Chapter fifty-three
Red
Gooey might be the best word to describe my pack as we get off the plane a half a day later. Not on the outside, obviously, since we all cleaned up. But we aren’t exactly springing like gazelles after a weekend sexathon.
Instead, we sneak small touches, slip our hands into each other’s and share soft smiles as we come back to reality—not a cold and harsh reality but one full of amazement as we navigate being a four-person pack. Fitting in cars, holding hands, ordering takeout for all our tastes. It’s all new and exciting.
We eat burgers in the car to avoid crowds while we wait for my after-hours private booking at The Nest House. I didn’t even know they did solo bookings—for a price—but I’m super glad, since we aren’t supposed to have Zack out in public. Not sure how filming will go, but I think Zack’s used to everyone we work with now.
Giddy at the prospect of an outing with all three of my men, I wolf down my veggie-patty burger and then spend the next hourwriggling with impatience—at least until Zack takes me in hand and kisses me until I forget anything else exists. It’s just enough distraction to get me through.
As we drive up to the gigantic store and get out of the car, reporters come running across the car park, wanting to know about Zack’s release. It’s a slight delay, but I’m happy to talk to them since the media helped us with the petition. I take a moment to thank everyone who got involved and cryptically comment that they’ll hear more about feral rehabilitation from us in the future.
Finally, we step inside the shop, where a team in cute blue and black checkered uniforms waits to greet us.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, turning in a circle to see everything. Escalators stretch out like dark rivers leading to the tiered floors boasting an insane range from incense burners to transportable nest rooms and everything in between.
Rickon whistles. “Where do we even start?” he murmurs.
“Plants!” I declare, thinking about how I want my hothouse to look. “Tropical, green, and alive.”
A beta attendant steps forward, her name tag readingViolet. “We have some custom carts here to drive, so you can select everything you need.” She points down one side of the open entry foyer, and I feast my eyes on golf carts with trays on the back to carry our shopping.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I gasp, pulse already racing at top speed. We ride in them around the filming set, and every time thought it was a shame I wasn’t driving. I dash over with my laughing alphas hot on my tail.
“God help us,” Callisto says. “Red driving?”
“Lucky the store’s already clear,” Rickon adds.
I swing into the driver’s seat, grinning from ear to ear. “I might drive over your foot just for that.”
Violet asks for permission to sit next to me, and I have to agree because she’s holding the ignition key hostage. She points out the pedal, the brake and a forward and backward switch. I clap my hands in glee as the vehicle shivers to life.
“Wait a sec,” Calli calls, stepping on the seat to reach the cab roof. He slings his jacket up over the top. Seeing us all staring at him like he’s lost his mind, he says, “There’s a revolving caution light up there.”
My heart damn near bursts. We all know the gory details about the fight rings and flashing lights, but Callisto’s the only one who thought about the everyday practical applications to protect Zack.
“Bless you,” I murmur.
He blows me a kiss and climbs in the back.
The clerk checks everyone is seated and then gives me a nod. “We need to go up to the roof for the garden section,” she says, pointing to a triple-width elevator dead ahead. “See if you can get us there.”
“Oh, I was made to get us there,” I promise, stomping on the pedal. We lurch forward, and poor Violet grabs the frame for dear life. After half a dozen jerks, I get the hang of the beast, grinning like a lunatic as I maneuver us along the polished concrete walkway.
Halfway to the elevator, Zack calls out, “Red, stop!” He leans over my shoulder and points to a display. “I go there.”
I drift the cart over to one side and even before we stop moving, Zack bolts off his seat. My stomach lurches. What if he saw a worker who set him off, or another light? We all jump out, probably thinking the same thing, but Zack’s back before we make it three steps. A long skinny object dangles from his hands.
He holds his hands out, revealing a black and white dog collar and leash. “Zack want this on.”
My breath hitches. “Zack, we did that because you didn’t know about the world, but you can understand us now, so I don’t think you need a leash anymore.”
“No,” he says emphatically, shaking his head. “Pack rule, so I keep rules.” He frowns as he glances at the leash, mouth opening over several silent words as he finds his way. “Zack still learn. Wear leash to keep all safe until I know more.” The alpha rips the collar from its packaging and clips the plastic ends together around his neck before offering the leash to Ricky. “Keep me?”
My heart thumps heavily as Rickon pulls our prime in for a hug.
“We’ll keep you always, Zack,” he promises. When he steps back, he waves the leash end in Zack’s face. “This is just until you learn more, okay? Well, unless it becomes a kink or something.” He chuckles under his breath, and I have to say I don’t mind the idea at all.
