I’m sure they can scent my distress. My post-Heat symptoms make me more sensitive than usual, and the rapid-fire worries about Agnes and her kittens make my pulse race.
“What if something is wrong with them?” I whisper, and Ivan squeezes my hand.
“You’ve got a tech and a vet here,anda music teacher. You’ll be fine,” he says evenly.
“What the hell is Fang going to do?”
“Serenade either you or the cats. Depending on who needs it more.”
I huff out a shaky sigh.
He squeezes my hand tighter. “You have a pack now,” he says. “We’re here, and you’re safe with us.”
My inner Omega is thrilled.
But Maeve? The core of who I am?
I’mnervous.
Ivan has made it clear, over and over, that he’s not going anywhere. He’s dealt with my irrational panic with patience and logic, and never once criticized me for it.
Logan only knows a little bit about it. He saw it in my panic with Alvin, but I try to hide most of it from him.
Fang knows very little about it.
What if they only like my Omega, but not me? Or, what if they’re only patient with mebecauseI’m their scent match, and they just put up with it?
It’s not something I can voice in the car, especially since I’m sure Fang is eavesdropping. I’ve felt his eyes on me since we left the cabin, watching me subtly.
I adore the attention, but it feels impossible to tell him about these worries.
We still don’t know very much about each other, besides the shared love of cats, music, and being scent matches.
Hey, sometimes I’m worried a cat is sick and no one can convince me otherwise—what are your thoughts on that?
Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just sure that the meow we heard means there’s a cat in distress, not that it’s hungry.
Speaking of, what if it’s only hungry because it has a food allergy and can’t digest the kibble properly? Should we do an elimination diet? Where can we get raw kangaroo?
Yeah. How the hell can I explain that to him?
There are gentle fingers running through my scalp and pulling on my hair, and I realize that Fang has reached over from the backseat. “I love the color of your hair,” he murmurs, and I blush. “It’s so pretty in the light.”
I soak up the compliment, preening inside.
“I told you,” Ivan says knowingly, smirking.
I roll my eyes.
“I could have driven,” Fang protests.
“Just so she could sit next to you on the way back? Naw,” Ivan says, patting my thigh. “I’m more than happy in the driver’s seat.”
“They’re doing great, by the way,” Logan adds softly, as if reading my mind. “They’re just startled from the car ride. Nothing to worry about.”
For the rest of the drive, the cats are quiet.
We fill the ride with light conversation. Fang loves to talk, and I match his energy easily. Ivan joins in, while Logan just listens quietly, occasionally adding a sentence or two, but not much.
