.

The smell of sandalwood, a heady scent that suddenly overwhelms my senses.

I can smell the sandalwood over everything–and everyone–else in the bar.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion as a yearning tears through me, an unfamiliar feeling that I've never had before.

Jason's gaze moves from Belle to me as he walks over to join us. When he sees my face, his steps falter slightly.

"Oh no," I whisper, my chest seizing with a horrified realization.

The smell draws closer as he does. It's him. Jason is that perfect sandalwood smell that I want to roll around in and then wrap myself up in like a blanket.

Every step he takes closer increases my urge to get up and throw myself at him. I want to rub my own scent on him, combine our scents together in perfect harmony.

But I can't. I can't.

Fucking fuckity fuck.

The next moments become a blur of Belle's horror as she realizes the connection I have to Jason.

Somehow, Jason seems almost unfazed by the scent-match.

Clearly, he has more self-control than I do.

I have to hold the edges of my stool with all of my strength to keep from trying to immediately claim my best friend's boyfriend for myself.

Everyone seems able to speak except me. I don't even register what either of them is saying, except for something about a borrowed coat. I sit quietly with my eyes squeezed shut–out of sight, out of mind doesn't work nearly as well as I hope–until Jason speaks to me directly for the first time.

"I'm Jason. You must be Mia."

I force my eyes open and say, "Hi," in a high-pitched squeak.

He's holding his hand out to me, but I don't dare take it.

If our hands touch, I fear I won't be able to control my omega urges any longer.

I want to be respectful to my friend, but this is killing me.

My scent-match is right here; I can't do anything.

Even worse, Jason genuinely seems unbothered.

How can he be so chill at a time like this?

Jason drops his arm when he realizes I'm not planning to shake his hand.

Belle abruptly gets up from her seat and faces the two of us. "Well, I wouldn't want to stand in the way of a scent-match," she says, her voice thick with emotion. She looks at me with anguish in her eyes, and my chest burns knowing I'm the one causing her that pain.

"Belle?" Jason takes a step toward her, which makes me bristle. Why is he moving closer to her and further away from me?

"I have to get out of here," she blurts out.

"Belle, no." I stand and move closer to the two of them, genuinely wanting Belle to wait, but also wanting to close that distance between my scent-match and me.

"I need to think. I can't wrap my mind around this. I need to get some fresh air and just... I need to think."

"Please stay," I plead. "We can talk this out."

"What is there to talk about?" She ends with a bitter laugh, and then she's gone. Fleeing from the bar. Fleeing from us.

"Belle, where are you going?" Jason calls out, still seemingly more concerned about her than about me.

My stomach is in knots as I realize he might be the kind of guy who doesn't care about scent-matches.

Usually, the only people who say they don't care about scent-matches are people who haven't found theirs yet, but maybe he's an anomaly.

Maybe free will to choose a partner is more important to him than letting fate find his perfect biological match.

I let out a pitiful bleating sound like a sad baby goat. Whatever Jason is thinking, I can't stand the distance between us a moment longer. I throw my arms around him and squeeze close, burying my face close to his neck to inhale...

The worst stank I've ever experienced.

"Licorice?" I blurt out, recoiling in horror.

That can't be right. The scent I'm drawn to is a sweet, woodsy smell that I wish I could bathe in.

Not licorice, the most horrendous scent I could imagine.

The sandalwood is completely overwhelmed by licorice, sending me reeling back several steps to get away.

"What?" Jason stares bewildered at my retreat. "What the hell is going on? What scent-match was Belle talking about? I know I should have texted her that I was running late, but I was so focused on getting here safely in the snow. Did I really mess up that badly?" He grimaces at the possibility.

My jaw drops open. "What scent-match?" I repeat, feeling completely dumbstruck. "Uh... ours."

"Ours?" His eyebrows arch high as he gestures between the two of us before laughing and shaking his head. "No offense, but you're definitely not my scent-match. Florals make me mildly nauseous." He shudders, completely immune to how my world is being rocked.

My heart feels like it's being cracked wide open.

He doesn't feel the scent match at all. Could dating my bestie have disrupted our fate-bound connection? Maybe that could explain that weird licorice quality that seems to be growing stronger the longer we stand here.

I don't fucking know. I feel like I'm drawing ideas out of my ass in an attempt to explain the unexplainable.

Scent-matches are supposed to be guaranteed matches. Otherwise, what's the point? I'm supposed to pine away for this man who's disgusted by my scent and only interested in my best friend?

This is just my luck... except it's not. Most things seem to turn out in my favor. Like successfully flirting with hot bartenders or making viral marketing campaigns during the holiday season that help sales spike at work.

I'm not the kind of omega who's supposed to end up fated to unrequited love.

"You really think I'm your scent-match?" Jason asks, his amusement at the idea giving way to concern. He doesn't do a very good job of hiding his grimace when he tries to take a deep inhale to trial-run my scent.

He really, genuinely doesn't feel anything but disdain.

Ouch.

His expression softens. "I'm sorry. I've had a really long day at work, but I'm being insensitive." He shrugs out of his coat and lays the garment across Belle's abandoned bar stool. "Let me run to the bathroom and splash some water on my face, and then I promise we'll get this sorted out."

I can't help but feel relieved as he walks away. Aside from that initial sandalwood scent, there's nothing about Jason that I'm drawn to. He's too clean-cut, for one. How in the world could I survive a lifetime with someone who has no edge? No pizzazz or quirk?

Luckily, the further away he gets, and the more the smell of licorice recedes with him, the better I can smell the original scent again.

My eyes flutter shut as I inhale deeply, calming instantly as I take in sensations of warmth and belonging.

Everything my little omega heart could possibly desire, nearly within my reach.

Wait a second...

I clasp a hand over my heart as I gasp, my eyes flying open and looking instantly toward the bar. The cute bartender tries to beckon me closer with a smile, but I don't have time for that flirtationship anymore. Instead, my gaze lands on the source of the irresistible scent I'm so drawn to.

Jason smells like licorice.

It's not Jason.

I'm sure I'll feel great relief about that later when I'm not frozen in place, my gaze pinned to the stool where my bestie was sitting only minutes ago.

The black peacoat lies slung across the barstool haphazardly.

The material folds in on itself, clearly well-loved enough that it doesn’t quite hold its shape anymore.

There’s nothing shabby about the garment, though, with pristine dark fabric that looks expensive and black buttons that are polished to a shine.

Mesmerized, I step closer and pick up the crumpled lump of fabric. My thumb caresses the material at the lapel. Real wool. I press my cheek against the fabric and inhale.

My scent-match... is a fucking coat?