“Mrow.”
A pleasant chirp sounds from the carpet, and a white kitten trots by with a toy fish in her mouth.
Her two sisters make an appearance, one jumping on Travis and curling on his chest while he sleeps.
I need to leave before the pack wakes up.
I quietly make my way off the couch and tiptoe back to the hallway bathroom. I change out of Ryland’s clothing, and into my own, ignoring the irrational pang of loss as I step out of the moss and rain scented fabric. I don’t need his scent on me, no matter how much my inner Omega insists she does.
I need to get home. I need to get ready for work and not think about the fact that I just spent the night with my scent matches.
After I brush my teeth and splash my face with water, I grab my duffel bag from the kitten room.
A mournful wail sounds in the doorway, the recognizable sound of a cat whose breakfast is more than a minute late.
Ash yowls while I sling the duffel bag over my shoulder. When I head down the hallway to the front of the house, he howls dramatically, the same way he used to do when he was at the rescue.
He’s about to wake the entire pack, and I’d rather not deal with the awkward inevitable conversations until I’ve had at least some coffee in me.
“Shh,” I whisper. “Stop.”
But he breaks the record for the longest meow, his strong lungs carrying his voice all the way toward the front room.
I let him lead me into the kitchen, placing my stuff on the kitchen island and beginning to rummage through their cupboards to find the cat food.
Ash won’t stop yelling.
I desperately whip open a cupboard and find a plethora of cat food.
There is a bag of kibble for adult cat weight loss and high protein canned wet food on the bottom shelf. On top is a giant bag of high-quality kitten food along with a large shelf-stable can of kitten milk.
I smile to myself.
Ash and the kittens are in good hands.
I do my best to quietly remove the open bag of kibble, hoping the pack slept through Ash’s hungry cries.
But when I turn around, cat food bag in hand, Rowan is standing in the kitchen, the island separating us.
I can see his brother’s features in his face, but they’re still so different. Rowan’s eyes tell a different story than Ryland’s—where Ryland’s brown eyes are confident and calm, Rowan’s icy ones are brimming with chaotic energy.
His hair is mussed from sleep, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. His dark sweatpants hang low at his hips, and the black v-neck shirt he wears shows off his lean, muscular frame.
I swallow.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice scratchy with sleep, and my throat goes dry. “Good morning.”
“Hey.”
His sea salt scent brings me back to the stormy ocean, blue and chaotic just like his eyes.
Rowan is the most gorgeous of the three Alphas, stunning with slightly sharper features than Ryland.
Ash doesn’t care about my ogling of Rowan. He stands on his hind legs, pressing his paws against my leggings, and lets out a dramatic sound.
“He never stops screaming,” Rowan sighs, then raises his hands in defeat. “We don’t starve him, I swear. He just always wants more food.”
I smirk. “He’s a food motivated cat. It happens a lot with rescue cats.”
