Page 6 of Pack Favero

“Your mother called,” Barnes informs, and I make an exhausted note to spike that woman’s coffee with salt the next time I see her. “She was worried and, since she actually takes my calls and talks to me like I haven’t ruined her life, we’ve grown rather close. I was the only one she could think of to call for help. What the hell happened?”

“I thought you were smart, bro,” the man, I realize, notes with another chuckle that sets the hairs on my body on end. His voice is deep and rumbly, but oh so nice, a caress to the ear drums that beg for more. I don’t realize I’ve nuzzled into the stranger until his voice echoes deeper into my ear canal, offering mini eargasms that one could only dream of. “She’s been through a heat. Alone, if I’m scenting right. She’s probably suffering with extreme lethargy, dizziness, and nausea.”

“Ten points to Slytherin,” I murmur, only mildly confused why I’m completely at ease in the arms of a man I’ve never met, who smells like neroli blossom and basil, earthy and sweet with a mix of floral and earthy.

“Oh, Ginny. I’m a Gryffindor through and through,” theguy holding me declares proudly, and I roll my eyes beneath my lids at the Weasley reference, having no energy to reopen them.

“Very original,” I murmur, growing more and more tired as the man begins to walk me from the bathroom, the motion gentle enough that it almost feels like he’s rocking me to sleep.

“Where’s the nest, Champ? She’s seconds away from passing out and I don’t think she’ll be too pleased waking in my arms,” the guy snickers, making light of the embarrassing situation I’ve found myself in, his large hands keeping me secure enough that I don’t have it in me to fight. I’m convinced my cheeks are red enough to attract aliens from space, however, and that’s simply a problem for another day.

“Not the nest,” I mutter, exhaustion dragging me under a blanket that I wish to never crawl from. “Not good.”

“What does that mean?” Barnes wonders, voice gentle and warm, and doing absolutely nothing to stave off the impending ‘passing-out’ portion of my evening. Damn it, I didn’t even get my shower. “Why is she whining? Are you holding her too tight?”

“Nah, man. Pretty sure I heard her grumble about a shower or something. She’s fine,” the guy holding me assures, and I frown while I try and fail to fight against the pulls of sleep.

Barnes sighs, and I hear him curse before he asks, “Where do we put her then? That couch looks like it’s one wrong move from impaling someone with a rogue spring, and I’m not letting her sleep on the fucking floor.”

Silence answers him, and I convince myself that it’s the only option at this rate. Sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound so bad. Hell, I’d welcome it at this point, so long as I got at least twelve hours worth of shuteye. I’d sleep just about anywhere.

“There’s always our house?” the guy holding me suggests after a long, awkward silence which I almost fall asleep in. It was so close. So close, yet so far. “She’s growling now, so I thinkwhatever we decide, we need to do it fast.”

“Alright, fuck. Fine. Take her to the car. I’ll grab some of her things,” Barnes declares, and when I’m more of sound mind and not on the brink of falling asleep wrapped in nothing but a towel and the arms of a man I don’t even know the name of but enjoy smelling, I’ll give him a piece of my mind for rifling through my things.

As it is, I’m being carted off to the unknown, my body lax and limp in the aforementioned man’s arms, and I’m too tired and drained to make an ounce of complaint. Hell, a serial killer could cart me off and I’d welcome the sweet relief of death if it meant I could actually fucking sleep.

Well, no, that’s a little dramatic, but I’m not me when I’m overtired, overstimulated, and fresh out of a heat that ruined me just as effectively as every other one I’ve suffered alone and at my own hands that seem to be growing less and less satisfying as the years pass.

“Alright, then, little lady. Let’s get you to a comfortable bed where you can sleep it all off,” the guy croons, cuddling me tighter as he walks. “You’ll be as fresh as a daisy when you wake up in a few hours. And, if you’re lucky, I might even wrangle Barnes into making some sweet cinnamon rolls for you for breakfast.”

