Page 43 of Pack Deception: Part Two

“Are you ready?” B asks, poking her head in and frowning at the look in my eyes. Still, I nod.

“You sure? I can go get your mate if you need–”

“I’m ready,” I mutter in a quiet but strong voice.

Her eyes roam over me once before giving me one curt nod.

I open the binder back up. What I want isn’t exactly in here, but I figure she can work with it since it’s all similar. B comes over on her rolling chair to get a better look at the binder and which ones I’m indicating. “I want this one on my ear,” I say, pointing to the spot where my first mate mark is. It must not be super noticeable because she simply nods and looks back at the book for my second. “This one to cover this on my hip if I can.” Then I unbutton my work slacks and pull them down just low enough to show the very clear bite mark just above the waistline of my panties. Her eyes dart up to mine when she sees it, then back up to my ear, scrutinizing it a little harder.

“May I?” she asks, lifting her hand to indicate she wants to touch them. I nod. The room is quiet, except for her chair rolling back a little as she stands to prod at my ear first. “Lay back a little for me,” she says. The tattoo chair I’m in is adjustable, and it’s currently at an incline, making it easy and comfortable to relax into it while exposing my hip to her. Cool fingers prod at the spot, making my stomach clench a little at the first touch. “You’ve got one more mate mark to cover, right? You said three tattoos.”

I’m wearing my most used heels, so it makes kicking one off hassle-free. B drops into a squat to look at the mark on my foot. The one I hate the most because I have a thing about feet. Which Connor knew before he bit me there.

Prick.

“Okay. The good news is I cover scars a lot. So it shouldn’t be a problem. What were you thinking about for this one?” I show her one of her other drawings and explain the minor changes I want made. “That should be doable. But because the one on your hip is the biggest and the deepest scar, I think we should switch these two and make this bigger,” she explains, pointing to the first and second ones I chose.

After her consultation, she draws up some sketches quickly to show me. They’re stunning. Exactly what I want, and I tell her so. A few minutes later, she’s got them on this paper that has the first drawing on it in purple. The one that will go on my hip. Each of her movements are swift and sure, telling me she’s done this a million times. It has become second nature for her.

I’m lying back on the chair again after she placed what she called the stencil when a constant buzzing fires up. “Okay, here we go. If you need to stop at any point, let me know.”

My body locks up in anticipation of the pain. The needle hits my skin, and I clench my eyes shut, bracing for it.

But I’m already numb. The gun feels like little more than small pinpricks by a pointy pencil.

“That actually doesn’t really hurt. Kind of tickles,” I say, but my voice is as dead as I feel.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d have an issue. Honestly, none of the omegas ever do. Too used to heat pains; a little needlework is nothing. Jackson and Marcus are the worst I’ve ever tattooed. Giant, muscled-up babies.” I know she’s trying to make light, to avoid talking about whatever happened on the call to make my mood change so quickly. She’s trying, so I will, too.

I give her a confused look, and she explains. “They’re my other mates. You probably saw them on the way back.”

“Your whole pack works here?” My brows draw down as a little pain registers.

Nothing I can’t handle, though.

“Going over the scarring will hurt a little more than the rest of the skin,” she answers my flinch. “But no. Not my whole pack. Jackson and Marcus are two of my alphas. They tattoo here. Jesse is my beta. But I have another alpha, James, who works for the Omega Protection Services.”

OPS for short. I’ve never had to work with them, though I probably could have reached out for help when I left Pack Monroe. But I was scared and distrustful of anyone at the time.

“That’s actually how I met my pack, through James.” The admission makes me pause. She doesn’t expand on it any further, and from my own experience with traumatizing pasts, I don’t ask her to explain.

“So you have four packmates?” I ask, noting the way her shoulders loosen ever so slightly at my brushing right past her confession.

B nods. “James and Jackson are twins, Jesse is their younger brother, and Marcus is their childhood best friend.”

“That worked out really well for them, finding their mate together,” I smile at her. It feels fake on my face. “Are you all fated mates?”

The buzzing stops for one heartbeat, and her eyes shudder before starting back up again. “No, we’re not.” I barely hear the whispered words over the tattoo gun.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to pry.” She looks so sad for a second that, despite my own maelstrom of despair swirling in me right now, I want to reach out and squeeze one of her hands.

“It’s fine. It’s the obvious next question.” Then we fall into a strained silence while she continues to work at my hip. It’s quiet so long, I think we’re going to continue the rest of the session in silence. When she starts to speak again, I almost startle. “We all found our fated mates already. They had one before me, and I had one before them.”

“Really, you don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I pried.” Her voice is haunted in a way that I’m almost afraid for her to keep talking.

“I didn’t want you to think we were too impatient to wait for the Goddess’s match.”

“It’s not uncommon for packs to mate with other people. I wouldn’t judge you.” She nods.

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