Page 102 of Pack Fever

And it’s not an isolated incident. Today alone, I’ve trashed over a hundred similar emails, each one a desperate plea masked as a business proposition. Two more pop up even as I stew in my frustration. I understand the desperation, the desire to avoid Nexus at all costs, and the allure of being linked to Fever, the hottest band on the planet. But it’s misguided, misplaced.

Their desperation, while pitiable, is directed at the wrong people. Especially if I have anything to say about it. Because, in my heart, Fever is mine, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone use them as pawns in their schemes.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

DANICA

The sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains bathes the bedroom in a soft, golden glow. I stir awake to find myself in Reed’s bed—of course I am—but he’s nowhere to be seen. Only the sprawling expanse of his king bed and plush pillows, not to mention the indelible mark of his scent everywhere. I can’t help but roll onto his pillow and take in a deep inhale. It’s a heady mix of plum and vanilla, something uniquely Reed, a fragrance that tugs at the edges of my arousal, something that has me loving it more than I should.

Seeing I’m alone, I climb out to find I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

The room remains silent, and I don’t hear any sounds outside either. Where is everyone? Venturing out into the main living area, the emptiness of the penthouse greets me. The luxurious space is covered in sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows. According to the clock on the wall, it’s past midday.

Damn. I slept in that long?

My gaze shifts to the dining table, where a simple slip of paper lies beside a sleek, modern phone, the handwriting unmistakably Seth’s.

Order yourself any food and drink you want, sweetheart.

The realization that they must be out, maybe at meetings or press interviews, leaving me pondering what to do with my time.

They had mentioned to me that with the concerts in New York now complete, we were going to head to the new destination, The Fillmore in Philadelphia.

Deciding to embrace the quiet moment, I head into the shower to wake up, then get dressed in fresh clothes.

Back in the living room, feeling like a human being again, I place an order for food… lots of it. I’m suddenly starved, and everything on the menu they offer me sounds too enticing not to order. The food arrives, a feast, and I settle onto the plush couch with the television on. I can’t recall the last time I did anything like this.

As the day wears on, the light shifts, painting the room in the hues of dusk. And still, no one’s returned or called me. But as the city lights begin to twinkle on, a familiar, unwelcome heat begins to stir within me.

Panic sets in as I find myself pacing, and of course, it’s when I stand there with the hotel phone in my hand, but I don’t know any of the guys’ numbers by heart. I don’t have a phone, either, and well… fuck!

Pacing the length of the penthouse, panic starts to bubble up inside me. The familiar ache in my gut and between my thighs is not as overwhelming as last night yet, but I’m scared it’ll escalate if I don’t do something soon. The idea of catching a cab to the stadium crosses my mind, but the logistics dampen my spirits. How would I even get past the guards without a phone number or some sort of ID to prove I’m not just another fan trying to sneak in?

I exhale loudly, but the ache is relentless and deepening, growing sharper with each passing second. It’s clear this is going to be worse than last night. I can already feel the intensity building.

“God, please no. I hate this so much.”

Staggering across the room, a moan escapes me as I clutch my stomach, the pain sending shivers through my body. The reality hits me hard—I can’t go through this alone. In a moment of desperation, I grab the phone and dial the reception, hoping against hope they can put me through to Seth.

“Hi, this is Danica from the penthouse. I... I need Seth’s number, please. It’s urgent,” I plead, my voice trembling.

“I’m sorry, we can’t disclose personal information without prior consent from the guest. Is there anything else we can help you with?”

The refusal feels like a physical blow. Frustration and helplessness boil over, and I slam the phone down, a scream of frustration tearing from my throat. The pain is mounting, each wave stronger than the last until it’s all-consuming. My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor, the agony so intense, it’s as if I’m being consumed by fire from within.

Tears stream down my face, a mix of pain and sheer helplessness. It feels like the very essence of me is being torn apart, the heat scorching through my veins with a ferocity that leaves me breathless, writhing on the cold floor of the penthouse. The thought crosses my mind, terrifying in its clarity—I might not make it through this.

With every inch of me trembling, I grip my stomach, the pain so sharp, it feels like a knife twisting inside me while my slick is drenching the inside of my thighs, past my panties. Sweat beads on my forehead, the heat within me so intense, I fear I might spontaneously combust from the arousal. Desperation lends me strength, or perhaps it’s sheer survival instinct, but I find myself crawling toward the bathroom in Jasper’s room.

Reaching the large shower, I fumble with the controls, my hands shaking so badly, it’s a wonder I manage to turn the water on. Stripping off my clothes feels like an insurmountable task, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through my body, but somehow, I do it. I move under the spray, the water shockingly cold against my overheated skin, but it’s a fleeting relief, barely making a dent in the inferno that rages within me.

Tears mingle with the cascade of water as I slide my hand down my body to between my thighs, the other on my breast, tugging at my nipple. I moan at the small relief it gives me. My fingers push between my silky wet folds, and I rub my clit in tight small circles. It’s barely a few strokes before I’m screaming an orgasm. It rattles through me, shaking me to my bones.

I slide further down to my ass in the corner of the shower, the cold water spraying over me as I try to catch my breath. Except the intensity isn’t dissipating. It’s still there, thumping under my skin. My heart’s racing as I rub myself, the high coming again, except that small reprieve it offers me only lasts a minute or so. Then it climbs through me like thorns digging into my insides.

“Fuck!” I cry out, hugging myself, shaking, so turned on, I feel it may end up killing me.

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