Page 64 of The Princess and the Pack

And as I close the door on the nest, I build another wall around my heart.

Ihate this stupid heat and the way it plays tricks on my mind.

I couldn’t wait to touch Oran the moment we were alone together. I wanted to run my fingers through his gorgeous red hair, kiss him—allow myself to be consumed by the burning intensity of his scent and the passion in his heart.

It was all going so well, every blissful moment of our reunion filled with so much heat and eagerness. Whatever memory I had of our last encounter could never compare to the bliss of having him pour his desire into me without fear of being interrupted.

Oran is different from my other alphas. He denies himself happiness as some sort of punishment for things that were never his fault. I recognize this behavior, as Rose and Hawthorn are similarly afflicted with the guilt bestowed upon them by our parents. Being raised by people who don’t care for your happiness can lead one down a road of self-sabotage.

My alpha thinks he’s hidden behind his wall of stony indifference and petty remarks, but I see him for what he is: wounded—desperate to be loved. Another point on which I can relate. All I’ve wanted for my life is to be loved unconditionally. Why else would a royal dream of something so forbidden as a pack, if not for the need for constant affection?

Of course, it’s natural as an omega to want the love of multiple alphas, but it’s more than that. Just like with Oran’s parents, neither of mine had any interest in me beyond what I could do for their legacy. Being born into a situation such as ours creates a hunger for acceptance that many can’t fathom.

But I understand my mate and why he acted as he did.

The moment Oran uttered that stupid remark, I watched regret instantly overtake his features. After such a perfect moment, it was as if it were instinct for him to act callously—to push me away for fear I would do it first.

I should have stayed despite his silly tricks to keep me at arm’s length and showed him he had nothing to fear from me. Regardless of what he believes, I have no interest in betraying his trust or leaving him behind. But after all what’s happened between us and the raging emotions accompanying this heat, I wasn’t myself.

Now I’m alone in my nest, crying into the precious handkerchief my alpha made me. Another testament to his long-held feelings. One doesn’t put so much time into crafting a gift so painstakingly delicate without deep affection for the intended recipient. And he mademany.

I want to go to him so badly, but my bruised ego also makes it tempting to cry and bemoan the fact that he isn’t here beating down the door to win me back.

Burying my face in one of my pillows, I weep for how our world has made it so hard for Oran and me to be together. It should be as simple as breathing between those who are Fate-blessed.

My tears don’t relent even as the door opens.

Sloan, my soft-hearted giant of an alpha, treads quietly into the nest. His rugged, earthy scent hits my nose as he floats assurance down our bond. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone who, after so little time, is ready at any given hour to console me.

“Petal.” His voice is a whisper, a gentle calling, as he slides beneath the sheets to pull me against his broad body.

I don’t answer at first, just bury my face against the warmth of his neck and take deep, calming breaths of his scent. My tears fall, wetting his skin, as silent sobs wrack my body. He just holds me—petting my hair and purring for me.

I love him.

I know it with certainty. It’s a love that can never be replicated or broken.

“Why do you call me that?” I ask. Anything to distract me from my aching heart.

“Hmm…petal?”

I nod against his throat. For as many times as he’s called me that name, I’ve never asked why.

“You are a soft, pretty thing, Ivy. When I first saw you, I wondered how it might feel to touch your skin. I may have spent my days in your absence rubbing flower petals between my fingers as a poor substitute for the real thing.”

Gods. This alpha and his peculiar humor. I snort, laughing through my ugly tears, and swat at his chest.

His amusement glows, filling my chest with warmth.

“You didnotdo that.”

Sloan scoffs with faux offense at my disbelief. “I did so! I was out fingering flowers for months, trying to parse which would most feel like your skin.”

“Fingering flowers!” I cackle–my body shaking against his with riotous laughter.

Sloan rolls us so I’m on my back, staring up at him. He rests an elbow near my head and leans over me to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“You’re a wicked little thing to tease your lonely alpha,” he says, smiling. “I waited so long for you. Just me and my flowers and no pretty mate to touch.”

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