Page 68 of Pack Fever

Like most nights, I wake up in the dead of night, engulfed by an inferno and darkness, disorientation confusing me.

Tonight’s different. There’s something silky soft yet hard as a rock in my grip under the sheets that feels incredible to touch. That makes me feel like I belong, which screams all kinds of right.

Until I remember where I am.

Reed’s room… again.

I shudder, rapidly pulling my hand back from his cock, about to die from the craziness that’s my sleepwalking.

Why the heck am I touching him?

God, I’d die if he knew when I snuck into his bed in my sleepy daze that I was feeling him up. He’d lose his shit, seeing he’s been so distant from me, avoiding me at all costs. Yesterday, he saw me in the kitchen, and he literally spun on his heels and walked out. The fuck!

What’s wrong with me, anyway?

Why is it that his vanilla and plum scent is the most heavenly smell? I hate that I like anything that comes from him.

Panic surges through me at being caught by him and having to defend myself. I get it. He’s not interested, but he’s such a jerk about it.

I start to slip out of the bed, my foot pushing out from under the blanket, when his large hands drape over me, locking me in place. Gasping, I really don’t need him this close, not after his coldness.

For a long pause, I remain frozen, trying to take shallow breaths and calm my racing heart. That’s until he drags me toward him with a powerful wrench, one leg draped over mine, his enormous erection poking me in the hip. Then suddenly, his mouth is on my temple, as if he started to kiss me, then fell asleep halfway through.

Okay, what the hell is going on?

Gently, I reach for his fingers, pulling at them to pry them off me, but he’s like a damn tree branch that refuses to budge. Each time I shift, his grip tightens. Is he doing this on purpose, paying me back for being in his bed yet again?

Wait… fuck! He’s now kissing me in small pecks over and over in the same spot on the side of my face. Okay, this is freaking awkward. He’s got to be pulling a prank on me. I twist my head to cut him a sharp glare, but all I get are these kisses over my forehead and eye.

Shuffling and wriggling to pull away, he finally calms the hell down and has his head on my pillow. He’s breathing heavily, with a faint snore in his throat, and his eyelids are shifting as if he’s in a deep sleep.

Is this legit? He’s dreaming of kissing someone… me?

I’m just a girl in heat, and my body’s buzzing with electricity from his touches and his mouth on me. How am I supposed to ignore him when he teases me like this?

I glare at him in the dark, at the guy who’s been brushing me off. And here he is, cuddling me in his dreams. I can’t help but release a small snorting laugh, which I shut down instantly. He’d lose his mind if he caught us like this, no doubt not believing when I tell him the truth. What I need is his phone to record this.

Carefully, I maneuver again, trying to slide out without waking him up. My movements are deliberately slow, but he just pulls me closer, murmuring something incoherent. After what feels like an eternity of struggling, I finally wriggle free and slip out of bed.

Standing, I throw a look at him in the bed, snuggling my pillow now, and I snigger to myself. He’s sprawled out across the bed, his hair messy, his muscles across his back, and his arms bulging, but my gaze fixates on the wall of art on his body.

Remaining in his room a second longer is tempting fate, so I tiptoe out of the room, dragging the door mostly shut behind me. Then I breathe easy, and I can’t help but smile. Reed said he never wants a relationship, yet he’s craving it in his sleep.

I don’t know what his problem is with me, but I urgently need to find a way to stop entering his bed.

Sauntering through the quiet hallways, I make my way back, the floorboards cold under my bare feet. I’m in loose sweatpants and a short top showing my navel, but with long sleeves to cover my arms. The chill of the night loops around me.

The soft strumming of a guitar reaches me through the shadowy night. Someone else is awake. I move in the direction of the music until I reach a slightly ajar door.

Peering in, I find Seth.

He’s sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, one leg stretched out, the other bent, with his guitar cradled in his lap. His eyes are closed, head tilted back slightly, completely engrossed in his music.

Seth’s in his element, the lamplight throwing shadows on his handsome face and over a loosely buttoned black shirt. Ink designs peek out from his shirt sleeves, and his signature earrings glint in the dim light. A long silver chain hangs from his neck, and the tattoo of the flame on his neck reminds me that I’m staring at a rock star idol.

A man creating a masterpiece song in a moment of raw creativity.

I quietly slip away from the door and slide down with my back to the wall outside his room, sitting down cross-legged. Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me. It’s soothing yet intricate as it curls around me. The beat is slower, but I can already hear it with Jasper’s drums in my head. Breathless.

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