Pack Caron Thread
Lark:Heading to the office for a while. Need some time to myself!
Graham:Beautiful, you are too close to your heat to be alone.
A second later:
Silas:Saint, WTF did you do?
I grip the steering wheel.
Everything.I did everything wrong.
WTF, indeed.
I pick my phone back up and punch in my response.
Graham:Saint, where are you?
Saint:On my way to the warehouse.
The drive should take thirty minutes. It feels like a fucking hour.
At first I tell myself it’s fine. She’s just angry. She has every right to be. I’ve been a dick. I haven’t shown her any attention. I’ve intentionally sat back and allowed the others to step in as her alphas while I, what? Scowled? Acted like a fucking baby because I’m a scared little chicken shit too afraid to have an omega?
I’m all types of fucked up and I took it out on Lark. On my omega. The one person on earth who was made for me.
Maybe Silas was right. Maybe I should go to therapy.
But before I can follow that thought, my brain starts doing what it does best. Running scenarios.
What if she spikes in the rideshare? What if the driver notices? What if something goes wrong and I'm not there? I know what happens when you're not there. I know exactly what happens.
My grip tightens on the wheel.
My phone sits on the passenger seat. I grab it at the next stoplight and type one quick message.
Saint:Tell me you’re okay.
The light turns green. No response.
I toss the phone back onto the seat and force myself not to speed. By the time I pull into the OmegaBox warehouse lot, I’ve imagined every possible disaster. I’m still rolling through every conceivable horrible thing that might have happened to her when my thoughts stop altogether.
Red and blue lights flash across the lot. Dozens of people standing in small clusters. Looking at…
My gaze snaps to Warehouse Two. Or what’s left of it. The entire left side of the building has collapsed.
The side whereLark’s office is.
A series of texts hit my phone in rapid order. I ignore them. I have to get to her.
I shove my Jeep into park so fast it bounces me forward, my seatbelt cutting hard across my sternum. I don’t care. I’m out the door and running. Past police officers and firefighters. Straight toward the rubble.
This is what I’m trained for. And it’s the exact thing I’ve been most afraid of.
“Lark!”
Lark
