Page 44 of Pack Deception: Part Two

“Their mate wasn’t a good match for them,” she continues when I don’t push. I start to get the notion that she needs to talk about it. So I listen. “She was horrible. Abusive. Manipulative. They saw it all before they mated, thank the Goddess, and rejected the bond. It took them a long time to get past the pain of the rejection, even though they’re the ones that cut it.”

I can’t even imagine that type of pain. Infinitely worse than going through a heat alone. You’re essentially cutting off a limb and suffering a heart attack at the same time.

“And you?” I ask, clenching my stomach a little as she tattoos over another thick part of the scar. For a second, the only sound is the buzzing of the machine as I watch her swallow a lump in her throat.

“He died.” Her words are hollow, haunted, and the spice in her scent starts to overpower the floral. It makes my heart hurt for her. Arguably, it’s an even worse pain than rejecting a bond, I’d imagine. Her pack chose their fate; she didn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, wishing I were an alpha and could soothe her pain with my purr. But an omega’s purr doesn’t work on another omega. Especially when they aren’t mated.

“Thank you.” Her head jerks in a little nod. Silence once again. Then, for some reason, probably because she laid her bleeding heart out for me, I choose to share a little of my story. Two omegas suffering together.

“A little over two years ago, I found a pack I thought were my fated mates.” Her eyes dart to mine briefly before going back to her work. So, I continue. “They were perfect in the beginning. Dragged me out from a deep depression, whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and I mated them almost immediately.” My mind plays a motion picture of those first few months with them as I talk. “But they weren’t actually my mates. Not the ones the Goddess intended for me, at least.”

The buzzing stops completely, and she meets my eyes. “They drugged you, didn’t they?” My head jerks down to stare at her, shocked that she got there so fast. I nod. “James has relocated several omegas with a similar story recently. Passion Pack, right?” Another nod. The hollow look she had is replaced by one of pure rage. But she doesn’t say anything. Simply stews in anger, starts the machine back up, and I continue.

“I wasn’t exactly happy. I get that now, but looking back, I thought I was. Until I miscarried.” Her spicy scent invades every orifice of her studio the more I talk. “That’s actually what this tattoo is for. She, or maybe he, would have been born in October.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I feel myself start to tear up as she finishes up the marigold bouquet on my hip. “I left after that. Even the drugs couldn’t stop me from realizing how dangerous staying with them would be. I landed in Chicago, met my pack, and I guess you could say the rest is history.”

What I don’t say, what I just learned, is that the tattoo brings on a whole other meaning now. The one and likely only child I’ll ever have is being memorialized on my body as we speak.

I feel something wet land on my hip. Only to realize B is crying. Maybe for me, or her, or perhaps both of us. So we sit there while she works, crying in a way that feels cleansing, in complete silence for the rest of the night.

Nineteen

Summer

With only a fewfinishing touches on my foot left, I look at the clock. It’s been hours since we started. For the size of the tattoos, I suppose I was expecting it to go a lot quicker. The grumbling from my stomach that started about an hour ago is happening every couple of minutes now.

Jesse poked his head in a little bit ago to check on how long we had. So I’m sure Maverick is bouncing off the walls up front. Maybe he went back to the car to wait until I was done. He’s not the most social alpha in the pack.

“Done,” she says with one last wipe at the tattoo. “Take a look.” B rolls in her chair to give me space.

“It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted. All of them are. Thank you so much,” I tell her sincerely, hopping off the chair and pulling her into a hug. It must startle her because she’s stiff in my arms for a second before wrapping her arms around me, too. It almost makes me laugh at how awkward her pats are.

Almost.

But I still don’t feel like I’m in a laughing mood. I pull back, saving her from reciprocating any further. Some people just aren’t huggers. Strange to find an omega like that, though. We’re usually very affectionate.

“I’m glad you like them. Let’s head up front and get you checked out.” I nod, looking down at my bare foot. I don’t want to put the heel back on. She put a wrap on that one, so I suppose I could, but it’s a little tender, and I don’t want to make it worse. But I also don’t want to walk around barefoot.

B sees my hesitation, walks to her countertop, rifles around in one of her drawers, and pulls out a pair of black socks that she hands to me. With a grateful look and ferventthank you, I put them on.

We’re halfway down the hallway when I hear boisterous laughter coming from the waiting room. The men have pulled four chairs around into a circle in the front room. The two I don’t recognize must be Marcus and Jackson, then there is Jesse, and finally, Maverick, huddling around a makeshift pool table. The table itself looks like a traveling felt top from a real table, but it’s sitting on one of their gumball machines.

All four of them look up from their game when they scent us. “All done, baby?” One of the alphas asks B. But I don’t hear the rest of their exchange. I’m too busy staring at Maverick with an open mouth. His handsome face is lit up, laughing at something Jesse just said.

What has he done to my mate?

The one who is a prickly alpha at the best of times to everyone outside of his pack. Sure,Iknow he’s really a big softie. But that’s not how he presents to the rest of the world. Not like Hudson, who makes friends with everyone he sees, or even Mason, who is always there to counter Maverick’s off-putting comments with more polite ones.

Here he is, though, laughing and joking and playing cards with a pack he just met.

“Having a good time?” I manage a small grin when I walk up behind his seat at the table. I rest my hands on his shoulders, and he leans back into my touch, turning his face up toward me.

“Hey sweets, you like ‘em?” I lean down to give him a quick kiss and nod as I pull back, mustering up a smile. Or rather, I feel my lip tilt up. It could be construed as a grimace. That’s what it seems like Maverick interprets it as since the beaming smile he was sporting a minute ago falters some at my face.

One of B’s alphas stands up and comes over to shake my hand. He’s tall. At least as tall as Maverick’s six foot two, with dark shaggy hair and a long scruffy beard. “You must be Summer. I’m Marcus. Mav couldn’t go one whole hand without talkin’ ‘bout ya.” Marcus has a little country twang in his voice. Like maybe he was raised in the country but has lived in the city for long enough that it has tempered itself.

I blush at his words but note his use of Maverick’s nickname that everyone but me has adopted. I’m not sure why; Maverick just seems more personal somehow. I’ll probably never call him Mav. “Marcus,” I acknowledge, shaking his hand. “So that must make you Jackson. It’s good to meet you both,” I say, nodding at Jackson, who has walked over to where B is behind the reception desk. He’s shorter, probably closer in height to Hudson, hovering around six foot maybe, with a dark blond, brownish hair color identical to Jesse’s. The brother thing is making a lot more sense.

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