Page 72 of Lavender and Honey

The nickname, which started as a playful tease, now carries a weight of affection that makes my heart flutter. I step up to the table, grateful for the chance to collect myself. The game provides a welcome structure, a back-and-forth that makes the intimate conversation feel less overwhelming.

"So," I begin, lining up my next shot, "how did you find them? Your pack?" The question has been lurking in my mind since I first met Elias,and grew stronger with each new member I encountered. How did four such different personalities come together to form something so cohesive, so enviably harmonious?

Soren leans against his cue, his posture casual but his eyes alert, watching me with undisguised interest. "Elias and I met first, at a farmers market one county over from here. He was selling those preserves of his, I was..." he pauses, a mischievousgrin spreading across his face. "Let's just say I was in between jobs."

"Why do I get the feeling that's a euphemism for something less than legal?" I ask, taking my shot and sinking another striped ball.

Soren's laughter is rich and unrestrained. "Your instincts serve you well, Lavender girl. I was, shall we say, creatively acquiring resources."

"You were stealing," I translate, unable to keep the amusement from my voice.

"Such a harsh word," he protests, still grinning. "I prefer 'redistributing wealth.' And only from those who could afford it."

I shake my head, moving around the table for my next shot. "So how did a thief and a jam-maker end up together?"

"He caught me picking the wrong pocket," Soren says, the memory clearly a fond one. "Instead of turning me in, he bought me lunch. Said I looked like I needed it more than I needed jail time." His voice softens. "He was right."

The admission peels back another layer of Soren's carefully constructed persona, revealing glimpses of a harder past than his carefree attitude suggests. "And Lucian and Finn?" I prompt, missing my next shot by a hairsbreadth.

"Lucian found us about a year later. Elias was doing well with his market stall by then, and I was..." he pauses, choosing his words. "Let's say I was exploring more legitimate business opportunities."

"Still stealing?" I guess, raising an eyebrow.

"Only occasionally, and with much more discretion," Soren defends, taking his turn at the table. "Lucian was passing through town, caught Elias's scent, and something just... clicked." He sinks another ball, leaving him with just the eight. "Sometimes you meet someone and it's like your souls recognizeeach other. Like you've been searching your whole life without realizing what you were looking for."

The description resonates with me in a way I'm not entirely comfortable examining. I think of my first meeting with Elias, the inexplicable pull I felt toward him despite my usual caution. The same sensation I've experienced with each of his packmates since.

"And Finn?" I ask, my voice softer than I intend.

"Finn came last," Soren says, circling the table as he searches for the perfect angle on the eight ball. "He was running from his own demons, much like the rest of us. Found refuge in our little makeshift family." He glances up at me, his purple eyes holding mine. "We've all been broken in some way, Lydia. That's why we recognize it in others. In you."

The words hit with the force of truth, leaving me momentarily breathless. Before I can formulate a response, Soren calls, "Eight ball, corner pocket," and makes his shot. The black ball rolls true, dropping into the designated pocket with a finality that matches the weight of his revelation.

"Game," he says softly, straightening up to his full height. There's no triumph in his expression, only a quiet intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

"You win," I acknowledge, setting my cue aside. "Though I think I held my own reasonably well for someone so out of practice."

"You did," he agrees, stepping closer. "Rematch someday?"

"I'd like that," I say, meaning it. The thought of future evenings spent like this, talking and playing and simply enjoying each other's company, fills me with a warmth I haven't felt in a long time.

"Good," Soren says, setting his own cue aside. "But for now, I think I owe you one more dance before I take you home. If you're up for it?"

The question hangs in the air between us, laden with more meaning than just a simple dance. It's an invitation to continue this connection, to step further into the world he and his packmates inhabit, a world so different from the cold isolation I've wrapped around myself for so long.

"I'd like that too," I reply, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. Soren's smile is like a sunrise breaking over mountains, gradual but breathtaking in its beauty. He offers his hand, and I take it without hesitation, our fingers intertwining with an ease that feels both novel and somehow inevitable.

As he leads me back toward the dance floor, where a slow song has just begun, I reflect on the strangeness of the evening. How I started out nervous and uncertain, clinging to the edges of my comfort zone, and now find myself willingly following this enigmatic Alpha further into uncharted territory.

"What are you thinking about?" Soren asks as he draws me into his arms, one hand settling at my waist, the other holding mine against his chest.

"How different this is," I answer honestly. "From what I expected. From how I usually am."

"Different good?" he inquires, his head tilting slightly as he studies my face with uncharacteristic seriousness. I consider the question as we begin to move with the music, our bodies finding that same easy rhythm we discovered earlier. Different, yes. Unexpected, certainly. But good?

"Yes," I say, the word simple but weighted with certainty. "Different good."

Soren's smile turns softer, more intimate. "You're full of surprises, Lydia," he murmurs, the words brushing against my temple like a caress. "I'm looking forward to discovering every single one of them."

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