Page 67 of The Pack's Knotty Runaway
We argue about the movie for a while—Reed lobbying hard for something with a high body count and plenty of explosions—but in the end, all three of them just defer to me, looking over and waiting for the final verdict. I end up picking The Princess Bride.
We sort ourselves into the fort with suspiciously little discussion. Ash folds onto the left end, long legs crossed at the ankle, cider in hand. Reed drops down on my right. Bram takes the front half, the other couch, within arm’s reach. And I land in the middle of all of it, with the biggest popcorn bowl in my lap.
But there’s still one thing wrong (a flaw I diagnosed during construction and couldn’t fix with engineering): the blankets are warm and soft, but they don’t smell likethem.
Me wants to watch a movie warm and buried in my alphas’ scents.
I clear my throat. “Hey—um. I’m not sure how to say it, so... would you guys maybe... lend me what you’re wearing for the movie?”
“You cold?” Bram starts, already reaching for the spare blanket. “There’s a—”
“No,” I say. “It’s—I just—”
And I don’t get to finish, because his hand changes direction. He shrugs out of his flannel, and a second later it’s in my lap, warm from him, leather and coffee. “Sorry, I can be a little slow, sweetheart.”
Reed’s hoodie is over his head and off, dropped on top of the pile. Woodsmoke and musk. “Inspector.”
Ash takes his time and lays his sweater over the rest. Cedar and chocolate.
But as I burrow into the haul, my eyes get derailed by the view: a sprawling landscape of lean, cut muscle right in front of me, every flex and shift of their arms on full display. I swallow hard, my mouth literally watering as I look them over. Naturally, they all wear the exact same insufferable, knowing look.
Forcing my eyes away with sheer willpower, I pull Reed’s hoodie over my head, drape Bram’s flannel across my legs, and bunch Ash’s sweater right under my chin. The three scents fold over me all at once, and deep in my throat, my omega makes a sound I have absolutely no intention of ever transcribing.
Thirty minutes in, the movie’s got us. Reed mouths the entire Inigo Montoya speech under his breath, both times it comes around. Bram laughs at the funny parts. Ash mostly stays quiet,but every time my toast napkin goes empty, another slice turns up on it.
Somewhere in there I start to migrate. My feet drift across Bram’s lap and his big hand closes warm around both ankles and stays. My head finds Ash’s shoulder during the Fire Swamp scene, and he tips his head down and rests it against my hair.
During a quiet stretch a purr starts up in my chest, low and rusty and without one ounce of my permission. I brace for the embarrassment, but instead, all three of them lean in. Reed’s chest first, then Bram’s, then Ash’s—a deep answering rumble rolling up out of each of them until the whole fort is one warm, idling engine. After that I lose the thread of time entirely. The room goes soft and lamp-gold, and I float somewhere just above my own body, scent-drunk and boneless, and when I surface again we’re already at the final act.
I have never in my life felt this taken care of.
By the time the credits roll, it’s well past midnight and we are all thoroughly exhausted. The big lamp clicks back on, aggressively bright, and the blanket fort reluctantly starts to come apart around us as we stretch out our cramped limbs. Ash leads the charge on the goodnight rituals, leaning in to brush his lips tentatively on my lips. Reed, never one for halfway measures, catches me by the waist, dipping me low just to give me a thorough, breathless kiss that leaves me laughing as I find my footing again.
But it’s Bram who catches me off guard. We’ve never kissed before, so when his large hand cups the side of my neck, my breath hitches. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, testing the waters, before bending down to gently brush his lips over mine. I melt into it, realizing just how much I’ve been craving this kind of connection with him.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and warm, lingering on me for a long beat.
“By the way, tomorrow’s you and me, Luna,” Ash says, breaking the quiet. “I’ve got something pretty good lined up. Let’s get out of here and go to town.”
“We were just in town,” Reed says.
“Not that town.” Ash’s eyes don’t leave mine. “We’d be gone more than a day. If you don’t mind.” Then, lighter, to the room: “If anybody minds.”
“If it’s good with Luna,” Bram says, picking up the last bowl, “it’s good with me.”
“More than a day,” Reed repeats, flopping back into the cushions with a hand over his heart. “You’re stealing our omega for more than a day. Cold, man.” But he’s grinning the entire time he says it.
“Sure,” I say, smiling. “Sounds like fun.”
“Pack light,” Ash says, and the smile he gives me isn’t the half one. “I’ve got the rest.”
And then they’re turning, peeling off toward the stairs, and something in my chest just... refuses.
“Hey.” It comes out smaller than I mean it to. Three heads turn. “Could you—” My face is on fire. “Wanna sleep together tonight?”
For a second, nobody moves. The entire energy of the room shifts as they glance at each other.
“Sweetheart,” Reed finally says, low, turning to me. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say it would be our absolute pleasure.”
