Page 15 of Pack Nightmare

Landon looks distinctly uncomfortable in the wake of all my praise. “I think you’re being way too generous. I just mess around with it.”

“Well, I guess I won’t know for sure until I hear you play,” I shrug. “Until then, I’ll just keep assuming what I want.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

He tugs me around another corner, and we pass back into light, playful banter for the rest of the afternoon.

A few hours later I’m in my room alone for once, trying to focus on homework, when my phone pings.

I take a few minutes to check the message, but as soon as I do, my pulse quickens.

It’s from Landon, and it’s an audio file.

Excitement tingling over my skin, I sprawl out on my bed and hit play.

“Hey Layla,” Landon’s voice is shaky, his nerves coming across the recording viscerally, and my heart thumps painfully for him. “I’ve never done this before, but you wanted to hear me play, and I don’t want you to think my defining characteristic is ‘sweet’, so I figured this was a good place to start.”

Anticipation is thrumming through my body now, and I wait eagerly through some rustling noises and the faint sound of the guitar strings being brushed.

Lightly at first, then with growing confidence, a melody starts, followed by chords that add depth to the music. And just as I expected, it’s perfect. Beautifully played, not a single mistake I can hear. A sweet, rich, and slightly wistful song that resonates through the wooden body of the guitar and fills my ears.

And then Landon starts singing.

Just as with the playing, it starts off softly, so low I can barely hear him over the guitar itself. But he grows in confidence and the notes become richer, inflected with more emotion.

Goosebumps rise across my skin—he’s fantastic. His voice is so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes. It’s a simple song, talking about a day spent with his friends, and I can tell he’s completely lost in it right up until the end.

The sound of his hand pressing on the strings to stop the guitar reverberations jolts me out of the musical spell, and Landon coughs awkwardly. “Well, there you have it. A Landon Crews original, for an audience of one. I hope it lived up to your expectations. Goodnight, Layla.”

My heart races in my chest, and I rush to record a voice note of my own, fully aware that he’s probably sweating bullets waiting for my reply.

“Landon, that was amazing. You are even better than I expected, I really mean it. Thanks so much for sharing that with me. It… means a lot, that you played for me. Seriously, I love it. Thank you.” I send it off and after a few moments he replies with a kissy-face emoji and the words, “For you Layla, anything.”

Making out with him this afternoon was hot, but somehow this is even hotter.

The way the guys all share everything, and our status as fated mates, I sort of felt like I would just be another thing they shared.

Now, that we might all have something special, something only each guy and I share, is an exciting prospect. I resolve to spend more time with each of them alone, so I can really try to develop the relationship we’re apparently fated to have.

Beyond the initial attraction and—I’m assuming—fated connection I feel toward all of them, I need more. Lust is great and exciting, but I know myself, and I don’t open up easily to other people. People I counted on have burned me too many times. It’s almost painful to expose myself to that kind of anguish again. I shy away from even the idea of counting on others in any significant way.

But how can I claim these guys as my fated, curse them to the same fate I’ve been tricked into, if I don’t forge genuine connections with them? Connections that go beyond lust or attraction, connections that are deep and earth-shattering and true?

My mind, bizarrely, flips to Derrek out of nowhere. When we lived on the streets, I trusted him implicitly. I believed with my whole heart that he would always protect me, always look out for me, be there if I needed him. In the year I spent after the attack, my belief was shattered repeatedly, waiting for him to turn up.

Now, of course, I know what happened, and that he didn’t just abandon me. I have the full story, but I don’t feel like it’s resolved the hurt I still feel. Some part of me needs more.

Resolving to speak to him after class, I hit ‘play’ on Landon’s recording, and listen to him on repeat with my eyes closed, just picturing what he would look like, singing for an audience of one.

Chapter Nine

Jared

“I don’t like the guy.” I can’t keep the growl out of my voice, thinking about this dude from Layla’s past who just shows up and acts like he owns a piece of her. My eyes remain glued to the road as I pull in to the Painted Moose drive-thru.

“I don’t disagree with you,” Milo comments from the passenger seat, “but I doubt acting territorial around Lex is going to help our cause any.”

“Well, she’s our fated. I think it’s only natural to feel a little territorial, given that we finally just got her and this smoothie-smarty-pants professor type—if he even really is a professor—swoops in after leaving Layla out in the cold for a year.”

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