Page 8 of Mercy & Her Devils

Except, it’s a link to my old pack, which I can never return to.

The textures are velvety and soft. The sensory feel of the tail is incredible like feathers.

I laugh, running my fingers over the plushie.

Warm sensations wash through me. They fill a need from my Omega dynamic that I didn’t know I was missing.

This house is bare and hard. I’m not allowed anything like this. There aren’t even soft pillows on my bed.

I hold the plushie to my nose, and it smells of Thomas: sugar cookie martini.

He must have rubbed it against his scent gland.

Instantly, my jangled nerves settle further.

Thomas quirks his brow. “The Sheriff can’t stop me scenting presents. And he’s too much of a Traditionalist to refuse gifts from family. I know that he doesn’t believe that Omegas deserve nests because…well, he’s a bastard. So, you need soft textures or you’re going to start suffering health complications. See Mr. Peacock here as your emotional support bird.”

I grin. “Thank you. Even if I have a suspicion that Mr. Peacock is your hookup name on that shady app.”

Thomas smooths down the front of his suit. “You know me better than that. When have I ever given up the chance for a good pun? My hookup name is Knot Your Average Hero 7.”

“Why 7?”

“Six other guys with…questionable…humor thought of it first.”

“I always did think that you had a questionable sense of humor,” a voice that oozes with the fake charm of the elite says, as the door creaks open.

My adrenaline spikes, and I cringe.

Hurriedly, I stuff the peacock into the pocket of my dress.

It’s instinctive to hide it.

Thomas’ face settles back into a cold mask. “Sheriff, you’re home early.”

“It’s my house. I wasn’t aware that I needed to keep you informed of my schedule. And I’ve told you to call me Fletcher, now that you’re my brother-in-law.”

“I’m good, Sheriff.” Thomas’ gaze is as sharp as a blade.

Fletcher looks unsettled for a moment; his mixture of intimidation and charm works on most people. “Ah, as you prefer.”

I peek at him over the couch.

Fletcher is dressed in a smart, charcoal suit that matches his eyes. His hair is black and cut military severe. He’s muscular with a strong jaw. He has one hand held smartly behind him.

He’s almost ten years older than me, having turned thirty this year.

Once, I thought him handsome. For years, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Haven.

But then, I was bonded with him.

Now, I’m only glad that he hasn’t found any one else who he wants to join our pack. I’d be less lonely with another pack member but I don’t want them to join me in this hell.

I remember the pain of the Betas in the Saints pack, who were treated more like staff members than family.

I don’t remember my Omega mom, who died giving birth to Thomas and me.

I don’t think Dad ever truly forgave us for that.

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