The Pack’s Knotty Runaway (Why Choose Romcom Standalones #2)

Chapter 1

Luna

“Jesus, Brendan, you can’t Venmo a stripper.”

The words slice straight through the bar’s low jazz. Three stools down, a beta freezes, his cheeks turning bright red. He stares straight at the row of gin bottles, lifting his beer for a long, agonizingly slow gulp.

I turn back to my drink and take a small sip, smirking over the rim at the dark mountain peaks beyond the bar.

In my experience, you absolutely can Venmo a stripper. But that usually requires a private show. Not that any of this matters tonight because—

A glass slides into my peripheral vision. The bartender, a beta sporting a patchy beard, sets it in front of me.

“Sorry, I didn’t order this,” I say, tilting my head in confusion.

“Consider it an offering,” a deep voice says from my left. “You look like you could use one.”

I turn my head and look up. Then I look up some more, because there’s a lot of him.

Broad shoulders, the kind of arms that make the sleeves of his white shirt work for it.

Collar open, one button past polite, tousled dark brown hair, and a glass of whiskey cradled casually in his hand.

He looks like someone who’s never once worried about taking up too much space, and even with the scent-suppressing spray misting above the bar, there’s no mistaking he’s an alpha.

I eye the glass. It’s pale gold, with a tiny curl of orange peel floating on top. “What’s in it?”

“Elderflower, among other things.” he says, his hazel eyes reflecting the light from the back bar. “You should try it. Most people find elderflower delightful.”

I take him in from the shoes up, my eyes rising until they lock with his. He’s watching me watch him, a faint, unreadable shadow of amusement in his expression. “You look like someone who uses the word delightful without irony.”

He grins. It’s a problem. “I’m Ash.”

“Luna.” I rest my chin on my hand.

“Luna,” he repeats, the name rolling off his tongue. “After the moon, or—”

“Let me guess. Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter?”

He pauses, halting his whiskey glass midair. “I was actually going to say the cat in Sailor Moon.”

I blink, staring at him. Excuse me? A cat? “Well, at least you didn’t say a horse.”

He holds my gaze for three long seconds before his expression cracks, a huff of laughter escaping him.

“Oh my god.” I press a hand flat against my chest, feeling my pulse quicken. “You’re horrible.”

“And you’re easy to wind up.” The smile he gives me should be illegal in most jurisdictions.

I snatch a cocktail napkin off the bar and swat it against his knuckles. “You know, I’m this close to giving you a lecture on bar-room etiquette.”

“Well,” he starts, biting his lower lip. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind some… educating.”

A sudden wave of heat prickles up my neck.

Yesss, alpha, my omega says. We haven’t had sex in monthsss.

No, bad, I think back, my grip tightening on the stem of the glass. Stranger.

Although... he’s kind of seducing the shit out of me right now. God, biology’s a bitch.

Okay, breathe, Luna. What would my colleagues at the Lakeview Public Library do right now?

Meredith would probably clutch her lanyard in horror and flee.

Patricia would order a double and stay. And Deb?

Well, Deb would already have her hand on his knee.

Which, honestly, I wouldn’t blame her for.

I mean, this man’s jawline looks sharp enough to slice right through a card catalog...

My eyes slide sideways, scanning the place.

Because somewhere in this resort, there are people who believe I am here as Derek’s doting girlfriend.

Derek, whose cousin, Mira, is getting married tomorrow.

Derek, my ex, who begged me to pretend we were still together just for one weekend.

For the family, Luna. The catering’s six hundred dollars a head and Mira already finalized the seating chart.

Of course, I said yes. Because I’d promised Mira months ago, and because Derek swore this was the last thing he’d ever ask of me.

But the point is, if anyone from the wedding party walked into this lounge right now, they’d see me leaning entirely too close to an alpha who is very much not the groomsman I’m supposed to be here with.

But then again, he’s still holding my gaze with those eyes... looking as if he can read every single dirty thought crossing my mind. And I mean, that jaw...

I scan the room one more time. The coast is clear.

Fuck it. Tonight, I’m just an omega in a bar.

“Well,” I say, leaning forward a touch, my gaze dropping to his mouth. “Maybe, if you play nice.”

***

The keycard comes out of my clutch on the second try. The mahogany door swings open and Ash’s mouth is on mine.

His hand is in my hair, my back against the door, and the click of the lock shutting is the only sound that registers before the rest of the world falls away.