You know what? That actually sounds really good. So, like the idiot in every horror movie ever, I take his word for it and put my safety in his hands, succumbing to my body’s needs and passing out in his arms with only a soft sigh and a faint smile.

I have no idea what happens next, only that I’ll deal with it when I wake with more energy and renewed sense of anger toward the alpha who has once again barged into my life like an intruding neanderthal that I’ve actually missed over the past few weeks.

Again, that’s a problem for another day.

Chapter 2

Alek

“Should she be sleeping this long?” Barnes asks, ever the worrier, from where he sits on the bottom step of the stairs that leads to our rooms. More specifically my room, where a sleeping omega currently resides, deep in a recovery slumber that she needed more than her dignity as I carried her in nothing but a towel to my car parked outside her apartment building.

I’m sure she’ll have something to say about that when she wakes, so I will be keeping the fact that one Mr. Krabb saw her bare ass cheek when the towel slipped. I was very quick to rectify the situation, growling at the older man with a glare that would have skinned him alive where he stood if I possessed that ability. Sadly, the man only scurried away to his apartment, and I can only hope he doesn’t think to mention the slight blunder for fear that I might return and kick his wrinkled ass.

“Yeah, bro. She could sleep longer, if she’s anything like Silver,” I confirm, remembering all the items my cousin—more like sister, really—has been forced into a heat alone and suffered the aftereffects. Thankfully, Meemaw saved her with the supplements she takes now. Well, if the dumbass remembers to take them. Pretty sure she’s currently on vacation and going through a heat cycle I don’t even want to think about right now… or ever. Just… no. Gross. Shaking my head, loosening the braids that have already started to come undone, I continue, “Silver’s heats usually last her four or five days, which is pretty standard for omegas. Afterward, she’s a bit of a raging bitch unless she gets some carbs, good hours of sleep, and a cuddle or two for the comfort and contact she missed during her heat. She hasn’t needed any of that since she turned eighteen and started on thesuppressants Meemaw provided, though.”

The others absorb that information, Barnes frowning down at his cell phone as he nods, acknowledging my words as he likely uses the internet to do his own research. Can’t fault him for it. There’s no such thing as being too informed when there’s an omega under one’s roof. Trust me, I’d know. Learning the hard way to care for an omega that isn’t yours was something of a challenge, but I’d do anything for my family. Silver taught me plenty about omegas over the years so I’m hardly fazed by what they need. It’s like second nature at this point, though I wouldn’t have a clue when it comes to actual heats. That’s not a conversation I’m willing to have with my baby cousin in this life or the next.

I’m distracted by those horrifying thoughts when the timer pings on the kitchen counter and Barnes’s head snaps up in its direction, right before standing and marching over to the oven with his trusty mitts. The smell is glorious as soon as he opens the oven door, the waft of spicy cinnamon and sweet, baked dough filling the house so suddenly my mouth waters. The twins are going to be pissed they missed out on that, on top of the new omega that Barnes has been hiding all this time. The omega that smells like my favorite dessert and has been teasing me with that scent for weeks on end.

While Barnes is busy, I go about untangling my hair from the knots it’s in, the pale blond strands pissing me off because I haven’t been able to re-braid them properly since Silver went away to her Greece vacation with her pack.

“Just watch a tutorial or something, love,” Lazarus urges, and not for the first time, watching me with a cup of tea resting on his slack-covered knee and a book resting on his stomach where he abandoned it to watch me try and fail to fix my hair.

I offer a bland look. “You don’t think I haven’t already? I don’t even know how Silver does it. I’m aiming for a Frenchbraid and it keeps inverting and I end up with a really bad Dutch braid instead. What the hell sorcery do I have to learn just to do my damned ha—?”

Before I can finish my words, there’s a creak of wood that indicates a certain someone is finally awake and moving around, and I drop my hands just in time to turn and spot a slender frame covered in nothing more than an oversized hoodie I wore yesterday. Flame-like hair runs wild all around her pretty head, sleepy, pale-green eyes squinted as she travels down the stairs on the tips of her bare toes.

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