Page 176 of Psycho Pack

Thane's deep voice rumbles from behind me. "You okay, little one?"

I glance up at him, swallowing hard. "It's just... a lot."

What I don't say, what I don't quite trust myself to put into words, is that it feels so surreal. In the world I know, omegas are window dressings, not customers. This place doesn't just look like a supply store alphas can go to in order to pick things up to meet their pets' basic needs.

It's clearly madeforomegas.

It seems like such a silly, trivial distinction, but it stirs a strange feeling in my chest I don't quite understand myself.

His dark eyes soften with understanding. "We don't have to go in if you're not comfortable."

But Whiskey's already bounding ahead, his enthusiasm infectious. "C'mon, wildcat! Let's see what fancy shit they've got in there."

Before I can protest, he's ushering me through the door, the others following close behind.

The shop is a treasure trove of omega comforts. Plush fabrics in every color imaginable drape from the walls and spill from ornate baskets. Delicate glass bottles filled with scented oilscatch the light, sending rainbow prisms dancing across the floor. And everywhere I look, there are pillows and blankets and soft things that make my fingers itch to touch.

"Welcome. How may I assist you today?" the beta shopkeeper asks, her gaze lingering on me with obvious curiosity.

Plague steps forward, his princely bearing on full display. "We're looking for nesting materials," he says smoothly. "The finest you have available."

Nesting materials?

The beta's eyes widen, flickering between Plague and me. Understanding dawns in her expression, followed quickly by excitement. "Of course, Your Highness. We have an excellent selection. Please, follow me."

She leads us deeper into the shop, to a section filled with the most luxurious fabrics I've ever seen. Silks and velvets are piled high, each more tempting than the last.

"Feel free to touch," the beta encourages. "It's the best way to find what speaks to you."

I hesitate, glancing at my alphas for reassurance. They nod encouragingly, and that's all it takes for the floodgates to open. I plunge my hands into the nearest pile of fabric, a soft purr escaping me before I can stop it.

It's like touching a cloud.

"Holy shit," I breathe, forgetting myself for a moment.

Whiskey laughs. "A woman after my own heart."

Plague's pale blue gaze softens. "If you end up wanting to stay here after all this is over," he says softly, "I can have whatever you like delivered to the palace. I'm sure they can do a custom order as well."

"Of course," the beta says immediately.

I run my fingers over a bolt of shimmering silver fabric, marveling at how it seems to flow like liquid moonlight betweenmy fingers. The urge to gather it up, to wrap myself in its softness, is almost too much.

Maybe it's just the stress from everything that's happened, but I feel like I'm about to start building a damn nest right here in the shop.

"What do you think of this one?" Whiskey's voice breaks through my reverie. He's holding up a thick, plush blanket with woolly fibers in a deep forest green. "Looks like moss, doesn't it? Thought it might make you feel... I dunno, at home or some shit."

The lump that forms in my throat catches me off guard. I reach out, running my hand over the soft material. It does remind me of the forest, of the brief moments of peace I found in the wilderness with my mom.

I wonder what she'd think of this place.

"It's perfect," I manage to say, my voice rough. "Thank you."

Whiskey's grin is soft and genuine. He tosses the blanket into a basket the shopkeeper brings over, then moves on to inspect a pile of silk pillowcases with surprising intensity.

One by one, the alphas join in. Thane gravitates toward rich, dark colors—deep burgundies and midnight blues that make me think of the night sky. Valek has an eye for delicate, intricate patterns with sharp edges. He keeps bringing me gossamer-thin fabrics covered in swirling designs that catch the light.

Wraith seems overwhelmed by all the choices. But he watches me carefully, noting which textures I linger on, which colors draw my eye. When he finally makes his sole selection—a huge, impossibly soft faux fur throw in a rich sapphire color—I realize it's the same shade as his eyes. But I'm pretty sure he's never willingly looked into a mirror, so there's no way he would know that.

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