His hands find my waist, the small of my back, the zipper at the side of my dress. I get his top two buttons before I give up and just pull. A rapid-fire pop-pop-pop echoes off the walls as buttons scatter across the floor like hail, leaving the front of his shirt open.

“That was a good shirt,” he says.

“Send me the bill.” I shove it down his arms and off.

His mouth moves to my neck and I tilt into it.

There’s this scent coming off his skin that wasn’t there at the bar.

Warm. Deep. Every inch of him I touch seems to release more of it, and whatever’s underneath is making my body greedier than it should be.

I press my face into the crook of his neck, inhale, and my fingers dig into his back hard enough that he groans.

“Easy,” he says, but he pushes himself closer to me.

My dress hits the floor before I know it. My heels are somewhere. His belt is a problem I’m solving with both hands, and he’s laughing against my throat while I wrestle with the buckle.

“Need help?”

“I am a capable, independent—” The buckle gives and I smirk, meeting his gaze head-on.

He walks me backward as a response. The back of my knees hit the bed and I fall. He follows me down, one knee on the mattress, one hand braced beside my head. His shirt is gone and the light from the window is doing something frankly obscene to his shoulders.

“Keep going,” I breathe.

He dips his head and his mouth finds the spot below my ear, my collarbone, the space between.

The scent-suppressing spray is fading further and the scent coming through is obliterating my senses.

Whatever’s coming off me must be doing something too, because his mouth goes hungrier against my throat, his teeth grazing, his breath ragged, his hands pulling me flush against him.

I rake my nails down his back and his whole body tightens against mine.

“Jesus,” he mutters into my collarbone.

There’s a sudden, heavy pressure in my chest, a gear shifting deep in my bones, unlocking something I thought was bolted shut.

Him. The thought is loud, vibrating through my blood. Alpha. Stay. Make it last.

I bite my lip, turning my head. On the nightstand, a glass box sits on the turndown tray, the lid slightly ajar, little truffles nestled in gold paper cups. A complimentary treat from the hotel...

They give my omega an idea.

“Hungry?” I say.

He pulls back, his eyes heavy-lidded and searching. “Only for what’s in front of me,” he murmurs.

“And for this answer, I think you deserve a little treat.” I reach over and scoop a handful of truffles. I dump them onto the mattress beside us, gold paper cups scattering. I pick one up and place it on my collarbone, right in the little dip between the bones.

He looks at it, looks at me, and his eyes go dark. He lowers his head and takes it with his mouth, slow, his lips warm against my skin. When he lifts back up, a flick of his tongue catches a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

“Good?” I say.

“Incredible,” he says, low.

I take another one. Place it just below my navel.

“Funny,” he breathes, already lowering. “This is exactly where I was going.”

“Then consider it a snack for the rest of the journey,” I murmur.

His eyes go black, his chest rising and falling in shallow, heavy breaths. He drops his weight, pinning me into the mattress, his mouth catching the truffle on my navel with a sharp, desperate bite. I gasp as his tongue sweeps my skin, hot and wet, the friction sending a jolt straight to my thighs.

He reaches for the pile on the sheet. Gets a truffle. Presses it to the spot below my ear and drags it down my neck, slow, following the smear with his mouth.

“That’s—oh yeah, that’s very—” He cuts me off, his mouth on mine, the kiss tasting like chocolate and whiskey.

He feeds me one chocolate, then his mouth is on my ribs. My stomach. His fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear.

“Off,” I say, already pushing them down. “Now.”

He finishes the movement in one smooth pull, his mouth lowering to my hip, my inner thigh... my other lips. My hand finds his dark, messy hair, and whatever’s left of my rational self evaporates.

“Ash—”

What he does with his tongue that should require a permit. My spine leaves the mattress entirely. I’m whimpering, entirely helpless against whatever wicked tongue gymnastics he’s pulling off down there.

“Fuck,” I gasp as a particularly potent twist of his tongue whites out my peripheral vision.

God, this is so good... and relaxing. Every muscle in my body is loosening. One of my hands drifts from Ash’s hair toward my face, catching a yawn. When I try to drop my arm back down, it feels heavy. More than it should.

My vision whites out. A broken noise slips from my throat. His grip on my hip tightens. I’m close. So close.

“Yes—faster—”

He obliges, doubling down with a frantic rhythm that completely wrecks me. The intensity spreads, turning into a warm wave that swallows the room whole. I am pulsing right on the brink, my body growing heavier by the second, dissolving into the mattress.

Then, the ceiling tiles soften and—