Page 38 of Pack Fever

Fairy lights cast a soft glow on everything they touch. I feel a sense of contentment, despite the chaos of my day.

“I love this gazebo,” I say, excitement bubbling inside me.

Jasper, now sitting across from me, nods.

“Sometimes, I forget that Omegas are treated as precious things and are overprotected. You never get to see the world, do you?” he muses. “While others take freedom for granted.” He leans forward, his eyes reflecting the fairy lights, and my heart skips a beat. “If I could find a way to make the world safer for Omegas, I would.”

I laugh softly, more out of resignation than amusement.

“That’s really sweet, but let’s be honest, it’s not going to happen. Not while we can’t control our heat and while our scent makes Alphas insane with lust. We’re made to come together like two tornadoes clashing.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, but he’s not committed to the smile, not happy with my answer.

I’ve known him for less than a day, and already he’s rescued me. I’ve swooned over him, and we’ve kissed in a flower garden. Now, I’m feeling things for him—things that make me hell nervous at how fast they’re moving.

The worst part is I barely know the guy, and I can’t stop staring at him. My lips still ache from his bruising kiss. But I ache for more.

Thing is, the real problem is that I can no longer differentiate between my feelings for the drummer of Fever and my Omega heat craving him.

Chapter

Nine

SETH

Staring at the bottle of bourbon sitting on the makeshift bar, the urge to grab it and escape this party, escape everything, presses heavily through me. My father’s presence, his constant disappointment, suffocates me. My hands ball up at my sides as I stand in the corner of the party, needing alone time before I fucking explode. Everyone else is chatting and laughing, enjoying food, listening to someone’s playlist hammering out songs. None that belong to Fever…

My entire life, it’s been the same bullshit with him. Nothing I did was good enough, not my choices, not my career… even being the frontman of a worldwide sensation of a band. It’s fucking maddening. I told myself I don’t give a rat’s ass, yet every time I see him, I feel like I’m a child again, seeking his approval.

I’m shaking with fury that he still gets to me. That I let him get to me.

Fuck that, and fuck him!

I never wanted to work for the family business, trading stocks and mingling with billionaires, so for that, he punished me.

As I get up from the chair, I eye the bottle of bourbon that’s going to chase away my anger, the hatred churning in my guts.

Movement nearby catches my attention, and I lift my gaze to my grandfather, who approaches. He’s wobbling closer to me on his cane, but he’s a proud man and refuses to use a wheelchair, even if it would make it easier for him.

He’s wearing his crooked smile, one that sees right through me. He’s always had this knack of understanding me when no one else did. I would have lost contact with my father if it wasn’t for my granddad, who kept bringing me back to reality.

Salt and pepper hair dances lightly in the breeze across his head, thinner at the top. His skin is slightly blotchy, and there’s darkness under his eyes, yet his gaze is as sharp as ever. He pauses in front of me, leaning on his cane, grinning that knowing look.

“Looks like you could use some company, son,” he says, his voice strong and deep.

I manage a half-smile, grateful for this presence, and give him a strong hug.

“Just trying to survive another family gathering,” I admit truthfully.

He chuckles. “Your father has never been easy to please. He grew up hard on himself, too, always needing to win, to succeed at everything he did. I’m not saying how he’s treated you is excusable, but I don’t think he knows any other way to be. And I swear for the life of me, I don’t know where he got that from because it ain’t from me.” He laughs deeper, bringing a smile to my lips.

I draw in a long breath. “I’m an adult. I would have hoped he’d accept my decision after all these years.”

My grandfather reaches over and pats my arm, taking me back to the times I used to argue with my father so ferociously, I ran out of the house and didn’t stop until I got to my grandfather’s. It took hours on foot, but I didn’t care when I was so angry and wanted to murder my father.

Exhaling deeply, my heart thumps with memories of all the times I got into a physical brawl. He also kicked the snot out of me back then. I brutally hated him.

My feelings haven’t changed.

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