Page 23 of Pack Larsen

Sure enough, in the background, I can hear the heartbreaking ballad of a singer called Billie something. Something about wondering what they were made for, the song a complete one-eighty to the vibe that usually occurs at Raverz.

Laughing, I tell him, “Oh, wow. Man is heartbroken. Have no fear, I’m just about to leave. I just wanted to ask you to check that my mask was still there. I have a spare, but I prefer my usual.”

“Let me check. Hold please and thank you,” Tanner quips, and I’m grinning just before I collide full force into a body that’s turning around the corner I’m taking.

“Fucking A,” I blurt, bouncing off a firm body filled with warmth and the distinct scent of tart rhubarb, earthy and sweet, a shout of alarm lodging itself in my throat before it can escape.

Large hands grip me steadily, rescuing me from a tumble to the hard floor, and my gaze snaps up to meet the alarmed, stormy-blues of Haze’s. Wait, no. That’s not Haze. Haze smells like wild mint, sharp and cool. Haze also keeps his hair a little longer than his twin, and has the smallest beauty spot just beneath his right eye… not that I pay that much attention.

“Sorry, forgot I didn’t live alone for a second there,” I mutter, pulling myself out of Rage’s hold, attempting to sidestep him and be on my way. I just managed to get back my good mood, so the last thing I want is to linger in this man’s presence and ruin my progress. So, with a polite smile that I don’t feel and my phone still pressed to my ear, I skirt around the guy and mutter, “Have a good night.”

“Hold up,” he rushes, hand reaching for my arm to halt my getaway. Damn it, I was so close.

Looking down at the fingers wrapped around my bicep, masking the thrill that goes through me at being touched, I raise an eyebrow and give him an expression that says ‘what do you want?’ more than words could.

Sighing, Rage releases me and I consider myself pathetic when I miss the contact instantly. I clearly need therapy or something. Is therapy for touch-starved omegas a thing? I should look into it.

When the surly twin doesn’t speak right away, I hold the cell away from my face and mutter, “I’m just on my way out. Are you having an existential crisis that you need help with or something? Because, let me tell you, I’m a pro at making those worse. Ask Juno. She got stressed about her birthday, and I made it worse by proclaiming that she’s just under a quarter of the way through the average lifespan for a woman.”

“Wait, what?” he asks, confused. But then he thinks better of himself, and holds his hands out as if to stop the explanation I wasn’t going to offer. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier.”

Oh. Right. The apology.

“I didn’t mean—” he begins, but I have no interest in hearing it. He said what he said, and he clearly meant it when he voiced his thoughts, otherwise it wouldn’t have come out of his mouth with such effortless ease.

Interrupting by holding my hand out, Rage’s mouth snaps shut and he narrows his eyes on me as I save us both the awkwardness. “Save it. If you’re going to be a bitch in the moment, own it later. You meant what you said, and you said what you meant. Did it hurt my fragile, little feelings? Yeah, it did. Am I going to cry myself to sleep over it? No. Am I going to obsess over it until it’s all I think about? Another no. Are you keeping me from work right now? Solid yes, dude. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to leave and save us both from an apology you don’t actually mean.”

When I try to step around him again, Rage groans, a deep sound that makes me shiver, and he reaches for my arm once more with a protest. “That’s not it, Silver. I was going to apologize for upsetting you.”

“Needn’t bother. The beta of your merry little bunch of assholes hurts my feelings more than you did earlier on a daily basis. I think I’m growing a tolerance. Save your breath, because I’m not going to lose sleep over it. I really need to leave, so please, wipe your conscience clear and have a splendid evening,” I chirp, patting his hand on my bicep a little patronizingly before pushing it off, missing the touch again like a total loser.

Before he can utter another word, Tanner is back on the call, breathing hard, “Pixie Dust, you still there?”

“Still here, Tan. Did you find it?” I ask, staring into Rage’s eyes while I speak, waiting for him to step aside so I can leave.

“Found it, safe and sound. It was under the bar. I’ll put it in my office with everything else,” he assures, and I smile, enjoying the way Rage’s eyebrows draw down in a pinch.

Pulling a face as if to say, ‘move, idiot’, I answer Tanner. “I don’t remember taking it off there, but thank you. You’re the best.”

“Of course, I am. See you soon, Dusty Girl,” the alpha quips, making my smile expand before he disconnects and leaves me with a now scowling Rage, his eyes now roaming over my outfit. I’m almost convinced the scent of rhubarb grows a little stronger around me, but I deduce that I’m a delusional, little omega, and scratch at my forehead before blurting, “What, Rage? What is happening right now? I gave you a pass. Be free. Spread your wings. Have a blessed day and move on.”

“Where the hell are you going dressed like that?” he spouts suddenly, ignoring everything I just said while his stormy-blues darken as they linger on my tights.

What the hell is his problem?

Eyeing him like he’s lost it a little, I remind him, “Work. You know, the thing I just mentioned. Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer, simply allows me to pass as he moves away stiffly, and I don’t bother sparing him another second before I’m shaking my head and bypassing the guy quickly, baffled by that little exchange but opting not to dwell on it. Instead, I race through the house, praying I don’t suffer another encounter with another beautiful man, and I’m out of the door and in my car before I know it.

This weekend has been hella weird.

Chapter 9

Haze

“Get your keys. We’re following a rogue, little, rich-girl omega dressed like a pastel rave goddess who claims she’s going to work at seven in the evening,” my brother damn near shouts the moment he strides into our new room, hands on his hips and a troubled expression on his normally stoic face.

Blinking at him, I absorb that information before blurting, “I’m sorry, what?”

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