I trudge to the front door, pathetically press my forehead against the wood and justinhale.
They were here recently.
They tried to check on me, but I ignored their concern.
I rejected them—the same way I was terrified Fang had once rejected me.
Do they feel that terror now, too?
Did I hurt my pack without intending to?
I peek out the peephole and am surprised to see a pile of packages on my welcome mat.
I can’t tell what they are from the fuzzy tiny glass, so I open the door to investigate.
“Oh,” I breathe.
No wonder the scents were so strong by the front door.
Along with brand new nesting blankets, they dropped off their sweatshirts.
I pick up a black one with the words Luna Community College on it and bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply.
I whimper as Fang’s dark leather scent fills my nostrils. My mouth waters, and my stomach flips in anticipation, not dread.
I’m too busy rubbing the fabric across my mating gland to notice I’m not alone.
“There you are.”
Fang’s voice, low and delighted, makes me jump.
“That’s my favorite sweatshirt,” he adds, smirking. “I hope you like it.”
He stands to my left, leaning against the wall of the apartment building. There’s a large takeout bag in one hand, and his other is in the pocket of his dark jeans.
“Have you just been lingering here?” I ask, embarrassed to be caught rubbing myself with his clothing.
“For a while,” he admits. “We’ve been taking turns keeping watch.”
“Keeping watch?”
“We gave up knocking when you didn’t answer. So, if you weren’t going to let us in, we would just guard your door untilyou were ready to talk.” He nods at the sweatshirt. “And drop you presents off along the way.”
“I see,” I murmur, playing with the soft material of his sweatshirt.
“I was going to give you another half hour, though,” he says cooly.
“A half hour for what?”
“Until I picked the lock to your door to deliver you dinner. Logan and Ivan said I shouldn’t, but…” he shrugs. “They’re not the bosses of me.”
“You know how to pick locks?”
I shouldnotbe flattered, but my inner Omega preens with delight.
Blair would for sure call this a red flag, but she’s not the boss of me, either.
“You have to eat,” he says. “And I couldn’t confirm if you had.”
