Page 12 of Pack Deception: Part Two

“It’s not that I don’t believe him. But knowing I’m your mate and moving me into your pack house are still two different things. It’s moving very fast.” I scoot off Hudson’s lap so I can have a better view of all of them for this conversation.

“Okay, let’s say you’re right,” Hudson jumps in, keeping an arm around my shoulder so I can’t get too far from him. “Let’s say it is fast. What’s wrong with that? It just means we’re all on the same page. We want you here, with us. Pack.”

“Right now,” I shoot back.

“What?” Hudson frowns.

“Right now, you want me here. But what happens when I eat the last of your favorite cereal or clog the drain with all my hair? What if I want to decorate your incredibly white walls with something bright and colorful–” A hand clamps over my mouth, stopping my ranting. I stick my tongue out and lick the offensive appendage, but Mason just laughs and wipes my slobber off on my own face. I grimace, laughing a little, and push his hand away.

He addresses all of my worries after wiping the rest of his hand on his jeans. “I don’t have a favorite cereal, so eat whatever you’d like. We’ll just order more. We already live with a woman–Brooklyn, in case you’ve forgotten–and she clogs the drain all the time,” an indignant noise comes from Brooklyn at that, “but you don’t see us kicking her out. And paint the damn walls. Plaster wallpaper up, buy eclectic art, and put your mark on this place. I’ve wanted to do it since the minute I stepped foot in here. It’s too white and boring. Brooklyn never let me, but one puppy dog pout from you, and she’ll break her back to get you whatever you want.”

I open my mouth to argue, contradict him, or maybe even commiserate in general–despite Brooklyn’s nod and shrug like everything Mason said is absolutely correct–but I’m stopped in my tracks. Maverick stands up, walks over to me, and lifts me from the couch with ease. Anoofis forced from me as I’m thrown over his shoulder. Drool may or may not pool in my mouth as I get a good look at his ass in the jeans stretched taut over it. It’s got me so distracted I don’t even realize we’re headed toward the stairs until he hits the first step.

“Don’t! I’m too heavy!” I cry, squirming to be put down. He chuckles, deep and sexy, before slapping my ass. Hard.

“Please, you’re about as heavy as a wet towel. Hudson and I renovate houses, sweets. The wood I was carrying around today weighed more than you.”

Part of me wants to continue to complain and demand he put me down. The other part of me revels in the way he’s moving with ease. Almost jogging up the stairs with me slung over one shoulder. Talking without panting and only holding me tighter as I squirm. Resigned to not going anywhere, I pinch his butt—well, I try to; the thing is rock solid—and then wrap my arms around his waist to enjoy the ride. I look up to see Mason and Hudson following us with giddy smiles. Brooklyn just looks nervous.

Oh, my Goddess. Seeing her nervous face has butterflies assaulting my stomach. What could she possibly have to be nervous about in her own home?

Maverick stops outside a closed door and sets me down. “Ready?”

“Ready for what?” I ask, looking around at them.

“Ready for us to show you that we want you here. Forever. Even if it seems too soon to you, it’s not to us.” Maverick says, and then he turns the handle and pushes open the door.

It’s dark inside, but I can tell immediately that the room is on the smaller side. Maverick reaches an arm in and flicks a switch. A light comes on, but he must have a dimmer switch inside as well because it’s muted. It is bright enough, though, that I can see the whole room now.

I take an involuntary step forward. Just inside the room, there is a small step that leads to a bed stretching from one wall to the other. It looks like at least three king-size beds across. Every inch of it is covered in blankets and pillows. Some of which are the same ones I have at home. Or, I guess, in a bag downstairs since I packed up my apartment.

“We bought those after we saw them in your apartment during your heat,” Hudson calls from behind me.

I take the step up, ducking slightly because the ceiling is lower here than the other rooms in the house, and sit on the bed. It’s the perfect blend of soft and firm. Exactly the one I’d pick out if I were doing it myself. In somewhat of a trance, I pick up a blanket. It’s a warm, fuzzy one—though they do have some silk blankets and other materials strewn about—and I bring it to my nose. Summer rain and notes of freshly cut grass stick to it.Mason.

“We each take turns sleeping in here, so our scents are on everything,” Mason says, looking a little scared and kicking at the ground like he’s nervous about how I’ll feel about that. Sure enough, now that he’s said it, sandalwood, bourbon, lavender, and citrus all hit me. All of my mates. In my nest.

Tears prick at my eyes. I look up to dry them before they have the chance to fall. Stupid, stupid tears. Stupid, wonderful mates.

“When did you—” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from breaking. My hands brush something that isn’t a blanket. When I look down, I see I’ve picked up a T-shirt that smells like Hudson. Not only did they sleep in here, but they’ve stashed clothes to keep their scents in here, too.

“The day of the St. Patty’s Day bar crawl. First day we saw you,” Maverick answers my half-question. “Brooklyn had the supplies ordered the next day, and Hudson and I were in here working on the platform as soon as they were delivered.”

“But—” I look at Brooklyn. “I didn’t meet you until that day in the office.”

She walks forward and sits next to me on the bed. Gently, she pries the clothes and blankets from me so she can take my hands in hers. “I didn’t meet you until then, but that didn’t matter. Not really. They had their mate. So even if you weren’t mine—destined by the Goddess, I mean—it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d have fallen for you the second I saw you, no matter what.”

The look I give her is surely as dubious as I feel because she forges on. “You don’t believe me because you don’t see yourself clearly, cherub. There’s a reason that—pack—”she chokes on the word like it tastes no better than ash in her mouth and continues, “latched onto you. They weren’t stupid. They saw what a prize you are. How beautiful, kind, intelligent… how perfect you are. And they took advantage of it. Anyone who knows you is sure to love you. That is one thing I’m absolutely certain of. Even if you weren’t my fated mate, the minute those goofballs brought you home, I’d have been hooked.”

There they go, those stupid tears falling down my cheeks. Brooklyn reaches up and wipes one away. Then, looking more chagrined and embarrassed than I’ve ever seen her, she continues. She clears her throat. “And I owe you an apology. For earlier. I should have never acted like that. Demanding you move in and forcing them to pack your apartment with you. I was scared. Probably more scared than I’ve ever been, and I wanted to protect you. It’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”

The weight I was holding onto in my chest—the anger and indignation—lessens with each word. I don’t think I’ll let go of all of it right away; it’s too close to the PTSD Pack Monroe saddled me with. But I can at least stop it from festering away, eating me from the inside.

“Thank you. And it’s okay.” I smile at her, eyes still leaking those offensive waterworks.

“It’s not, but thank you for accepting my apology.” She leans in and gives me a sweet, chaste kiss. “And in the spirit of that, we’ve got something we want to ask you.”

“Uh, oh. Okay,” I stutter, looking between the four of them.

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